Bookplate Special: A Booktown Mystery Part 6

"I agree, but that could be the reason Pammy was killed."

"What are you thinking? That she was blackmailing someone?"

"It's a cla.s.sic motive for murder."

Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. "You think about murder too much."

"Well, I would, wouldn't I? My job is selling mystery books."

Angelica retrieved a bread knife from the wooden block on the counter, commandeered the cutting board, and sliced the baguette into half-inch pieces, but not cutting all the way through the loaf. Then she spread the b.u.t.ter-garlic mixture on both sides of each slice of bread. "Turn the oven on to three fifty, will you?"

Tricia got up, turned on the oven, and grabbed another winegla.s.s from the cupboard. She made another stop by the refrigerator to grab the already opened bottle of chardonnay. "I hope that soup goes with white, because I'm flat out of merlot."

"It's chicken pastina, so it'll go fine." Angelica set the bread on the baking sheet, wrapped the loaf in foil, and popped it into the oven, before grabbing her gla.s.s. "What could Pammy possibly know about anybody that would warrant blackmail?"

"You said she was a Dumpster diver. I suppose she could've found financial statements or something of that order."

"She was a freegan. Looking for financial papers is just not on their scavenging agenda."

Tricia sipped her wine, and frowned. "I just don't understand how anybody could eat food that's been in a Dumpster. I mean--think about all the germs. Wouldn't that kill you, or at least make you deathly ill?"

"What kills people these days is not enough germs in their systems. We're all antibioticed to death, if you'll pardon the pun. Between hand sanitizers and antibiotics in the food chain and water, we're at the mercy of super staph germs and the like."

"Let's get back to Pammy." Tricia bit her lip. "Do you think we ought to tell Captain Baker about our suspicions?"

"What suspicions? I don't have any."

"Well, I do."

Angelica shook her head. "Look what trouble sharing your suspicions with the law has gotten you before."

"Yes, but that was when I was dealing with Sheriff Adams. I think Captain Baker is a lot more"--she paused, trying to come up with an appropriate term--"sympathetic."

"It's those green eyes of his. You're a sucker for them."

"So are you," Tricia countered. Bob Kelly had green eyes, too.

Angelica swirled the wine in her gla.s.s. "Maybe so. But it's immaterial. I'm sure we haven't seen the last of Captain Baker--but unless he asks, keep your ideas to yourself. We'll both be better off if you do."

"Okay. But I still think I must know something that could be helpful to the investigation. I just wish I knew what it was."

FIVE.

Tricia found it hard to sleep that night. Maybe it was the quiet. Pammy's snores had awakened her more than once during her lengthy stay. Staring at the ceiling for hours on end gave Tricia plenty of time to think about Pammy's visit and her untimely death.

Why had she shown up at the Food Shelf just hours before she died? Why had she wanted to speak to Stuart Paige? Maybe if she could talk to Paige, she could find out what his connection to Pammy was. That is, if she could find someone to introduce her to him.

Bob Kelly probably knew the philanthropist.

Tricia winced at the thought. Because of Pammy's death--and her link with Pammy--Bob wasn't likely to introduce her to the man. Not if it meant the possibility of straining relations with the Chamber of Commerce. Could she entice the Food Shelf's chairperson, Libby Hirt, to do so? It might be worth trying.

With that decided, Tricia was finally able to drift off to sleep.

She never heard the alarm clock ring the next morning, and awoke only half an hour before Haven't Got a Clue was to open its doors. After a fast shower, she dressed, fed Miss Marple, and dashed down the stairs to the shop. Mr. Everett was already waiting at the store's entrance.

"My, we're late today," he commented after Tricia had unlocked the door and let him in.

"I had a rather sleepless night," she admitted.

Mr. Everett headed straight for the coffeemaker. "After what happened yesterday, I can well understand that. I'll get this started if you want to get the register up and running."

"Thank you," Tricia said gratefully.

By the time she'd taken money from the safe and counted it out for the till, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the front of the store. Mr. Everett brought her a cup, fixed just the way she liked it.

"I'm afraid the wastebasket behind the coffee station wasn't emptied last night," he said. Something else Ginny was supposed to have done, but hadn't. "Shall I do it now?"

