Ginny reappeared and stood behind Tricia. “Uh-oh. This looks like trouble.”
Baker opened the door, letting it slam against the wall, stepped inside, and let it bang shut before he advanced on the sales register like an angry bull.
“Where are they?” he demanded, shoving the red-covered diary at Tricia.
“Where are what?”
“The missing pages. There are at least two sheets-four pages-missing.”
“There are?”
“Would I be here demanding you return them if I didn’t think so?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He opened the book to the middle. “Read the last sentence on this page and see if it makes sense to you.”
Tricia scanned the cursive text at the bottom of the lefthand page. I’ve asked him for money so that I can-her gaze traveled to the top of the right-hand page-and I’m not about to make waves. That would insure I never get him back again.
Tricia frowned. She must have been tired when she originally read that segment of the journal. Otherwise she would’ve noticed that the sentence didn’t make sense. Unless the writer had been fatigued herself, and lost her train of thought. She noticed the diary’s signature threads were loose, as though pages had been ripped out. Funny she hadn’t noticed that before-maybe because the lighting in her living room wasn’t as bright as it could be.
Tricia handed back the journal. “What makes you think I took the page or pages out?”
“You were the last one to have the book in your possession.”
“But why would you think I tore them out? Isn’t it more likely Pammy would’ve done it herself? Or how about the diary’s original owner?”
“Someone did it. If the diary was found here, perhaps the missing pages are here, too.”
Tricia straightened in indignation. “What do you propose? To tear my shop apart looking for them?”
“It’s an option.”
She stood tall. “I don’t think so.”
He stood taller. “I can get a warrant.”
It was all Tricia could do not to explode. “Captain, Pammy was unsupervised in my store for less than two minutes-more like one minute-before she left here on Monday. She only had time to hide the diary. My sister and I took nearly every book off the back shelves before she found it. Pammy could’ve had those pages in her suitcase or her purse. And don’t forget, she tried to confront Stuart Paige at the Food Shelf’s dedication after she left here. Isn’t it likely she would’ve had them with her?”
“No. Because if he or his associates took them from her, she’d have no leverage for blackmail.”
“No one ever said Pammy was the brightest light on the Christmas tree.”
Baker had no rebuttal. Instead he turned to Ginny. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a freegan?”
Ginny looked like a deer standing in headlights. “You never asked.”
He turned on Tricia. “You knew I was looking for freegans. Why didn’t you tell me your employee was one?”
Ginny had already used up the best excuse. “I didn’t think they could help you. I’ve already talked to them, and-”
Baker lost it. He yanked his hat from his head and threw it on the counter, startling both women. “When are you going to get it through that head of yours that I’m running this investigation, not you?”
“How did you find out about Ginny?”
“The convenience store owner told me.”
Ginny’s eyes blazed. “Did he also mention his son is one of us, too?”
Baker spoke through clenched teeth. “No, he didn’t.” He looked down at the journal still clutched in his hand.
“What’s your next move?” Tricia asked. “You’ve tracked Pammy’s movements the morning of her death. She could’ve dropped off those pages at any one of her stops.”
“Yes. I suppose I’ll have to go back and interview everyone who spoke with her that day.”
Tricia pointed to her watch. “Time’s a-wasting.”
This time it was Baker who looked like he wanted to slug somebody. Instead, he jabbed his index finger in Ginny’s direction. “I’m going to call for another deputy to come and question you. Stay here. Don’t talk to any of your friends. Do you hear me?”
Ginny’s head bobbed, her eyes still wide.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he told Tricia, then grabbed his hat, and stormed out of the shop.
Ginny winced. “Are you actively trying to make an enemy out of him?”
Tricia shook her head, almost as angry as Baker had been. “We started off on the right foot, but things have gone downhill since Monday. Maybe it’s my destiny to never get along with law enforcement. Me, who’s a fan of police procedurals.”
“Maybe you should have gone into police work instead of bookselling. For you, it would be just as dangerous as owning this bookstore.”
Tricia chose to believe Ginny was kidding.
She glanced down the street and saw Baker enter the Happy Domestic, the first place Pammy had put in a job application. Next up would be Russ at the Stoneham Weekly News, and then Angelica at Booked for Lunch.
Was it possible Pammy had dumped the pages at the last place she’d visited before her death?
“Watch the shop, Ginny. I’ve got to go see Angelica.”
“Sure thing. But what am I going to say to the deputy who comes to interview me? Do you think I need a lawyer?”
Tricia shook her head. “Just tell the truth. You’ll be okay.” She headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Tricia jaywalked across Main Street and entered Booked for Lunch. The place was a madhouse. Every table was full, as were the stools at the counter. Angelica waited on a table of four while a strident voice at the counter called, “Miss! Miss!”
Angelica looked up and saw Tricia. “See what that guy wants, will you?”
Tricia jumped behind the counter. “How can I help you, sir?”
“More coffee,” he said, shoving his stained cup toward her. She reached behind her and grabbed a coffeepot from the warmer. “Not decaf, you idiot!”
Tricia looked down. Sure enough, the pot’s handle was orange. “Sorry.” She switched carafes and poured. “Do you need creamer with that?”
“Of course I do,” he snapped. “Why doesn’t the owner hire competent help? First that stupid waitress, and now you.”
It took all Tricia’s resolve not to pour coffee on his lap.
A little bell rang from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.
“Miss, I could use a refill, too,” said a voice at the other end of the counter.
Tricia poured, and offered everyone else a refill.
Angelica rushed to the counter to grab a bottle of ketchup. “What are you doing here-not that I care. I can use the help.” She grabbed a jar of mustard, too.
The little bell rang again; twice this time.
“Captain Baker says there’re pages missing from Pammy’s diary. He’ll probably be here any minute to search the place.”
“Not until I close! And why would he think she left the pages here?”
“This was the last place she visited before she died. Have you seen anything that looks like diary pages?”
“Miss, where’s my ketchup?” a voice demanded.
Tricia threw an angry glare at the offending customer. “Remind me why you wanted to start this business.”
“I’m shorthanded, and they want their food when they want it-not when I can get it to them.”
“Captain Baker also found out Ginny is a freegan. He was furious because I didn’t tell him.”
A little bell rang madly from the kitchen.
“What is that?” Tricia asked.
“Jake’s got my two burgers and fries up. Can you go grab them? They’re for table four.”
“I’ve got my own business to run, you know.”
“Please?” Angelica pleaded.
Tricia turned. If their father could see the two of them working as waitresses-after all the money he’d spent on Ivy League colleges-he’d have a fit.
She collected the plates and delivered them to table four, grateful Angelica had hung a little numbered ceramic tile above each table. After she’d collected ketchup and mustard for the table and had been assured the couple needed nothing else, she went behind the counter once again. No one was screaming for anything, so she crouched down and began her search.