"Will you go see her, today if possible? I'd be glad to pay you up front for your time."
"Are you a friend of Mrs. Harris's?"
"I met her yesterday, but I suspect her problems may be linked to my own legal troubles."
Roger Livingston set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. "I think you'd better tell me everything."
Twenty-One
The drizzle had escalated into a driving rain as Tricia drove back to Stoneham and Haven't Got a Clue. Although it had cost her five thousand in a retainer's fee just to cover her size-eight butt, she felt better about the entire situation. Unless she'd manufactured evidence, the sheriff had no probable cause for an arrest. And Tricia had firm instructions not to even speak to the sheriff again. "Talk to my lawyer, talk to my lawyer," would now become her mantra. Thankfully, Roger Livingston remembered Grace Harris and promised he'd look into her situation as well.
Tricia parked in the village's municipal lot, grabbed her umbrella, and hurried down the empty sidewalk. The rain seemed to have chased away the tourists, and from the look of the weather, the gray skies had settled in for the rest of the day. She glanced at her watch and found it was already 3:40.
Passing by the Cookery, she saw Mr. Everett looking dour as he stood holding the ladder for Deirdre, who placed books on a shelf. From the look on the older woman's face, she wasn't giving him a compliment. Okay, that was enough. As of today, she would free Mr. Everett from his mission and allow him access to his beloved biographies and his rearranging.
She hurried past and backed into Haven't Got a Clue to close her umbrella before entering. At times like these she wished 221B Baker Street had had an awning over the front door so her shop could be likewise outfitted. Ginny looked up from her post at the sales counter; beside her, Miss Marple sat with paws tucked under her, haughty and dignified. "'Bout time, too," Ginny said in greeting and immediately shifted her gaze toward the nook. Eyes closed, and resembling a sack of potatoes, Angelica had stretched out on one of the upholstered chairs, her feet resting on the big square coffee table.
"Ange, we don't sit while the store's open. It's not good for business," Tricia admonished.
Angelica opened one eye, glared at her sister. "You people are slave drivers. You don't even give your help decent lunch breaks. I barely had time to whip up a grilled cheese sandwich, let alone eat it, before Simon Legree here was screaming for me to get back to work."
"I needed help with the customers," Ginny said, her attention dipping back down to the magazine on the counter.
Tricia set her wet umbrella down beside the radiator to dry, then marched straight over to Angelica, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her to her feet.
"There're no customers, why can't I sit?" she wailed.
"It looks bad to potential customers who look through the windows." As if to emphasize her words, the door opened, the bell over it tinkling, but it was only Mr. Everett.
"Ms. Miles, I quit!" he said resentfully, crossed his arms over his chest, and stood firm.
"Why?"
"I simply refuse to be bullied by that…that…horrible woman next door. I regret I must tender my resignation if I'm not permitted to do the work for which I was hired-"
"It's okay, Mr. Everett," she placated, hands outstretched. "Twice today I saw your expression as she barked at you, and I agree you've gone above and beyond the call of duty."
"That woman verbally abused me. I didn't tolerate that kind of disrespect when I owned my own business, and I can't abide seeing it in others."
"You owned your own business?" Ginny asked.
The older man puffed out his chest. "Yes. At one time I owned and managed Stoneham's only grocery store. We were forced to close when the big chain stores came into Milford."
Tricia stepped forward, touched the elderly man's arm. "Starting right now, you can help us here in the store again."
"What about me?" Angelica demanded.
Tricia turned on her sister. "I can't afford three employees."
Angelica's sour gaze swept across the room to land on Ginny, as though daring Tricia to fire her.
"We can barely squeeze the customers in now," Ginny said, worry creeping into her voice.
"Was that a crack about my weight?" Angelica growled.
"Ladies, please!" Mr. Everett implored, hands held out before him in supplication. "I've heard enough harsh words for one day. Can't we all just get along?"
Tricia lost it, bursting into laughter.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll just get busy with those biographies," Mr. Everett said and turned for the back closet where he retrieved his Haven't Got a Clue apron, donned it, and set off to work.
A tinny, electronic version of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive" broke the quiet. "Oh, my cell phone!" Angelica said and patted at her waist, finding the offending instrument. "Hello?"
The shop's old-fashioned telephone rang as well. Ginny picked it up. "Haven't Got a Clue, this is Ginny. How can I help you?"
"Really?" Angelica squealed and practically jumped. "Yee-ha!"
"You're kidding," Ginny said, crestfallen.
"What's the rest of it?" Angelica asked, her eyes wide.
"Can't we counter?" Ginny asked, her words caught in a sob.
Tricia's head swiveled back and forth as she tried to follow the two conversations.
"And the tentative closing date?" Angelica asked with glee.
"Are you sure?" Ginny asked. Her shoulders had gone boneless.
"Thanks so much for calling, Bob," Angelica said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Thank you for letting me know," Ginny said, her voice so low it threatened to hit the floor.
Both women hung up.
"I lost my house!" Ginny wailed, closing her eyes in angst.
"I got my house!" Angelica crowed, and pumped her right arm up and down in triumph.
Suddenly the air inside Haven't Got a Clue seemed to crackle as the two women's heads whipped around to face each other.
"You!" Ginny accused.
"Uh-oh," Tricia said under her breath.
"Me?" Angelica asked.
Ginny's eyes had narrowed to mere slits. "What house were you bidding on?"
Angelica eyed her with suspicion. "A little white cottage on the highway."
"Slate roof? Pink and red roses out front?"
Angelica nodded.
Ginny's face crumpled, her eyes filling with tears. She smacked her clenched fists against her forehead.
Tricia wasn't sure what to do. Congratulate her sister or commiserate with her employee?
"Well," Angelica started. "Well…I bid low. I really did. You must've bid really, really low."
"It was all Brian and I could afford," Ginny cried, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Tricia stepped forward, captured Ginny in a motherly hug. "I'm so sorry, Ginny."
Angelica's mouth dropped open, her eyes blazing.
"We're getting married next year," Ginny managed between sobs. "We figured it would take us that long to fix the place up. We had it all planned out, right down to the nu-nu-nursery."
"All's fair in love and real estate," Angelica said, defiantly crossing her arms over her chest. "And how was I supposed to know you were even interested in that house?"
"You weren't," Tricia said, looking over at her sister while gently patting Ginny's back. "Come on. Have a cookie. You'll feel better." She led Ginny over to the coffee station, but the cookie plate was empty. Instead, she poured Ginny a cup of coffee.
"How was I to know she was interested in that house?" Angelica groused.
A customer entered the store, and Angelica sprang into action. "Welcome to Haven't Got a Clue. Can I help you find something?" She hurried over to the woman.
"She hasn't got a clue where anything is," Ginny growled, then gulped her coffee, setting the cup down with a dull thunk. "I'd better help the customer before your sister helps us right out of business." She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, straightened, and stepped forward, heading for the customer. "Did you say Ngaio Marsh? Right over here."