"Oh, no," Tricia said. "I know how those back stairs bother your knees. I'll do it. Would you watch the register for a few minutes?"

"I'd be delighted," the elderly gent said, and gave her a smile. Come to think of it, he'd been smiling a lot lately. He took his place behind the register, and Tricia found a cap for her cup and set it on the counter at the coffee station. She grabbed the wastebasket.

"I'll be right back."

The wind was brisk on this sunny October morning as she trundled down the steps that led to the Dumpster. On her way back she again noticed two bowls on the concrete steps leading to the Cookery's back door. She moseyed over to have a look. Sure enough, one contained the remains of dry cat food; the other contained water that had already attracted a few stray locust leaves. She picked them out and tossed them on the ground. The poor kitty shouldn't have to drink dirty water.

Poor Frannie if Angelica found out she was still feeding the neighborhood stray.

Tricia glanced at her watch. By now Angelica would be at her cafe, getting ready for the lunch crowd that would start filing in within the hour. Frannie was safe from detection--for another few hours, at least.

Tricia reentered her store and found that they already had a customer--or at least a guest. Grace Harris, Mr. Everett's special friend, had arrived before the onslaught of tourists. Tricia had met her just a year before, under not very pleasant conditions--at least for Grace, who'd been forced into a nursing home under suspicious circ.u.mstances. Tricia had helped extricate her from the home, and since that time, Grace and Mr. Everett had renewed their decades-old friendship.

As usual, Grace was dressed to the nines. Beautiful name-brand clothes, exquisite jewelry, and expertly coiffed hair, too. With her lovely skin and natural poise, she could have easily made a fortune as a senior citizen model, but her late husband had left her very well off. She liked to read, and she liked Mr. Everett. A lot.

"Good morning, Grace. You're here early."

"I have so much to do today, and I decided I'd best start early."

"Don't overdo, dear," Mr. Everett said kindly.

Grace reached across the counter to clasp his hand. "I won't." She gazed back at Tricia, her expression luminous. She looked back at Mr. Everett. "I don't suppose you've told Tricia our good news."

Mr. Everett shook his head, a blush coloring his cheeks as his gaze dipped to the counter.

"Shame on you," Grace scolded. "Shall I?"

Again he shook his head. "It's my duty."

Duty? That sounded serious.

Mr. Everett cleared his throat and focused on Tricia's face. "Ms. Miles, you and Ginny are like family to me. That's why we want you to be one of the first to know--"

"We're engaged," Grace announced, and pulled the leather glove from her left hand, revealing a modest solitaire diamond. "And Tricia, I want you to be my maid of honor."

Tricia held Grace's outstretched hand, admiring the stone. "I don't know what to say."

"That you'd love to, would be an acceptable answer," Mr. Everett prompted with a hopeful smile.

Tricia beamed. "I'd be delighted! When's the happy day?"

"We haven't set a firm date, but at our age we don't see much point in waiting," Grace said. "Either this Sunday or next."

"What are your plans for the ceremony?"

"Something small and dignified. We have an appointment later this afternoon to talk to the head of catering at the Brookview Inn. That is, if you can spare dear William."

"Of course you can have the afternoon off," Tricia told Mr. Everett. "And you must let me know what I can do for the wedding day. Can I provide the cake? The music? The flowers?"

"That is so kind of you," Grace said, "but I think we'll have everything in hand."

"I'd really like to do something for you on your day."

"Just be there. That will be more than enough," Mr. Everett said, and his eyes shone with unshed tears.

Tricia smiled and threw her arms--gently--around the old man. "You better believe I'll be there. I'll close the store if I have to."

"We chose a Sunday morning so that none of our bookshop friends would have to miss the ceremony. We thought we'd have a brunch reception, and that way we'd also have plenty of time to take an afternoon flight to our wedding-night destination." Grace actually blushed at this last announcement.

Tricia felt a lump rise in her throat. Here these two dear people--who deserved decades of happiness together, and weren't likely to receive it--were thinking more of accommodating their guests than of their own circ.u.mstances on their most joyous day. Surely no two finer people deserved an abundance of marital bliss.

