“So has everyone who opened a store and managed to keep it afloat. The dialysis center has brought in a lot of new blood, too. Oh, my, that was a good pun, wasn’t it?” Angelica said, and laughed.

Tricia didn’t join her.

“Let’s talk about something different. For instance, me,” Angelica suggested.

“If we’re talking about Nigela Ricita, we are talking about you,” Tricia said, unable to keep the anger out of her voice.

Angelica’s back stiffened, but she didn’t face her sister. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. I finally figured it out, and I feel really stupid that it took me all this time to do it.”

Angelica finally turned to face her. “And just what exactly did you figure out?”

“That Nigela Ricita is an anagram for Angelica and Tricia.”

Angelica frowned. “Aren’t you a couple of letters short?”

“So you fudged it. I want to know why.”

Tricia studied her sister’s face, and for a few seconds she thought Angelica might burst into tears, but then her eyes narrowed and she smiled before tipping her glass back and taking another sip. “Damn, I make a fine martini.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What do you want me to say?” Angelica repeated.

“Admit it! Admit that you’ve been living a lie.”

“What lie?”

“A lie of omission—for keeping the truth about your secret identity to yourself.”

“You make me sound like Clark Kent, although I think I’d prefer to be Diana Prince.”

“Who?”

Angelica let out an exasperated breath. “Wonder Woman!”

“Oh, please,” Tricia groused, and took a slug of her drink. Her mind was awhirl with chaotic thoughts that bordered mostly on anger.

Angelica turned back to the stove.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Tricia demanded.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Sorry would be a good start.”

“But I’m not sorry.”

“Can’t you at least be sorry for not telling me?”

Angelica stirred the pot. “Not really.”

Again Tricia’s mouth dropped open, but she was absolutely speechless.

Angelica tested the sauce. “Another triumph,” she declared, and took another sip of her drink.

“I can’t believe you,” Tricia started, but Angelica turned and held up a hand to stop her.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“Who else knows?” Tricia demanded.

“Less than you’d think,” Angelica said under her breath.

“Who?” Tricia roared.

“Antonio. My lawyers. And Christopher.”

“Christopher?” Tricia cried, anguished. “You told my ex-husband but you didn’t tell me?”

Angelica took another long pull on her martini and then set down the glass. “I went to see him the summer before I moved here to Stoneham.”

Tricia looked at her sister, remembering that Angelica had gone to a fat farm in Aspen not long after she’d broken up with her fourth husband. Aspen wasn’t all that far from where Christopher had gone to live after their divorce. “So, he gave you financial advice?”

“Yes. He advised me to set up my corporation in New Jersey, and helped me pull together some financing for a loft conversion I was about to undertake.”

“You told my ex-husband, but you didn’t tell me,” Tricia angrily accused.

“It was just a lark. The whole thing was just supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yes. Serious fun.”

“And what about Antonio?” Tricia asked.

Angelica’s eyes lit up and a smile erupted across her lips. “He’s the light of my life. The best thing that came from my marriage to Rod—come to think of it, the best thing that came from any of my marriages.”

“You have what amounts to a son and you never told anyone about him?”

“Of course I told people. You just don’t travel in the same circles.”

“Do Mother and Daddy know?”

“Yes,” Angelica grudgingly admitted.

“And you never told me?” she cried again, devastated.

“Well,” Angelica hedged, “we weren’t exactly close for a long time.”

And I’m so angry with you right now, we may never be close again, Tricia thought. “And this whole Nigela Ricita thing came about because . . . ?” she demanded.

“I wanted to give Antonio a job so he’d live nearby and I could see him every day if I wanted. I don’t care who his biological parents were; he is my son and I love him as much as I love you.”

“How can you say you love me when you’ve kept so much of your life a secret from me?”

“How did I know I was going to be so fantastically successful?”

“Yes, how did you manage that?”

Angelica shrugged, noted that the water was boiling, and took out a box of penne from one of the cupboards. “After my divorce from Gary, I bought some property.”

“That was husband number three, right?”

Angelica nodded. “I held on to the building for a couple of years without knowing what I wanted to do with it. Then when Antonio said he wanted to return to the states, I offered to hire him as a general contractor. He learned a lot and we had a great time working together. We sold it, split the profit, and kept working together.”

“And did you have some kind of master plan in mind when you came to Stoneham?”

“Yes, to be closer to you.” Angelica dumped some of the pasta into the water. “You are my family.”

“But you lived here for almost three years before Antonio came to Stoneham.”

“We had a big, complicated project that took far longer to complete than we thought. But we made a modest profit and he learned a lot, so it worked out in the end.”

“And now he manages Nigela Ricita Associates for you?”

“More or less. He’s very good at his job, too. I’m so proud I could burst. And now I’m going to be a grandma. Don’t I look in great shape for such a monumental milestone?” she said, and laughed, but Tricia didn’t find the statement funny.

“Who besides me will know?” Tricia demanded.

Angelica frowned. “Well, I suppose we should finally let Ginny in our little secret.”

“Little secret?” Tricia repeated. “Ginny’s going to be just as angry as me.”

“Maybe for a day or two,” Angelica conceded, “but she’ll get over it—just like you will.”

“And what about the rest of the village?”

“Why do they have to know?” Angelica asked, and checked the pasta water, which had come back to a boil. She adjusted the flame.

Tricia had no answer for that. “It just seems wrong.”

“Why? It didn’t take long for me to discover that I can do far more for Stoneham and its citizens as Nigela than I can as me. And there’s nothing illegal about what I’ve done.”

“But don’t you want the credit?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Under a pseudonym,” Tricia pointed out.

“So what?”

Tricia stared at her sister, openmouthed. “I don’t get it. I don’t get you.”

“I like things the way they are. I get far more cooperation the way things are now. Do I have your word that you won’t tell a soul?”

Tricia felt like slapping her sister, but instead she balled her fists. “You do, but grudgingly.”

“Why? Don’t you see how much easier it is for me this way?”

“Not really.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Diva.”

Angelica smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

That wasn’t how the jibe was meant to be received.

“Now, shall I tell you how my meeting went with the Chamber presidents this afternoon, or do you want to tell me what I missed this afternoon at the office?”

It took Tricia a few moments to remember what had happened just hours before. “Well, there was some excitement, but it wasn’t at the Chamber. Sarge and I had an unfortunate encounter during our walk in the park.”

Angelica looked down at her dog, who was resting with his head on the knotted sock. “Not with a skunk. I would have smelled that.”

“No, but, Sarge found—”

“Not another dead body,” Angelica practically wailed.

“Of course not. At least, he wasn’t dead when we found him.”