A perilous plot, p.1
A Perilous Plot, page 1
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
A Killer Edition
Handbook for Homicide
A Deadly Deletion
Clause of Death
A Questionable Character
A Controversial Cover
A Perilous Plot
Anthologies
Murder in Three Volumes
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Copyright © 2025 by Penguin Random House LLC
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Cover illustration by Teresa Fasolino
Book design by Laura K. Corless, adapted for ebook
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Barrett, Lorna, author.
Title: A perilous plot / Lorna Barrett.
Description: New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2025. | Series: A Booktown mystery
Identifiers: LCCN 2025005729 (print) | LCCN 2025005730 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593819210 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780593819234 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Detective and mystery fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PS3602.A83955 P47 2025 (print) | LCC PS3602.A83955 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20250210
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2025005729
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2025005730
Ebook ISBN 9780593819234
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ep_prh_7.3a_153081975_c0_r0
Contents
Acknowledgments
Cast of Characters
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
Epilogue
Recipes
About the Author
_153081975_
Acknowledgments
It takes a village of support to write a book, and I’m lucky to have friends who are there for me along the way. My thanks go to members of the Lorraine Train: Amy Connolley, Debbie Lyon, Rita Pierrottie, and Kim Templeton, as well as my author friends Shirley Hailstock and Mary Kennedy for comments, catching typos, and sharing their collective knowledge. I’m also lucky to have my agent, Jessica Faust, who’s always in my corner. Thanks, guys!
And if you haven’t already checked out Lorraine’s and Lorna’s Cozy Perpetual Tea Party page, you can find the group on Facebook. (See you there!)
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, the Booked for Lunch café, and the Booked for Beauty day spa, 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 manager at Haven’t Got a Clue
Mr. Everett, Tricia’s employee at Haven’t Got a Clue
David Price, Stoneham’s new children’s librarian and Tricia’s special friend
Antonio Barbero, the public face of Nigela Ricita Associates, Angelica’s son
Ginny Wilson-Barbero, Tricia’s former assistant, wife of Antonio Barbero
Grace Harris-Everett, Mr. Everett’s wife, manages their charity, the Everett Foundation
Ian McDonald, chief of police, Stoneham Police Department
Becca Dickson-Chandler, former tennis star, Tricia’s sort-of friend
Cleo Gardener, innkeeper at Stonecreek Manor
Sheila Miles, Tricia and Angelica’s mother
John Miles, Tricia and Angelica’s father
Bunny Murdock, honorary aunt to Tricia and Angelica, their mother’s best friend
One
“I hate this place.”
Tricia Miles glanced at her older-by-five-years sister, Angelica, who sat beside her in the Baker Funeral Home’s comfortable family room. Luckily, Mr. Baker—the home’s owner and head mortician—had left them, taking with him the urn containing the earthly remains of their father, John.
The sisters decided to commemorate the anniversary of their father’s birth by celebrating his life with mourning jewelry. It wasn’t Tricia’s idea, but she didn’t find it morbid. Well, at least, not too morbid. Angelica had chosen a hummingbird charm, while Tricia had selected a dragonfly—both creatures that flew free.
Six months had passed quicker than Tricia could have imagined. Back in October—and out of the blue—their mother had shown up with the urn. They still weren’t clear what malady had taken their father’s life. Sheila Miles had been pretty vague about the details. And then she’d checked out of Stoneham’s Brookview Inn early the next morning, leaving the quaint New Hampshire village without a word.
Tricia’s relationship with her mother had always been rocky. Three years before, it seemed that Sheila had a change of heart. She even spoke about the four of them attending family therapy, but that never happened. Months went by. Angelica tried to keep in touch, but Sheila and John went back to traveling to their various homes—and in different countries—and their usual communications blackouts. Also, as in the past, they resumed their previous roles. Sheila wearing the pants, John being browbeaten, Angelica the favored child, and Tricia persona non grata.
She was used to that.
Upon Sheila’s disappearance, Angelica hadn’t had any luck tracking her down, either. With all the business deals and projects she juggled, it wasn’t at the top of her list of things to do. Dealing with their parents was just one task too many.
