A perilous plot, p.20
A Perilous Plot, page 20
“Pigs is right,” Sheila said.
A royal flush rose up from Angelica’s neck to stain her cheeks. “Some of those people may not have been born in this country, but they are the hardest, most loyal employees on the face of the planet.”
“How would you know? They don’t work for you,” Sheila sneered.
Angelica breathed in deeply through her nose before answering. “Antonio told me so.”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Another immigrant.”
Angelica jumped to her feet. “Dinner is done,” she announced. “Why don’t you go up to your room, Mother.”
Sheila glared at her older daughter. “I’m not your mother.”
“Then retire for the night, old woman,” Angelica declared.
Tricia and David had remained silent through the discord. After all, what could they say?
“I think I will,” Sheila said defiantly. She pushed her chair back, rose to her feet, and walked out of the room.
Silence settled over the room like a shroud. It was Tricia who finally broke the quiet. “Well, that was…something,” was all she could come up with.
“What’ll you do? Get her a burner phone?” David asked Angelica.
“Yes. I want to limit her contacts. But the truth is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she already has a phone hidden here in the manor. I mean…how did she get in here in the first place? Did Bunny let her in? And who else has had access to the place?”
Tricia didn’t like to think about it. After all, she and David would be staying the night in the manor. And there was still the specter of the man Angelica had called Uncle Leo. Who was he and what was his relationship with Sheila and/or John Miles?
Tricia wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
* * *
* * *
After tossing and turning for more than an hour, Tricia reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. She knew from past experience that doing so wasn’t likely to affect David, who would instinctively turn over to avoid the light. They’d discussed it on more than one occasion, and he was so pro-reading, he didn’t care who did it where or when. They were simpatico on that.
Tricia sat cross-legged on the bed, her book nestled between her knees, and after about half an hour she felt drowsy enough to place her bookmark between the pages and close the book, when suddenly the light winked out. The lamp’s bulb hadn’t suddenly brightened before expiring, so the power must have given out, which sometimes happened in a village as old as Stoneham.
Tricia placed the book on the floor next to the bed. She hunkered down, pulling the duvet up to her chin, closed her eyes, and hoped sleep would come sooner rather than later.
Tuning in to a favorite memory—the champagne tea on the Celtic Lady cruise ship that she’d shared with Angelica—Tricia tried to remember each and every moment, from the white tux–clad servers to the lovely little cakes and crustless sandwiches.
Tricia was melting into that memory when a woman’s scream pierced the darkness. As Tricia was only one of two women in the mansion, that meant it was Sheila who made the sound.
Suddenly wide awake, Tricia poked David hard enough to rouse him.
“Get up! Sheila just screamed!” she cried, and threw off the covers, grabbed her phone, pawing through the apps before she tapped its flashlight feature and stumbled out of the room into the hall.
Something—someone—barreled into her, knocking Tricia to the ground and sending her phone flying. Righting herself, Tricia crawled to recapture her phone before climbing to her feet and finding her way to Sheila’s room, where she found her mother cowering in her bed, the covers drawn up to her chin.
“Are you okay?” Tricia demanded as she approached the older woman.
“Of course I’m not!” Sheila wailed. “Someone just tried to choke me.”
Tricia stepped forward and Sheila lunged at her, capturing Tricia in a near stranglehold.
“What’s going on?” David asked from the doorway, outlined in silhouette.
“Someone was in Sheila’s room,” Tricia managed above her mother’s wails.
“Where’s Sarge?” David asked. “Why didn’t he bark?”
“I don’t know.” Had something happened to the little dog? “The security system’s been breached. Someone’s in the house.”
“I’ll go look,” David said, and disappeared from the doorway in only his underwear, taking the light from his phone with him.
“He tried to kill me!” Sheila cried, still hanging on to Tricia for dear life.
“Who? Who tried to kill you?” Tricia demanded, but Sheila gave no answer and just continued to sob uncontrollably.
Tricia found herself patting her mother on the back, trying to soothe the woman while feeling nothing but resentment. At no time in her life did she ever remember Sheila comforting her.
Time dragged. It must have been five minutes or so since David left them before Sheila’s sobs dwindled and she pulled away. The lights came on—at least in the room across from Sheila’s. Tricia’s ringtone sounded, startling the women.
Sheila grabbed the bedclothes, pulling them up to her chin once more as Tricia accepted the call. “David?”
“I found the breaker box. Someone tripped the main switch. And Sarge—”
Sudden panic coursed through Tricia. “Please don’t tell me—”
“He’s alive but unresponsive. I think someone may have drugged him.”
“If anything happens to that dog Angelica will kill me!”
“Don’t panic. He’s as limp as a dishrag, but he’s still breathing. Siri tells me there’s a twenty-four-hour vet in Nashua. I’ll get him in the car and call them on the way. I just need to get my wallet and clothes.”
“I can bring them down to you,” Tricia said.
“Don’t leave me alone!” Sheila shrieked.
“Call nine one one and get the cops out here. Once you do that, bring my stuff down,” David advised.
