“What she told me was all pillow talk. They’d spoken about ex-lovers, and how many women do you know with the name of Pippa, anyway?”
None, Tricia admitted to herself.
“Anyway, it seems Mr. Ellington had contacted Miz Pippa and told her that Stoneham was in need of hotel rooms.”
“Why would he do that?”
“After her bunny days, Miz Pippa went to Cornell University and got a degree in hotel management. I guess she spent the past five years as an assistant manager at the Mount Washington Hotel and Resort until the opportunity arose for her to manage the Sheer Comfort Inn.”
Tricia knew of the Mount Washington Hotel by its reputation and was dutifully impressed. Had Pippa become tired of working for a large hotel chain and found the thought of managing a much smaller operation more appealing?
“Did Ellington have a stake in the inn?” she asked.
Frannie shook her head. “Not that my friend said. But she also said that, despite the name, the Comforts didn’t own the inn. They just ran it for someone else.” So, maybe Ellington did want to buy the property. And Kelly Realty was the most likely agency to list the property.
And could the current owner of the property be Nigela Ricita Associates? If so, had its local representative, Antonio Barbero, spoken to Ellington to arrange such a deal? Tricia wondered if she ought to pay a visit to the Happy Domestic to see what Ginny knew about the situation. After all, she was engaged to Antonio. Then again, Tricia hoped to see her at the book club that night. Good old Ginny continued to patronize the gathering even after moving on with her career. If nothing else, it gave her and Tricia a chance to catch up on things while the rest of the group discussed the chosen book.
“Will you be at the meeting tonight?” Tricia asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’re going to decide our next few reads, and I’ve already got my list typed up.” Her tone was almost a challenge, and Tricia couldn’t think why she would speak that way.
“I’d better get back to the Cookery. See you later.” Frannie gave a wave good-bye and left the store.
Tricia stared at the closed door for a long time. She heard a brrrpt! from behind her and turned to find Miss Marple regarding her from her perch on the shelf behind the cash desk. “Yes, it does seem like a bad omen.”
Again Miss Marple said “Brrrpt!” and seemed to nod toward the display case. Tricia looked over to see a small stack of mail on the counter. It must have arrived while she was out. She shuffled through the circulars and found a square envelope addressed to her in care of the bookstore. The address was printed as though by a computer, but there was no return address and the postmark was smudged. She grabbed the letter opener from the mug of pens on the desk and slit it, withdrawing a piece of copy paper that had been placed around something else. Unfolding the paper, she discovered a stained cocktail napkin. Embossed in gold was the name of what she assumed to be a bar: the Elbow Room.
The Elbow Room? The name held no significance for her.
She sighed, frowning. First the photo, now this. Someone was playing with her, and she didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
Was she supposed to be intrigued, upset, or frightened by this second mysterious offering in the mail?
At that moment the only emotion she could muster was annoyance.
Paperwork in hand, Linda approached the cash desk. “I think I’ve filled everything in properly. Would you like to go over it and then give me the grand tour of the store? I’m eager to get started.”
Tricia shoved the envelope and its contents under the cash desk, forced a smile, and accepted the paperwork, giving it a brief glance. “Everything seems in order. Let’s get another cup of coffee and I’ll explain how we operate here at Haven’t Got a Clue.”
She managed to give the tour sounding cheerful and enthused, despite the growing disquiet within her.
ELEVEN
No sooner had Tricia said good night to Linda and turned the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED than the members of the Tuesday Night Book Club began to arrive at Haven’t Got a Clue. The first in was Julia Overline, clutching her copy of the current discussion book, Ross MacDonald’s The Goodbye Look. She greeted Tricia with a cheery hello and was almost immediately followed by the newest member of the group, Donna Mitchell.
Donna was a wiry wisp of a woman in her late forties and probably never married. At least she didn’t wear a wedding band. She looked like something that had been washed a few times too many, gray and tired-except for the lascivious gleam that often entered the woman’s eyes. She liked to discuss the sex scenes (or lack thereof) in the mysteries the group read. Tricia didn’t much like the woman and thought she might be a better fit with the village’s romance bookstore’s book club, but she didn’t like to discourage anyone from joining her mystery group-especially if they bought the reading selections from her inventory.
“Won’t you ladies help yourself to coffee while we wait for the rest of the group to arrive?” Tricia suggested.
“Thanks,” Julia said, dropping her book on the readers’ nook’s table and heading for the beverage station. “Can I get you both some?”
“I’ll take mine black with sugar,” Donna said, but Tricia shook her head. She’d had more than enough coffee that day and was looking forward to closing the door on the book group and heading back to her loft for a much-deserved glass of wine-then remembered she had none.
Within minutes Mary Fairchild, Frannie Armstrong, and Nikki Brimfield had closed their businesses and were in attendance. As they all had to close businesses, they were often as much as fifteen minutes late for the meeting, and everyone liked to catch up on news and local gossip for another ten or fifteen minutes before Tricia could start the evening’s discussion. Among the missing were Grace and Mr. Everett. Grace could be counted on to keep the group focused, but since she’d opened the new office for the Everett Charitable Foundation, she hadn’t been able to attend one meeting. And now even her husband was scarce, determined to spend with her whatever time she could spare him.
Tricia drifted around the store, setting out the folding chairs, straightening stock, and eavesdropping on the various conversations. She thought the voices sounded a little lower this evening and, dare she even think it, a bit conspiratorial? She shook the thought away and was about to interrupt and begin the evening’s discussion when the door to Haven’t Got a Clue opened yet again, this time admitting a harried-looking Ginny Wilson.
Tricia crossed the store to meet her. “Hey, stranger,” she called with real pleasure. “Glad you could make it.”
“I heard through the grapevine that you’ve got another new hire?” Ginny said with a giggle, and shrugged out of her jacket.
“I’ll bet the grapevine had a Poirot mustache and kindly blue eyes, too.”
“As a matter of fact, he did. Mr. Everett called and asked if I could use some part-time help at the Happy Domestic.”
“And you said,” Tricia prompted.
“Yes. I lucked into a niche market here in Stoneham. The locals seem to support the Happy Domestic far better than they do the rest of the booksellers, thanks to all the cutesy knickknacks and such that I stock. Business has been good and will probably pick up once the tourists come back next month. But I’m hoping things will even out with Grace and she and Mr. Everett will get to spend more time together.”
“Me, too. As for my new hire…why don’t we go to lunch in a day or so and I’ll let you know how Linda is working out. That’ll give her time to shine.”
Ginny cocked her head and met Tricia’s gaze. “You think she’s the one?”
“She could be.”
“Well, now that I’ll have Mr. Everett covering for me, I think a lunch break now and then away from the store would be heaven.”