Murder on the Half Shelf (24 page)

Oh yeah?
something inside her taunted. Harry had told her he and Pippa weren’t even close anymore. Would he really care to avenge her reputation now that she was dead?

He might. If it helped restore his.

Baker waved a hand in front of Tricia’s face to gain her wandering attention. “What are you thinking about?” he asked suspiciously.

Tricia shook herself. “Oh, nothing important.”

Baker looked skeptical. “Sure.” Only he dragged the word out for at least four seconds. He turned his attention to Angelica. “Are you in the habit of taking your dog for a walk and leaving the door wide open?”

Angelica faced him, offended. “No.”

“Then why tonight?”

“Sarge caught the scent of something and dragged us along.”

Well, she hadn’t lied, but neither did she admit the truth.

“Uh-huh,” Baker uttered, and still looked unconvinced.

The uniformed officer came back downstairs. “All clear,” he called and then, at the sight of his boss standing in the middle of the shop, came to a halt and straightened. “Chief. What are you doing here?”

“Just following up. Go get the big flashlight out of your
cruiser. Ms. Miles here”—he indicated Angelica—“says her dog was interested in something in the alley. I’d like to take a look.”

“Sure thing.”

The young officer left the store in a hurry.

Angelica sighed. “I need a drink—preferably alcoholic—and hopefully incredibly strong, thanks to the day I’ve had.”

“We’re not quite through here,” Baker said.

Angelica sighed. “I can see why you installed comfortable upholstered chairs in your store, Tricia. I could sure go for one right now.”

“What do you hope to find in the alley?” Tricia asked Baker.

“Hopefully, nothing.”

“Yes, me, too,” Angelica said, “because upstairs there’s a gin and tonic with my name on it.”

The officer returned, and he and Baker went out the back door.

“Oh no!” Tricia hissed. “What if they find the blood?”

Angelica looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “What blood?”

“Chauncey’s head was bleeding. There was a patch of blood on the asphalt.”

“Oh. That blood.” Angelica bit her lip and shrugged. “It’s dark. They’ll never see it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

But they did see it.

Not five minutes later Baker came back into the store, his expression grim. “I don’t mean to alarm you ladies, but we found a patch of blood out in the alley. That’s probably what your little dog was interested in.”

“Ooh, you’re good,” Angelica said under her breath.

Baker looked pleased.

Tricia rolled her eyes.

“I’m having a tech come by and take a sample. You’ll probably see flashing lights in the alley for the next hour or so. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Worry about a possible mugging or something?” Angelica said, and Tricia shot daggers at her.

“Why would you say a mugging?” Baker asked, again suspicious.

Angelica shrugged. “Do you suspect something worse?”

“I don’t know what to suspect,” Baker said, and scrutinized the women. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I told you what’s on my mind. A nice tall drink. Now, Chief, I’ll take my dog out for one last pee and then I’m going to bed.” She turned toward her sister. “Tricia, you’ve got a long day ahead of you, too. It’s time you went to bed.” She glared at Baker. “And apparently alone.”

She picked up Sarge and headed for the back door.

“I’m sorry, Grant. Angelica really has had a tough day.”

“Yes.” He moved to stand in Tricia’s personal space, something she’d been longing for for days, only now she wished he hadn’t. “Tricia, if something is going on in this village that I should know about, for heaven’s sake—tell me!”

“If I could, I would.” Talk about being vague.

He studied her face, and she willed him to kiss her, but instead he turned aside. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your front door.”

That was the best offer she’d received in a week, and she accepted with resignation.

Baker waited until she’d let herself in before he turned to leave. No good-night kiss, just a terse “See you,” and he headed back down the sidewalk, presumably to take the shortcut to the alley next to the Patisserie and join up with his officers.

Miss Marple made a solitary—and hungry—welcoming committee. She eagerly followed as Tricia climbed the steps to her loft apartment. She fed the cat and, being bone tired, got ready for bed.

Despite the fatigue that weighed down on her, Tricia thought it unlikely she’d be able to fall asleep. Instead of immediately retreating into a book, she turned off the bedroom light and raised the blind on the window.

