Free Sentenced to Death by Lorna Barrett Page B

thought Elizabeth was taking over for Deborah.”
    “Apparently Deborah’s husband has already made a deal to sell the store.”
    “But Deborah’s only been dead a day,” Frannie protested.
    “That was my reaction, too.”
    “I’m happy for Ginny, but . . .” She paused, studying Tricia’s face. “You don’t look happy.”
    “I’m happy for Ginny, too, but I’m not happy to be losing such a wonderful assistant.”
    “She knows her stuff,” Frannie admitted. “I’m sure she’ll do a terrific job for the new owner.”
    “Nigela Racita Associates bought the store.”
    “Who else?” Frannie said with chagrin. “Whoever owns that company has deep pockets. Mark my words, it’s out to buy the whole village.”
    “I’ve had that same thought,” Tricia admitted.
    “You’re not the only one,” Frannie said. “Too bad I don’t go to the Chamber of Commerce meetings anymore. I’ll bet more than a couple of the members will be getting nervous.”
    “Or looking for a bailout?” Tricia suggested.
    “That, too.” Frannie frowned. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
    “Ask. I’d like to hire someone here in Stoneham to take Ginny’s place rather than go to an employment agency. Do you know of anyone looking for a job?”
    “Only Cheryl Griffin, but I know Deborah wasn’t very happy having her as an employee. You wouldn’t like her, either.” Frannie leaned forward, lowered her voice, and spoke conspiratorially. “She’s a nut case.” That was easy to believe after the conversation Tricia had had with Cheryl earlier in the day. Frannie straightened. “I’ll let you know if I think of anyone else.”
    “Thanks.” Tricia sighed. How was she going to bring up Deborah’s name again?
    Frannie reached a hand out and touched Tricia’s arm. “We’re all sorry about poor Deborah.” She shook her head and frowned. “That husband of hers.”
    The perfect opening.
    “I heard they used to fight a lot.”
    Frannie leaned forward. “Almost every night lately and always over her store or his supposed work.”
    “Deborah said he worked two jobs.”
    Frannie scowled. “If you could call what he did work.”
    “I thought he was a welder,” Tricia said.
    “Yes, but that second job of his doesn’t really bring in any income. He does bad iron sculptures of birds with their wings extended and other weird-looking things. Their backyard is full of them—all rusty and ugly. If I’d been Deborah, I’d have been afraid to let little Davey out in the yard for fear he’d fall over one, cut himself, and get tetanus.”
    Deborah had never mentioned that David saw himself as some kind of artist. Just that his second job didn’t pay well. Had she been ashamed of his art? Had she seen it the same way Frannie did?
    “These arguments—do you think Deborah and David were close to divorce?”
    Frannie shrugged. “I can’t say. But more than once he stormed out of the house and didn’t return home until the wee hours. A couple of times, he never came home at all.”
    Tricia’s heart sank, and she wasn’t sure if it was because Deborah’s marriage had been foundering, or because Deborah hadn’t confided in her more. How well had she really known Deborah?
    The door at the back of the store opened, and Angelica emerged from the stairwell that led to her loft apartment. “Aha!” she called. “Didn’t I predict you’d be here to see Frannie this very day?”
    Tricia sighed. “I came to ask Frannie if she knew of anyone who needed a job. Ginny’s turned in her resignation.”
    “Oh dear,” Angelica said, suddenly full of concern.
    A customer entered the store, and Frannie straightened, ready to spring into action. “May I help you?”
    Angelica didn’t wait to hear the customer’s reply but grasped Tricia’s arm, steering her toward the door to the stairwell. “Why don’t we go talk about it upstairs. I’ll make you a nice cup of tea. Or something stronger, if you