Murder on the Half Shelf (15 page)

“It would also be great if the Chamber could entice some kind of light industry to set up shop in the area. They also need to do more to get the locals interested in patronizing the shops and businesses in the area.”

“Not only should you join the Chamber—maybe you should run for president. They’ll be holding an election later this year.”

“Isn’t Bob Kelly the head of the Chamber?”

Tricia nodded. “And has been for at least a decade. It was great that he brought in all the booksellers, but I’m afraid it was also selfishness on his part. He owns most of Main Street. It might be time for some fresh blood. I’ll bet you could give him a run for his money.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, girl. I haven’t yet joined the organization.”

“Wishful thinking,” Tricia admitted, and took another sip of her sherry. Her gaze slid to the clock on the wall. “Good grief, is that the time? My cat is probably pacing the floor waiting for me. Her dinner is already an hour late.”

“My life has been ruled by dogs—but I’m between them right now. When my life settles down again, I’m sure one will find me. In the meantime, I’ll just go to Angelica’s for a little puppy love. Isn’t Sarge adorable?”

“Yes, he is.” Tricia donned her coat once more. “Thanks for the drink—and the conversation.”

“Any time. And I’m not kidding. Once we open, we’re going to depend on the locals to keep us in business. You’re one of them.”

Tricia laughed. “I’ll do my best. Just make sure you have plenty of wine in the cellar.”

“Already stocked,” Michele admitted, and walked Tricia to the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“You sure will.”

The door closed on Tricia’s back, and she glanced across the street to Haven’t Got a Clue. Standing in the doorway, back to the street, stood a solitary figure. Now that Russ had given up stalking her, there was only one person she could think of who might be hanging around waiting for her…and she wasn’t eager to talk to him.

TWELVE

Despite the
fact Tricia was pretty sure she knew who lurked around her doorstep, she wasn’t about to take chances. Taking out her keys, she held them so that three of them poked out between the fingers of her right hand. After all, there was a murderer hanging around the village, and what if her visitor was indeed that person?

She started across the street. Halfway there she called out, “Can I help you?”

The figure turned. Sure enough, it
was
Harry Tyler.

“Help? You tell me.”

Harry was likely the prime suspect in his wife’s death, but for some reason Tricia didn’t fear him at all. She singled out the key to her door, opened it, and let him in. An alert Miss Marple, who sat on one of the chairs in the readers’ nook, reprimanded Tricia with a sharp “
Yow!
” for being late in serving her dinner.

Tricia ignored the cat for the moment. She was more interested in what Harry had to say. “My Tuesday Night Book Club has voted to read
Death Beckons
.”

“Ah, new sales. Too bad I no longer get those hefty royalty checks. They’d sure come in handy right now.”

As Tricia turned to face him, Miss Marple jumped down from the chair, bounded across the room, and rubbed her head against Tricia’s black slacks, leaving a trail of gray hairs in her wake. “How would you use the money?”
To run away—again?

“I hired a lawyer this afternoon. I didn’t kill Pippa—but I wouldn’t be the first husband railroaded to jail just so some DA could add a successful prosecution to his résumé. I’ve written that scenario myself.”

Tricia bypassed that topic of conversation. “Who gets the money?” she asked, folding her arms across her peach sweater set.

“For
Death Beckons
?” Harry asked. Tricia nodded. “My sister. I’m sure she won’t be at all happy to learn I’ve resurfaced.”

“Do you intend to make a claim for the money?” she asked, and ignored Miss Marple, who cried piteously at her heels.

“I don’t have the wherewithal to fight her for it—and she won’t give up that gravy train without a battle. She’s the one who had me declared legally dead, after all.”

No love lost there. “Why did you leave your estate to her?”

He shrugged. “She was the only family I had.”

The silence lagged. Only Miss Marple’s hopeful purring broke the quiet.

“Would you like some coffee? I think there’s still a cup or two left in the pot,” Tricia said. No way was she going to invite him up to her loft—despite Miss Marple’s attempts to hurry her along.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Sit down in the reader’s nook. I’ll give my cat a treat and then bring it right over.”

Miss Marple knew the word
treat
, and also that Tricia kept a bag of them behind the beverage station. She trotted in Tricia’s wake and sat at attention until Tricia produced the snack. Tricia filled a small bowl, giving the cat more than she usually would—just in case this conversation should become prolonged.

Although it had been twenty years, Tricia remembered to doctor Harry’s coffee with creamer and two teaspoons of sugar. She handed him the Haven’t Got a Clue paper cup. He took a sip and smiled.

“Strong and sweet. Just how I like it.” The pleasure in his smile warmed her. But when she thought about it, her satisfaction turned to discomfort. After so many years, had he remembered anything she liked?

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Tricia asked, and seated herself.

Harry’s smile was lukewarm. “I hope you won’t judge me as despicable if I tell you I’m lonely.”

An overwhelming sense of momentary excitement quite suddenly turned to regret. “I think that’s to be expected after losing your wife so suddenly. How long were the two of you together?”

“Fifteen years.”

Oh yes, he’d said that earlier. No wonder he was lonely. And yet…he didn’t seem to be wearing his heart on his sleeve, either.