Stoneham’s streets were deadly quiet, but after such a tumultuous day Tricia drank in the tranquility. Chief Baker’s SUV still sat outside Haven’t Got a Clue, but within a minute or two Tricia saw him walk back down the street to claim it. He looked up at her window, but because of the darkness did not see her watching him. He turned away and climbed into the vehicle. Moments later, the headlights came on and the SUV slowly pulled away from the curb.

“Good night, Grant,” Tricia said with a pang of regret.

Miss Marple jumped up on the windowsill with a sympathetic “
Yow!
” She nuzzled her head into Tricia’s hand and purred loudly.

Tricia was about to turn away from the window when movement on the sidewalk across the street caught her attention.

Someone—a man—walked briskly up the west side of Main Street, heading north. Tricia recognized the gait—and the set of the shoulders—even though the street was bathed in partial shadow.

Harry Tyler.

And what was he doing in this part of the village at this time of night?

Not surprisingly,
Tricia slept late and the morning came far too early. First thing, Tricia called the hospital and found that Mr. Everett had already been released. Okay, the day was starting out with something good, but she didn’t expect to see him at work that day, and she hadn’t had time to do any of the after-hours tasks, nor had she had time to train Linda to do them. That put something else on the to-do list.

After a quick shower and even quicker breakfast, Tricia hurried down the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple followed in her wake, always eager to start the workday.

Considering Linda had only observed one closing, the store
appeared neat. The mail had been opened and was paper-clipped in stacks on the counter, which Linda had labeled with Post-it notes. Ads and circulars—probable recycles—bills, and…a pastel, multicolored silk scarf. Clipped to it was a printed note that had obviously been cut from a larger sheet of copy paper. It read:
Remember when you wore this?

Tricia felt heat rise up her neck to burn her cheeks. No, she didn’t remember ever wearing the scarf. Who was sending her this junk in the mail? First the picture, then the cocktail napkin—now this. Could someone have gotten her mixed up with another person? That didn’t seem likely. The picture had definitely been Tricia.

She looked below the cash desk to the wastebasket, but it was empty. She searched under the counter, but there was no sign of the envelopes the mail had come in, nor the packaging for the scarf.

But something else was missing, too.

The blue bank pouch that should have been under the counter was also missing.

Tricia straightened too quickly and hit her head on the edge of the counter. Stars flashed before her eyes as she touched the top of her head and winced.

“
Yow!
” Miss Marple offered in sympathy, but Tricia had no time to converse with the cat. She opened the register and her heart sank. There wasn’t a cent in it. No checks, no credit card slips. Nothing. Even the loose change had been removed.

She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until opening. She had a few questions for Linda when she arrived. But first things first. She headed to the back of the store and brought out the vacuum cleaner, hoping to finish the carpet before the day’s first customers arrived.

She did that and got the coffee started, too. By the time she poured herself a cup, it was ten ten.

No customers. No Linda.

She checked the store’s voice mail but found no messages.

Tricia had a bad feeling about this.

After a quick search, she came up with the paperwork Linda had filled in two days before. Scanning the page, she found Linda’s telephone number and dialed. After one ring, a recorded message said: “You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is out of service. Please check the number and try again.”

As suggested, she tried again—and got the same message.

Tricia’s stomach tightened as she set the heavy receiver back in its cradle.

The door opened and a customer came in. Tricia braved a smile. “Hi, welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m Tricia. Please let me know if you need any help.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, and shuffled off to peruse the shelves.

Sensing something was wrong, Miss Marple jumped up on the sales counter and said, “
Brrrpt!
” Tricia petted the cat. “We’re going to believe the best about Linda.”

But ten minutes later, as her customer tried to pay for her purchase in cash, Tricia had no money to make change. She apologized and accepted a check instead. She smiled and gave a wave as her customer let herself out and then sighed. What should she do? Close the store so she could go to the bank and get some change? Borrow some money from Frannie next door?

