Murder on the Half Shelf (25 page)

“That’ll be nice,” Frannie agreed. She didn’t seem in a hurry to get back to work at the Cookery. “Have you heard anything new on the Pippa Comfort murder investigation?”

“No,” Tricia said, counting the pennies into the far right section of the coin tray.

“Everyone’s so tight-lipped about this murder,” Frannie complained. “Makes me wonder what’s going on.”

“What could possibly be going on?” Tricia asked.

Frannie shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe it wouldn’t be good for the village if the murderer was revealed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, say it was somebody from Nigela Ricita Associates.”

“There’s only one person in Stoneham who works for them.”

“Two,” Frannie corrected. “You’re forgetting that woman who’s going to run the Dog-Eared Page.”

“You think Michele Fowler killed Pippa Comfort?” Tricia asked in disbelief.

“I didn’t say that. I was just wondering. Of course, what if it’s that charming young man of Ginny’s?”

“That’s just as terrible a thing to suggest. And what motive would either have for killing Pippa, anyway?”

Again Frannie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they decided the inn wasn’t a good investment for their development company. Maybe they wanted to get out of the deal.”

“That’s ridiculous. Nigela Ricita Associates might be moving fast to accumulate properties here in Stoneham, but everything they’ve done has benefited the village.” Tricia realized she was defending the company—something she hadn’t done before. Maybe because Angelica was now involved, and she didn’t want gossip to taint her sister’s reputation—especially when it came from Angelica’s own employee. Of course, there was a good chance Frannie didn’t know Angelica had a share in the inn. But that knowledge was sure to become commonplace in the not-too-distant future. Still, if Angelica wanted Frannie to know about it, she could tell her herself.

“Who else is on your list of suspects?”

“I should be asking you that question,” Frannie said. “After all, it was you who found the body.”

“I haven’t given it any thought,” Tricia said.

“It’s gotta be a man, and the motive had to be jealousy. That leaves three suspects: the victim’s husband, Chauncey Porter, and Clayton Ellington. They all knew her—and more than one if not all of them—biblically, if you catch my drift.”

Tricia glanced up at the clock. “Oh, look at the time. I’m sure Angelica must need you back at the Cookery, and I have an important phone call I have to make.”

“You don’t have to chase me out. I was just about to leave,” Frannie said, not so graciously.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I’m just so preoccupied, what with being here on my own this morning.” Oops. That wasn’t a good revelation. But Frannie didn’t seem to pick up on it, and she let it drop.

“Okay. I’ll be seeing you, Tricia. Have a good day.”

“You, too.” Tricia said, and made to pick up the phone. She started to dial, but when the door closed on Frannie’s back, she put the receiver back down. She had always liked Frannie,
but these past few days she found herself hard-pressed to remember why.

Eleven o’clock
finally came and went and still Tricia had not heard from Linda. It was with a heavy heart that she picked up the phone for real and dialed the direct number for the Stoneham police instead of 911. This wasn’t an emergency, after all.

“Our officers are all tied up right now”—
dealing with
real
crime
, the dispatcher’s voice seemed to hint—“but we’ll send somebody over in the next couple of hours to take a report.”

“That’ll be fine. Thank you,” Tricia said and hung up the phone.

Therefore, she was surprised when ten minutes later Grant Baker’s familiar SUV pulled up outside Haven’t Got a Clue.

“Will there ever be a day when you don’t find yourself mixed up in some kind of trouble?” Baker asked upon entering the store.

“Good morning to you, too. Isn’t a shop owner
supposed
to call the police when she’s been robbed?”

“Robbed of what?”

“Yesterday’s receipts.”

“And how much was that?”

“I’m not quite sure. Now that you mention it, I forgot to run the receipts from the register.”

Baker sighed. Heavily. “Do you keep calling the police just to see me?”

“My, don’t you have an inflated ego.”

“And just who robbed you?”

“My new hire. Her name is Linda Fugitt. At least that’s what she said her name was.”

“How long has she worked for you?”

Tricia felt a blush creep up her neck to stain her cheeks. “A day and a half.”

“And did she break in?”

“No. I…left her here in charge of the store.”

“You left a person you barely know in your store with an open register?”

