“I’m not supposed to talk about it to anyone.”
“Not even me?” Ginny asked, hurt.
Tricia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ginny, not even you.”
Ginny sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I guess I have enough problems to worry about anyway.”
They both looked up as the shop door opened. This time it was a real customer.
Tricia spoke. “Sometimes the best thing you can do when things aren’t going well is to lose yourself in work. That’s what I’m planning to do today.”
Ginny drank the last of her coffee and tossed the cup into the wastebasket. “You know, we ought to use those china mugs I saw up on the sideboard in the break room-at least for you and me and Mr. Everett. We’re wasting a lot of paper when we drink out of these disposable cups several times every day. And it would be better for the business’s bottom line.”
Trust Ginny to be worried about the store’s welfare-if not the entire planet’s. “I never wanted to bother with washing them,” Tricia admitted.
“How about if I do it?”
“That would be great. Maybe later I’ll go upstairs and bring some down, unless you’d like to bring in one of your own from home.”
“I do have a favorite one-it’s got a little gray cat on it. It reminds me of Miss Marple.” At the sound of her name, Tricia’s cat appeared and jumped on the counter, giving a yow! for attention. Ginny petted her, but even the damp nose nuzzling her hand didn’t seem to lift her spirits.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be up here,” Tricia scolded the cat. She picked her up and set her on the floor. Miss Marple walked away with her head and her tail held high.
Ginny took a deep breath, as though steeling herself. “I guess I’ll ask if this customer needs help.”
Tricia touched her assistant’s arm, and nodded in reassurance.
With Ginny occupied, Tricia took out the disinfecting spray and wiped down the counter before she headed for the register, taking the paper cup and its tepid coffee with her. The phone rang. She forced a smile into her voice that she didn’t feel. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia. How may I help you?”
“You didn’t do as I said,” came the voice. “You didn’t give me the diary.”
That damn voice again. And he/she/it had called the shop line, not her personal line.
“How could I? Besides, I told you, Joe, I can’t talk to you. And I’ve told the Sheriff’s Department about these calls. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already tapped my line to catch you.” A lie, but the caller didn’t have to know that.
“You’ll pay for this,” said the voice.
Tricia hung up the phone. She wasn’t about to be intimidated by Joe Hirt. Instead, she picked up the receiver and dialed the Sheriff’s Department. It took five minutes on hold before Captain Baker came on the line.
“I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again,” he said.
“Neither did I, but Joe Hirt came to my shop this morning.”
“That is a problem,” Baker agreed. “I talked to him earlier, and I told him not to contact you.”
“He also just called me with that stupid voice-altering device. This time on the shop line-not my personal phone.”
“Probably because the caller knew you weren’t in your apartment.”
That was true. She thought about what he’d just said. “You don’t think my caller is Joe Hirt?”
“It could be-but not necessarily.”
“I told whoever it was that you were tapping my phones, and would catch him.”
His only comment was a flat “Hmmm.”
“What do you want me to do in the meantime?” Tricia asked.
“As I told you before; avoid the Hirt family-and keep your curtains closed at night.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a bored sigh.
“Tricia, I mean it.”
“And I’ll do it.”
“Thank you. And please feel free to call me with any new developments.”
She thought about it. “Does this mean you don’t think Joe is the one behind Pammy’s death?”
“There’s no proof he is.”
“But the diary-” Tricia interrupted.
“Is just one piece of evidence. And don’t you dare go looking for anything else.”
“At this point, I’m totally clueless-and I don’t mean that in a Paris Hilton kind of way.”
“Well, stay that way.” His voice softened. “At least in this instance. Otherwise, I think you’re a very sharp lady.”
Now who was flirting with whom?
Only… for some reason, she didn’t mind.
“Thank you, Captain.”
He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, it was in his “cop” voice. “Keep in touch.”
“I will. Good-bye.” She hung up the phone.
Ginny wandered up to the cash desk. “What are you smiling about?”
Tricia immediately sobered, unwilling to share those particular thoughts and feelings. “Nothing.”
It was a glorious fall day in Stoneham, which meant that most of her potential customers were probably in Milford for day two of the Pumpkin Festival. Still, Tricia was determined to enjoy the tiny part of the day she could access-her lunch break. She called Booked for Lunch and placed a take-out order, but instead of immediately picking it up, she decided to take a walk down Main Street.
She passed the Chamber of Commerce. Their new secretary/receptionist, Betsy Dittmeyer, was very sweet… in a noncommittal, bland sort of way. Gone were the colorful posters of Hawaii that Frannie had used to decorate the reception area. Instead, the walls were empty of any ornamentation. Not even a picture interrupted the stark order of Betsy’s desk. Tricia missed Frannie as the face of the Chamber. Still, the Chamber’s loss had been Angelica’s gain, and Frannie had blossomed with the responsibility of running the Cookery.
Tricia stopped in front of Kelly Realty. The pile of pumpkins that had decorated the front of the building just days before had dwindled considerably. Surely his give-away program hadn’t been that successful. Tricia opened the door to the office, a little bell jingling cheerfully over her head as she entered.
Bob Kelly sat at his desk, the Nashua Telegraph propped up before him, as he spooned soup from a plastic container-the same kind of take-out container Angelica used at Booked for Lunch. No doubt she’d been feeding him lunch since the day she’d opened. Okay, she cared for him. That was her lookout. But Tricia wasn’t feeling as generous.
Bob looked up, dropping his plastic spoon onto the desk blotter. He yanked away the paper napkin that he’d had draped over his suit coat and shirt. “Tricia, what brings you here?”
“Hello, Bob. Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I have a couple of questions I’m hoping you can answer.”
He smiled and waved a hand, indicating she should take one of the two chairs in front of his desk. This was where he wrote his real estate contracts-and the leases he held on most of the buildings the booksellers occupied on Main Street. Tricia had sat in the very same seat when she’d signed the three-year lease on the building that Haven’t Got a Clue now occupied. Later she’d found out she’d paid far more than any of the other leaseholders. That had set a precedent, escalating the prices on all the other leases-something that had not endeared her to the booksellers who had come to Stoneham before her.
“First of all, what do you know about the person who’s been smashing pumpkins for the past week?”
“Why, nothing. I’m just as appalled as the rest of the citizens of Stoneham.”
“Really?” Tricia asked. “Somehow I find that a little hard to believe.”
Bob’s mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide in what looked like genuine anxiety. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked, his voice the epitome of concern.
“Cut the crap, Bob, I know it’s you who’s been smashing those pumpkins all over town. I saw you do it on Wednesday night, and again last night. I should go straight to Captain Baker and report you. I’m sure you’ve probably broken more than a couple of laws-including littering.”