Murder on the Half Shelf (28 page)

Ellington gestured for her to take one of the chairs in front of his polished cherry desk. “Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about Pippa Comfort’s murder?”

“Did you do it?”

It was Ellington’s turn to blink. “That’s not very funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

He shook his head. “I had no motive to kill the lady.”

“But you had been friends many years ago.”

“That’s true.” Ellington sighed, and his gaze drifted to his left as though a melancholy memory had overtaken him.

Tricia wasn’t sure how much of his time Ellington would give her, so she figured it was time to test her budding theory. “Why did you bribe Bob Kelly for a night at the Sheer Comfort Inn?”

That shook him out of his reverie. “Who says I bribed anyone?”

“Bob, for one.” Okay, that was really fudging things, but how was she going to get people to level with her by telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Ellington glowered. Tricia could almost read the thought balloon over his head.
The slimy little bastard.

“Mr. Ellington, everyone knows”—
except me apparently
—“that Chamber members have to be at the meetings to win the monthly raffles. You weren’t in attendance the day the winners of the night’s stay at the inn were drawn. There’s only one way you could have won, and that was if Bob announced your name instead of the card he actually pulled. He isn’t known to be particularly generous.”

Ellington sighed, defeat making the lines around his eyes more pronounced. “I wanted to see the inn—to see what Pippa had done with it.”

“Why couldn’t you just visit?”

“Because her husband is the jealous type.”

Tricia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Jealous?” she asked. That wasn’t the way Harry had described their relationship. He’d said it was essentially platonic.

He nodded. “Pippa refused to come and see me at the resort, and she wouldn’t let me visit her at her inn. All I wanted was an opportunity to talk to an old friend.” He shook his head. “But I figured if I won the raffle, her husband couldn’t complain.”

“He knew you were old friends?” Tricia asked.

“Who do you think got her the job?”

That verified what Frannie had said.

“If that’s the case, I would think she’d be eager to see you—to thank you. Or—” Here came a real leap in logic. “Was she afraid you two might pick up where you left off years ago?”

“I didn’t think so, and neither did Pippa. But I’m afraid my wife thought so.” Had she caught Ellington with his co-worker? If so, she had reason to distrust her husband.

“Why didn’t you bring your wife with you when you went to the inn?”

“As it happens, she’s out of town.”

“If she’s the jealous type, wouldn’t it look suspicious for you
to go to the inn to see an old girlfriend—stay the night—without her?”

Ellington frowned. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miles, but you’re getting awfully personal. I allowed you to come in here thinking I might persuade you to stop asking questions, and instead, you’ve crossed the line.”

“I apologize. But we are talking about a murder that’s taken place in Stoneham. In a tourist destination like this, it behooves all of us to cooperate with the police and see that the murderer is quickly found so that our visitors will once again feel safe.”

“I agree. But I don’t know what else I can contribute to the investigation.”

Of course he did—the fact that he’d bribed Bob to give him the free pass to visit the inn. But she wasn’t about to press the issue. If he was the guilty party, he might just come after her. It was time to leave with discretion.

Tricia stood. “Thank you for speaking with me, Mr. Ellington.”

“My pleasure,” he said, but it was obvious he was simply being polite—although that was as far as it went. He didn’t stand to see her out.

“I’ll see myself out,” she said, and turned.

“Why did you come here to talk to me?” Ellington asked, causing Tricia to turn. “You’d be better off talking to Bob Kelly. He’s the one with all the answers.”

Perhaps he was right. But she and Bob weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

She’d have to fix that and quick…unless there was another way, and there was only one person who could make that happen.

Now to persuade Angelica to help.

It was
almost five when Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue. Since it was the slow season, she wasn’t surprised to find the
store devoid of customers and Linda and Mr. Everett seated in the reader’s nook exchanging a laugh.

“Looks like I’ve missed some fun,” she said.

“We were just talking,” Linda said, and moved to stand, but Tricia waved her back into her seat. She turned back to Mr. Everett. “And she wanted to return the book after she’d dropped it in the bathtub?”

Mr. Everett nodded. “She complained that the pages had swelled to such an extent that it wouldn’t sit well on her bookshelf.”

“And you accepted the return?”

“Ms. Miles okayed it in the name of good customer service,” he replied.

“It paid off in the long run,” Tricia said as she took off her coat, carefully folded it, and laid it over her left arm. “She came back a couple of weeks later and bought more than two hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise.”

Linda shook her head. “I guess I have a lot to learn about the book business.”

“And we shall be pleased to teach you,” Mr. Everett said.

“Have you had many customers since I left?” Tricia asked.

“Two or three,” Linda said.

Tricia frowned. It really didn’t pay for her to have two people on the sales floor when she had a distinct shortage of paying customers coming through the door.

As though reading her mind, Mr. Everett spoke up. “If it’s all right with you, Ms. Miles, starting tomorrow I shall go back to the hours I kept before Ginny left us.” He looked at Linda and beamed. “I know between the two of you that Haven’t Got a Clue will be in good hands when I’m absent.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Tricia said with a grin. Mr. Everett always took everything so seriously.

“And fear not,” he said, joining her in a smile, “tomorrow I will be working at the Happy Domestic for several hours. It will be good to spend time with Ginny again on a regular basis.”

“Oh. With Pixie gone, I thought you might decide to spend some time with Grace at the charitable foundation.”

Mr. Everett’s smile evaporated, and he shook his head. “When I owned my own store I discouraged family members from working together. It made for added tension, which wasn’t good for employee morale—or the morale of the related employees, either.”

“But surely she needs someone right away to keep the work from piling up.”

“I’m afraid she needs more than just a receptionist. She should have hired someone with far more experience who can take a greater role in helping her run the foundation.” And with that, his gaze shifted to Linda, who stared fixedly at the floor.