“I thought Mr. Everett had had a heart attack. I couldn’t get hold of his wife. I had to go to the hospital until I was sure he was okay.”

“And you left this woman alone in the store?”

Tricia hung her head, feeling like a scolded child. “Yes.”

“Did she fill out any paperwork?”

“I tried the number she wrote on her application, but it’s been disconnected.”

Boy, did
that
sound bad.

“And you left a near-perfect stranger—with a bad phone number—alone in your store with an open register.”

“Will you stop saying that? At the time it seemed a perfectly sensible thing to do.”

Baker did not look convinced. “All right. I’ll write up a report and we’ll try to see if we can track this Fugitt woman down. If that’s her real name. Of course you realize the Stoneham police are very busy right now.”

“Yes. You’ve got a murder to solve. Quite frankly, I’m surprised the dispatcher sent you yet again.”

“I heard the address on the scanner and I—”

“Took it upon yourself to investigate? Are you sure you don’t keep showing up here just to see me?”

It was Baker’s turn to blush.

The door rattled and the little bell chimed as a breathless Linda burst into the store.

“Oh, Tricia, I’m so sorry I’m late, but my car wouldn’t start and my phone is out of order and I had to cancel my cell phone after my unemployment ran out and you can’t find a pay phone anywhere these days, and I figured you’d be worried since I didn’t know what to do with the money from the register, which I took home with me, and I knew you’d need change
this morning and—” She finally ran out of breath as she opened her purse and took out the missing bank pouch. As she went to hand it to Tricia, she suddenly seemed to recognize that it was a uniformed policeman who stood in front of the register.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is everything okay? Did something else happen since I closed last night?”

“Um…no,” Tricia said. She indicated Baker. “The chief and I are friends. He just dropped by to say hello. Didn’t you, Grant?” she said, her eyes imploring him to agree.

“Yes. Hello, Tricia,” Baker said in a clipped tone. “Well, I guess I’d better be off.”

“So soon?” Linda asked, and unbuttoned her coat.

“I’ve got an investigation to get back to.” He nodded at Tricia. “I’ll be seeing you.” It almost sounded like a threat.

Tricia watched him go as Linda headed toward the back of the store to hang up her coat. The SUV was pulling away from the curb when Linda returned, tying on a Haven’t Got a Clue apron.

“How’s Mr. Everett?” she asked.

Tricia busied herself at the cash desk, neatening a stack of unruly bookmarks. “I haven’t heard from him or Grace yet today, but he was released from the hospital early this morning.”

“Oh, good. I’ve been so worried. He really is a dear sweet man.”

“Thank you for opening the mail yesterday…”

“You’re welcome.”

“—but I really do prefer to do it myself.”

Linda looked unsure of herself. “Oh. Okay. My secretary used to do that for me and it seemed one less burden I had to tackle on any given day.”

“I do wish you’d left a note saying you’d taken the bank pouch,” Tricia said, finding it hard to keep the strain from her voice.

“But I did. It’s right—”

She looked at the shelf behind the register where Miss Marple lay curled up in a ball. “Oh. It’s not there. I put a Post-it note on Miss Marple’s shelf, thinking you’d see it right away. It must have fallen down.”

Tricia cast about and saw a square sheet of yellow paper on the floor in the corner. She bent to pick it up. Sure enough in tight script it said:
I wasn’t sure what to do with the money. I’ve taken the bank pouch home. Will try to get in early tomorrow. Linda.

Tricia’s heart sank. She looked up at Linda and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words so she closed it again.

Understanding dawned. “Oh, Tricia, I hope you didn’t think—”

“I’m sorry, Linda. I didn’t know
what
to think.”

“That’s why the cop was here. To take your statement that you’d been robbed.”

Tricia wasn’t sure how to interpret Linda’s words—her tone was so neutral.

“It must have been awful for you to think your new employee was…” Linda stopped, as though unable to say the word.

“A thief? I’m the one who should feel bad. I didn’t trust you, and I apologize.”

Linda shook her head and waved a hand to dismiss the notion. “No. It’s perfectly understandable under the circumstances.” She looked up at Miss Marple, who was pretending to be asleep. Her eyes were shut, but her pricked ears betrayed that she’d been listening to the whole conversation. “You’re a naughty cat,” Linda scolded.

