Murder on the Half Shelf (31 page)

“I’ve been taking a night class from him at the high school.”

“Oh, yes. He mentioned he was teaching. When did you suspect he was actually Harrison Tyler?”

Amy’s chapped cheeks went a darker shade of pink. “I thought he looked familiar the first night of class. I knew I’d seen his picture before. I couldn’t place his face at first, but then I came into your store a couple of months ago and saw the portrait on the wall. Mr. Everett told me all about him and sold me a used copy of
Death Beckons
.”

“Did you confront him with that information?”

“Not at first. I wanted to see if I could get him interested in me.”

“And we both know how that ended up.”

“Okay, I admit it. I was sleeping with Jon Comfort—but that doesn’t mean I wanted to kill his wife. I wasn’t looking for a lifelong commitment or anything. I mean, it was just sex with an interesting man. What’s wrong with that?”

What was wrong with young people these days? Casual sex was one thing, but this attitude that intimacy was just an afterthought appalled her. She was terribly out of step with the times, but somehow that didn’t make her feel bad. Instead, she felt sorry for Amy. Would she ever experience a true, loving
relationship, or would her whole concept of love be just jumping from one lover’s bed to another?

“Have you told Chief Baker about your affair?”

Amy cringed. “Affair? It wasn’t an ‘affair.’ I told you, it was just sex. And…I figured it would be kinda cool to be involved with someone who was going to be notorious one day.”

“What were you planning? A memoir? Your life with Harry Tyler?”

“Some chick got famous sleeping with J. D. Salinger. Why shouldn’t I do the same with Jon…er, Harry?”

Ah yes, another New Hampshire love story. The distance between Stoneham and Durham, where Salinger had hidden out for most of his adult life, wasn’t all that far, after all.

“Too bad it didn’t last long enough for me to have anything to interest
People
magazine, let alone get a book contract,” Amy groused.

“So, you’ve got literary aspirations of your own?”

“Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life delivering flowers and watering plants in hick towns like Stoneham and Milford?”

“If nothing else, your tryst can be construed as motive for murder.”

“Except I have an ironclad alibi for Sunday night.”

“Harry hinted to me that he went to see you on Monday night—and that’s where he was when his wife was killed.”

“Then he lied. I have no idea where he was, but he wasn’t with me. I was visiting my parents. It was my brother’s twenty-fifth birthday. I took video with my cell phone and so did everyone else who was there. They’re time dated. When Pippa Comfort died I was stuffing my mouth full of birthday cake.” She looked down at her hips, which strained against the fabric of her heavy jacket, and struggled to suppress a sob.

“Harry broke up with you this morning, didn’t he?”

Amy nodded. “He told me he was leaving town. He wanted to make a fresh start. He told me I should go on a diet and
find someone my own age. That I’d be much happier in the long run.”

Amy wasn’t fat by any means. Whatever assets she had were usually well hidden by her work clothes, which did tend to fall on the bulky side. Had Harry tried to make her feel bad before he left so that she would let go more easily, or did he just have a cruel streak in him? Tricia hadn’t noticed that in her dealings with the man, but he’d certainly changed since she’d known him twenty years before.

Amy looked back to her van parked down the street and hefted the claw in her hand. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

And Tricia was eager to get back inside. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your situation. Harry once left me, too. That was when he disappeared all those years ago.”

“I guess he’s good at loving and leaving, then,” Amy said. “I’ll see you later, Tricia,” and she moved down the sidewalk, only to pause in front of the Cookery, where she began to loosen the soil in the urn outside the shop.

Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue just in time to help Linda with a sale.

As Tricia bagged the books, adding the store’s latest newsletter, she couldn’t help but dwell on her conversation with Amy. Where had Harry gone the night of his wife’s death? Why had he lied? Was anybody going to mention any of this to Chief Baker?

As the customer departed, she held the door for Angelica, who stepped inside. She was wrapped in a big baggy parka, with a white knit cap covering her head, matching mittens, and sturdy boots. “Good morning,” she called.

