Murder on the Half Shelf (30 page)

“You are so right,” Tricia agreed. “Let’s break open the bubbly and celebrate your good fortune. I’m ready to make a toast.” She stepped over to the champagne bucket and withdrew the chilled wine. Angelica had already removed the foil, and Tricia unwound the wire cap while Angelica gathered up the flutes. The cork popped with a hiss and spray of tiny bubbles and Tricia poured. She took a glass and held it up in salute. “To
Easy-Does-It Cooking
. May YouTube have pushed it right onto the
New York Times
best sellers list.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Angelica said. They clinked glasses and drank.

Now all Tricia had to do was play sleuth and not get caught, because if Bob did catch her he could have her arrested for trespassing, malicious mischief, and goodness only knows what else. And what would Grant Baker have to say about that?

Sleep did
not want to come that night. Though Miss Marple never even stirred through the entire night, Tricia tossed and turned, worrying about her plan to invade Bob Kelly’s office the next day. She turned on the light, read her book, turned off the light. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Tricia finally drifted off near dawn and then slept right through her alarm.

Feeling exhausted, she couldn’t even manage a brisk walk on her treadmill before dragging herself to the shower. Next she fed the cat, grabbed a tub of low-fat yogurt, and descended the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue. Coffee wasn’t going to perk
her up. She needed high-test caffeine and headed across the street to the Coffee Bean.

Mary Fairchild was standing in line behind two or three other customers when Tricia entered the store. She loved the mingled aromas of fresh ground coffee, chocolate, and cookies and pastries fresh from the Patisserie. If Nikki refused to sell to her she could always make a deal with the Coffee Bean’s owner, Alexa Kozlov, and pay her a surcharge to get them.

Dressed in her By Hook or By Book apron and a heavy cardigan, Mary stood there, slouching, her gaze unfocused, staring at nothing.

“Hey there, are you okay?” Tricia asked.

Mary seemed to snap to attention. “Oh, Tricia. Yes. I’m fine. I didn’t have a good night. I came in here for an espresso to get me going.”

“Bad nights must be contagious. I’m here for the same thing.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Mary admitted, “and…I’ve decided to leave the Tuesday Night Book Club.”

“Oh, no. Why?” Tricia asked.

Mary shook her head. “I don’t think I can read and enjoy a mystery story ever again. Not now that I’ve actually known a murder victim.”

The man in front of Mary, who’d obviously been eavesdropping, turned to give her a curious look, but she seemed oblivious to him.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way. The books we read
are
fiction.”

“Yes, but—” She shuddered. “I only knew Pippa Comfort for an hour or so; she seemed like a nice person. For someone to treat her so brutally and leave her lying on the cold damp ground…” She closed her eyes and shuddered again.

Tricia rested a comforting hand on Mary’s arm. “I understand. We’ve enjoyed having you as a member.”

That meant the group had lost two members in less than a week. If any more jumped ship, it wouldn’t be worth holding
the meetings. Then again, that would give Tricia more free time to either maintain her website or return to her long-neglected hobby of book repair. Or—and most appealing—give her more time to read! She almost smiled.

“If you have a change of heart, just let me know,” Tricia said.

“I’ll do that.”

It was Mary’s turn to step up to the counter and give her order. Tricia waited patiently for her turn when she felt a pair of eyes upon her. She turned to find Harry Tyler standing behind her. “Good morning. We seem to keep bumping into each other a lot lately.”

“Yes. You’re out bright and early.”

“Actually, I should be back at the inn packing. I’m out of a home and need to find a place to live.”

“The owners have told you to leave?” Tricia asked, disbelieving.

“Pippa had the hotel management experience. I was the groundskeeper and maintenance man. Without her…” He let the sentence trail off.

Forcing him out less than a week after his wife’s death was extremely coldhearted of Nigela Ricita Associates. Did Angelica know about that? She’d have to ask. And yet she wasn’t quite willing to give him her full sympathy.

“I thought you’d already found a place to stay—at least you did last night.”

His expression hardened. “I beg your pardon?”

“I saw you go into Amy Schram’s building last night. Then, darned if all the lights didn’t go out soon after. Was her electricity cut?”

