Russ glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to my office. Keep me posted on what you find out—and I’ll do likewise.”
“Okay.”
Russ started for the door, then paused and turned to face her again. “I am sorry about the way I treated you for the past year. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Should your relationship with Nikki fizzle, don’t pull the kind of crap on her that you did on me.”
“I don’t think you have to worry on that account. I think she’s the one.”
“The one?”
“Yeah. Forever.”
Hadn’t he thought that about the two of them, too?
“I’ll see you,” Russ said, and headed out the door.
Tricia watched him cross the street and go back to the Stoneham Weekly News. She wasn’t sure she believed him.
She shook her head and opened her laptop once again. Russ was right. She should just buy one of the figurines. She pulled up the bookmarked page and was about to finalize the purchase when she stopped herself. Buying it outright would alert the buyer that she was on to him/her/ them. Instead, she reached for the phone and dialed a longdistance number. It rang several times before it was picked up.
“Hi, Nancy. It’s Tricia Miles. Yes, long time no hear from. Look, are you still an eBay power seller? Good—good. Listen, can you do me a favor . . . ?”
Seventeen
Come Tuesday morning, Haven’t Got a Clue seemed terribly lonely without Ginny and Mr. Everett. Even Miss Marple appeared to sense the wrongness of their new situation and had stayed close to Tricia all morning, offering comforting looks and dampnosed head butts whenever Tricia paused for a minute or more.
Too bad for Tricia, the day seemed to drag when there were no customers and no one to talk to. She wondered how the shopkeepers who had no employees kept their sanity. Between customers, Tricia called the employment agency in Nashua and was told to go online to fill out a form. So, out came the laptop once again. She had just begun to fill out the form when a customer came in looking for a first edition copy of Aaron Elkins’s Old Bones. Luckily, she had one.
The bell over the door rang, and Cheryl Griffin stepped over the threshold. This day she had on black slacks that hovered just above her ankles, and a pink long-sleeved knit top that looked too warm for the weather. Tricia rang up her customer’s purchases, keeping an eye on Cheryl as she flitted around the store, picking up books, looking them over, and then replacing them on the shelves. When Tricia bid her customer a good afternoon, Cheryl hightailed it to the cash desk.
“Hello,” Tricia greeted her. “What can I do for you today, Cheryl?”
“I hear you’ve lost an employee. I’m here to fill out an application for the job.”
Application? Tricia hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t have any forms to fill out,” she began, but Cheryl cut her off.
“I’ve got a résumé,” she said, dipping into her purse to retrieve a piece of paper. She handed the creased document to Tricia. It had seen better days.
Tricia skimmed each entry on the error-ridden typed page. The poor woman had never worked anything but minimum wage jobs, and either her typing or her spelling was atrocious.
“I won’t give my Social Security number unless you actually hire me,” Cheryl said. “I worry about having my identity stolen.”
She didn’t need to fear it from Tricia. Masquerading as Cheryl Griffin would be the last thing on Tricia’s to-do list.
“I haven’t even listed the job with an employment agency yet. But I’ll certainly keep you in mind,” Tricia said, and bent to place the résumé under the counter.
“That’s the only one I’ve got,” Cheryl said. “Why don’t you make a copy of it?”
This woman didn’t have a clue how to approach a prospective employer. Rather than give her a lecture on the subject, Tricia turned on the all-in-one printer under the cash desk and copied the paper. She handed the original back to Cheryl.
“What does the job pay?” Cheryl asked.
“It’s minimum wage, I’m afraid.”
Cheryl frowned. “Deborah Black told me that you paid Ginny Wilson at least five bucks an hour more than that. I’d expect the same.”
Ginny had been an exceptional employee who had started at minimum wage and quickly proved to be worth far more than that. And why had Deborah disclosed that kind of information, anyway?
“I’m sorry. That’s all I can offer at this time.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Cheryl grumbled, and refolded the résumé. “When are you going to make a decision? I really need this job.”
“Ginny only left yesterday. I haven’t given it too much thought.” And if you’re the only job candidate, I might not replace her at all, Tricia thought. “I do still have another employee who is willing to cover for Ginny’s absence.”
“I guess,” Cheryl said, none too graciously. “But as you can see, I’ve worked a lot of retail jobs.”
“So I see, but what do you know about mysteries?”
“What’s to know? Somebody always gets killed.”
“Many of my customers ask for recommendations. I like my staff to be knowledgeable about the genre.”
Cheryl shrugged. “Just tell me what books you want me to push, and I’ll push them.”
“I’m afraid I don’t work that way,” Tricia said, using every bit of tact she possessed to keep her voice level with this alien from the planet Nimrod.
“I watch a lot of television. Do you sell books based on the CSI series?”
“I’m afraid my stock is mostly classic mysteries. Agatha Christie, Josephine Tey, Dorothy L. Sayers . . .”
“Never heard of them.” Cheryl looked thoughtful for a moment and then brightened. “Maybe you could give me a couple of books and I could read them before I start work. Being unemployed, I have a lot of time on my hands.”
“Yes, I’ll bet you do,” Tricia said.
Cheryl stood there, staring at Tricia. “So, what books do you think I should read?”
“Why don’t we wait and see what happens first. I wouldn’t want you to waste your time.”
Cheryl’s expression darkened. “It sounds like you don’t want to hire me.”
“As I told you, I’m not even sure I’m going to be hiring anyone.”
“But you said the job paid minimum wage.”
“If there were a job, that’s what it would pay.”
Cheryl’s lips were now a thin line, and her brows had furrowed. “It doesn’t sound like you really know how to run a store. Is that why you paid Ginny so much, because she was really the brains behind the business?”
The door opened and a customer walked in before Tricia had an opportunity to answer the question. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m Tricia. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”
“I’m looking for some Rex Stout first editions,” the man said.
“Let me show you where they are.” She turned back to Cheryl. “I’m sorry, but I really must help this customer. I have your information and will call and let you know if I can use you.”
Cheryl tightened the grip on her purse strap and stalked across the store to the door. She didn’t say good-bye.
“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t interrupt anything,” the gentleman offered.
Tricia conjured up her most winning smile. “Not at all. Now, let me show you our Nero Wolfe collection.”
All too soon the shop was empty once again, and Tricia ducked behind the counter seeking Miss Marple’s company. “Were we this lonely when we first opened the store?” she asked the cat.
Miss Marple opened one sleepy eye, regarded Tricia for a couple of seconds, and then flopped back to doze in the afternoon sunshine.
The door handle rattled, the bell overhead jingled, and in walked Elaine Capshaw. She was dressed casually, in a white, scoop-necked shirt and green capri pants and sandals, with a massive straw purse thrown over her left shoulder. Angelica probably had a similar purse stashed in one of her closets. She, too, liked them big. Elaine had also colored her hair since the last time they’d met, which made her look less weary—more like a woman ready to get on with her life.