“What are you dressed up for? A visit to an igloo?” Tricia asked.

“We’ve got our little rendezvous set up for eleven, or did you forget?”

Tricia looked at the clock. “You’re more than half an hour early.”

“I couldn’t sit around the apartment another minute. What’s a person got to do around here to get a cup of coffee?”

“Take off your coat and I’ll get you one,” Tricia said, and headed for the beverage station. Sadly, she’d never finished her espresso, which was by now stone-cold.

The door rattled once more and another customer arrived. Linda put on her best smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for some books by John Dickson Carr.”

“If you’ll follow me, I’d be glad to show you.”

Angelica nodded in admiration as she watched Linda guide the customer to the back shelves.

Tricia handed her a cup of coffee. “I’ve got lots to tell you, but I don’t want to do it here. Come on upstairs.” Angelica followed without question. “We’ll be back down in a few minutes,” Tricia said to Linda as they passed her and went through the door marked PRIVATE.

Once inside Tricia’s apartment, Angelica dumped her coat on one of the kitchen island stools, hitched up a hip, and took another. “So what’s the dirt?”

“Harry has been having an affair with Amy Schram.”

Angelica’s jaw dropped. “He’s old enough to be her daddy!”

“Exactly. He dumped her this morning and is heading to New York to see Artie. He wants Harry to write a memoir on his missing years.”

Angelica scowled. “The rat ought to be horsewhipped, not rewarded for pulling a vanishing act.” She sipped her coffee. “Anything else?”

“He told me—and presumably Grant Baker—that he was with Amy, but Amy denies it. The funny thing is, she hasn’t spoken with the police. Why would Harry lie to me about it?”

“Maybe he lost more than a career during the years he was among the missing. He could’ve lost his marbles, too,” Angelica said, and took a healthy sip of coffee. “What else has the rat been up to?”

“He told me he was being forced to leave the inn.”

Angelica blinked. “He did?”

“You mean he wasn’t?”

“Not that I know of. I spoke to Antonio just yesterday, and he made no mention of it. In fact, he’s been so busy, he hasn’t had time to do anything about replacing Pippa.”

“So Harry’s lying?”

“Well, he’s certainly not telling the truth about that, either.”

“That makes me feel better.”

“That he’s lying?”

“No, that you wouldn’t be involved in anything so coldhearted.”

Angelica laughed. “Well, that’s a given.”

“So there’s no talk about selling the inn and giving up on it?”

“Why would we sell it? It’s beautiful, Stoneham needs more places for people to stay, and why shouldn’t we make the money on it instead of someone else?”

Angelica—logical to a fault.

Tricia bent down and leaned her elbows on the island’s granite top.

“I need to talk to Grant about Harry and Amy. Only he’ll probably think I’m just calling him because I’m lovesick and miss him.”

“Men! Such egos,” Angelica agreed and rolled her eyes. “Anything else new?”

Tricia sighed. “Mary Fairchild has quit the Tuesday Night Book Club. She says she can’t read mysteries after knowing a murder victim.”

Angelica nodded. “I can see someone being shook up over that. But she’s a real nut for mysteries. She’ll come around. My predictions are seldom wrong.” Lately she seemed to be on a roll.

“Linda told me you’d spoken with her this morning,” Tricia said.

“Yes, and I’ve also spoken to Grace and Pixie. We’re on for this afternoon after Booked for Lunch closes. Three thirty sharp.” She looked down her nose at Tricia. “Be there.”

There was no arguing with Angelica when she wore that expression. Just as quickly, her expression changed to keen interest. “Now, we need to talk about the adventure we’re about to embark on.”

“I figured I’d make a circuitous route to Kelly Realty and wait until you get him outside, and then I’d make my move. You could call or text me to let me know when you’re in position.”

