Bookplate Special (20 page)

“Pammy didn’t deserve to die the way she did—suffocating in garbage.”

He shrugged. “One less moocher sucking up our air and using our resources.”

Tricia straightened. She’d had enough of him. “I’ll tell Frannie to give you a call about these books,” she said, letting him know he was being dismissed.

“She’s got my number,” he said, a sneer entering his voice.

Tricia watched as he left the shop. She glanced inside the carton of books. They looked to be in pretty good shape. Where had he gotten them? There weren’t many yard sales at this time of year. She bent lower and sniffed. A bit musty, perhaps, but they didn’t reek of the soup found at the bottom of a Dumpster or trash bin.

Pammy had spoken a little too freely about her diary and what she hoped to gain from it. Despite Pete Marbello’s assessment of her, she did not deserve to be killed. More and more it sounded as though she was blackmailing—or attempting to blackmail—someone. But who? There was only one logical choice: Stuart Paige.

But Tricia had nothing but suspicions. She didn’t even have the diary. Without it, there was no reason to talk to, let alone confront, the man.

Whoever killed Pammy might just get away with murder, after all.

 

 

Frannie was
gone much longer than Tricia had anticipated—almost two hours. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she apologized as she wiggled out of the sleeves of her coat. “When I got Penny home, I called the vet to make an appointment for her. They said they had an opening, and to bring her right in.”

“I wish you’d called,” Tricia said, looking at her watch. It was past Ginny’s lunch break, and Mr. Everett would be holding down Haven’t Got a Clue by himself.

“I’m sorry, Tricia. I should have. But the only day I have off is Sunday, and the vet isn’t open then.”

True enough. “I forgive you. But I’d better get back to my own store in case Mr. Everett needs to leave. He and Grace have a lot of plans to make before Sunday.”

“Isn’t it exciting—getting married at their age? Maybe there’s still hope for me,” Frannie added wistfully.

Tricia scooted around the sales desk, letting Frannie take her place. “Talk to you later.”

Frannie waved. “Thanks again!”

Haven’t Got a Clue was mobbed with customers, and despite its being late, Ginny had not taken her lunch break. Mr. Everett stood by one of the back shelves, helping a customer, while Miss Marple observed the chaos from her perch on the shelf behind the register.

Tricia grabbed the stack of books Ginny had already rung up, and bagged them. “Here you go,” she told the customer. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she whispered to Ginny.

“If you were helping anyone but Frannie, I wouldn’t be so accommodating,” Ginny said. To the customer she said, “That’ll be forty-three eighty-five.” The woman handed over her gold card and Ginny swiped it through the credit card machine.

“Anything happen while I was gone?”

“We’ve been very busy. Grace called to thank you. So we’re holding a wedding here on Sunday?”

“Uh-huh.” She hadn’t offered to let Ginny get married at the store; would she feel slighted? “Does that upset you?”

“Of course not. It was nice of you to offer. But it’s a good thing they’re planning a small affair.”

Definitely no hurt feelings there.

The credit card machine spit out a piece of paper, the customer signed it, and was on her way.

Tricia picked up the conversation where they’d left it. “I’m not sure of the logistics on this wedding. I may need your help getting things set up. I wonder if I should rent chairs, or if the caterer will handle that. If you could come in early Sunday morning, to help set things up, I’d be glad to pay you for your time.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Mr. Everett and Grace are my friends, too, you know. I’ll do whatever I can to help make their day a happy one.”

Tricia smiled. “I knew I could count on you.”

Ginny glanced at her watch. “Yikes! It’s twenty minutes past my lunch break.”

Tricia flushed with guilt. She hadn’t yet made any headway on putting together a break room for Ginny and Mr. Everett in her storeroom. Another task undone. Luckily, the day was bright and sunny. No doubt Ginny’s car would be warm enough for her to endure another lunch break, but the weather wouldn’t hold much longer.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Ginny retrieved her coat and grabbed a book from the store’s paperback bargain shelf. As she opened the door to leave, Grace stepped into Haven’t Got a Clue. “Hello, Ginny!”

