"Something's definitely burning…or maybe smoldering," Angelica insisted. Shading her eyes, she peered into the mystery bookshop's large plate-glass window, then turned her head from right to left and sniffed loudly, her nose wrinkling.
Tricia watched as her sister moved a few steps toward the Cookery. "Trish, I think it's coming from the mail slot next door."
Sure enough, a thin veil of smoke drifted from the painted flap in the door.
Tricia jammed her keys back in her purse, scooping up her cell phone, and hurried to Angelica's side. "Dial nine-one-one," she ordered, shoving everything into her sister's hands. She grasped the Cookery's door handle, shocked when it yielded to her touch.
The smoke was thick, but with no sign of flames, Tricia took a deep breath and plunged inside. Grabbing the heavy rubber doormat, she searched in the dim light for the source of the smoke and found a section of carpet glowing red.
Swinging the mat, she beat at the embers until they were extinguished, then rushed outside for a much-needed breath of air.
The Stoneham Fire Department was only a block or so away and already Tricia could hear their sirens.
"Think there's anybody in there?" Angelica asked.
"I didn't see anyone, but I'd better look, just in case."
Back she dipped into the stinking building. The smoke seemed to hover, but already it wasn't as thick as it had been only a minute or so before. "Doris?" she called and coughed. "Doris, are you in here?"
Grateful for the security lighting that hadn't winked out, Tricia searched behind the sales counter. No sign of Doris. But a glance to her right showed that the little Lucite case that less than an hour before had housed Doris's treasured cookbook was no longer perched on the top of the shelf. Had someone tried to burn the place down to hide the theft of the book?
"Doris?" she called again, trying to remember if Doris inhabited an apartment over the shop or if she lived elsewhere.
Tricia stumbled over something and fell to her knees. The air was definitely better down here. Righting herself, Tricia pivoted to see what had tripped her. She gasped as she focused on the still form half protruding from behind the horseshoe-shaped kitchen island, noting the carving knife that jutted from its sweatered back.
Two
Miss Marple wrinkled her little gray nose, sniffing the cuff of Tricia's slacks before giving a hiss of fear and backing away.
"I couldn't agree more," Angelica said and aimed a squirt of perfume in Tricia's general direction.
"Please, don't-I'd rather smell like smoke," Tricia complained, waving her sister off.
Chagrined, Angelica returned the atomizer to her handbag.
Outside the bubble-gum lights of a patrol car flashed upon the walls and shelves of stock, reminding Tricia of a carnival ride-one that, as a child, had made her violently ill.
"Let's go through it once again," Sheriff Wendy Adams said.
Until that night, Tricia hadn't had an occasion to meet any of the county's law enforcement community. The sheriff's uniform shirt buttons strained against her ample cleavage, her large hips accentuated by the cut of her standard-issue slacks. But it was mostly Sheriff Adams's no-nonsense countenance that made Tricia feel so uncomfortable. It probably worked well in police work. Good thing the woman's livelihood didn't rely on retail, where a no-nonsense attitude was the kiss of death.
Tricia sighed and repeated for the third time the events leading up to her discovery of Doris Gleason's body.
Sheriff Adams scowled. "Wouldn't you know, I'm up for reelection in two months and now I've got a murder on my hands. Did you know we haven't had a killing in Stoneham in at least sixty years?"
"No."
The sheriff continued to scowl. "How much was that missing book worth?"
Tricia sighed. "My expertise is in mystery novels-not cookbooks. But Doris told me a copy recently sold at auction for ten thousand dollars. It's all subjective: an antique, book or otherwise, will only sell for what a buyer is willing to pay."
"Whatever," Sheriff Adams muttered. "Did Mrs.-or was it Miss-or Ms.-Gleason have any enemies?"
Tricia's eyebrows rose, her lips pursing as she gazed at the floor.
"Is that a yes?" the sheriff asked impatiently.
"Doris was negotiating a new lease for her store," Tricia explained. "She felt the new terms were…perhaps a little steep."
"And who was she negotiating with?"
"Bob Kelly."
"Oh," Angelica squealed. "I just had dessert with him at the Brookview Inn. Very nice man, and oh, those lovely green eyes of his are heavenly."
The sheriff turned her attention to Angelica. "What time was that, and for how long?"
"Surely you don't suspect the town's leading citizen?" Angelica said.
"How do you know his status?" Tricia asked.
Angelica shrugged. "Bob told me, of course."
It took all Tricia's resolve not to roll her eyes.
As if on cue, a worried Bob stuck his head around Haven't Got a Clue's unlocked door. "Wendy, what's going on?"
"There's been a murder, I'm afraid."
Stunned, Bob's mouth dropped open in horror. "Murder? Good grief! Ten years of Stoneham being named the safest town in all New Hampshire…down the drain." A parade of other emotions soon cascaded across his face: irritation and despair taking center stage. "What'll this do to my real estate business?"
"That's nothing compared to what Doris Gleason lost-her life," Tricia said, disgusted.
"Doris?" he repeated in disbelief.
The sheriff rested a hand on Bob's shoulder, turning him around. "Let's take this outside," she said and led him out the door and onto the sidewalk for a private chat.
Angelica inhaled deeply, bending lower until her nose was inches from Tricia's hair. "Oooh, you stink."
Tricia sniffed at her sweater sleeve. "I was only in the Cookery for a minute at most."
"Believe me. You stink."
Tricia's heart sank. "If I smell this bad, think about all those poor books. I wonder if they can be salvaged."
Angelica shook her head. "Only you would think about such a thing."
"Me and every other book lover on the planet."
The sheriff returned with Bob in tow. "Are you okay, Tricia?" Bob asked.
Tricia nodded, suddenly feeling weary.
The sheriff consulted her notebook once again, then spoke to Angelica. "Mrs. Prescott, you said you're staying at the Brookview Inn?"
"Yes, and isn't it just lovely?"
"For how long?"
Angelica gazed down at Tricia. "I arrived just this afternoon and I'll be in town for as long as my sister needs me."
Tricia rocketed from her chair, belatedly wondering if her clothes had already imparted their smoky scent to the upholstery. "I'm fine, Angie. You don't have to hang around on my account."
"Nonsense. What's family for?"
So far emotional support hadn't been a Miles family trait.
"Ma'am," said a solemn voice from the doorway. A fire-fighter, his scarlet helmet emblazoned with the wordCHIEF stenciled in gold and white, motioned to the sheriff. "All the smoke detectors in the Cookery were disabled. Whoever did this didn't want the crime discovered too quickly. However, it appears there was no accelerant used."
Did that mean whoever murdered Doris hadn't planned the killing? Yet they'd been clearheaded enough to try to cover their tracks-however inefficiently.
"Let's keep this discussion private," Sheriff Adams said, and she and the fire chief moved to stand out of earshot on the sidewalk.
Angelica rested a warm hand on Tricia's shoulder. "Trish, dear, you must come and stay with me at the inn. I won't sleep a wink tonight knowing you're here all alone in such a dangerous place. You could've died if that fire hadn't been discovered."