Angelica indicated her coat. “I decided I’d better dress warmly. Bob can be a bit of a blowhard when he wants to be, and I have no intention of entering his office after your five minutes is up.” Angelica looked at the clock and then drained her cup. “You’d better get going if you intend to be in position before I get there.”

“Oh, right,” Tricia said, and straightened. Suddenly her stomach was full of butterflies.

“I’ll use your facilities and leave in ten minutes. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“Whatever you do, just keep Bob looking south. If he sees me, I’m done.”

“Yes. The way he feels about you these days, I’m sure he’d have you arrested for trespassing,” she said blandly.

Tricia didn’t like the sound of that, but she didn’t want to back out now. She’d already wasted too much time and energy worrying about it. “I’ll grab my coat and go out the back door. Lock up and reset the alarm for me, will you?”

“Will do.”

“Don’t forget to call me,” Tricia called as she headed down the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue.

“I won’t!” Angelica answered.

Tricia emerged from the stairwell and closed the door behind her. Linda stood behind the register, holding the latest
copy of
Mystery Scene
magazine. “I’ve got an errand to run,” Tricia said, grabbing her coat from the peg on the wall. “I’m going out the rear door. I should be back in about twenty minutes. Will you be okay?”

“Sure,” Linda said.

Tricia gave her a quick wave, disarmed the security system, and headed out the door.

She took off down the alley at a brisk pace, heading south. She intended to cross Elm Street and walk along the alley behind the west side of Main Street, hit the cross street, and come up on Kelly Realty from behind.

Everything was going according to plan until she made it to the back of Booked for Lunch when a voice called out behind her. “Where do you think
you’re
going?”

TWENTY-FIVE

Tricia stopped
dead to face Michele Fowler, who stood next to the Dumpster behind the Dog-Eared Page, holding a black plastic bag full of trash.

“Uh…just taking a quick walk.”

“In the alley across the street from your own store? Are you lost?” Michele asked in jest.

Tricia laughed nervously and looked at her watch. Angelica would be in front of Kelly Realty in less than five minutes. “No. Just taking a shortcut.”

“To where?” Michele asked, and tossed the bag into the Dumpster.

“Um…Elm Street.”

Clad in wool slacks and a cardigan, Michele crossed her arms and wandered closer. “Wouldn’t it have been shorter just to cross Main Street?”

Tricia laughed again. “Exercise.”

“Angelica told me you faithfully use your treadmill every morning—four miles, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It never hurts to do more,” she said, and started backing away.

“Come over later for a drink, why don’t you?”

“I’d love to. Must get going. See you later!” She gave Michele a wave, turned, and picked up her pace.

She passed the back of the
Stoneham Weekly News
and halted on the sidewalk at Locust Street as a line of cars snaked its way around the corner from Main Street, headed by a long silver hearse. Whoever had died had a lot of friends. Tricia glanced at her watch. Angelica would be in front of Bob’s place in less than four minutes.

By the time the last car had passed, Tricia saw Angelica leave Haven’t Got a Clue. That gave her less than two minutes to get into position. She jogged around the back of the village park, past the gazebo still under reconstruction, and crossed Hickory Street to enter the alley behind the Chamber of Commerce. She slowed her pace as she approached the back of Kelly Realty. Was there a window overlooking the alley? She couldn’t remember. She tiptoed along the side of the building. Yes, there was a window. She edged up to it and peeked around the window frame. Inside was a small conference room, with a rectangular table and six uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs. Thankfully there was no one inside, and Tricia made her way to the corner of the building, but didn’t go any farther. Her phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She took it out and flipped it open.

“Tricia, I’m in position.”

“I’m ready, too.”

“Remember—you have five minutes and no more,” Angelica cautioned, and ended the call.

Tricia folded her phone again and stashed it back in her pocket. She decided to count to sixty to give Angelica time to lure Bob outside his office. Then she sneaked up on the edge
of the building and took a look around the corner of the cement-block building, hoping Bob was looking in the other direction.