Berkley Prime Crime titles by Lorna Barrett
MURDER IS BINDING
BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH
BOOKPLATE SPECIAL
CHAPTER & HEARSE
SENTENCED TO DEATH
MURDER ON THE HALF SHELF
NOT THE KILLING TYPE
BOOK CLUBBED
A FATAL CHAPTER
TITLE WAVE
A JUST CLAUSE
POISONED PAGES
Anthologies
MURDER IN THREE VOLUMES
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
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Copyright © 2018 by Penguin Random House LLC
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Barrett, Lorna, author.
Title: Poisoned pages / Lorna Barrett.
Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2018. | Series: A booktown mystery ; 12
Identifiers: LCCN 2018004283 | ISBN 9780451489838 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780451489845 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Miles, Tricia (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Women booksellers—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3602.A83955 P65 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018004283
First Edition: July 2018
Cover art by Teresa Fasolino
Cover design by Steve Meditz
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes.
Version_1
For Fred and Chester
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks to Linda Kuzminczuk and Mary Kennedy for being my first readers and sharing their eagle eyes and insights.
CONTENTS
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Lorna Barrett
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Cast of Characters
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Recipes
About the Author
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Tricia Miles, owner of Haven’t Got a Clue vintage mystery bookstore
Angelica Miles, Tricia’s older sister, owner of the Cookery and the Booked for Lunch café, and half owner of the Sheer Comfort Inn. Her alter ego is Nigela Ricita, the mysterious developer who has been pumping money and jobs into the village of Stoneham.
Pixie Poe, Tricia’s assistant at Haven’t Got a Clue
Mr. Everett, Tricia’s employee at Haven’t Got a Clue
Antonio Barbero, the public face of Nigela Ricita Associates (NRA); Angelica’s stepson
Ginny Wilson-Barbero, Tricia’s former assistant; wife of Antonio Barbero
Grace Harris-Everett, Mr. Everett’s wife
Grant Baker, chief of the Stoneham Police Department
Chauncey Porter, owner of the Armchair Tourist
Mary Fairchild, owner of the By Hook or By Book crafting/bookstore
Frannie Armstrong, manages the Cookery for Angelica
Russ Smith, owner of the Stoneham Weekly News
Nikki Brimfield-Smith, owner of the Patisserie; wife of Russ Smith
Toni Bennett, owner of the Antiques Emporium
Jim Stark, Tricia’s contractor; husband of Toni Bennett
Marshall Cambridge, owner of Vamps magazine shop
Bob Kelly, former president of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce; Angelica’s ex-lover
Fred Pillins, Pixie Poe’s husband
PROLOGUE
It had taken more than a year for this day to arrive—for justice to be served. Tricia Miles was all too familiar with that particular courtroom. She’d sat through a great deal of the two-week trial, had been the state’s star witness, and with clenched fists she’d listened to the jury’s verdict. That day, she sat in the front row of the crowded courtroom patiently waiting for the grand finale. The actual sentencing. She stared at her shoes, and not Bob Kelly’s back, as Judge Edward Reed finally spoke. “Mr. Kelly, please stand.”
Kelly and his defense team stood and faced the stern-faced judge.
“Mr. Kelly, a jury has found you guilty of the charge of the second-degree murder of Christopher R. Benson. Your behavior was brazen, deliberate, and cowardly. For this crime, the court sentences you to term of imprisonment of life without parole in the New Hampshire State Prison for Men. Do you have anything to say to the court?”
Tricia looked up, not sure what she was hoping for. An apology? Some semblance of remorse?
Kelly stared at the judge. “Not to you, sir. But—” He whirled and faced the people in the gallery behind him, zeroing in on one face, his expression twisting into a contemptuous sneer.
“It’s all your fault, Tricia. Everything that happened was your fault. You’re a jinx. Everything you touch is jinxed, and everyone you love is cursed. And I curse you. May your life be a living hell until the day you die.”
Kelly turned back to the judge, who gestured for the uniformed officers to step forward. In no time, the prisoner was shackled and led from the courtroom. But as he was hauled away, he turned back to hurl one last epithet and, despite the restraints, raised his middle finger in salute.
