“Only if you promise no funny stuff.”
“I find nothing humorous about the situation,” he said.
She believed him.
“It’s cold and damp out. You may as well come inside and wait with us,” she said.
He nodded and took the ladder from her.
As they entered the Cookery, Tricia had no doubt it would be hours before she saw her bed.
She was right. The police investigation took several hours—far longer than the actual attack. Angelica was not able to convince Michele to stay at the inn. Instead, the officer drove her back to her apartment in Milford, with Tricia promising to have Pixie drive Michele back to the village the next morning. She knew she could count on Pixie to give a helping hand in a crisis.
Christopher was as good as his word. He stayed out of the way during the police investigation, and afterward they walked back to the Chamber office in silence. Upon arriving at the house, he insisted on coming inside, making sure everything was safe, and then he said good night. No funny business, no begging for a kiss. Tricia wasn’t about to admit it, but Michele’s attack had rattled her. She’d felt safer with Christopher walking beside her.
After he left, Tricia poured herself a glass of wine from the small fridge in her sitting room and tried to read but was too distracted for even that. She settled on her comfy chair and was glad when Miss Marple joined her. It was only the sound of the cat’s rumbling purr that seemed to soothe her jagged nerves.
Eventually Tricia felt settled enough to try to go to sleep. She changed into her nightgown, slipped between the cool sheets, and turned off the light, but thoughts of the evening’s events kept circling through her mind.
Michele had anticipated some kind of attack, and it had come.
What did the man in black have against the Historical Society? And more frightening, how long after he was caught would it be before Tricia began to feel safe again?
NINETEEN
“They’re gone—they’re all gone!” Angelica practically wailed.
Tricia opened her eyes and squinted to focus on the numerals on her bedside clock. “Ange, it’s not even seven o’clock,” she muttered.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I got up to make myself a cup of tea. I looked out my kitchen window and could see that every one of the silk flowers we put in the baskets last night is gone. Only, this time, let’s hope we caught on video the vandal who’s been stealing them. I’ll have that contemptible bastard thrown in jail for the rest of his miserable life.”
“I doubt any judge is going to sentence whoever stole the flowers to life in prison,” Tricia said reasonably.
“But that’s what he deserves. As soon as I get dressed, I’m heading over to the Coffee Bean to see if their surveillance camera caught the felon.”
Petit larceny was all the perp could be charged with, but it was no use arguing with Angelica when she was in one of those moods.
Again, Tricia squinted at her clock. Miss Marple had been sleeping at the foot of the bed. She was not pleased at being awakened this early, either. Still, now that she was awake, Tricia figured she might as well get up. If necessary, she’d apply a thick coat of concealer under her eyes. “If you can wait an extra ten minutes, I’ll come over and we can go to the Coffee Bean together,” she told her sister.
“Ten minutes,” Angelica threatened. “See you then.” She hung up.
Tricia threw back the covers, got up, and took the world’s fastest shower. She made it to the Cookery just twelve minutes later.
Angelica and Sarge were waiting in the Cookery. The dog barked a cheerful greeting as Tricia entered. “Are we taking Sarge with us?”
“Oh, no. He’s just back in from his morning tinkle break. I’ll take him on a proper walk later.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Tricia said, and she went back outside with Angelica hot on her heels.
Despite it being a Saturday, business was booming at the Coffee Bean. The line was five deep with joggers and others who’d stopped for a brew. It was one of the few shops on Main Street that the locals had fully embraced. As always, the aroma of coffee and fresh baked goods was intoxicating. Alexa was taking the orders and Boris was filling them as fast as he could.
“Ange, we might have to wait until the morning coffee rush is over before we can find out if the camera caught the person responsible for lifting the flowers.”
“I’ll wait here until closing if I have to. I want that guy arrested.”
Luckily, no one else came in after them, giving them hope Boris might have time to download the images to a disk.
“What can I get you this morning?” Alexa asked cheerfully.
“The flowers are gone. I hope your camera captured the person who did it?”
Alexa shook her head. “I saw there were none when I came in this morning. I knew you would be here early to see, so I had Boris download the video,” she said.
“I have it here,” Boris said in his thick Russian accent, and reached under the counter to come up with a jewel box and the disk inside it.
“Thank you so much,” Angelica said.
“Would you like something else?” Alexa asked hopefully.
“I’ll take a large French roast, and two of those apple-oatmeal muffins to go. Tricia?”
“I’ll have the same coffee, but a croissant.”
Angelica fidgeted the whole time it took Alexa and Boris to assemble their order. When they presented the cups and bags, Angelica handed Alexa a twenty and called out, “Keep the change,” before she practically ran from the store. Tricia had to hustle to keep up.
Angelica had the door to the Cookery unlocked in a flash, and Sarge seemed to think it was some kind of race as he ran to overtake Angelica before she could get to the stairs that led to her loft apartment. He barked with joy and shot up the stairs like a rocket taking off.
Tricia locked the door and followed at a more reasonable pace. By the time she reached the apartment, she found Angelica had already popped the DVD into her player and was waiting for it to start.
Tricia walked past her and into the kitchen, where she took out a couple of plates and set out her croissant, then took the other plate into the living room and retrieved the muffins from the bag Angelica had tossed onto the coffee table. She took a seat on the couch as Angelica paced, holding her coffee in one hand and the remote in another.
Despite Angelica’s claim the previous day, the picture quality wasn’t what you’d call great. Black and white and kind of murky was the best that could be said of it. Boris must have started recording after business hours. A couple strolled past the Coffee Bean hand in hand, and then there was—nothing but the empty sidewalk for long seconds.
Angelica hit the fast-forward button. People scurried across the screen in a kind of choppy motion, sort of like Charlie Chaplin in his old silent films, and the sky began to darken. The streetlamp came on in a flash, and more people came and went.
“How long do you think this is going to take?” Tricia asked.
“I can speed it up even faster, but I’m afraid we might miss something.”
Tricia sipped her coffee and sampled her croissant. Heavenly!
For long periods of time, no one passed in front of the camera, and then they saw themselves putting the flowers back into the closest hanging basket. Angelica hit the pause button.
“Oh, my—I don’t look that fat in real life, do I?”
“No,” Tricia said emphatically. “You know the camera always adds at least ten pounds.” She wasn’t sure Angelica believed her and didn’t want to elaborate.