ONE * Ever since Angelica Miles idly commented that she and her sister, Tricia, were going into business together, Tricia felt like the venture was doomed. Events since then seemed to prove her right. Stoneham Stoneware had opened in the village about the same time as several other businesses. What made it unique was that it wasn''t a used bookstore. Stoneham, New Hampshire''s unofficial name was "Booktown." Those book dealers saved the once-failing village-so much so that a plethora of other enterprises had been drawn to the burg that was often in the running for prettiest village in the Granite State. Sadly, it had lost its distinction of being the safest village in the state. Some of the villagers blamed Tricia for that, since an unfortunate string of murders and other crimes seemed to occur just after her arrival and the opening of her mystery bookstore, Haven''t Got a Clue.
Stoneham Stoneware was on the brink of bankruptcy when Angelica swooped in to save it by buying out its owner, Leona Ferguson, who, at first, seemed only too happy to turn over the financial burden to the Miles sisters. However, soon after the keys to the shop had been given up, Leona had seller''s remorse. She offered to return the money and call it even, but that only made Angelica dig in her heels, determined to keep the store and drag it back to solvency-and in a hurry. Tricia understood the appeal of turning a failing business into a success. Angelica had a flair for just that-even if she wasn''t exactly an expert when it came to dishware. That''s where Tricia''s companion of the last year came in. Although younger than the sisters (something that had been a juicy piece of gossip for some-with muttered oaths of "cougar" directed at Tricia), in addition to being a children''s librarian, David Price was a walking encyclopedia of fine china and porcelain. His knowledge of cutlery wasn''t too shabby, either.
Angelica saw David''s unofficial role of consultant to be a boon as she intended to elevate the quality of the products their new business had on offer. Leona''s stock had concentrated on new dishware. Angelica was focused on bringing in new and vintage patterns, along with other unique specimens. That set Leona off, taking it as an insult to her managerial skills. Of course, some might say driving the business to the brink of ruin had already done that. Since being rebuffed in her bid to have the business returned to her, Leona had directed a barrage of e-mails, texts, and phone calls at the sisters-cajoling, haranguing, and finally pleading for them to return Stoneham Stoneware to her. Tricia was ready to do just that, but Angelica wouldn''t hear of it. Stoneham Stoneware was hers, and that''s the way it would stay-apparently forgetting Tricia was her partner and had a say in such things.
Tricia''s opinions had fallen on deaf ears. Early September wasn''t the best time for tourists in Booktown. Once Labor Day passed, the summer people returned to work and their kids to school. Leaf-peeping season wouldn''t begin for at least three or four weeks, but the lull in trade was good for planning for the holiday season and beyond. Tricia''s assistant manager, Pixie Poe, a decade older than Tricia, and a flaming redhead that month, was outfitted that Friday morning in a sunny shirtwaist dress. It was, after all, still officially summer. Pixie stood behind the glass display case that doubled as a cash desk, with a moth-eaten copy of A Taste for Death by P. D.
James before her. The book wasn''t in good enough condition to sell, but was just fine to read. Pixie got it in a box lot at an auction the week before. She attended auctions, rummage, tag, and estate sales, acting as a picker for half the merchants on Main Street. She and David were Sunday thrifting buddies, with him looking for dishware and vintage children''s books, while she looked for anything of interest for her regular clients. Tricia stood before the store''s stereo system, trying to decide which CDs to put in the five-disc player. She''d resisted subscribing to a music streaming service as she, Pixie, and her other employee, Mr. Everett, preferred to choose their own playlists.
Pixie was a big-band fan; Tricia opted for Celtic and new age music, and Mr. Everett-a gentleman in his early eighties-favored classic and progressive rock but seldom requested those tunes in deference to their clientele. It was his day off, and Tricia''s day to choose. Tricia had just picked up the newest David Arkenstone CD when her phone pinged. "And there it goes again," Pixie called. After all, it was only the fourth or fifth time Tricia''s phone had sounded since the store opened some ten minutes before. Tricia put the CD in the player and chose another four before the phone pinged again. "Aren''t you going to see who wants your attention?" Pixie asked.