Shaken, Tricia Miles could do nothing but stare at her black leather flats. Her sister, sitting next to her, reached over to squeeze her hand. Tricia looked up to see tears in Angelica’s eyes. Were they for Tricia, Christopher—or Kelly? He’d been Angelica’s lover for several years before she’d
found out he had cheated on her, which was the beginning of the end of their relationship.
Tricia bit her lip as a tear cascaded down her cheek. Was she a jinx? So many in the village of Stoneham seemed to think so.
“Don’t let that bully intimidate you, Trish. You did the right thing. You testified, and that beast will never be able to hurt either of us ever again.”
The judge had banged his gavel and the others in the courtroom had left their seats to shuffle toward the door, but Tricia and Angelica sat there, saying nothing, until they were the only ones left in the drafty room.
The press would be waiting outside the now-closed double doors leading to the hall outside, including Russ Smith from the Stoneham Weekly News. There’d be cameras flashing, reporters with microphones shoved in her face, and a cacophony of questions aimed at her. But just like after she’d testified, Tricia had no intention of sharing her thoughts or feelings with members of the fourth estate. She hadn’t even voiced the depth of her loss, despair, and anger to her closest confidant—her sister, Angelica. If she was honest with herself, she hadn’t let herself truly experience those emotions. She had grieved in private and in her own way. She didn’t need anyone’s permission or judgment.
And now it was over. The trial, the sentencing … and she was free to go on with her life. A life that would never include Christopher. Their marriage had been over for several years before his death, and though he’d initiated their parting, at the end, he’d wanted nothing more than to rekindle their feelings for each other—something Tricia couldn’t see happening. But then, the future was always unknown. Would she have taken him back? She told the world—and Christopher—no, but she wasn’t really sure it was a truly honest answer.
But losing Christopher had also hardened Tricia’s heart, and she wasn’t sure she would allow herself to love again. As she looked down at the empty ring finger on her left hand, Tricia reminded herself that the prospects in a village as small as Stoneham were few and far between.
A tap on her hand brought Tricia out of her reverie, and Angelica spoke. “Come on. We’ve got a party to go to.”
Tricia hadn’t planned for her housewarming party to coincide with Kelly’s sentencing. The date had been moved up so the judge could have knee replacement surgery. Still, the timing was ironic.
Angelica gave her hand one more squeeze and then rose to her feet. “Come along.” Sometimes she spoke to Tricia in the same tone she spoke to her dog, Sarge.
Dutifully Tricia followed. She wasn’t in the mood for a party. She felt numb, but, as Angelica had told her earlier that day when she’d thought about canceling, “The show must go on.”
And so it would.
It was time to stop letting Bob Kelly, and the misery he had inflicted, control her life.
Tricia forced a smile. “Let’s go home. The drinks are on me.”
*
• • •
Tricia and Angelica made one brief stop after leaving the Nashua courtroom, stopping at the Stoneham Rural Cemetery. Dressed all in black, Angelica waited on the path, a few yards away from the grave. Tricia had chosen to wear her blue coat, and underneath that a summer dress totally inappropriate for the cold November day—but it was a dress Christopher had admired. He would have been pleased to see her in it.
“It’s over,” she whispered as the brisk wind whipped her hair around her face and she bent down to place a solitary white calla lily on the grave. It was her favorite flower. Christopher had given her many bouquets of them during the happy years they’d spent together, and those were the times she chose to remember. Not the terrible sorrow that had enveloped her heart during the past fifteen months since his violent passing.
“Bob Kelly got life. He will never hurt another person, and he has the rest of his life to regret what he did to you—to us. To everyone who knew and admired you. It was a very small price for him to pay.”
Tricia knew Christopher couldn’t hear her words, but she needed to say them.
“I love you. I’ll always remember you.” And then she said the words she hadn’t been able to say in more than a year, since his death.
“Good-bye.”
ONE
Never had 221b Main Street, Stoneham, New Hampshire, seen so many people enter its doors. Instead of customers arriving for a book signing at Haven’t Got a Clue, the village’s vintage mystery bookstore, this gathering was of friends, sort-of relatives, and business associates from the local Chamber of Commerce. It was also Tricia’s first stab at entertaining more than one or two people. Perhaps, she thought as another guest entered the newly refurbished living room of her loft apartment, she should have started with a more modest get-together. The space had more recently been a storeroom filled with shelves and boxes full of vintage mysteries. That stock now resided in the basement, which had also been renovated. The open-concept space was now bright, inviting, and—more importantly—felt like home.
