He shook his head sadly. “I’m sure it will all work out,” he said without conviction. “Grace and I have weathered worse storms when we lost our first spouses. I just never anticipated how winning that damn lottery could cause us so much trouble.”
It was the first time Tricia had ever heard Mr. Everett curse, which proved how upset he really was.
Tricia heard the phone ring, and Linda answered it. She rested a hand on Mr. Everett’s. “I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Tricia-phone call,” Linda said, holding out the receiver.
Tricia hurried to the cash desk, “Tricia Miles, can I help you?”
“It’s Grant. You were supposed to record a statement about the Comfort murder on Monday. This is now Wednesday.”
“I was on my way to the station and got sidetracked. I can be there in five minutes.”
“I’ll time you,” he said, but there was no humor in his voice.
She hung up the phone. “I’ve got to run yet another errand,” she told Linda. “I’m sorry to keep leaving you to fend for yourself.”
“Don’t worry about it. That
Tricia nodded, happy she hadn’t taken her coat off. “I’ll try to be back within the hour,” she said, and out the door she went.
Chief Baker wasn’t waiting for her when she arrived at the station, but his administrative assistant was. And it took just about an hour before she took Tricia’s statement, let her read through it for mistakes, and then had Tricia sign it. By the time she headed back to Haven’t Got a Clue it was after three o’clock, and not only did Tricia feel like she’d gotten nothing accomplished that day, but she felt terribly frazzled, wondering what else could go wrong.
She found out upon entering the store when a distraught Linda met her at the door.
“I’m terribly worried about Mr. Everett. He came over all flushed a while ago and started to sweat. I wanted to call his wife or an ambulance, but he wouldn’t let me.”
Tricia hurried over to the old man sitting in the reader’s nook. “Mr. Everett, are you okay?” The flush Linda had spoken of had left his sweating face, but he looked pale and Tricia could see he was having trouble breathing.
“I’m fine,” he said in between short gasping breaths.
“I don’t think you are. I’m going to call 911.”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Please don’t. I’ll feel better in a few moments. I just needed to sit down for a few minutes.”
If he was having a heart attack, they couldn’t afford to wait a few minutes.
“I’m sorry, but this is one time I’ll have to overrule your wishes,” she said, and hurried to the old Art Deco phone on the cash desk. Dialing the nine and waiting for it to cycle back seemed to take forever, and Tricia cursed herself for having such an ancient phone. But it looked pretty, and since she sold vintage books, she felt it added to the ambience of her store-but now it was just a relic that was holding up help for her dear friend. Finally a dispatcher came on the line.
“The EMTs will be there in no time. Do you want to hang on until they come?”
“No. I’d better call his wife,” Tricia said, and ended the call. She didn’t want to wait for the incredibly slow phone to make the connection, so she took her cell phone from her coat pocket and punched in the number.
“Everett Charity Foundation. This is Pixie. How can I help you?”
“Hi. This is Tricia Miles-” But before she could say anymore, Tricia heard a click in her ear and then nothing. “Hello? Hello?”
She dialed again. “Everett Charity Foundation.”
“Pixie, this is Tricia Miles. I must speak to Grace immediately, it’s an em-”
“Sorry, bitch. You got around me this morning, but you’re not getting through to the boss now. I don’t care what your excuse is. You crossed me. I got in trouble. Now you’re dead to me. Good-bye.”
Again the line went dead.
Tricia dialed again, but this time Pixie didn’t pick up. She probably had caller ID.
The sound of sirens broke the relative quiet of Main Street and a fire rescue truck pulled up across the street. Tricia hurried to the door to open it for them just as an ambulance pulled up in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. The EMTs tumbled out of the van and collected their gear. Tricia held the door open for them to enter, and Linda waved them to the reader’s nook.
Tricia stood back as the EMTs asked Mr. Everett a series of questions, which he answered. He was starting to look scared-as scared as Tricia felt.
“Were you able to get hold of his wife?” Linda whispered.
Tricia shook her head. “She’s right across the street. I should go over there right now and holler through the door.” At Linda’s puzzled look, she explained about Pixie.
One of the EMTs joined them. “We’re going to transport him to St. Joseph Hospital in Milford-just to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll try to find his wife and follow in my own car.”
The EMT nodded and headed out the door.
“I’m going across the street to get Grace. I’ll be right back,” Tricia told Linda, and headed out the door. The EMT was removing a gurney from the back of the ambulance as Tricia left the store. She looked up and saw Pixie looking down at the street, probably alerted by the flashing lights. When she saw Tricia looking at her, she turned away.
Tricia frowned and hurried across the street. She entered the building and practically ran up the stairs to the second-floor office, but when she reached for the door, she found it locked.
“Pixie, open up! I must speak to Grace.”
Suddenly she heard a blast of music shake the walls and door.
“Open up!” she demanded, but the decibels only cranked higher.
Giving the door one good kick, she turned and hurried back down the stairs. She made it to the street just as they were loading Mr. Everett into the back of the ambulance. She hurried to catch up and the EMTs paused to let her speak to him.
“I haven’t found Grace yet, but I’ll keep trying.”
“Will you come with me?” he asked, sounding frightened. He reached for her hand, and she captured it. “Yes. I’ll grab my purse and I’ll follow the ambulance. I’ll see you there.”
The EMTs gently removed his hand from hers, loaded him in, and closed the doors.
Tricia hurried back to Haven’t Got a Clue.
“I’ve got to go with him,” she told Linda.
“What do we do about the store?”
“Can you lock up at closing?”
“Yes, of course. You can count on me.”
Tricia went behind the register and grabbed her purse. Tucked in the inside pocket was the key she had once given to Ginny. She handed it to Linda. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Could you give Miss Marple some cat snacks before you leave? There’s a bag under the counter at the beverage station.”
“Of course. Now go. Mr. Everett needs you,” she said, giving Tricia a hopeful smile.
And out the door Tricia flew, just as the ambulance took off. She looked up at the windows of the Everett Charitable Foundation, but this time she did not see Pixie. And though she couldn’t hear the booming music, she could almost swear she heard the sound of mocking laughter.
EIGHTEEN
It was long past dark by the time Tricia let herself into Haven’t Got a Clue and instantly