Call the police?

The phone rang—could it be Linda with a perfectly good explanation as to why she was late and the store’s receipts were missing?

Tricia grabbed the receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue—”

But it wasn’t Linda on the other end of the line.

“Trish! The worst—the absolute worst thing has happened.”

“Calm down, calm down,” Tricia told Angelica.

“I can’t calm down. That stupid video of me on TV yesterday has gone viral. Now I’m not only the laughingstock of all
of New England, but I’m the laughingstock of all of North America—maybe even the world!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Tricia chided her.

“No I’m not,” Angelica howled, verging on tears. “The comments are horrible! Everyone’s acting like it was
my
fault that the TV station burned down. If that stupid boom guy hadn’t hit me in the head with his phalliclike microphone, I’d be on my way to being—”

“The next Paula Deen—yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You could be at least a little sympathetic,” Angelica wailed.

“I’m sorry, Ange, but I’ve got problems of my own. Remember how I rarely let Ginny close for me?”

“What’s that got to do with—”

“With Mr. Everett heading to the hospital yesterday, I left the keys to my store with Linda and told her to lock up at the regular time. Well, she did. And this morning she hasn’t come in and the money from the till is gone.”

“She stole from you—on her second day on the job?”

“I so want to give her the benefit of the doubt. I mean, she’s not that late, just—” She glanced at the clock. “By twenty minutes.”

“Maybe she had car trouble,” Angelica offered.

“I tried calling her at home. The number’s been disconnected.”

“Oh dear. Your day is starting just as crappy as mine,” Angelica said, sounding not quite so paranoid.

“At least one good thing has happened. Mr. Everett was discharged from the hospital and is, presumably, home.”

“Oh good.” Angelica sighed. “Thank you for mentioning that. I’m afraid I have gotten all caught up in myself this morning. I need to keep reminding myself that I have a good life, a good sister, two thriving businesses, and many fine friends.”

“Can’t you make lemonade out of lemons with the video situation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure I’ve heard you say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Call your agent and brainstorm this.”

“Oh, Trish. You’re right. I’m going to do that right now. Thanks. And you should call Grant and ask his advice about Linda.”

“I don’t want to do that just yet. I’ll give her until lunchtime and then…”
I will be a complete fink and turn her in.

“It’s business, dear. You hardly know this woman.”

“But I
wanted
to trust her.”

“I know. Do you need some cash to get started for the day?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll send Frannie right over. And while she’s gone I’ll call my agent. Do you still want me to mention Harry Tyler to him?”

“No way.”

Angelica giggled. “Your wish is my command. Look, I’d better go. Talk to you later, and thank you for making me feel better. Ta-ta for now.”

Tricia put the phone down and stared at it, feeling foolish. Of all the candidates she’d interviewed and hired since Ginny had left, Linda had been the most promising. She’d been frank about her financial situation. Was that why the bank pouch was missing? But there couldn’t have been more than a couple of hundred dollars in the till. Was it worth going to jail for that?

That was the logic a former employee at the Happy Domestic had gone with. Only in her case she got probation—and found a friend in Grace Harris, who found her a job.

Angelica was right. She really should call the police. But she would wait at least until Linda was an hour late for work. She could at least give her that much benefit of a doubt.

The shop’s door opened and Frannie breezed into Haven’t Got a Clue, clutching a number ten envelope that jingled with change as she walked. “Hi, Tricia. Angelica said you needed
some money. What happened—someone rob you?” she said, and laughed.

Tricia stared blankly at her.

The mirth vanished from Frannie’s face. “I was only kidding.” She handed over the envelope and watched as Tricia counted out the money and settled it into the register tray. She seemed to be waiting for an explanation, but Tricia didn’t feel inclined to give one.

Frannie leaned her elbows on the top of the glass display case, resting her head in her hands. “I hear Mr. Everett is out of the hospital. That was a close call, wasn’t it?”

“Too close for comfort,” Tricia agreed. “He was better when I saw him last evening. I’m hoping he’ll be back to work in a few days.”