“Let’s get back to Pammy.” Tricia bit her lip. “Do you think we ought to tell Captain Baker about our suspicions?”
“What suspicions? I don’t have any.”
“Well, I do.”
Angelica shook her head. “Look what trouble sharing your suspicions with the law has gotten you before.”
“Yes, but that was when I was dealing with Sheriff Adams. I think Captain Baker is a lot more”-she paused, trying to come up with an appropriate term-“sympathetic.”
“It’s those green eyes of his. You’re a sucker for them.”
“So are you,” Tricia countered. Bob Kelly had green eyes, too.
Angelica swirled the wine in her glass. “Maybe so. But it’s immaterial. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of Captain Baker-but unless he asks, keep your ideas to yourself. We’ll both be better off if you do.”
“Okay. But I still think I must know something that could be helpful to the investigation. I just wish I knew what it was.”
FIVE
Tricia found it hard to sleep that night. Maybe it was the quiet. Pammy’s snores had awakened her more than once during her lengthy stay. Staring at the ceiling for hours on end gave Tricia plenty of time to think about Pammy’s visit and her untimely death.
Why had she shown up at the Food Shelf just hours before she died? Why had she wanted to speak to Stuart Paige? Maybe if she could talk to Paige, she could find out what his connection to Pammy was. That is, if she could find someone to introduce her to him.
Bob Kelly probably knew the philanthropist.
Tricia winced at the thought. Because of Pammy’s death-and her link with Pammy-Bob wasn’t likely to introduce her to the man. Not if it meant the possibility of straining relations with the Chamber of Commerce. Could she entice the Food Shelf’s chairperson, Libby Hirt, to do so? It might be worth trying.
With that decided, Tricia was finally able to drift off to sleep.
She never heard the alarm clock ring the next morning, and awoke only half an hour before Haven’t Got a Clue was to open its doors. After a fast shower, she dressed, fed Miss Marple, and dashed down the stairs to the shop. Mr. Everett was already waiting at the store’s entrance.
“My, we’re late today,” he commented after Tricia had unlocked the door and let him in.
“I had a rather sleepless night,” she admitted.
Mr. Everett headed straight for the coffeemaker. “After what happened yesterday, I can well understand that. I’ll get this started if you want to get the register up and running.”
“Thank you,” Tricia said gratefully.
By the time she’d taken money from the safe and counted it out for the till, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the front of the store. Mr. Everett brought her a cup, fixed just the way she liked it.
“I’m afraid the wastebasket behind the coffee station wasn’t emptied last night,” he said. Something else Ginny was supposed to have done, but hadn’t. “Shall I do it now?”
“Oh, no,” Tricia said. “I know how those back stairs bother your knees. I’ll do it. Would you watch the register for a few minutes?”
“I’d be delighted,” the elderly gent said, and gave her a smile. Come to think of it, he’d been smiling a lot lately. He took his place behind the register, and Tricia found a cap for her cup and set it on the counter at the coffee station. She grabbed the wastebasket.
“I’ll be right back.”
The wind was brisk on this sunny October morning as she trundled down the steps that led to the Dumpster. On her way back she again noticed two bowls on the concrete steps leading to the Cookery’s back door. She moseyed over to have a look. Sure enough, one contained the remains of dry cat food; the other contained water that had already attracted a few stray locust leaves. She picked them out and tossed them on the ground. The poor kitty shouldn’t have to drink dirty water.
Poor Frannie if Angelica found out she was still feeding the neighborhood stray.
Tricia glanced at her watch. By now Angelica would be at her café, getting ready for the lunch crowd that would start filing in within the hour. Frannie was safe from detection-for another few hours, at least.
Tricia reentered her store and found that they already had a customer-or at least a guest. Grace Harris, Mr. Everett’s special friend, had arrived before the onslaught of tourists. Tricia had met her just a year before, under not very pleasant conditions-at least for Grace, who’d been forced into a nursing home under suspicious circumstances. Tricia had helped extricate her from the home, and since that time, Grace and Mr. Everett had renewed their decades-old friendship.
As usual, Grace was dressed to the nines. Beautiful name-brand clothes, exquisite jewelry, and expertly coiffed hair, too. With her lovely skin and natural poise, she could have easily made a fortune as a senior citizen model, but her late husband had left her very well off. She liked to read, and she liked Mr. Everett. A lot.
“Good morning, Grace. You’re here early.”
“I have so much to do today, and I decided I’d best start early.”
“Don’t overdo, dear,” Mr. Everett said kindly.
Grace reached across the counter to clasp his hand. “I won’t.” She gazed back at Tricia, her expression luminous. She looked back at Mr. Everett. “I don’t suppose you’ve told Tricia our good news.”
Mr. Everett shook his head, a blush coloring his cheeks as his gaze dipped to the counter.
“Shame on you,” Grace scolded. “Shall I?”
Again he shook his head. “It’s my duty.”
Duty? That sounded serious.
Mr. Everett cleared his throat and focused on Tricia’s face. “Ms. Miles, you and Ginny are like family to me. That’s why we want you to be one of the first to know-”
“We’re engaged,” Grace announced, and pulled the leather glove from her left hand, revealing a modest solitaire diamond. “And Tricia, I want you to be my maid of honor.”
Tricia held Grace’s outstretched hand, admiring the stone. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That you’d love to, would be an acceptable answer,” Mr. Everett prompted with a hopeful smile.
Tricia beamed. “I’d be delighted! When’s the happy day?”
“We haven’t set a firm date, but at our age we don’t see much point in waiting,” Grace said. “Either this Sunday or next.”
“What are your plans for the ceremony?”
“Something small and dignified. We have an appointment later this afternoon to talk to the head of catering at the Brookview Inn. That is, if you can spare dear William.”
“Of course you can have the afternoon off,” Tricia told Mr. Everett. “And you must let me know what I can do for the wedding day. Can I provide the cake? The music? The flowers?”
“That is so kind of you,” Grace said, “but I think we’ll have everything in hand.”
“I’d really like to do something for you on your day.”
“Just be there. That will be more than enough,” Mr. Everett said, and his eyes shone with unshed tears.
Tricia smiled and threw her arms-gently-around the old man. “You better believe I’ll be there. I’ll close the store if I have to.”
“We chose a Sunday morning so that none of our bookshop friends would have to miss the ceremony. We thought we’d have a brunch reception, and that way we’d also have plenty of time to take an afternoon flight to our wedding-night destination.” Grace actually blushed at this last announcement.
Tricia felt a lump rise in her throat. Here these two dear people-who deserved decades of happiness together, and weren’t likely to receive it-were thinking more of accommodating their guests than of their own circumstances on their most joyous day. Surely no two finer people deserved an abundance of marital bliss.
Tricia clasped Grace’s hand. “Do you have your dress? What are your colors? Where are you going on your honeymoon?”