“Oh, no. I was serious about that. I am a woman scorned.” She looked down at Sarge, who looked back adoringly. Smiling, she picked him up again, planting a kiss on his head. “Wasn’t my little man brave to stand up to that bully Bob?”
“I didn’t see any blood on his pants, but if Sarge broke the skin, odds are you’re looking at a lawsuit.”
“You’re my witness. Bob ordered you to leave. I felt threatened. You don’t deny that, do you?”
“No,” Tricia answered, unsure if that was the honest truth. “And I’d feel better if I accompanied you to the alley for Sarge’s comfort stop, just in case Bob shows up again.”
“It’s okay with me,” Angelica said, and opened the Cookery’s door. They entered the store and Angelica turned on the lights and led the way to the back entrance. She disabled the security system on the back entrance and opened the door. Tricia followed her down the concrete steps to the alley and paused, thinking she’d heard some odd, unidentifiable noise.
Across the one-lane asphalt drive was a weedy strip of grass. Sarge knew why he was there and quickly finished his business. “Come, come!” Angelica called, but the dog’s ears pricked up, and he gave one sharp bark before he bolted. He ran until the leash pulled taut, jerking him to a halt, and he barked his displeasure.
Tricia squinted to try to identify what the dog was interested in. A mound of something littered the alley.
“What is that?” Angelica asked.
“I don’t know,” Tricia said, “but I could swear it moved.”
The women looked at one another and by unspoken agreement headed in the direction of the mound. Sarge bounded forward as soon as he realized the leash had gone slack and was soon upon the darkened hump, excitedly sniffing his prize.
“Good grief,” Tricia said, and picked up her pace. “I think it’s a person.”
“A person?” Angelica asked, and struggled to keep up with her sister.
Tricia bent down and reached for what she thought was a shoulder. It was a struggle to pull the body over. She gasped in recognition.
“Oh dear! It’s Chauncey Porter!”
NINETEEN
Although Tricia had touched too many dead bodies-including Pippa Comfort’s just three days before-she steeled herself to see if she could find a pulse along Chauncey’s neck. A giddy thrill ran through her as she felt the blood coursing through the carotid artery under his right ear. She looked up into Angelica’s worried face. “He’s alive,” she said, and then looked down again, noting a small patch of blood on the asphalt.
“Chauncey-Chauncey! Can you hear me?”
The portly gent’s eyes roved under his closed lids before he opened them. His hand jerked up to probe the back of his head. “Somebody hit me,” he gasped, then winced and seemed to deflate, falling back on the cold hard road surface.
“Call 911,” Tricia told Angelica as Chauncey’s hand groped to catch hers.
“No!” he cried. “Please don’t.”
“But we have to report this,” Tricia told the older man.
“No, don’t. I won’t speak to the cops,” he cried, and tried to rise, but his bulk made it too difficult and he lay back again, panting.
“What are you doing here in the alley?” Angelica asked.
“I’m trying to lose weight. For the last few weeks I’ve been walking the streets and alleys of Stoneham at night. So far I’ve lost ten pounds. My goal is sixty.”
A lofty goal, and one Tricia hoped he would make.
“You’d better press this against the back of your head. It’s bleeding a little,” she said, extracting a wad of clean but crumpled tissues from her pocket. “Do you know who hit you?”
Chauncey pressed the tissues to his head and winced. “No,” he said, but Tricia wasn’t sure she believed him.
Angelica retracted Sarge’s leash before she grabbed Chauncey’s left arm while Tricia took his right, and the women struggled to pull the hefty man to his feet. Chauncey staggered, righted himself, and then let them steady him.
“Thank you for helping me, ladies. I’ll be on my way now.” He lurched, and it was only because they both held on to him that he didn’t fall.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to call an ambulance?” Tricia asked.
Chauncey nodded and winced. “If you could just help me back to my store, I’d appreciate it.”
Tricia looked to Angelica, who nodded. “Can do,” Tricia said, and with Sarge leading the way, they started down the alley.
By the time they hit the cross street that connected with Main Street, Chauncey seemed to have regained his sense of balance. They crossed to the west side of Main, passed the Dog-Eared Page, and stopped at the door to the Armchair Tourist.
Chauncey fumbled in his coat pocket for his keys. His hand shook when he tried to insert the key in the lock, so Tricia did it for him. She opened the door and held it for him to enter, and then she, Angelica, and Sarge followed.
“You needn’t worry about me. I’m fine now.”
“You don’t look fine,” Tricia said, noting his pale complexion. “You could have a concussion. I’d feel better if you’d let us stay for a few minutes-just to make sure you’re okay.”
“I could use something hot to drink-a cup of cocoa or something,” Angelica said. “I could dash over to Booked for Lunch and make some for all of us.”
“That won’t be necessary. I have a hot pot in the back and plenty of packets of hot chocolate. I’d given them up since starting my diet, but I think I could use one right now.”
“Great,” Angelica said, and handed Sarge’s leash to Tricia. “I’ll go make us some. Be right back.” She bustled to the back storeroom. Sarge gave a plaintive whine, then settled down on the floor with his head resting on his paws, his gaze riveted on the door left ajar to the back room.
Chauncey lurched to the stool behind his cash desk and took a seat. Then he struggled out of his jacket, setting it on the ledge behind him. From the back of the store Tricia heard the sound of running water and the clanking of cups, but other than that, the store was silent. Chauncey’s gaze was focused on the top of the display case that acted as his sales counter. He didn’t seem to want to look her in the eye. If he knew who assaulted him, he didn’t want to talk about it. Would he talk about what happened at the inn on Sunday night?
“It hasn’t been a very good week, has it?” Tricia asked, breaking the ice.
Chauncey shook his head. Was there anything sadder than a lonely old fat man?
A not-so-old thin single woman with a mystery bookstore might give him a run for his money, she decided.
“I understand you and Mrs. Comfort had words before she was killed.”
That got his attention. His head snapped up, and for a moment Tricia wasn’t sure if he was angry or might cry.
“What happened?” she asked gently.
Chauncey’s cheeks grew red. “It was nothing, really. As usual, I made an ass of myself in front of a pretty woman. I’m sure it won’t be the last time.”
“I understand you recognized her from another time.”
He frowned, his eyes narrowing. “I’ll bet Mary Fairchild is spreading it all over town. I’m surprised no one has asked me about it before now.”
Again Tricia asked, “What happened?”
“I…I’m ashamed to admit it, but…I was awed by Mrs. Comfort’s former celebrity. I’m afraid I made a rather crude joke. I don’t normally say such things to women.” The additional color in his cheeks testified to that.
“What was her reaction?” Tricia asked, keeping her tone level and nonjudgmental.
“She was offended. She told me it would be a very long night indeed if she had to put up with the likes of me.”
