Murder on the Half Shelf (32 page)

Dressed in one of his kelly green sport coats, Bob stood in front of the Chamber of Commerce facing Angelica, his back turned on his office. Angelica looked at him coyly and brushed at her bangs—surreptitiously giving Tricia a wave to make her move.

Tricia dashed around the corner and pulled open the heavy plate glass door, darting into the warmth of Kelly Realty. Sure enough, it was empty. Her luck was holding.

Although she’d been inside Bob’s office on many occasions, she didn’t remember where he hung his coat and those of his employee and visitors. Her gaze darted around the room and saw a small alcove with a closet on the other side of the large display window.

Five different green Kelly Realty sport jackets were lined up on the rod. Tricia hurried across the room and fumbled to inspect each right sleeve. Aha—the third one was the charm. She stuck her hand in the left-hand pocket and came up with a half-empty matchbook from the Bookshelf Diner and a wrinkled business card from the Full Moon Nudist Camp and Resort, containing Clay Ellington’s name, phone numbers, and e-mail address.

In the other pocket were four more business cards, but not from Chamber members who had been awarded the prize of a night’s stay at the Sheer Comfort Inn. No doubt about it—Bob, the swine, had dipped his hand into the glass bowl, pulled out four cards, and announced four different winners.

Had he been bribed by everyone he called as winners? She might believe that of Ellington, but not Chauncey and Mary. They were her friends…they couldn’t have ulterior motives for being at the inn the night Pippa Comfort died…could they?

Tricia wasn’t sure what to do. If she took the cards, she’d
be removing evidence. But did the cards actually prove anything? Bob could just as easily say he had them for another reason, or that he’d picked them up after a meeting.

She glanced at her watch. Angelica would be getting antsy by now. She had better get out of the office before she was caught.

She crept to the door and looked through the big display glass. Bob still stood with his back to the building.

Tricia eased out the door, her heart pounding. And what was she supposed to do now? Sneak around the back way? That would look suspicious—twice in ten minutes. Instead, she plunged ahead. She would walk right past Bob and rescue Angelica.

She walked right up to the former couple. “Hi, Bob. What are you doing here, Angelica?”

Angelica gave a nervous laugh. “Bob and I were just talking.”

“You did remember that we have a meeting with Grace,” Tricia said.

“Oh my goodness, is that today?” Angelica said. She turned to Bob. “I’m sorry, but I really must run.”

“But we haven’t really settled anything,” Bob said, not at all pleased.

“I really don’t think there’s anything to settle,” Angelica said.

Tricia tugged on her sister’s coat sleeve. “We really need to go.” She gave Bob a sympathetic smile. “See you later, Bob.” She yanked Angelica’s sleeve harder, hauling her along. Angelica tottered on her high-heeled boots and nearly stumbled but quickly righted herself and moved into step.

They paused at the corner and waited for a car to pass. “Thanks for the save,” Angelica muttered. “What did you find?”

“Just what I expected. In his right pocket, business cards—but they weren’t from any of the raffle winners, including you.
But there was a business card from the Full Moon Nudist Camp and Resort in his other pocket.”

They crossed Main Street. As they passed in front of the Patisserie, Tricia looked through the big display window and caught sight of Nikki Brimfield, who glared at her. She didn’t like being persona non grata for no good reason.

“What are you going to do next?” Angelica asked.

“I need to talk to Bob. Confront him.”

“And say what—you cheated at the raffle?”

“Maybe. I certainly can’t go to Grant with my suspicions. I’ve got no proof.”

“It would be your word against Bob’s,” Angelica agreed. “Maybe you should just forget all this investigation stuff and go back to worrying about your store and employee situation—or almost certain
lack
-of-new-employee situation.”

They paused outside the Cookery. Tricia looked down the road. There was no sign of Bob. “What did Bob say to you?”

Angelica sighed dramatically. “I thought he’d berate me for being a partner at the inn, but instead he begged me to take him back. As if
that’s
ever going to happen. Thank you for showing up when you did. I was afraid he might try tears next.”