“
Brrrpt!
” Miss Marple replied, and still didn’t bother to open her eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tricia said.

“Why don’t you say, ‘Linda, how would you like to learn to do inventory?’ I think that might be a good start. Mr.
Everett was telling me how Ginny took care of that for you, and that you’ve had to do it all yourself since she’s been gone.”

Tricia managed a smile. “Thank you for—”

“Let’s not talk about it any more. But would you mind if we talked about inventory over a cup of coffee? After the morning I’ve put in, I’m pretty stressed. And I’ll bet you are, too. Here, let me get you a cup. You like it with just creamer, right?” And off she headed for the beverage station.

It was then that Tricia was sure she’d found a permanent replacement for Ginny.

Linda did
learn fast. She’d mentioned that Google and Wikipedia had become her new best friends and had spent the previous evening doing research on vintage mystery authors. She was helping a customer, and holding her own in a discussion of Agatha Christie versus Dorothy L. Sayers, when the phone rang. Tricia picked up the receiver.

“Haven’t Got a Clue. This is Tricia. How may I help you?”

“Ms. Miles?” It was Mr. Everett!

“Oh, Mr. Everett, I’m so pleased you called. How are you feeling?”

“Much better today. In fact, I’d like to come back to work this afternoon. If it’s all right with you, that is.”

“Oh, so soon? Shouldn’t you rest?”

“The doctors told me I had an anxiety attack—nothing more serious. I am back in the pink and eager to get back to work. Grace has already gone into the office for the day and I find it quite lonely being here by myself.”

“Then by all means come back to work. Linda and I will be waiting for your return.”

“Do you think she’s working out?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, I do.” And she wasn’t going to mention her fears of earlier in the day—to anyone.

“That’s very good,” he said, but he didn’t sound enthusiastic.
She’d mention to him that Ginny at the Happy Domestic was looking forward to sharing his work time with Tricia. It was a win-win situation for all, really.

“Is everything all right between you and Grace?” Tricia asked, feeling terribly nosy.

“We had a long talk. I believe things will be different from now on. Better.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I shall report for work at my usual time,” Mr. Everett said, regaining control of the conversation. He didn’t like to talk about personal things, after all.

“Very good. I’ll see you then. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

As Tricia hung up the phone, she decided she should get some of Mr. Everett’s favorite thumbprint cookies as a welcome-back gesture. And she’d buy an extra dozen or so to make sure that he could take some home to enjoy later, too. She liberated a twenty-dollar bill from the till and approached her new assistant.

“Linda, I’m heading over to the Patisserie for some cookies. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Sure thing,” Linda said, and went back to her conversation with the customer.

Since it wasn’t a long walk and it was a sunny day, Tricia left Haven’t Got a Clue without a coat and hurried down the sidewalk. Now if only Nikki still had the cookies on hand. Mr. Everett was particularly fond of the thumbprints with raspberry jam but would happily accept any other kind.

She’d timed it right and there were no other customers in the bakery when she arrived. Charging in, she called a cheerful hello but was greeted by a stony-faced Nikki. “Can I help you?” she said coldly.

For a moment Tricia wasn’t sure who Nikki was speaking to, and she looked behind her to see if she’d missed seeing someone else in the bakery’s small waiting area. But as she’d
already noted, there was no one else around. “Um…have you got any thumbprint cookies today? Mr. Everett is coming back to work after his scare yesterday and they’re his favorites.”

“Yes,” Nikki said. “How many did you want?”

“How many do you have?”

“Four dozen.”

“I’ll take them all. Whatever my customers don’t eat, Mr. Everett can take home. I assume they freeze well.”

“Yes, they do.” Nikki turned away and filled a bakery box with the cookies. She closed and tied the box with thin white string and rang up the sale.

Tricia gave her the twenty and then accepted the change. “Is anything wrong, Nikki? You don’t seem especially happy this morning.”

“Then I’ll cut to the quick. I don’t appreciate you visiting Russ at his office. You two are no longer together, as if I had to even say it.”

Tricia blinked. “But we’re still—” She gulped. “Friends.” Okay, that was pushing it.