"You've got it turned off," she said with disdain. "Again!"
Tricia waved her off and headed for the sales counter to stow her purse. "So what's the big news?"
"We caught her!" Ginny said with triumph.
"Caught who?"
"The mad leaflet dropper!"
Tricia's head whipped round so fast she was in danger of whiplash. "Who is it?"
"You mean today? Just some tourist."
Tricia waved her hands beside her ears, as though brushing away a pesky fly. "Run that by me again. A tourist?"
Ginny's smile was smug. "It's a racket." She signaled for Mr. Everett to join them. "I got her to tell me her part, but it was Mr. Everett who tracked down the whole story, and I think he should be the one to tell you."
"You give me too much credit," the older gentleman said as he approached. "Ms. Miles, the customer told me which bus she came in on, and I went in search of it to talk to the driver. It seems he's seen this happen several times over the last week or so. A man in a business suit approaches one of the tour members, someone who doesn't appear to be with friends. He offers that person money if they'll hide the leaflets in books or other merchandise when they visit the booksellers in Stoneham. He pays them in cash-as much as fifty dollars."
Tricia crossed her arms over her chest. "Where did the tour originate?"
"In Boston."
She exhaled a long breath through her nose. "It was probably a representative from the Free Spirit chain of nudist camps and resorts. It's helpful information, but unfortunately it doesn't help us stop the problem."
"Perhaps we could ask for the sheriff's help," Mr. Everett suggested. "These people are in a sense littering. Perhaps if a deputy met each bus and warned them-"
"It's a good idea-if it can be worked out. But I'm afraid I have no pull with the sheriff's office," Tricia said, her unpleasant visit with Wendy Adams still too fresh in her mind.
"Why don't you ask Mike Harris to deal with it?" Ginny proposed. "He's running for selectman."
Tricia fought to keep a grimace from pulling at her mouth. "Mike and I… aren't exactly on friendly terms today." And she wanted to keep it that way.
"I see," said Mr. Everett. "Then perhaps we could enlist one of the other booksellers to approach the sheriff. I'd be glad to speak with Jim Roth over at History Repeats Itself."
"No, that would be my responsibility, but thank you just the same, Mr. Everett."
He nodded. "Very well," he said and turned back for the bookshelves.
"Did all your errands go all right?" Ginny asked.
Much as she liked her employee, Tricia didn't feel comfortable sharing with Ginny everything that was happening. Instead she forced a smile. "Just great."
Ginny nodded. "We're slow right now if you want to go see Jim."
"Yes, perhaps I'd better," Tricia said, although after her encounters with the sheriff and Frannie, all she really wanted to do was pull the shades and hide.
"I put an offer in on the cottage," Angelica said offhandedly. It was almost eight o'clock, and she stood at the stove in Tricia's loft with her back to her sister, stirring a pot of Irish lamb stew.
Tricia paused, about to lay a fork down on the place mat. "Oh?" Was she supposed to sound happy? Maybe she should be. The two of them had actually been getting along for most of the past week, but that couldn't last. At least it never had before.
"Did you bid high or low?"
"Low. I mean, it does need a lot of work. It's much too small for my needs, and it's really much too far out of town."
Tricia struggled to keep her voice level. "It doesn't sound like you really want it."
"Oh, but I do. It's just…I don't know. I guess I really didn't think you'd approve."
"It's not a question of my approval," she asserted once again. "You've decided to live in the area. You're the one who has to actually stay there…if you get it."
Angelica turned back to her pot. "I could just 'flip' it-you know, fix it up a little and sell it off quickly. Or turn it into a shop. Or maybe a restaurant. If it weren't for the location, it would make a sweet little tearoom." Angelica peeked at her sister over her shoulder.
"Are you really thinking of opening a restaurant?"
Angelica turned back to her stew. "I don't know. I just know that my life hasn't worked out so far and it's time for a major change."
No doubt about it, moving to the outskirts of a small village like Stoneham was going to be a tremendous change for life-of-the-party, shopaholic Angelica. And yet, if Tricia was honest with herself, Angelica hadn't annoyed her half as much as in years past. Tricia was even beginning to anticipate their nightly meals together, knowing it would end sooner rather than later.
Angelica seemed to be waiting for some kind of comment.
"I think it's great," Tricia said at last. "And, if nothing else, I think you'll have a lot of fun fixing it up and decorating it."
Angelica's smile was small, but pleased. She changed the subject. "And what did you do today?"
One thing she wasn't about to disclose was her talk with Frannie. Never had she been shamed so thoroughly and sweetly.
"I made a trip to Benwell, spoke to Mike Harris's mother at the assisted living center."
"The poor woman with Alzheimer's?" Angelica asked.
"I don't think she has dementia of any kind. She even remembered the date my store opened."
"Then what's she doing in an old folks' home?"
"Good question. And as I suspected, it looks like her son has been selling off her assets without permission."
"The rat. Why are half the men I meet rats?" Angelica asked.
"Grace is concerned about her jewelry and her late husband's coin collection. Apparently Mike has stolen from her before."
"Then I don't blame her for being upset."
"She wants me to check out her house and make sure those items are still there."
"And you want to do that tonight?" Angelica asked, her eyes gleaming with delight.
"I thought about it. You busy?"
Angelica planted her hand on her left hip. "Would I be here with my sister if I had a man to cook for?"
"You tell me."
Angelica didn't answer, but bent down to peek through the oven's glass door at the Irish soda bread she had baking.
Tricia wandered over to the kitchen island, rested her elbows on the surface, with her head in her hands. "It bothers me that Grace was committed to St. Godelive's for dementia, six months ago, but suddenly her symptoms have disappeared. What if she never had dementia? Could Mike have faked the symptoms that put her away?"
"Very easily," Angelica said. "Remember Ted, my third husband? His doctor prescribed some new heart medicine for him that interacted with another drug he was already taking. Suddenly the man I loved was gone. It was a nightmare until I figured out what was wrong-with the help of our local pharmacist, of course. Took more than a month for Ted to get back on an even keel. Of course we broke up six months later when he fell in love with said pharmacist. He felt she'd saved his life." She rolled her eyes.
Poor Angelica. Dumped by at least two of her husbands. And that wasn't fair. She was a woman of worth. What was wrong with these jerks?
Tricia changed the subject. "I also saw Sheriff Adams today. That woman is more stubborn than a terrier. She's determined to prove me guilty of Doris Gleason's murder."
"All the more reason to check out Grace's house. The soda bread will be ready in a few minutes. Take out the butter and let's chow down and hit the road."
Tricia smiled, pleased. "Okay, but only if you insist."
All this intrigue had Angelica thinking like the heroine in a suspense novel, and she insisted on parking her rental car several blocks away from the Harris homestead. Despite the threat of rainy weather, the clouds remained high, blocking out the moon. They left their umbrellas in the car and prayed the rain would hold off, as Tricia didn't want to leave any wet, muddy telltale footprints in and around the house.