“Okay,” Tricia agreed, her mouth dry, feeling like the earth beneath her was shaky.
The connection was cut.
With a trembling hand, Tricia reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. Then she hit the call button on her phone and tapped the numbers 911.
“Nine one one. What is your emergency?”
“Someone broke into Stonecreek Manor.”
“The what?” asked the dispatcher.
“The old Morrison Mansion in Stoneham.” She gave the woman the address.
“Are you safe?” the disembodied woman’s voice asked.
“I think so. I think we scared him away—at least away from his intended victim.”
“I’m not a victim!” Sheila declared, and began to wail once again.
“Someone’s on the way,” the dispatcher said.
“Great.”
“Stay on the line.”
“Can do,” Tricia replied, but she set the phone to mute. “Lock this door and don’t let anyone in. In fact, wedge that chair”—she pointed to the seat under the desk—“against the door handle and wait for me to tell you it’s safe.”
Sheila nodded, still looking terrified.
Tricia pulled the door closed and waited to hear it lock, and the chair being dragged across the floor and shoved under the handle.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Tricia told her mother before dashing across the hall and stuffing her feet into her slippers. She found David’s wallet in his jeans, grabbed them, his discarded socks and shirt from the day before, and his shoes before flying down the mansion’s main staircase and heading for the kitchen.
She found David wrapping Sarge in a towel. He laid the limp dog on the counter. Tricia handed him his clothes and stroked the dog’s fluffy head. “Poor little guy.” He was breathing, which was a good sign.
“The back door was open. Let’s hope that means whoever broke in has left the house,” David said as he got dressed. Finally, he donned his jacket. “Follow me to the car and open the door,” he said.
Tricia nodded and wished she’d thought to don her robe before running down the stairs. The air was chilly—probably in the forties—but Tricia got to David’s Jeep and yanked open the passenger side door, letting him settle the unconscious dog onto the seat before shutting it once again.
“Go back in the house,” David ordered.
“The cops are on their way,” Tricia said.
“Lock yourself in and make sure it’s the police before you open the door.”
“Will do.”
He gave her a quick kiss before she darted inside, locking the door. She watched as he jumped in the Jeep, started it, turned on the headlights, and pulled out of the manor’s small back lot.
Tricia’s heart sank, worried about how she could ever explain what had happened to her sister. She eyed the clock. It was just after two. There was no sense in waking up Angelica when they didn’t know if the pup would make it.
That was wrong thinking. Sarge would be okay. He had to be.
Tricia realized she was dressed in only a nightshirt and decided she’d better grab her robe before the police showed up. But it was too late. The officer hadn’t used the vehicle’s siren, but she could already see the flashing lights and grabbed her jacket from the peg, wishing it was longer, and hurried to open the front door.
And wondered what would happen next.
Nineteen
David arrived back at Stonecreek Manor around eight that morning. He’d already texted that he was on the way and had a buddy riding shotgun. Tricia hurried out to meet the Jeep. Once the vehicle came to a complete halt, she wrenched open the door and Sarge jumped up, happy to see her. She picked him up and he went crazy licking her face and yipping happily.
“So, what do you think about the little guy?” David asked, rounding the front of the Jeep to join Tricia.
“He seems as good as new,” Tricia said, still being smothered in canine kisses.
“The vet said he should be good to go. No one would even know he was drugged a few hours ago. Maybe you shouldn’t even mention it to Angelica.”
“Oh, no,” Tricia said firmly. “I have to tell her. She’s going to be extremely upset, but I’d rather have her upset with me now than risk her wrath if she finds out later. It would be a terrible breach of trust.”
David nodded, walking a step behind Tricia as they entered the house.
She set the dog on the kitchen floor and he trotted over to his food bowl and looked at her hopefully.
“He really must be on the mend if he wants to eat.” Angelica had packed a breakfast of cooked chicken, rice, and green beans for her boy, and Tricia retrieved it from the fridge. But first, she rinsed Sarge’s bowl before she dumped the food into it and put it in the microwave for a few seconds to warm, testing its temperature with her pinkie before serving it to the little guy.
They watched Sarge eat for long seconds before David spoke again. “And how did things go with your mother after I left?”
Before Tricia could answer the question, the kitchen door handle rattled and Angelica came into the kitchen. “Morning!” she sang. Sarge immediately abandoned his breakfast and was ecstatic, jumping up and down, eager for his dog mom to pick him up. Shoving a bulging brown paper bag in Tricia’s direction, Angelica scooped up Sarge. “Did my little man miss his mama?” she asked in baby talk.
“Oh, yeah,” Tricia said.
“Well, his mama missed him, too,” Angelica said, giving his head a kiss. She endured a few more doggy kisses before setting Sarge back on the floor. “Mama has work to do, baby boy. We’ll play later.” She turned her attention to Tricia. “I got up early and made some jumbo blueberry muffins. I thought you guys might be hungry.” She didn’t wait for a reply and went straight for the coffeemaker. “Did you sleep in late?” she asked, and took the carafe to the sink to fill it.
“Um. Not really,” Tricia said.
