gold.”
A
“From one of our requests for help. She needed a job. I interviewed her for the position, and we worked out a mutual agreement.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Tricia pressed.
Grace sighed. “It’s true that Pixie is on parole, but she was a nonviolent offender and her crimes were not white-collar crimes, so have no fear. She won’t try to embezzle the charity.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking,” Tricia admitted.
Grace lowered her voice. “She’s an ex-lady of the evening.”
“The foundation is proud to help give Pixie a fresh start,” Grace continued. Her smile wavered a little. “I just wish she weren’t quite so zealous when it comes to interacting with the public. I’m so sorry she was rude to you, Tricia. I have spoken with her and it won’t happen again.” Grace leaned forward and folded her hands on top of the desk’s blotter. “Now, what was it you wanted to see me about, dear?”
For the briefest of moments, Tricia considering a histrionic recitation of what she’d seen on her television only minutes before, and leaping from her chair and demanding a comforting hug from her friend. The Grace of old would have done so without hesitation. Tricia wasn’t so sure she’d receive that treatment from the businesswoman in front of her. And even though she’d had a day to prepare, she still wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. Perhaps forging ahead was the best way.
“Mr. Everett asked me to speak to you about a rather sensitive subject.”
Grace looked puzzled and gave a nervous laugh. “William asked you to speak to me? I didn’t think there was anything he couldn’t tell me himself.”
“I would’ve thought so, too. And I must say, I feel very uncomfortable playing go-between.” She looked into Grace’s blue eyes and saw the sudden worry there. “I think your dear husband is jealous.”
“William? Jealous?”
“Of the amount of time you spend here at the foundation’s office. He’s very proud of you and the way you’ve stepped up to take care of the charity, but…I’m afraid he feels you might be putting in too much time here.”
“The work is important and needs to be done,” Grace said quietly but firmly.
“I agree, and so does your husband. But…he misses you.”
“He could have told me that himself without mentioning it to one of our friends.”
“I believe he’s tried.”
Grace pursed her lips. Tricia had never before seen her friend angry, but her current expression distinctly reflected that emotion. Tricia decided she’d said enough on the subject. Whatever else needed to be said, the couple could say to one another without her further intervention.
Luckily the phone rang. Under other circumstances, Tricia doubted Grace would have interrupted their conversation to answer it. This time, she did.
“Grace Harris-Everett.” She listened for a few moments, her frown deepening. Finally, “Just a moment.” She looked over at Tricia. “I’m sorry, but I really need to take this call. Was there anything else you wanted to say?”
Tricia rose from her chair. “I’ll talk to you later, Grace. Thanks for seeing me. I’ll let myself out.” She backed out of the room and closed the door.
Pixie had leaned over the partial wall that overlooked the hall from Grace’s office. “That was a short conversation,” she said with a sneer in her voice.
Tricia didn’t want to get into an argument with her and simply opened the door to the anteroom and left the office.
Once outside, she stood on the sidewalk for a long time, just breathing in the chill fresh air, wondering if she’d just lost a friend.
FIFTEEN
Frannie was with a customer when Tricia entered the Cookery. She gave a quick wave and headed for the stairs. As she unlocked the apartment door, she heard a sharp yip. Sure enough, Sarge was bouncing up and down like a yo-yo on a string, ecstatic to see her. She picked up the little dog and kissed the top of his head. “Do you want to go for a walk with your Aunt Tricia?”
Good heavens! Just three days earlier she’d admonished Angelica for calling her that.
Sarge wiggled in her arms, trying to stretch up far enough to lick her face.
“Your mama’s in trouble,” she said, “but I’m here to take care of you until-” The breath caught in her throat and she had to swallow. “Until she comes home.”
Sarge whined a little and she retrieved his leash, closed and locked the apartment door, and headed down the stairs.
Frannie was at the register, cashing out her customer, and Tricia gave a wave. “We’ll be back,” she called, and headed out the door. Out on the sidewalk, she set Sarge down and checked her cell phone. She hadn’t missed any calls. She put it back in her pocket and set off for the park, with Sarge jauntily walking beside her.
She passed several people, who gave a nod of acknowledgment, but she was grateful not to meet anyone she knew. All she could think about was Angelica-and at that moment she didn’t even care if Grace was angry with her.
The small village park was empty on this cold April morning, and Tricia allowed Sarge to sniff at the squirrel tracks that were invisible to her. She sat on the forest green bench and brooded. What if Angelica had died? She’d named Tricia the executor of her estate. Had she designated her to receive the proceeds from her cookbooks? What was the status of her latest manuscript? Would she be able to access Angelica’s computer should her editor need it? What would she do about the Cookery and Booked for Lunch?
Sarge barked, glaring at her as if admonishing her for such morbid thoughts.
“You’re right. I’m just so upset, I don’t know what tangents my mind is liable to wander off on.”
The retractable leash let Sarge sniff a twenty-four-foot radius from the bench, and he must have covered every inch twice by the time Tricia realized she was nearly frozen to the bone. They had probably been in the park a good half hour by the time she stood and started back for Haven’t Got a Clue. She decided she would keep Sarge with her until she heard-either way-about Angelica’s fate. Miss Marple wasn’t going to be happy about that, but she could stay on her perch out of the dog’s way. She’d reward her handsomely with cookies after she closed the shop for the day.
As Tricia neared Haven’t Got a Clue, she saw Chief Baker’s SUV pull up to the curb. She squinted to see who was with him in the car and did a double take before dashing up the sidewalk to intercept, with Sarge’s little legs struggling to keep up with her. The SUV’s passenger door opened and Angelica got out.
Tricia rushed up to her soot-smudged sister, throwing her arms around her and pulling her into a crushing embrace. “Good grief, I thought I’d lost you,” she said, taking in the stench of smoke that permeated Angelica’s hair.
Angelica pulled back. “I’m pleased you’re glad I’m still among the living, but didn’t Mr. Everett tell you I’d phoned?”
“I’ve been out of the store for over an hour. I was expecting a call from Grant.”
Sarge bounced up and down as though on a trampoline. Angelica scooped him up and kissed the top of his head. “Did your Auntie Tricia take my little man for a walkie-walk?”
“Yes, and he’s been as good as gold. Why didn’t Grant call? He promised me he would,” Tricia said, feeling hurt.
“I’d told him I’d already called your store. Can we go inside? I’m freezing to death.” But instead of slamming the car door, she turned to speak to Baker. “Thank you so much for the ride home, Grant. I don’t know what I