Poor Bob. He’d blown his relationship with Angelica and he just didn’t understand why.

Angelica glanced at her watch. “I have things to do before we meet Grace and Pixie.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me. I’m looking forward to seeing Pixie like I’d look forward to having a tooth pulled.”

“Just give her a chance. That’s all she really wants,” Angelica said.

Somehow Tricia doubted that.

Stoneham in
early April was dead, dead, dead. With nothing in the way of an appetite, Tricia had forgone lunch. When Linda returned to Haven’t Got a Clue after her midday break,
Tricia felt the need to escape the confines of her shop. She had business to conduct. It took less than three minutes to walk from her store to Kelly Realty. She just hoped Bob would still be there.

She found Stoneham’s savior leaning back in his office chair, his feet planted on his desk, staring at the nineteen-inch television bolted to the wall and tuned to ESPN, watching a rerun of some championship golf game. He looked up at Tricia’s arrival, grabbed the remote, and hit the power button. The screen went black.

Bob put on his best poker face, sitting straight in his chair. “Hi, Tricia. What can I do for you?”

“I haven’t got time to mess around with niceties, Bob. Did you rig the raffle for the night’s stay at the Sheer Comfort Inn?”

“Tricia!” Bob scolded, and quickly looked away, suddenly finding it necessary to straighten the papers on his desk.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and rounded on him.

“Cheating on a Chamber raffle wouldn’t be right,” he protested.

“That doesn’t mean you weren’t above doing it.”

“I’m hurt by your accusation.”

“And you’ll be even more upset once I tell Chief Baker about it. There’s got to be something illegal about it. And if there isn’t, what do you think the Chamber members will say when I tell them?”

Bob said nothing, but Tricia could almost smell his smoldering anger.

“Don’t you dare deny it—not after you tried to bribe me not to accompany Angelica to the inn on Sunday.”

His mouth curled into a sneer. “It’s your word against mine. No one will believe you, Little Miss Village Jinx.”

“Maybe not, but they
will
believe Angelica.”

Bob’s eyes bulged at the threat. “Now wait a minute; there’s no reason to get your sister involved in this.”

“Everybody’s going to find out once I tell the police. And you might even be charged with obstructing justice for not volunteering this information to the Stoneham police.” Tricia tapped her left index finger against her chin, gazing up at the ceiling in mock contemplation. “I wonder how you’ll look in one of those orange jumpsuits prisoners wear. I hear they chafe.”

“Okay,” Bob said, looking chagrined. “So I accepted a little honorarium for making sure certain people won the raffle. I was going to give it to charity.”

“Which one?”

“The Food Shelf. Libby Hirt can always use the money.”

“Have you done so?”

“Uh…I haven’t had time. I’m a very busy man.”

“It’s been a week since the raffle; what were you waiting for—Christmas?”

“I’m going to do it. Look, if it’ll make you happy I’ll write a check out right now.” He withdrew a large ledger book of checks, opened it, and took out a pen. “No one has to know about this except us.”

Tricia shook her head. “Uh-uh. Pippa Comfort died that night. Someone who was at the inn that night killed her. You might be an accessory to her death.”

Bob’s mouth dropped open in horror. “But—but I wasn’t even there!” he protested.

“You may have given her killer the opportunity to strike.”

Bob shook his head, waving his hands in front of him in denial. “You can’t pin anything on me. I may have taken their money, but as far as I knew they all just wanted a cheap night in a homelike setting. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I’ll even take a polygraph.”

Tricia had no doubt he’d ace such a test. Bob had little to no conscience. She’d never felt such contempt for another human being. “I’m so glad Angelica dumped you. You are lower than a slug.” And without another word, Tricia turned and left his office.

As she walked back to Haven’t Got a Clue, she contemplated her next move. She had to talk to Baker, but her meeting with Angelica and Pixie was less than an hour away. Bob wasn’t likely to volunteer the information, but it would keep for an hour or more.

Still it was disturbing to think she’d spoken with Pippa’s murderer and that person—whoever it was—had pretty good acting skills.

