Mr. Everett searched the depths of his quickly cooling coffee. "She had contempt for the written word, or at least reading for pleasure, but she recognized books as way to stay afloat with the changes that came to Stoneham these past few years."
"Then why didn't she offer me more books?" Tricia asked, puzzled. "I didn't meet her until the day she died."
Again he shrugged. "She was eccentric, didn't trust many people. But I do know one thing: she was always careful with her car. It's all she had. She wasn't one to drive recklessly."
"Do you think her death was an accident or…something else?"
He glanced around the shop with its thousands of books. "Perhaps I read too much. Yet unless she was ill, it makes no sense that she crashed and died on such a beautiful, sunny day. Especially when she was the only person who knew where the book stolen from the Cookery came from."
Though Winnie denied remembering, Tricia suspected Doris's killer could've believed the same thing. Hearing that theory from another source gave her no comfort.
"Oh dear, "Mr. Everett said within minutes of opening a copy of Carter Dickson's The Punch and Judy Murders. Even with a Nicholas Gunn CD playing softly in the background, the tone of his voice caused Tricia to look up from opening the morning mail.
Mr. Everett rose from his chair, headed for the sales counter.
Ginny, who'd been helping a customer, excused herself and intercepted him.
The elderly gent handed a folded piece of paper to Tricia. Another nudist tract, but this one was different. Instead of a generic missive on the health benefits and pleasure of a nudist lifestyle, this one was a blatant advertisement. "Free Spirit Inc. presents Full Moon Camp and Resort," Tricia read aloud. The tract went on to list all the amenities, including a pool, hot tubs, therapeutic massage, and-"Why is it nudists are so intent on playing volleyball?" she asked.
Ginny giggled. "Look, there's a website listed. Maybe they've got pictures."
Tricia made the trek up to her apartment, snagged her laptop computer, and was back down to the shop in record time. She booted up and was connected to the Internet within another minute or two. The three of them gathered behind the sales counter. "If there're naughty pictures, I'm shutting it down," she warned.
"We're all grown-ups," Ginny said sensibly, but Mr. Everett bristled at the notion. Still, he didn't walk away.
Free Spirit's home page flashed onto the little screen. No naked people. So far so good. Instead there was a cute little graphic of a squirrel named Ricky, which was apparently the site's mascot. By clicking on various links, Ricky took visitor 120,043 on a tour of the website. First up, the volleyball court, but there were no naked men and women playing the game, only the photo of a well-groomed court. The pool was Olympic-sized, with scores of white chaise longues lined up around it, each with its own clean, neatly folded white towel. That picture was also devoid of people, as was every other photograph on the website. Instead, like any other camping resort, the text stressed the clean, well-maintained facilities at every Free Spirit location.
"It's a chain?" Mr. Everett asked.
"Apparently so." Tricia clicked on the coming attractions page and found what she'd been looking for. "Aha. Listen to this: 'Our newest Full Moon location is scheduled to open next summer in southern New Hampshire.'"
"You think they mean here in Stoneham?" Ginny asked.
"It can't be." Still, there had been the rumor of a big box outfit wanting to locate in the area. No, retail was a year-round moneymaking concern while a nudist resort would, for the most part, only be seasonal.
"There's no reason it would have to be located near here. Saying 'southern New Hampshire' is rather ambiguous. They'd probably want to be near a larger city to make it accessible for travelers," Mr. Everett said reasonably.
"You're probably right," Tricia agreed.
Mr. Everett stepped away from the counter. "I think I'll go back to my reading. Excuse me, ladies," he said, and off to the nook he went.
"I think it would be cool to have a nudist resort right outside of town. Think of all the new money it would bring to the area," Ginny said wistfully. "All those people might get bored with volleyball after a while. Did you see all those lounge chairs? They'd definitely need something good to read while they whiled away the hours working on their tans."
"One can hope," Tricia said. "But, oh, think about the mosquitoes and all the new places you could get bitten." She shuddered and Ginny laughed. "Better be on the lookout for more of these," she said, crumpled up the tract Mr. Everett had found, and tossed it into the trash.
"Could you help me, miss?" asked the customer Ginny had abandoned only a few minutes before.
"I'll keep an eye out for more of those advertisements," Ginny told Tricia, before skirting the counter. "Now, what can I help you find?" she asked the customer.
Tricia clicked on the button for the website's home page once more. Ricky smiled at her with a toothy grin more appropriate to a cartoon chipmunk. Bob hadn't wanted to talk about big box stores. How eager would he be to talk about the possibility of a nudist resort-if she could even catch him at his realty office to ask?
Tricia didn't have an opportunity to find out. Their slow start of a morning suddenly morphed into a busy afternoon of enthusiastic shoppers looking for vintage mysteries. Tricia was deep in conversation with a Mrs. Richardson, a serious collector from the Hamptons, who had already picked out more than a dozen books with authors ranging from Margery Allingham to Cornell Woolrich. She glanced up as the bell over the door jingled and a damp Mike Harris shook the drops from his raincoat onto the mat just inside the door.
Both Ginny and Mr. Everett were also deeply involved in customer service, so Tricia gave Mike a be-with-you-when-I-can smile. He waved a no-hurry hand in response and started browsing amongst the shelves.
The Hamptons woman spent close to seven hundred dollars and left the store a happy customer; likewise, Tricia was a very happy proprietor. A Charioteer tour bus rolled down Main Street, which would hopefully mean another influx of customers. A patient Mike had settled into the nook, thumbing through Mystery Scene Magazine. Tricia knew she only had minutes before the store would be flooded with potential customers again.
"I'm sorry it took so long," she apologized, taking the seat opposite him.
"No, I'm sorry. I should've called; but then I wouldn't have gotten to see you."
Tricia felt her cheeks redden. "I wanted to thank you for your call yesterday. I didn't grab it because-"
"If it was me, I'd have been screening my calls after that hatchet job in the Stoneham Weekly News."
"I'm afraid that's exactly what I was doing. Unfortunately some people believed every word. A few even came here to gawk at me."
"Don't judge the whole village by a couple of jerks." He changed the subject. "We still on for tomorrow?"
"I wouldn't miss it. Just give me the time and place."
"I know you need to open at noon. Is nine o'clock too early?"
"Not at all."
"Great." Mike pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. "Here's the address. Do you need directions?"
Tricia glanced at the paper. "No, I've driven through this neighborhood before. Very nice houses."
Mike's smile was wistful. "Yes. It's a shame I have to sell it. But Mother's care comes first."
Tricia nodded, remembering the pain of losing Christopher's father to dementia.
The bell over the door jangled as a fresh wave of customers entered the shop.
Mike stood. "I'd better make room for the onslaught." They stood for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, then Mike clasped her hands and drew her close, kissed her cheek. "See you tomorrow."
Surprised but pleased, Tricia watched Mike depart, even going so far as to follow his progress as he crossed the street to his new office and campaign headquarters. She did, however, move away from the window in case he turned. She didn't want him to know she'd been watching him.