wrestle with it like a terrier with a rat.” Sarge gave a solid yip in agreement. Angelica blew him two kisses and said, “Your mommy knows bichons are better. But I’m not sure your Auntie Tricia does.”
“I’m no aunt to a dog.”
“Well, of course you are.”
“Do you consider yourself Miss Marple’s aunt?”
“Definitely not. Dogs are man’s best friend. Cats are…not.”
“In case it escaped your attention, you are not a man.”
“And glad of it,” Angelica said.
Tricia sighed. Sometimes—okay, almost always—it was useless to argue with Angelica.
Angelica carried the strudel to the table, cutting it with a knife and placing slices on the waiting plates. She placed one before Tricia and took a seat opposite. They both cut pieces of the still-steaming strudel. Tricia blew on hers before taking a bite. She chewed and swallowed.
“Oh, this is decadent.”
“Kind of like a pizza without the heavy crust, huh?” Angelica asked, pleased at Tricia’s reaction.
Tricia ate another bite, then reached for her wineglass. “As if all these conversations weren’t enough to spoil my morning, the mail brought something rather puzzling.” She reached for her purse and withdrew the photograph. “Take a look.”
Angelica leaned over to glance at the photo. “Nice shot of you. Who sent it?”
“I don’t know. The postmark on the envelope was Nashua.”
Angelica shrugged. “Who do you know in Nashua—besides customers and vendors, that is?”
“No one. It was taken quite a while ago. I don’t remember where or when. And it came with a note that said,
We’ll meet again
, and no signature.”
Angelica studied Tricia’s face. “You look kind of spooked.”
Tricia shook her head. “It just bothers me that I don’t remember anything about a day that someone seems to remember well. And why be so secretive about it?”
“Just to bug you? Do you think your Harry could have sent it?”
Tricia squinted at the picture. “Maybe.”
“Ask him.”
“Maybe,” she said again, returning the picture to her purse before she turned back to her lunch and cut another piece of strudel.
“I am just swamped this afternoon,” Angelica said, and grabbed her wineglass. I have so much to accomplish and could use a teensy favor from you before you go back to your shop.”
Tricia had a feeling she knew what the request would be.
“It’s almost time for Sarge’s walkie-walk. Could you take him out while I type up this recipe?”
“I already told you, I’m supposed to go to the police station. I don’t want to hold up Mr. Everett’s lunch.”
“Couldn’t you combine the two? Pleeeeeease,” she said with girlish pleading.
“I am
not
a dog walker,” Tricia said with authority.
“Yes, but I’ve got three more recipes to test today, and if Sarge has to wait much longer his little eyes will turn yellow.”
As if to back her up, Sarge whimpered piteously. Angelica had probably slipped him a command under the table to elicit the performance.
Tricia looked down at Sarge, who cocked his head and looked terribly sad. She took her last bite of strudel and stood. “Oh, all right. But this is the second time in less than twenty-four hours. The next time you come over to my place, I’ll expect you to clean Miss Marple’s litter box.”
She grabbed Sarge’s leash from the peg on the wall. The little dog began to dance around in circles, making it even more difficult to attach it to his collar. “Calm down. We’reonly going for a walk, not to Saks.” She scooped up the dog and headed for the door.
“Thank you! See you in a few,” Angelica called behind them.
Tricia put on her coat and started down the steps to the shop below. Usually Angelica just took Sarge out back to the alley for his comfort stops, but Tricia felt like she’d been cooped up long enough. The day was brisk but bright, and she decided to head toward the village park instead. She would combine the errands—unless the cops
“I’m no aunt to a dog.”
“Well, of course you are.”
“Do you consider yourself Miss Marple’s aunt?”
“Definitely not. Dogs are man’s best friend. Cats are…not.”
“In case it escaped your attention, you are not a man.”
“And glad of it,” Angelica said.
Tricia sighed. Sometimes—okay, almost always—it was useless to argue with Angelica.
Angelica carried the strudel to the table, cutting it with a knife and placing slices on the waiting plates. She placed one before Tricia and took a seat opposite. They both cut pieces of the still-steaming strudel. Tricia blew on hers before taking a bite. She chewed and swallowed.
“Oh, this is decadent.”
“Kind of like a pizza without the heavy crust, huh?” Angelica asked, pleased at Tricia’s reaction.
Tricia ate another bite, then reached for her wineglass. “As if all these conversations weren’t enough to spoil my morning, the mail brought something rather puzzling.” She reached for her purse and withdrew the photograph. “Take a look.”
Angelica leaned over to glance at the photo. “Nice shot of you. Who sent it?”
“I don’t know. The postmark on the envelope was Nashua.”
Angelica shrugged. “Who do you know in Nashua—besides customers and vendors, that is?”
“No one. It was taken quite a while ago. I don’t remember where or when. And it came with a note that said,
We’ll meet again
, and no signature.”
Angelica studied Tricia’s face. “You look kind of spooked.”
Tricia shook her head. “It just bothers me that I don’t remember anything about a day that someone seems to remember well. And why be so secretive about it?”
“Just to bug you? Do you think your Harry could have sent it?”
Tricia squinted at the picture. “Maybe.”
“Ask him.”
“Maybe,” she said again, returning the picture to her purse before she turned back to her lunch and cut another piece of strudel.
“I am just swamped this afternoon,” Angelica said, and grabbed her wineglass. I have so much to accomplish and could use a teensy favor from you before you go back to your shop.”
Tricia had a feeling she knew what the request would be.
“It’s almost time for Sarge’s walkie-walk. Could you take him out while I type up this recipe?”
“I already told you, I’m supposed to go to the police station. I don’t want to hold up Mr. Everett’s lunch.”
“Couldn’t you combine the two? Pleeeeeease,” she said with girlish pleading.
“I am
not
a dog walker,” Tricia said with authority.
“Yes, but I’ve got three more recipes to test today, and if Sarge has to wait much longer his little eyes will turn yellow.”
As if to back her up, Sarge whimpered piteously. Angelica had probably slipped him a command under the table to elicit the performance.
Tricia looked down at Sarge, who cocked his head and looked terribly sad. She took her last bite of strudel and stood. “Oh, all right. But this is the second time in less than twenty-four hours. The next time you come over to my place, I’ll expect you to clean Miss Marple’s litter box.”
She grabbed Sarge’s leash from the peg on the wall. The little dog began to dance around in circles, making it even more difficult to attach it to his collar. “Calm down. We’reonly going for a walk, not to Saks.” She scooped up the dog and headed for the door.
“Thank you! See you in a few,” Angelica called behind them.
Tricia put on her coat and started down the steps to the shop below. Usually Angelica just took Sarge out back to the alley for his comfort stops, but Tricia felt like she’d been cooped up long enough. The day was brisk but bright, and she decided to head toward the village park instead. She would combine the errands—unless the cops
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