Sentenced to Death by Lorna Barrett Page B

Stoneham.
    Eleanor, the inn’s receptionist, waved at Tricia, motioning her to join her at the main desk. “Well,” she asked, her voice filled with pride, “what do you think?”
    “The whole place looks lovely. Has business picked up yet?”
    “For the weekend trade. Until they finish building the dialysis center across the street, I’m afraid our weekday trade will suffer. But it’s only supposed to be another couple of weeks until they begin finishing the inside of the building. It’ll be a lot quieter when they do. But we’re already booked solid for the Milford Pumpkin Festival in October.”
    “That’s great.”
    “I’m so grateful to the new management,” Eleanor said. “Without them, we might have had to close our doors before the end of the summer.”
    “Have you met the top dog yet?”
    “Ms. Racita? No, she’s never been to the inn. But Mr. Barbero has been wonderful to work with.” She pointed to the office door to the right of the reception desk. On it hung a polished wooden sign with gold leaf lettering:
    MANAGER
ANTONIO BARBERO
NIGELLA RACITA ASSOCIATES, INC.
    “He’s on site every day, even weekends,” Eleanor gushed. “The staff all love him. He’s so easy to work with. And even though he’s just a young man, somehow he always has the answer to every problem.”
    Ginny could have done worse picking a mentor—and boyfriend.
    “What brings you to the inn?” Eleanor asked.
    “I’m having dinner with a friend.”
    “I hope you made a reservation. Since Mr. Barbero hired the new chef, we’ve had to turn people away—even on weeknights.”
    “I don’t know if he made reservations,” Tricia said thoughtfully. Did this mean yet another meal at the Bookshelf Diner? She’d resigned herself to just that when Baker reentered the lobby and made his way across to her.
    “Sorry about that,” he apologized. “I asked the office not to call me again unless it’s a real emergency.”
    Tricia gave him a weak smile.
    Baker nodded his head toward the dining room. “Shall we?”
    “See you later, Tricia,” Eleanor said, her eyes twinkling. Tricia gave her a quick wave and let Baker steer her toward the restaurant. The hostess checked the reservations log and quickly showed them to their table. Baker pulled out Tricia’s chair, and she sat down.
    “Can I take your drink order?” the hostess asked, and passed them each a leather-clad menu.
    “I’ll have a Geary’s,” Baker said.
    “Chardonnay,” Tricia said, and opened her menu. It had undergone quite a transformation since the last time she’d dined at the inn. Before she could peruse it much further, she looked up and saw Antonio Barbero seated at a table across the room from them. With him were David Black and a woman she didn’t know. David was dressed as she’d never seen him before, in a suit and tie. The woman looked older than him but was still a striking beauty. The sleeveless mauve linen dress clung to her lithe figure, and her prematurely white hair was pinned with an exquisite gem-encrusted butterfly hair clip that dripped diamonds. Beside Antonio was a champagne bucket. He held the bottle and poured the wine into flutes his guests held.
    “My God,” Tricia breathed, feeling the blood drain from her face.
    Baker leaned forward and touched her hand. “Are you okay, Tricia? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
    “I wish I had.” She shook herself. “Grant, that’s David Black and some strange woman sitting over there drinking champagne with the inn’s manager.”
    “Black? Husband of the woman who was killed yesterday?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    Baker half turned, looking in the same direction as Tricia. He faced her again. “What do you think that’s about?”
    “Deborah’s mother said David was selling her shop to the development company that bought the empty lot where History Repeats Itself used to be. They’ve also invested heavily in this inn.”
    Baker shrugged. “It’s crass but not