“I was wondering,” he continued, “if you’d like to go out with me some time? Just for dinner,” he amended. “I know you’ve got the store to take care of during the day. But it might be fun to catch up over a nice bottle of Bordeaux.”

Tricia blinked in surprise. “Your wife just died. Aren’t you worried how it would look if you were to be seen with another woman so soon after losing her?”

“We were together for a long time, but these last couple of
years our relationship was pretty much platonic. In fact, it was more of a business relationship,” he corrected. “I’ve already told the police the same thing.”

Tricia’s mind was spinning. If Baker already thought she might have some kind of motive for killing Pippa, being seen in public with Harry was sure to reinforce that misconception. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Harry, but even if circumstances were different—you walked out on me once before. Why would I want to take a chance you’d do it again?”

He seemed to mull that over for a few moments. “Maybe because we have unfinished business.”

“Harry, you’re the prime suspect in Pippa’s murder. Getting involved wouldn’t be advisable—for either of us.”

His lips settled into a thin line. “You’re sweet on that cop, Chief Baker, aren’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. He’s a decent human being. More than decent,” she added, thinking of how Baker had stood by his ex-wife during her recent illness.

He nodded and sipped his coffee. “You can’t blame a man for trying.” He gave her a shy smile. “By any chance did you happen to talk to your sister about her literary agent?”

Small fingers of annoyance tapped a relentless tattoo in rhythm with her quick pulse, and whatever interest she might still have had in the man instantly evaporated. Despite their shared history, his invitation to dinner had been a sham. He just wanted her help to revive his long-dead literary career.

“Sorry. I haven’t had time,” she apologized without much feeling. “My shop keeps me pretty busy during working hours, and tonight was our book club, so I haven’t had a chance to mention it to her.” That was more polite than telling him Angelica had refused.

“Do you think you could carve out a few minutes tomorrow to contact him or her yourself?”

Tricia let out a long, almost imperceptible breath. The look in his eyes was definitely avaricious.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she halfheartedly promised.

He smiled again. “Thanks.” He reached for her hand. “I really am sorry about what happened all those years ago. It was a stupid mistake to walk out on everything, and I’ve spent years regretting it.”

But not making things right
, Tricia thought.

“When this gets out…I’d like to have a few friends in my court. I’m hoping I can count on you.”

Tricia smiled but made no comment. Instead she looked at the clock. “It’s been a long day. I hope you don’t mind if I—”

“My apologies. I shouldn’t have come here so late. I just thought I might catch you and…well, talk.”

She nodded, wishing he would go away. He leaned in for a kiss and she turned her cheek to one side. He couldn’t miss that blatant form of rejection…could he?

He pulled back. “I’ll call you.”

“I’m in the book,” she said, and walked him to the door.

“Good night, Tricia.”

“Good night.” She closed the door on him. “And good riddance,” she said under her breath. She lowered the blind on the door and stepped over to the big display window. She looked to the north, expecting to see him heading toward the municipal parking lot, but there was no sign of him. She looked southward and didn’t see him. Maybe his car was parked along the street. She waited for a full minute, but none of the cars pulled away from the curb.

Frowning, Tricia closed the blinds. Maybe he had cut through the passage between the Patisserie and the Have a Heart bookshop, to go through the alley. Although that was the wrong direction to take as a shortcut back to Maple Avenue.

Miss Marple said “
Yow!
” reminding Tricia that a snack was fine, but it didn’t replace a fine dinner bowl of Friskies tuna.

“All right, all right,” she reassured the cat, and turned off all but the security lights before heading for the back of the
shop and the stairs leading to her apartment, with Miss Marple scampering off ahead of her.

She thought again of how Harry had disappeared, melting into the shadows on Main Street. But then hadn’t he proved to be very good at disappearing?
A leopard doesn’t change its spots
, her grandmother had always said. That saying still rang true for Harry Tyler.

THIRTEEN

After another
restless night, Tricia began to think of sleep as a hobby she sometimes made time for. She was up bright and early Wednesday morning and had finished reading the paper, slogged through her four miles on the treadmill, and showered, and still she arrived at Haven’t Got a Clue more than an hour before opening.

She’d already started the coffee and was about to open the store’s blinds when she heard the sound of a car trunk slam. She peeked out the side of the big display window to see Angelica standing on the sidewalk, sorting through her key ring. She hightailed it to the door to intercept her sister before she could get in her car.

“Are you off already?” Tricia asked.

Angelica nodded. “I just loaded my ingredients, mixing bowls, frying pan, and a hot plate. Are you going to watch the show? It starts at ten.”

“I meant to ask Mr. Everett or Linda to come in early so I could make sure I wouldn’t miss it,” Tricia said, hugging herself. It was cold!

“Who’s Linda?”

“My new assistant. She used to work for an NPO.”

“Just like you. You can compare notes between customers.”

“I suppose.”

Angelica glanced at her watch and frowned. “I’ll have to meet her later. I need to get going. I’m not exactly sure where the station is located and want to leave myself plenty of time in case I get lost.”

“You need a GPS.”

“I have one,” she said, “but sometimes we don’t agree.”

“Come to the store when you’re done and I’ll take you to lunch.”

“Where?”

“Where else? Booked for Lunch.”

Angelica frowned and stood there staring at Tricia for long seconds.

“What’s wrong?”