Tricia had thought Angelica's infatuation with meal prep had been a recent development. Why hadn't she known her older sister had been interested in cooking even as a little girl?
Angelica closed the book, replacing it on the shelf before her. 'Wow, there's-' She ran her fingers along the row of books. 'Twelve copies of it. Where did she get them all?'
'Estate sales, tag sales-pickers. Doris might've been collecting them for years.'
'It's too bad she's dead,' Angelica said wistfully, 'I'd love to buy a copy of it from her. And look at all these others.
'Looks like her only living relative is a retarded daughter living in a group home. I couldn't find anything to the contrary.'
'Oh no. That poor woman.'
Did she mean the daughter, Susan, or Doris?
'Find anything else of interest?'
Tricia shook her head. 'You didn't happen to see a copy of
'That was the book stolen from the Cookery. Why would it be-? Oh, you think the killer might have brought it back here, hidden it amongst all her other stock?'
'He or she can't very well sell it. Not without drawing attention to themselves. Let's take a minute and look. Then we'd better get out of here before our luck runs out.'
It took longer than a minute, more like fifteen, but it wasn't until she'd scanned nearly every title in the room that Tricia was satisfied Doris's precious treasure was not buried among her less valuable stock.
Ready to go, she found Angelica's attention had returned to one of the copies of the
She nodded. 'It just seems so sad to leave all these old books here alone, knowing their owner will never come back. They might never be loved again.'
Touched, Tricia leaned in closer to her sister. 'I've never heard you talk about books that way before.'
Angelica's expression hardened. She sniffed and threw back her head. 'Ha!' She pushed past Tricia, heading back for the kitchen. 'Probably something I picked up from you these last few days. I'm sure it'll wear off.'
With one last look around the crowded room, a frowning Tricia turned off the light and pulled the door closed, just the way it had been when they'd arrived.
Eight
Deception wasn't Tricia's strong point. Not when she'd been seven and blamed Angelica for a vase she'd broken, nor when coming up with excuses to avoid dating high school jocks who couldn't spell, let alone comprehend, Sherlock Holmes.
She paced her kitchen, cell phone in hand, until the clock on her microwave read 9:01. Did a cell phone number come up on caller ID and would it also reveal her name as well? She didn't think so, which was why she'd decided not to use her regular phone. She punched in the number, listened as it rang three times.
'Good morning. New England Life, this is Margaret. How can I help you?'
No long wait on hold? An actual American, not a native of some foreign land earning pennies an hour?
'I…I-' Tricia hadn't come up with a plausible story, so she told the truth. 'I need to find out a beneficiary on one of your policies.'
'Do you have the policy number?'
'Yes.' She read it off, heard the tap of a keyboard in the background. 'Doris E. Gleason. Did you wish to report her death?'
'Uh, yes. She died three days ago.'
'Are you authorized to act on her behalf?'
'Um…yes.'
'You'll need to provide us with a copy of the death certificate and copies of letters of administration. Are you Ms. Gleason's executor?'
'Not exactly. I'm a friend. I need to track down her next of kin and I thought-'
'I'm sorry. Privacy laws prohibit our giving out sensitive information of this nature. Please have Ms. Gleason's attorney or executor contact us with the necessary paperwork and we will inform the beneficiary the death has occurred.'
'Oh. Okay.'
'Thank you for calling New England Life.'
Click.
Rats!
No sooner had she turned off the cell when her apartment phone rang. 'Hello.'
'Trish, it's me, Angelica.'
'How did you get this number?' Was it too early to already feel so annoyed?
'I figured you'd never give it to me so I read it off the phone and wrote it down last night.' Very smart, and she sounded oh so smug.
Tricia examined her empty coffee cup and poured herself some more. 'Isn't this awfully early for you to be up, Ange?'
'I've mended all my evil ways. Age does that to you.'
Hadn't Mike said something similar? Always a bookworm, Tricia had never had any evil ways to mend.
'Besides,' Angelica continued, 'I know you're only free during the hours the store isn't open. This is my only window of opportunity to talk to you until tonight.'
'So what do you want to talk about?'
'Nothing really. I just wanted to tell you I had a great time last night. I felt like one of the Snoop Sisters.'
'You remember that old TV show? It couldn't have lasted more than one season, and we are both far younger than any of its characters.'
'I do admit I was a mere infant, but it was one of Grandmother's favorite shows. And anyway, you know what I mean.' She actually giggled.
Tricia glanced at her watch and sighed. 'What else do you need, Ange?'
'When are you going to call Doris's insurance company?'
'I already did. It was a bust.'
'You're kidding.'
'No, I'm not.'
Silence for a few moments. 'Give me all the info,' Angelica demanded.
'What for? They told me I needed a death certificate and all kinds of other documentation before they'd give me any information. And they only want to talk to Doris's attorney or executor.'
'Just let me try.'
'Fine. If you've got time to waste, be my guest.' She pulled out the old insurance statement and read off the pertinent information.
'Hmm. This could take some time,' Angelica admitted, ruefully. 'I may have to call in a few favors. I'll get back to you.' She hung up.
Tricia drained her cup and replaced the handset. 'Good luck.'
As usual, Mr. Everett was waiting outside the door of Haven't Got a Clue at 9:55 a.m. on that gray Friday morning. He liked to be the first customer inside the door every day, although 'customer' was a misnomer since so far in the five months the shop had been open he hadn't bought a thing. But he usually only drank one cup of Tricia's