She didn’t have a clue who’d bludgeoned Pippa Comfort to death.

TWENTY-SIX

“It’s almost
three thirty,” Linda said, and pointed at her watch. She hadn’t told Tricia how her interview with Grace had gone, but the small smile that covered her lips and the gleam in her eyes left no doubt that a job offer had been—or was about to be—made.

Tricia felt sick at the thought of conducting yet more interviews for the job of assistant manager at Haven’t Got a Clue. The prospect of working with Pixie was just as nauseating.

“You don’t want to be late,” Linda encouraged.

A submissive Tricia collected her coat from the peg at the back of the store and exited the shop, feeling like a child being forced to go to the class bully’s birthday party.

As usual on a cold April afternoon, traffic on Main Street was less than light. In fact, there wasn’t a car in sight, and Tricia jaywalked to get to Booked for Lunch. She noted the lights were still on inside, but the neon OPEN sign had been
extinguished. She tried the door handle, found it unlocked, and entered the café as though stepping before a firing squad.

Angelica had changed her clothes since Tricia had seen her at lunch. She now wore a tight black pencil skirt and a tucked-in black-and-white striped shirt with a button-down polka-dot bib. She’d donned a pair of reading glasses on a chain that gave her the look of a high-powered secretary—or worse, the high school principal from Tricia’s past. She stood on three-inch heels in the aisle between the booths along the south wall and the counter opposite.

“Right on time. Take off your coat and take a seat,” she chimed, directing Tricia toward the first booth, where Pixie already sat. Dressed in a tan-and-brown striped vintage dress from what appeared to be from the 1940s, with her hair once again done in a pompadour, Pixie looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of an old
Life
magazine.

“Hello, Pixie,” Tricia said, her voice barely audible.

“Mmm,” Pixie grunted.

Not an auspicious beginning. Angelica didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Now, ladies, let’s begin. First off, Pixie has something to say.”

Pixie glowered, but her anger seemed to melt under Angelica’s reproachful glare. “I’m…sorry, Ms. Miles. Er, Tricia. I was rude and I apologize.” The words sounded rehearsed and not at all sincere. Had Angelica coached her on this?

Tricia sighed. It was only polite to acknowledge Pixie’s apology. “I accept,” she said, and even managed a wan smile.

Pixie looked…frightened? She really
didn’t
want to go back to jail, and who could blame her?

Tricia turned up the wattage on her smile, hoping she didn’t look demented. “Angelica tells me you know a lot about vintage mysteries.”

Pixie’s eyes widened with interest at the change of subject. “My dad was a big fan of Erle Stanley Gardner. He used to
read to me at bedtime, but instead of fairy tales he read me all the Perry Mason stories. When I got a little older, we used to watch reruns of the old black-and-white TV show. Oh, that Raymond Burr—what a guy! Did you ever see
Ironside
?”

Tricia had only seen the show in reruns, not when it had run on network TV, but she nodded just the same. “I have to admit I liked the latter-day TV movies better than the old Perry Mason show. Let’s face it, William Katt as Paul Drake Junior was a lot sexier than William Hopper on the original series.”

Pixie grinned. “Oh, you better believe it. Did you know he was actually Barbara Hale’s son?”

“I did,” Tricia admitted. “I had a crush on him when I was in junior high. You had to love all that curly blond hair.”

“Ahem.” All eyes turned to Angelica. “Let’s stay on topic, ladies,” she admonished, and Tricia and Pixie were both suitably cowed once again. “Tricia, did you have any questions you wanted to ask Pixie?”

Tricia fought the urge to squirm. She had a lot of questions, but would the goodwill they’d just shared disappear if she asked them? She decided to tread lightly.

“Have you ever worked in a retail business before?”

“Oh, sure,” Pixie said. “Before my last stint in stir, I was a checkout girl at Hannaford’s in Nashua. Held the job for almost six months. Then I met this guy in a bar and got arrested again…” Her sentence trailed off. “But I’ve sworn off my old ways,” she said, suddenly sitting up straighter. “I mean, at my age there aren’t that many men who are interested.”