“Isn’t this a wonderful party?” Pixie Poe called, Tricia’s newly married assistant. Pixie looked radiant in a vintage black, tight-fitting cocktail dress with a beaded bodice. Where she continually found those flirtatious frocks was a mystery to Tricia, but the style fit her to a T.
“Thanks for making the music mix CDs. They’re perfect for a cocktail party.”
“When it comes to entertainment, ya can’t beat der Bingle, Frank, Dino, Tommy Dorsey, and the boys.”
Before Tricia could reply, Angelica swooped past with a brightly polished silver tray of stemmed wineglasses filled with Chardonnay. “We’ve run out of red,” she called as she began worming her way through the crowd.
Tricia’s former assistant, and now step-niece and adopted little sister, Ginny Wilson-Barbero, had donned an apron that Angelica must have supplied and was passing around yet another silver tray with salmon cucumber rosettes. They looked adorable on the frilly paper doily–covered platter—just as Tricia had hoped they would.
As she passed by the floor-to-ceiling antique mirror that stood against the east wall of her new digs, Tricia noted she looked pretty good, too—considering she’d spent an hour or so crying her eyes out after returning from the cemetery. But now that the trial was behind her, she was determined not to think about it or Christopher’s killer. When redecorating the apartment, she had allowed herself to display one framed photo of Christopher and her, taken on their honeymoon in Cancún, but that was it. She’d even stopped wearing his engagement ring on a chain around her neck. She now thought of herself as free to move on with her life, and the party was one big step in that direction.
Contractor Jim Stark and his team had finished their work on the transformation more than a month before, but Tricia had wanted to settle in—finding just the right places to set her treasures, some of which had been boxed up for years—and, more importantly, to test the recipes she’d serve at her first (and possibly only) big bash. The ones she’d fed to her pseudofamily at their weekly Sunday dinners. Nobody had complained, and, in fact, the praise had been effusive, which had given her a much-needed boost of confidence in her burgeoning culinary skills.
Tricia headed toward the dry bar she’d set up on a vintage glass-topped patio table. It had been a housewarming gift from Pixie and her groom, Fred Pillins, and it went perfectly with the eclectic furnishings she’d chosen. Although the table was laden with the best alcoholic spirits, Tricia decided she’d better keep a clear head. She plunked some ice into an old-fashioned glass, poured club soda from an opened bottle, and took a sip. Eh.
“Great party,” Russ Smith said from behind Tricia, startling her.
“Hi, Russ. So glad you could make it.” Although he certainly hadn’t dressed for such a party, wearing instead his usual attire of a plaid flannel shirt and rather grungy jeans. His only concession was a tired-looking corduroy sport coat with leather patches on the elbows that he’d probably worn since college. “Is Nikki here, too?”
Russ tipped his glass
, with what looked like Scotch in it, toward his wife, who was standing near one of the windows overlooking Main Street and conversing with Frannie Armstrong.
Nikki looked fabulous in the proverbial little black dress, with her hair pulled back in a chignon, looking much more sophisticated than she did when behind the counter of the village’s only bakery, the Patisserie, which she owned. However, the effect was spoiled, as she looked to be bored out of her mind. In contrast, Frannie, who managed Angelica’s store, the Cookery—a cookbook and sundries store—looked like a tourist who’d lost her way en route to our fiftieth state. Tricia had only ever seen Frannie wear something other than a loud aloha shirt on rare occasions. Frannie, a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, seemed to be snagging anyone who would listen so that she could introduce her latest gentleman friend, whom she’d met via an online dating service. She found a lot of guys that way, but none of them seemed to last long. Tricia had already forgotten the poor man’s name. The tall gent, with a graying beard and sparse hair, didn’t seem all that enthused to be attending the party, nor being shown off like Frannie’s pet dog. Tricia felt sorry for him.
“It sure feels good to be out and about—and on a weeknight,” Russ said, eyeing the Scotch bottle on the table. “That’s just about unheard of for us.” He took a hearty slug of his drink.
“Is it tough finding a babysitter?”
“More like tough getting Nikki to leave little Russell. She feels guilty for plunking him in day care most of the week. It’s not like the kid is even up this late,” he lamented. Not for the first time, Tricia got the impression that Russ wasn’t exactly thrilled to be a daddy.