“I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

“Do the police know you’ve been having an affair with Amy?” she whispered.

“Can I help you, Tricia?” Alexa asked from behind the counter.

Tricia turned and stepped up to the counter, giving her order—and asking for a half dozen of Nikki’s thumbprint cookies before remembering that Mr. Everett would be working for Ginny that day at the Happy Domestic. Mr. Everett’s loss, her customers’ gain.

She paid for her order and waited until Harry had given his. They didn’t speak again until they’d both left the shop. It was Harry who initiated the conversation.

“What I do or don’t do isn’t really any of your business, Tricia.”

“Of course not. But if you were with Amy the night of the murder, you’ve got an ironclad alibi. And if you weren’t…you’re still in the running for chief murder suspect. And now so is Amy.”

“She had nothing to do with Pippa’s death—and neither did I.”

“Does Chief Baker know about this?”

“As a matter of fact…yes. I didn’t kill my wife and I’m damned if I’ll get tossed into jail for it.”

“How does Amy feel about the situation?”

“She isn’t happy. And her parents aren’t thrilled with her seeing someone who’s almost thirty years older than she is.”

“I don’t imagine they would be. So, what are you going to do next? Move in with Amy for the duration? Try to find some work locally?”

“Actually I’m heading for New York on Sunday. I’ve got an appointment on Monday morning with a literary agent, Artemus Hamilton.”

“Yes, I know him. He’s my sister’s agent.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do I have you to thank for this meeting?”

She shook her head. “Neither of us mentioned you to him.
He
asked for
your
number.”

“He wants to talk about a book deal.”

“For your fiction?”

“No, a memoir.”

“But the ending is still up in the air. Wouldn’t it be better if you could exonerate yourself in Pippa’s murder?”

He didn’t comment.

“And what happens to Amy? Do you just walk out on her like you walked out on me?”

“The circumstances are much different. I was a different person then. I like to think I’ve grown up.”

“And yet you still date twenty-two-year-old women,” she pointed out.

A muscle along his jaw flicked angrily. “I guess the word
forgive
isn’t in your lexicon.”

“And the word
fidelity
isn’t in yours, either.”

Harry lifted the plastic lid on his coffee. The steam curled into the brisk morning air. He took a sip and recapped it. “This conversation is going nowhere. I think it’s time we said good-bye—and for the final time.”

“I’m more than ready,” Tricia said, and what’s more—she honestly was.

“Good-bye, Tricia.”

“Good-bye, Harry.”

And they parted. Never to see each other again.

A sheepish-looking
Linda arrived precisely one minute before Haven’t Got a Clue’s scheduled opening. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, and hurried to the back of the store to hang up her coat before Tricia could even say hello. She returned to the front of the shop, still tying the strings on one of the store’s aprons. Tricia would have to get one made with Linda’s name embroidered on the side.

“Was traffic heavy this morning?” Tricia asked.

“Um…no,” Linda said, and laughed nervously. “My phone’s been fixed and the first call I got was from your sister, of all people.”

Tricia’s face went lax. That was quick. “I see.”

“I feel extremely flattered that she wants to go to the trouble of…” She paused, as though trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn’t make her look eager to explore other employment opportunities only three days after being hired.

No use heading for the embroidering shop this week
, Tricia thought.

“I assume you’d much rather work at a nonprofit than in retail,” Tricia said, trying to sound nonjudgmental. If she were in the same position, that was what she’d prefer. But she owned the retail establishment in question. And when she’d hired her, Linda had promised she’d stay longer than just a couple of weeks—or even months.

“You took a chance by hiring me, Tricia, when nobody else would. I have to admit, I’m sorely tempted by what your sister offered. The opportunity to work at another nonprofit isn’t a dream come true, but it would be familiar work, and, if I say so myself, I was damn good at my job. I just wasn’t as young and pretty as one of my less-skilled colleagues.”

Tricia could understand that, too. She’d been let go from the nonprofit she’d worked at for more than ten years despite having more experience than her counterpart, who’d been a cousin of the director. But she hadn’t needed the job to survive, either. Back then she’d had a stockbroker husband with a six-figure income. And within a year of losing that job, she’d also lost her husband to what she called a midlife crisis.