Tricia clasped Grace's hand. "Do you have your dress? What are your colors? Where are you going on your honeymoon?"

Grace actually giggled. "I haven't given a thought to most of the details. I imagined we'd figure it all out this afternoon. After we get the wedding license, of course." Another t.i.tter of laughter escaped her throat. "This is so much fun. I don't remember when I've been this entertained."

Again, a wave of strong emotion pa.s.sed through Tricia, threatening to engulf her as the memories of planning her own wedding--what she had always considered the happiest day of her life--gushed forth. "I wish you two many years of happiness."

"I'll take what G.o.d gives me and hope I live it in relatively good health," Mr. Everett said sensibly.

"Don't be such a pessimist," Grace scolded. "I think we've both got many years left--especially if we take care of each other." The fond look she gave her husband-to-be nearly brought Tricia to tears. Weddings--and all they entailed--had that effect on her.

"Now, Tricia," Grace said, "again, I hope it won't inconvenience you too much if William has an hour or two off this afternoon."

"Take as much time as you need. You have my blessing," Tricia said, and smiled.

"I'm sorry I can't give you more than a few days' notice, but I will need a week off work for our honeymoon," Mr. Everett added in all seriousness.

"I think Ginny and I will be able to manage for a mere seven days," Tricia said, and smiled. Then again, Ginny was already five minutes late.

A customer came in, and Mr. Everett, who took his job very seriously, excused himself to help the man.

"I was surprised to see you at the Food Shelf dedication yesterday," Tricia told Grace.

"It's long been one of my favorite local charities. And who could say no to dear Libby Hirt? Over the years she's been a guardian angel to so many here in Stoneham. She and her husband are the nicest people. They took in that sick child and raised her. Others would've been put off by the prospect of all that surgery, but not Libby. She's got the biggest heart in the world."

A sick child? "I'm sorry I didn't get an opportunity to meet and talk with her."

"She's a real a.s.set to this community." Grace glanced at her diamond-studded watch. "Oh, my, I must dash. I want to speak to the florist. Oh, I have so many things penciled in on my to-do list--I just hope I can accomplish them all before the end of the day." The excitement in her voice was contagious.

"Well, do let me know if I can be of any help. It would be an honor and a privilege," Tricia said.

"Don't worry, dear. I will." Grace crossed the store to join her fiance and, scandalously, gave Mr. Everett a quick peck on the lips.

"My dear!" he scolded.

Grace grinned. "I don't think your employer minds one bit."

"Minds what?" Tricia asked, and looked up at the decorative tin ceiling, pretending she hadn't noticed a breach in store decorum.

"Good-bye, dear," Mr. Everett said, and Grace waved as she exited the shop.

Tricia risked a glance at her employee. Mr. Everett's cheeks were quite pink. He cleared his throat.

"I think I shall go back to work," he said, and, with head held high, went in search of his lamb's wool duster.

The shop door opened with the soft jingle of the bell that hung over the door. A couple of women bundled in heavy sweaters bustled in, adhesive name tags identifying them as being part of an Apollo Tour.

"Good morning, and welcome to Haven't Got a Clue, Stoneham's--"

"Mystery bookstore," one of them finished. "We read all about you on the Internet." She reached into her purse. "I've got a long list of books I need to find. Could someone help me?"

"I'd be glad to." Before Tricia could even inspect the list, a breathless Ginny burst through the shop door. "Sorry I'm late," she said, already struggling out of the sleeves of her jacket. She raced to the back of the store and hung up the jacket, then hurried to join Tricia with the customers.

"Tricia, I'm sorry, I--"

"We'll talk about it later. Perhaps you could help this lady here." She pointed to the other customer.

"Sure, I'd be glad to. What author were you looking for?"

"Rex Stout. I'd like a copy of The Golden Spiders."

"I'm pretty sure we have that in stock. Follow me, please."

Twenty minutes and three hundred and forty dollars later, the ladies departed the store, their shopping bags bulging with books. Despite the good start to the retail day, Ginny's anxious expression kept Tricia from mentioning her tardy entrance--at least for the time being.