“Hi, Grace. Bye, Grace!” Ginny said with a smile, and exited.

Grace hurried to the sales counter. “Hello, Tricia. I can’t thank you enough for letting William and me get married here on Sunday. And I promise we’ll be out of your hair in time for you to open at precisely noon.”

“Don’t worry about it, Grace. If we have to open later, we’ll open later. I want you two to have a nice send-off. Besides, Milford’s Pumpkin Festival is this weekend. We’ll be lucky to have any customers at all on Sunday. How are your plans coming along?”

Grace beamed. “I’ve engaged a caterer, a photographer, and a florist. I’ve got my dress, and I’m on my way to the Stoneham Patisserie to order the wedding cake.”

“Nikki’s going to make your cake?”

Grace nodded. “I hope so.”

Angelica had mentioned she might like to do it. Oh, well. Tricia made a mental note to mention it to her sister before she started pulling out pans and recipes.

“How about the guest list? Do you know how many people you’ll be inviting?”

“I’ve narrowed it down to twenty. Do you think the store can accommodate that many people?”

“Oh, sure. I’ve hosted book signings with more than that.” But not by much. “We don’t have a photographer here in Stoneham. Did you have to go to Milford or Nashua to find one?”

“But of course we have a photographer here in the village. Oh, I admit he doesn’t do it professionally anymore, but he accepted the moment I asked. And he refuses to take any money for it. I shall have to figure out a nice gift to give him when we return from our honeymoon.”

“Who is this mystery man?” Tricia asked, intrigued. Could Bob Kelly have once owned a photography business? He seemed to have his fingers in every other pie in town.

“It’s Russ Smith.”

“Russ?” Tricia echoed, a bit more loudly than she would’ve liked. The one man in Stoneham she had no desire to see, and now he was an integral part of Mr. Everett and Grace’s wedding. Could her luck get any worse?

She struggled to get her voice under control. “How nice.”

Grace’s smile widened. “Have you two thought about tying the knot?”

Tricia clenched her fists, and hoped to keep the anger out of her tone. “No. Sadly, Russ and I are no longer together.”

Grace’s face fell. “Oh, dear. I hope his being at the wedding won’t be too upsetting.”

“Of course not,” Tricia lied. “We’re adults. And we parted amicably.”

Ha!

Grace brightened. “Thank goodness. It could have been very awkward.”

Tricia ground her teeth together, but managed a reasonable facsimile of a smile.

Grace looked up to see Mr. Everett across the room. She caught his eye and waved.

His fingers fluttered a shy wave in return.

Grace looked back to Tricia. “Aren’t I terrible—distracting William while he’s at work?”

“I think it’s very sweet. You both are.”

Tricia suddenly remembered the peck on the cheek Stuart Paige had given Grace at the Food Shelf’s dedication. “Not to change the subject—but I will. How well do you know Stuart Paige?”

“Oh,” she said, taken off guard. “Casually. My late husband was a good friend of Stuart’s father. Of course, I saw Stuart many times over the years, but it wasn’t until he started his charity work that we really became acquainted.”

“I’ve heard about his more rebellious days. And, of course, about the accident.”

The joy left Grace’s eyes. “It was very unfortunate. Though the good he’s done can never erase what happened, there’s no doubt he’s dedicated his life to trying to make amends for past indiscretions.”

Should she push Grace even further?

Tricia took the chance. “So you believe he’s a good man?”

Grace answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

Good now. But what if what Pammy knew about the man had happened years before? Would he want to keep another incident from his past quiet—and would he do anything, including murder, to make sure of it?

“I’d best let William know that things are shaping up for our big day, and then I’ll be on my way,” Grace said. “If you’ll excuse me, Tricia.”

“Of course.”

Tricia turned away, disappointed. She hadn’t learned anything new—except for Russ being at the wedding ceremony, and she didn’t want Grace to know how she really felt about it. But after all, they were adults, and she
could
be with him in the same room for two or three hours without exploding—or falling apart.

Ha, again! Fall apart? He might fall apart if she clocked him, and that’s exactly what she wanted to do.

Must distract myself
.