It still hurt to think about it.

“I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch, either,” Linda continued, which said to Tricia that Linda had already made up her mind to jump ship the minute she could. Much as she wanted to be angry, she couldn’t muster any real resentment toward Linda. Instead, she merely felt depressed.

“It’s not entirely up to the two of us. There are two other people involved in this job swap. After the exhibition she put on yesterday, I can’t say I’m thrilled with the idea of having
Pixie work for me, and I’ve made it clear to Angelica the terms she’d have to agree to before I’d hire her. Still, I can’t stand in your way if Grace decides you’d be a perfect candidate to work for the Everett Charitable Foundation. I care too much for Grace and Mr. Everett. No one knows how much time the two of them have together. I’ll do anything I can to make them happy. Replacing you would be inconvenient, but Haven’t Got a Clue will survive yet another transition.”

Linda heaved a notably heavy sigh of relief. “Your sister already arranged for me to talk to Mrs. Harris-Everett at one this afternoon. It’s over my lunch hour, so it shouldn’t be an inconvenience.”

“Did Angelica say anything to you about when she would speak to Pixie?”

Linda shook her head. “Although I got the feeling she was hoping she could arrange it for later today. Pixie has to report to her parole officer on Monday. He’s not going to be happy if she tells him she quit her job.”

Did that mean Pixie might agree to anything to stay employed so as not to violate the terms of her parole? A moody employee could become a detriment to the well-being of Haven’t Got a Clue’s bottom line. Tricia would not stand for bad behavior directed toward her customers, and if Pixie couldn’t live up to that edict, then there was no place for her at Stoneham’s only mystery bookstore. Still, Grace had pull. Maybe one of the other booksellers would hire her.

But she was getting ahead of herself again.

“I’m so sorry about all this, Tricia. After so long without a job, and using up all my savings, I’d given up hope that I would again work in a job that I’d trained so hard for.”

Tricia held up a hand to forestall any more such talk. “Let’s not discuss this anymore right now. Let’s just concentrate on our daily routine and serve whatever customers come our way.”

Linda nodded with what seemed like relief.

The shop door opened, and an older woman bundled up in a long cloth coat and a bulky scarf tied around her neck entered the store. “Goodness, but it’s cold outside,” she said, stamping her feet on the bristle welcome mat.

Linda practically leapt into action. “Hi, can I help you find anything?”

“Yes. I’m looking for Sara Paretsky’s
Blood Shot
. Do you have any copies?”

“I’m not sure. Why don’t the two of us have a look?” Linda suggested, and led the woman to the shelves on the north side of the shop.

Tricia hadn’t realized how tense she’d felt during the previous conversation with her (most likely) soon-to-be ex-employee. Her head felt heavy and she wondered if her neck could support it for the next hour, let alone the rest of the day. And she still had that little adventure at Kelly Realty to look forward to.

She rubbed her neck and glanced out the window to see Amy Schram working on the urn she’d placed in front of the store days before. She looked like she’d been crying. Noting that Linda didn’t seem to need any help with her customer, Tricia ventured out into the cold.

Amy held a gardening claw in one gloved hand and a bag of knobby flower bulbs in the other. Tricia crossed her arms over her sweater set to stave off the chill and approached her. “Is something wrong?”

Amy sniffed. “Everything.” Her mouth trembled and she squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking to cascade down her cheeks.

Tricia suspected she knew the reason for those tears. “Can I help?”

Amy shook her head and continued to claw at the soil. Tricia watched as she retrieved seven bulbs from the sack and placed them in a circle, then covered them with dirt.

“I know about you and Harry Tyler,” Tricia said gently.

“Who?” she asked, but Tricia wasn’t fooled. She could tell by Amy’s expression that she knew exactly who Tricia was talking about.

“How long have the two of you been sneaking around?”

Amy looked up, a mixture of anger and shock covering her features.

“I live across the street from you, remember. I’ve seen him coming and going,” Tricia explained.

“Have you been spying on me?”

Tricia sighed and shook her head, wishing they were having this conversation in her nice warm store instead of on the freezing pavement. “He’s a little old for you, isn’t he? How did you meet?”