"Not a chance," Tricia said. They both knew it was Leona. "But what if it isn''t her?" Pixie asked. Tricia hit the play button. "Then whoever it is can wait until I''m good and ready to answer-if I answer." Celtic strains issued from the shop''s speakers-a new age take on traditional Irish music. Tricia wondered if she ought to pour herself another cup of coffee from the hot beverage station, when the bell over the shop door rang and a familiar figure entered. "Long time, no see," Tricia said as Stoneham''s police chief entered Haven''t Got a Clue.
"What brings you here?" McDonald didn''t wear a uniform. Instead, he chose to wear a dark suit and tie, starched white shirts, and his ginger beard neatly trimmed. He was definitely a hunk who spoke with a charming Irish lilt. Tricia had met McDonald several years before when he''d been the top security officer on the Celtic Lady cruise ship. It had been a memorable journey, but Tricia would just as soon forget some parts of it. Especially the murder of a bestselling author. "May I speak with you on a personal matter?" McDonald asked. Since they''d barely talked in months, Tricia couldn''t fathom what the man could possibly want to say.
Still . "Of course." She turned her attention to Pixie. "We''ll be down in the office if you need me." "Sure thing," Pixie said with a raised eyebrow. Tricia might or might not confide in her later. Once in the basement office, Tricia ushered the chief to sit in the room''s only chair, while she rested her butt against the office''s desk. "So," she said, hoping he''d get to the point.
McDonald composed his features. "It''s Becca." Oh, dear, Tricia thought. She and the retired, world-class tennis champ, Becca Dickson-Chandler, hadn''t spoken in months since Tricia''s father, John Miles, had helped engineer a plot to kidnap Becca and hold her for ransom. "I can''t imagine her ever wanting to have anything to do with my sister or me after what she endured earlier this year." "Yes, she''s stated as much." Tricia nodded. "Is your wedding to her still on?" "So far," McDonald said.
"I only hope this beautiful weather will hold for another two weeks." "I''ll cross my fingers for you." "Thanks." An uncomfortable silence followed. "You didn''t come here just to give me a wedding update." Tricia had originally been slated to act as Becca''s maid of honor, but that had fallen by the wayside, and she hadn''t even received an invitation to the nuptials. "What''s up?" "As you can imagine, Becca was rather traumatized by . by what happened last spring.
She hasn''t fully recovered." "I''m not surprised," Tricia said sincerely. Tricia and Becca had never been close. Becca had been the proverbial thorn in Tricia''s side for far too long. But she did feel bad for the woman who''d had to endure who-knew-what at the hands of Leonardo Dixon, who was apparently Angelica''s godfather. Tricia had never been christened. It seemed her mother was fine with her secondborn being relegated to the state of purgatory at some point in the future. "In fact," McDonald continued, "she''s undergone a bit of a personality change.
" Tricia frowned. "In what way?" "She''s lost her joie de vivre." "I''m sorry to hear that. What do you think she needs?" "To bat some balls around a tennis court," he said bluntly. Tricia frowned. "She hired several instructors for her club. Why doesn''t she play one of them?" "She has a reputation to uphold." "Surely she played exhibition games during the opening of her inaugural tennis club.
" It had opened several weeks before at the edge of the village. Tricia hadn''t been invited to that event, either. "No." He let the blunt statement hang in the air. Tricia knew where this conversation was about to veer. "And you want me to play a game of singles with her so she doesn''t look like a has-been?" McDonald looked embarrassed. "She doesn''t think much of your talent but admires your discretion." Tricia blinked.
"So, you think beating me at the game will bolster her confidence?" McDonald shrugged. "It couldn''t hurt." Tricia never considered herself to be a tennis wiz, but she could hold her own on the court-or at least she had the last time she played, although not with a world champion even if Becca was past her prime. "She said your sister was better than you." That was a given. Just about every aspect of Angelica''s life was unusual, especially her secret identity of Nigela Racita. Nigela-with h.