I will not offer up Linda—I won’t. I need her
, Tricia thought, and instantly felt guilty.

Linda said nothing.

“I’d better hang up my coat,” Tricia said.

“And I should get mine,” Mr. Everett said, and rose from his chair.

Tricia waved him to stay put. “I’ll get it.” As she walked to the back of the store, she could feel both pairs of eyes on her. Rats! She’d taken a chance hiring Linda, and although it had been only a couple of days, she seemed to fit in well so far. The idea of going through the whole interview process again did more than depress Tricia.

She returned to the readers’ nook with Mr. Everett’s coat. “I guess we’ll see you on Saturday, then.”

“That you will,” he said as he slid his arms into the sleeves. They watched in silence as he zippered the coat. “Good night, ladies,” he said, and headed for the door. He paused, then looked over to where Miss Marple lay on her perch behind the register. “And good night to you, too, Miss Marple.”

Miss Marple gave a languid “
Yow!
”

After the door had closed behind him, Tricia tried not to
look at her new assistant manager. The quiet was nerve racking.

The shrill sound of the telephone was just the distraction Tricia was looking for, and she hurried to answer it. “Haven’t Got a Clue. This is Tricia. How may I—”

“Oh, Tricia! The best thing in the world has happened,” came Angelica’s voice through the receiver. “You’ll never guess—you’ll never guess.”

“No, I won’t—so tell me!”

“I just got a call from my editor. Thanks to that YouTube video, there’s been a tremendous interest in my book. Sales for
Easy-Does-It Cooking
have skyrocketed. The publisher has ordered a ten-thousand-copy reprint. With those kind of numbers, there’s a chance it could hit the
New York Times
best sellers list!”

Tricia doubted that, but she chose to sound enthusiastic. “That’s terrific.” And perfect timing, too. If Angelica was in a good mood, she might be more receptive to helping Tricia get into Bob Kelly’s office to check the pockets of his suit coat.

“I’m going to celebrate tonight with champagne and lobster,” Angelica gushed. “I’d love it if you’d join me.”

“I’d be very happy to. Can I bring anything?”

“Just a smile and the will to celebrate.”

“Sounds like heaven. I’ll be over after I close the store and feed Miss Marple.”

“Great. See you then!”

Tricia hung up the phone and looked up to see Linda tidying the beverage station, her expression somber. She could tell the last hour of business was going to be awkward.

Why couldn’t Pixie have just apologized to her instead of exploding in a rage and quitting her job? Why did Linda just happen to have a degree and experience in the field of nonprofit organizations just when Grace needed such an employee to work at the Everett Charitable Foundation?

And why couldn’t Tricia ever get a break?

TWENTY-THREE

Angelica wasn’t
kidding when she said she wanted to celebrate. As Tricia made her way up the stairs to Angelica’s loft, she could smell the heavenly aroma of roasting garlic. She hung up her jacket and headed down the hall that led to Angelica’s kitchen and found the table set with candles, Angelica’s good china, sterling silverware, and Waterford crystal. A silver champagne bucket was filled with ice with a bottle just waiting for its cork to pop. Earlier in the day Tricia had felt overdressed. Now she felt underdressed.

“Everything looks lovely, Ange.”

“When I’m in the mood to celebrate, I celebrate.”

The phone rang.

“Dinner won’t be ready for another twenty minutes. Would you like a glass of Chardonnay before we open the good stuff?” Angelica asked.

The phone rang again.

“Why not?” Tricia said, and she reached for the cabinet that held the everyday glassware.

The phone kept ringing.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Tricia asked.

“No! It’s probably Bob. He’s been leaving messages on my landline, my cell, and at the store and café all day long,” Angelica said, and pulled out a wooden cutting board. “I
don’t
want to talk to him.”

That didn’t bode well for the success of Tricia’s admittedly harebrained plan.

Finally the ringing stopped.

Tricia poured the wine and handed Angelica a glass. “I’ve been waiting all day for this,” she said, taking a sip. She pouted before speaking again. “Seems like there’s trouble all over Stoneham.”

Tricia recognized trouble, too—in the tone of her sister’s voice. She had something to say that Tricia knew she wasn’t going to like.

“Didn’t you say Grace’s receptionist was named Pixie?”

Tricia nodded warily.

“I had a long conversation with a customer who said her name was Pixie. A hard-looking woman with orange hair.”

“That’s Pixie the horrible,” Tricia said, and sipped her wine. She had a feeling she should have poured herself something stronger.

“She had more than a few rough edges, but I wouldn’t say
horrible
,” Angelica said.

Tricia decided not to comment on that last remark.

“She came in to Booked for Lunch and sat at the counter. Bev was on a break so I served her. She ordered a double chocolate milkshake to drown her sorrows.”

“Oh, was she actually sorrowful?” Tricia asked.

“She said she’d just quit her job and that she’d be in trouble with her parole officer because of it.”

“I can’t say I’d shed any tears if Pixie was tossed back in the clink.”

“I don’t suppose you would. But I’ll bet you didn’t know that she’s a walking encyclopedia of trivia—and one of her specialties is vintage mysteries.”

Tricia gave her sister a sour look. “I’ll bet.”

“No, honestly. I tested her with a few questions. She really does seem to know her stuff. Apparently she had a lot of time to read during her stretch in the State Prison for Women. It seems the books in their library are kind of old.”

“And why am I supposed to care?” Tricia asked.

Angelica shrugged. “I was thinking…wouldn’t it make a lot more sense for Linda to work for Grace and Pixie to work for you?”

Tricia’s eyes bugged. “You’ve got to be kidding! I wouldn’t even let that woman walk through the door of Haven’t Got a Clue, let alone work there. And did I not tell you she called me a bitch?”