Goodness knows, she had enough to think about—Pammy’s death, the missing diary, setting up Ginny’s break room, as well as the impending nuptials.

She didn’t need another thing to think about.

The phone rang.

Tricia grabbed it. “Haven’t Got a Clue. This is Tricia; how can I help you?”

“Oh, Trish—wonderful news,” Angelica said.

Tricia looked out the window to see her sister on her cell phone, waving at her from the window of Booked for Lunch.

“Wonderful news!” Angelica continued. “Grace Harris has hired me to cater her wedding. And guess what? You’re going to help me!”

FIFTEEN

“Isn’t it
exciting! My first catering job,” Angelica gushed.

“How could you even think of taking on this wedding?” Tricia scolded. “You’re shorthanded. Where are you going to find the time to keep two businesses afloat
and
make hors d’oeuvres for twenty people by Sunday?”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. Well, I can always round up all my friends to help.”

“Such as?”

“Well, Frannie, of course. Maybe Ginny.”

Tricia shook her head. “Much as Ginny loves Mr. Everett, I doubt she’d be willing to spend her off hours helping you make money.”

“Oh, well, I could
pay
her.”

“You can ask.”

“And, of course, I’m depending on you,” Angelica pressed.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I can’t cook.”

“If you can follow directions, you can cook.”

Tricia watched as a couple of tourists entered the little café.

“Gotta go now. Talk to you later!” Angelica said, and disconnected.

The bell over the door jingled as another two customers entered her own store. Tricia put her worries out of her mind, plastered on her best smile, and said, “Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. Let me know if you need any help.”

 

 

The day
whipped by. Customers came and went, spending freely. And, thanks to Craigslist, Tricia managed to hunt down a small refrigerator which was to be delivered the next day. Now she just needed to get a microwave and a table. And maybe a radio. And then she’d consider painting the drab room. Did she need more lighting, too? Establishing a break room was going to be more complicated than she’d anticipated. Still, she wanted happy employees.

By the time seven o’clock rolled around and Tricia closed Haven’t Got a Clue, she was exhausted. Her plan for the evening was to make a sandwich, drink a glass of wine, and
read
. She would not think about Pammy. She would not think about Russ being at Mr. Everett’s wedding. She would not think about Angelica’s threat that she was going to have to help make hors d’oeuvres for twenty people by Sunday.

She’d just settled down with
A Graveyard to Let
by Carter Dickson when the phone rang. Miss Marple, comfortably ensconced at Tricia’s side, glared at the offending instrument on the end table. Tricia picked up the receiver with apprehension. Would it be her annoying caller?

“It’s just me,” Angelica said. “Have you eaten yet?”

“A cheese sandwich.”

“I’ve got leftover soup from the café, and I’m on my way up.” She disconnected.

The last thing Tricia wanted was company. Still, she hauled herself off the couch and met her sister at the apartment door. Angelica held a stuffed brown paper grocery bag in her arms, and a canvas tote was slung over one shoulder, resting on her back.

“What have you got there?” Tricia asked.

“Cookbooks. I’ve made out a preliminary list of appetizers, and I thought the two of us could go over it.”

“I don’t care about that kind of stuff,” Tricia insisted.

Angelica leveled a penetrating glare at her. “You wrestled over the catering list for your own wedding for over two months. Who better to help me with my sample menus? I need to have something to show Grace tomorrow if I’m going to pull the food together for this wedding on Sunday.”

In a matter of minutes, Angelica had the soup warming, the aroma filling the entire kitchen. She’d also covered the kitchen island with cookbooks dedicated to either hors d’oeuvres or breakfast meals. While Angelica served up the soup, Tricia looked over the scribbled sheets of paper with lists of appetizers. “Any one of these is good, Ange. Just let Grace pick what she likes.”

“As it’s a morning wedding and reception, I thought I should stick to brunch-type foods. Strudel, little bagels, mini quiches, fresh fruit, et cetera,” Angelica said, and sat down at the island.

“Yeah, yeah.” Tricia picked up her spoon and began to eat her soup.

Angelica glowered at her. “You could show a little more enthusiasm. I mean, this is your employee’s wedding we’re talking about.”