Finding their mother wasn’t on any of Tricia’s lists. For most of Tricia’s life, she and her mother had been at odds—not Tricia’s fault. Tricia’s twin brother was a SIDS baby. Sheila had never forgiven Tricia for the sin of surviving infancy when Patrick hadn’t. Three years before, they’d come to a sort of understanding, but it hadn’t lasted long. They hadn’t spoken in over a year before Sheila’s abrupt arrival and equally fast departure. They’d barely spoken the evening Sheila dropped in on one of the weekly dinners with Tricia’s chosen family. Those people included Angelica’s son, Antonio Barbero; his wife (and Tricia’s former employee), Ginny; and their two children, Sofia and baby Will; as well as Tricia’s current employee, Mr. Everett, an older gentleman; and his wife, Grace. Last but not least, Tricia’s current beau, David Price. She’d introduced the young man—twenty years younger than Tricia—as her friend. David could have taken offense at the apparent slight, but she’d previously filled him in on the complicated relationship she and Sheila shared. No doubt he wasn’t keen to be a victim of Sheila’s acid tongue. David was about to graduate with a master’s degree in library science and currently worked at the Stoneham Library as its children’s librarian, a job he loved. He also had a love for antiques and fine china, and he and Angelica had bond ed over that.
“How are you going to wear your charm?” Angelica asked.
Tricia shrugged. “I bought a chain, but then I thought I might add it to the bracelet I’ve had since junior high.”
“I bought a silver chain. I’m going to wear it twenty-four/seven.”
Good for you, Tricia thought. She intended to add the charm to her bracelet and place it in the back of her jewelry box. She might wear it once or twice a year.
Maybe.
The sound of someone clearing his throat caused the sisters to look up. Mr. Baker stood at the doorway, looking even more somber than usual.
Tricia stood, but Mr. Baker waved to her to retake her seat and entered the room, placing the urn on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch opposite the sisters.
Angelica gave her sister a side-eye. No other form of communication was necessary to convey what she was thinking: something about the urn wasn’t on the up-and-up.
Sheila Miles had always kept her husband on a short leash, and it became apparent why three years before when the sisters learned (through bitter experience) that their beloved father was an experienced con artist. They’d grown up in privilege, but it was their mother’s inherited money that paid the bills, not what their father earned. In fact, Tricia never really knew what kind of job her father worked—or if he worked at all.
“Is something wrong?” Tricia asked innocently, dreading the answer.
“Well, yes.” Mr. Baker seemed reluctant to explain.
“And?” Angelica queried.
Mr. Baker chewed his lip, apparently choosing his words carefully before speaking.
“Some kind of fraud appears to have been perpetrated.”
“Oh, God, now what?” Angelica grumbled.
“It pains me to be the purveyor of unwelcome news, but the urn did not contain human remains,” the old gent said solemnly.
“What kind of remains does it hold?” Angelica asked sourly, glaring at the offending piece of porcelain.
“Not remains but…kitty litter.”
“Kitty litter?” Tricia asked, shocked.
“Uh, yes, of the clay variety.”
“I have a cat. I know what kitty litter is,” Tricia said. And then she remembered hearing that unscrupulous funeral directors had sometimes passed off cat litter as cremains while leaving the bodies left in their care to decompose in sheds and other inappropriate places.
“We don’t know who…who did the work,” Angelica said in a tone Tricia knew well. Do. Not. Cross.
“Yes, containers usually have some kind of documentation to certify the cremation. Do you have such paperwork?”
“No,” Angelica said, her voice almost a growl. “Our mother gave us the urn—telling us our father had passed. She didn’t share much more about the circumstances of his passing.”
“That’s quite unfortunate,” Mr. Baker said gravely. “However, that isn’t the only anomaly.”
Tricia raised an eyebrow. Angelica’s expression seemed to convey two messages: Now what?—and—Of course!
“There was something else in the urn,” Mr. Baker said.
