“Oh, dear. I hope she didn’t use those words,” Tricia said, appalled.
“Well, no, she didn’t. She said she’d been crushed to death, and that it wasn’t an accident.”
“I’m afraid that might be true,” Tricia admitted.
“But who could have wanted dear Betsy dead?” Joelle cried.
At one time or another, probably every member of the Chamber of Commerce. The woman was not well loved, and Tricia doubted anyone here in Stoneham would miss her, either. “Did Betsy have any enemies?” she asked.
Joelle sniffed. “Well, her ex-husband, Jerry, wasn’t very fond of her. It was a bitter divorce. They fought over everything. In the end, they had to sell a lot of their assets just to pay their attorney fees.”
That certainly wouldn’t have endeared Betsy to her ex. “Anyone else?” Tricia asked.
Joelle wiped away another stray tear that had leaked from her left eye. “Well, there was that nasty incident with her former neighbors.”
“Oh?” Tricia prompted, her interest piqued.
“They put up a fence without having their property surveyed. Betsy couldn’t abide such carelessness and had her own yard surveyed. She found the fence was three inches over the property line. Naturally she had a hissy fit and reported them to the town. They made the neighbors pull down the fence. It cost them thousands. They never forgave Betsy. She could never prove it, but someone would egg her windows on a regular basis and Betsy was sure it was them.”
“Oh, my,” Tricia said. Somehow she felt more sympathetic toward the neighbors than Betsy.
“And then there was the guy who hit her car at a stop sign while texting. She sued him and got all kinds of damages. She was lucky that way.” So Christopher had mentioned. Yet to Tricia it sounded more like Betsy was just spiteful.
“Did Betsy and her husband ever have children?”
Joelle nodded but looked away, her expression dour. “A daughter. Poor little Amy was born with an extra chromosome.” She looked thoughtful. “Or maybe she was born with a missing chromosome. I never could get that straight.” She shook her head. “That little angel was only eight years old when she died.”
“Oh, my. Poor Betsy,” Tricia said, genuinely saddened. Maybe the loss accounted for her sour disposition.
“Betsy was always a little bit loony after she lost Amy. She kept her baby’s room just the way she’d left it. I thought it was kind of creepy, but I guess it wasn’t that unusual.” Joelle sighed. “Betsy was my only living relative. Now I’m all alone in the world.”
From her tone, Tricia surmised that Joelle hadn’t yet heard she’d been cut out of Betsy’s will. “I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Pixie was hovering. Though she’d tried, Tricia hadn’t been able to break her newest employee of the habit. “It’s getting late, Pixie. Could you please finish pricing the rest of those paperbacks?”
“Sure thing,” Pixie said affably, and went back to the cash desk.
Tricia turned back to Joelle. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Joelle sniffed once again. “No, I guess I just needed to talk to someone. I suppose I need to think about the arrangements. I’m not sure what Betsy would have wanted. We never spoke of it.”
“I’m sure you’ll make the right decisions,” Tricia said kindly.
Joelle nodded. She sighed, and then sat up straighter in her chair. “Have you and Mr. Benson set a date yet?”
Oh, dear. Joelle certainly hadn’t forgotten the fantasy Tricia had spun for her the previous fall that she and Christopher might reconcile. But Joelle had a memory like a steel trap and she reminded Tricia of her promise every time they met. She also mailed Tricia promotional material on a monthly basis.
“Sadly, Mr. Benson and I are still at an impasse when it comes to a reconciliation,” Tricia said; a blatant lie, since not only hadn’t they discussed the topic, but, except for earlier that day when they’d spoken for the first time in several weeks, Tricia had only seen Christopher to wave to—not plan a renewal of vows—and that suited her just fine.
“You will keep me in mind when the time comes,” Joelle insisted.
“Yes, of course.”
Joelle heaved a loud sigh. “I suppose I’d best be on my way. I’m on my way to the gym. Maybe if I work out hard enough, I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Goodness knows I’ll be alone—just like every other night.”
Though she felt like a heel, Tricia did not invite Joelle to join her for dinner. She had no clue about how she’d feed herself, let alone a guest. She stood, hoping the gesture wouldn’t be taken as rudeness. “It’s just about time to close the shop for the day.”
Joelle also rose to her feet. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t noticed how late it is. Thanks for listening to me whine, Tricia. When I get home, I’m going to drown my sorrows in a bottle of pink Catawba.”
Tricia had to restrain herself from shuddering at the thought of drinking such a cheap wine. She walked Joelle to the door. “Get some rest. These next few days are sure to be stressful for you.”
“I will, thank you.” Joelle gave a wave before she pulled the door closed behind her.
Tricia let out a weary breath, feeling ready to collapse.
“That poor woman,” Pixie said from her seat in the readers’ nook.
“Who? Joelle or Betsy?”
“Both. That Betsy sounded like a class A bitch, but I guess having a sick kid die on her coulda been a contributing factor. She was lucky to have a sister who loved her so much. Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” she added under her breath. Then she looked thoughtful. “I feel like I know the sister from somewhere. Do you think she ever did time?”
“I don’t think so,” Tricia said.
Pixie shrugged.
Mr. Everett, who’d made himself scarce since Joelle’s arrival—emotional scenes complete with tears made him extremely uncomfortable—reappeared, returning the empty wastebaskets to their rightful places.
Pixie glanced at the clock then down at the pile of paperbacks in front of her. “These are done. Do you want me to stay and shelve them in alphabetical order?”
“No, we can do that in the morning.”
“Okay.” Pixie headed for the back of the shop and returned with her own and Mr. Everett’s coats. She handed his off, then donned her own, taking a moment to put on her black wooly hat before ducking behind the sales counter to claim her purse. She and Mr. Everett headed for the door. “See you tomorrow,” Pixie called.
“Good night, Ms. Miles,” Mr. Everett said.
“Good night,” Tricia said and closed and locked the door behind them. She stood for a long moment soaking up the silence.
“Yow!” Miss Marple said loudly. Her kitty stomach could tell time, too.
“Yes, it is time for your dinner.”
The cat jumped down from her perch behind the register and watched as Tricia turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and drew the blinds. But before she could take more than a couple of steps away from the sales counter, the phone rang. She turned and answered it. “Angelica?”
“How did you know?”
“I just had a feeling. Is everything back to normal at the Cookery?”
“Well, as normal as it can get after someone is murdered on your premises; something you well know.”
Yes, Tricia did.
“The police are all gone. Come over and keep me company for a few hours, will you? I’m only making omelets for supper, but I’m making some nibbly bits as a test for my next cookbook. Are you game?”
That was certainly better than scrounging the cupboards as Tricia had been planning to do. More likely Angelica just didn’t want to be alone, and Tricia couldn’t blame her. “Of course. Let me feed Miss Marple and I’ll be right over.”
“See you in a few,” Angelica said and hung up.
Tricia and Miss Marple headed up the stairs to Tricia’s loft apartment. As she opened a fresh can of cat food and changed the water, Tricia thought back on her visit with Joelle. Something about it didn’t sit right with her. Perhaps it was because in her moment of terrible grief Joelle had pitched her wedding planning services. But then who could blame the woman for her chaotic thinking. She’d just lost her only living relative. If Tricia lost Angelica she was sure she’d suffer an emotional collapse. She’d do it quietly, and alone, but the thought was too painful to contemplate. If it had happened four years before she would have been sad but soldiered on.