“Did everything go well?” Angelica asked, and pulled out a fresh filter and a container of coffee.
“Um, we had a couple of little snags,” Tricia admitted.
“Yeah, really just too minor to even mention,” David said. “Um, I need to go upstairs and, uh, you know—get ready for the day.”
Chicken, Tricia mouthed.
Angelica eyed his jacketed form. “Oh, well, hurry back. You don’t want the coffee to get cold.”
“No, I sure don’t,” David said, and quickly escaped the kitchen.
Angelica finished her task and finally took off her jacket, hanging it up on a peg. She turned toward her sister, studying her face. “Boy, you look tired. Didn’t you sleep well? Was the mattress too hard?”
“Um, no.”
Angelica frowned, looking perturbed. “There’s an awful lot of umming going on. Did something happen I should know about?”
“Uh, yes,” Tricia admitted, not knowing how to start. “Maybe we should wait for the coffee and sit down before I explain.”
“And maybe you should just stop stalling and tell me what’s wrong.”
Tricia knew that tone. She took a deep breath before replying. “We had a break-in last night,” she said simply.
Angelica’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a break-in because no windows were broken and no doors were forced. The lights went out and then Sheila screamed.”
Angelica’s eyes widened.
“Apparently someone tried to strangle her.”
Angelica’s eyes were now bulging.
“Not only that but…whoever got in, cut the power. But before they made it upstairs, they sort of…drugged Sarge.”
Horrified, Angelica stooped to grab the little dog at her heels, clutching him to her chest. “Oh, my darling boy, are you all right?”
“He’s fine. Now. Um…David wrapped him in a towel and rushed him to the emergency vet in Nashua. They only returned just before you arrived.”
Sarge rewarded his human mom by giving her more frenetic kisses.
Angelica burst into tears.
Interesting, Tricia thought, that someone trying to kill their mother hadn’t had as great an impact as the threat to Angelica’s dog, but for some reason, Tricia couldn’t blame her sister for her reaction.
“He’s okay,” Tricia assured her sister. “David can tell you what the vet said when he comes downstairs.”
“I want to know everything—and in minute detail,” Angelica grated.
Tricia nodded. She contained her recitation of the night’s events with how the power went out, about Sheila screaming, bumping into the would-be killer, David’s dash out the door with Sarge, and the police arriving to find the intruder was long gone, and everything under control. Angelica listened without comment until Tricia finished her recitation.
“Did Mother have any idea who tried to kill her?”
Tricia shook her head. “It was pitch black—I can attest to that. I didn’t see who knocked me over.”
Angelica chewed her bottom lip. “Whoever it was knew where to find the circuit breaker.”
“That hadn’t escaped me,” Tricia admitted. “Perhaps someone who worked on the restoration?”
Angelica scowled. “Maybe. But if it was the squatter, that person had plenty of time when the house was unoccupied to scope things out.”
“Do you think it was Daddy?”
“He’s my prime suspect.”
“And what about Uncle Leo?” Tricia asked.
“Another suspect.” Angelica let out a breath. “Where was Cleo during all this?”
Tricia blinked. She hadn’t given a thought to the innkeeper. “She never showed up.”
“Did the police make a lot of noise—sirens and such?” Angelica asked.
“No, but their strobing lights sure lit up the street.”
Angelica nodded with a bland expression.
“I suppose there are blackout curtains in the carriage house,” Tricia mused.
“In the bedroom.”
“Perhaps she just slept through all the trouble.”
“Perhaps,” Angelica said neutrally, but Tricia had a feeling Cleo was going to be interrogated by Nigela Ricita at Angelica’s earliest convenience.
Tricia abandoned that subject and moved on. “I’ll speak to Ian later this morning. How soon is that security upgrade going to be made?”
“Not before midweek. But money talks. I’ll get Antonio on it right away.” Angelica wiped her tears, still holding on to her dog, who had settled comfortably in her arms, gently licking her hand. “And how is Mother this morning?” Angelica finally asked.
“She hadn’t emerged when I finally gave up on sleep and came downstairs a couple of hours ago. I’m not sure she’s going to want to stay here tonight.”
Angelica sighed. “The only option she has left is my place.”
“You could put her up in a hotel,” Tricia suggested, wondering if the county jail might have an empty cell. At least there Sheila would be safe—at least from whoever was trying to kill her.
“Without an armed guard standing outside her door, it wouldn’t be safe.”
“And do you want that kind of trouble knocking on your door?” Tricia asked.
Angelica seemed to ponder the question. “Not really. Do you have any better suggestions?”
Unfortunately, Tricia did not.
* * *
* * *
It was nearly ten o’clock when Tricia got to her store. Her first priority was to connect with her cat, who demanded to be picked up and purred louder than a motorboat. She rubbed her head against Tricia’s chin, marking her, as though to say You belong to me.
Tricia glanced at the clock. There was no time to bake cookies for Mr. Everett or her customers. It would be a lean day for extras at Haven’t Got a Clue.
Mr. Everett arrived just minutes before opening. “Hello, Ms. Miles. I wasn’t expecting to see you here this morning.”