The sisters waited expectantly as Mr. Baker reached into his suit coat pocket and withdrew a dusty plastic object. As though reluctant to place it in their hands, he set it on the table, beside the urn.
Again, the sisters exchanged glances. It was apparent that Angelica had no intention of touching the item, even though it hadn’t been covered with cremains. It was up to Tricia to do so.
And she did.
The item was sealed in several layers of plastic, as well as a layer of Bubble Wrap. Tricia could have extricated it a lot faster if she’d had more than just the nail file she’d retrieved from her purse.
With every second that passed, Angelica seemed to get more and more frustrated. Finally, Tricia extracted the item.
“A watch?” Angelica grumbled.
“Not just any watch,” Tricia said. “It’s a Rolex.”
Angelica shook her head. “It’s probably fake—or stolen,” she grated.
Mr. Baker raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
“Well,” Tricia said, standing, “I guess we won’t be needing your services today, Mr. Baker. What do we owe you?”
“No charge. I’m only sorry I couldn’t fulfill your wish to add cremains to the charms.” He reached into his other pocket and withdrew a folded envelope, presumably containing the sterling silver trinkets. “Please let me know if I can be of service in the future.”
“We’ll do that,” Angelica said, and stood. “I just hope it won’t be too soon.”
“As do I,” Baker said gravely. Tricia idly wondered if his voice had atrophied from speaking softly for so many years.
The sisters left the home and walked in silence to Angelica’s car. Getting in, they sat staring at the empty parking lot for long seconds before Angelica spoke.
“So, do you think Daddy’s actually dead? Had he fooled mother into thinking he was dead? Or this time, was it Mother who pulled a scam on us?”
Tricia sighed. “Well, if Daddy did want to fake his own death, he hasn’t resurfaced to ask us—you—for money. Yet,” she muttered.
“Why do I feel like we have to wait for the other shoe to drop?” Angelica griped.
“It’s been this way ever since Mother and Daddy left Rio and came back to the US.”
“Maybe they should have stayed in Brazil.” Angelica placed her hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. “What do we do next?”
“One of them is bound to surface—eventually. I might take on the task of looking for Mother,” Tricia said. “But first, I’ll see if I can track down more information—like try to locate a death certificate.”
“That could be a rabbit hole you’ll never escape from. Our parents have at least four homes scattered around the globe. In what jurisdiction would you look?” Angelica asked.
Tricia shook her head.
“Or…we could do what we should have done when Mother disappeared from Stoneham back in the fall,” Angelica suggested.
Tricia’s heart sank. “Oh, no—please don’t suggest we—”
“—call Aunt Bunny?” Angelica finished. “Why not?”
“Because I can’t stand the woman. I never could,” Tricia asserted.
“She always liked you. She’s just a little off-kilter. I’m sure she’s outgrown that by now,” Angelica said, her tone flippant at best.
Tricia gave her sister the evil eye. “If you invite her here, she’s your problem. I refuse to deal with her.”
“She’s not that bad,” Angelica insisted.
“Oh, yes, she is. She causes almost as much trouble as Daddy. I don’t understand why Mother ever put up with her.”
Of course, Aunt Bunny wasn’t their aunt by blood, but Sheila’s lifelong friend. Because of her name, Tricia had always thought of the woman as a dumb bunny—and a bit of a flake.
Angelica gripped the wheel once again. “Isn’t it strange that, instead of thinking a mistake had been made at a funeral home, we immediately assume something underhanded is going on with our parents?”
“Nope,” Tricia said succinctly. She withdrew the heavy, man’s watch from her purse. “If I’m not mistaken, each Rolex has a serial number. Call me suspicious, but I’ll bet it isn’t registered to Daddy.”
“He could have bought it used but, as I said, it’s more likely a phony,” Angelica declared.
Tricia lowered her gaze. “Mother would never stand for Daddy wearing a phony watch. I’ll bet it’s the real thing, and I intend to find out. Today.”
Angelica shrugged. “Go for it. And if it is hot?”
“Then I’ll be paying Chief McDonald a visit.” And PDQ. “One way or another, there’s some kind of fraud going on.”
