Bookplate Special

TEN

Despite the late night, Tricia was up early the next morning, determined to find a new home for Pammy’s box of books-and do it before Haven’t Got a Clue opened for business. Since the library opened at nine, that gave her an hour to drop them off before she’d have to open the doors of her own shop.

As she opened the store’s blinds, she saw a white-and-gold Sheriff’s Department patrol car parked outside of Booked for Lunch. “Uh-oh,” she said to Miss Marple, who had jumped up to see if she could catch and bite the blind cord. “I wonder if Captain Baker is visiting Angelica.”

Miss Marple batted the plastic weight on the cord.

“I’m going across the road to see what’s happening,” Tricia told the cat. “Now don’t you bite the cord while I’m gone, or you won’t get any kitty snacks tonight.”

Miss Marple sat back on her haunches, duly chastised.

Tricia didn’t bother getting her coat from the peg out back, but grabbed her keys, locked the store, and headed across the street, dodging the remains of another flattened pumpkin.

Inside the shop, Angelica, dressed in full fifties regalia once again, faced Captain Baker, her arms folded defiantly across her chest, her expression determined.

Tricia opened the door and entered, but Angelica paid her no mind.

“Why would I hire Pammy and then kill her? How stupid do you think I am, Captain?”

Baker didn’t blink an eye. “Ma’am, I don’t know you at all.”

“Just for the record, my sister doesn’t go around killing people, and neither do I,” Tricia blurted.

Baker turned to face her. “Good morning. I’m not accusing either of you of any wrongdoing. I’m trying to find out who killed your friend, and why.”

“This town has a veritable vandalism crime wave going on, and all you can do is badger honest citizens trying to make a living,” Angelica accused.

“Vandalism? Crime wave?” Baker repeated.

“Haven’t you noticed all the smashed pumpkins around the village? The little kids around here must be heartbroken to see their creations reduced to pulp,” Tricia said.

“Smashing Pumpkins? Isn’t that a rock band or something?” Baker asked, straight-faced.

“It’s also mangled squash. And they’re everywhere here in Stoneham!”

Baker frowned. “If this apparent crime wave bothers you ladies so much, I’ll have one of my deputies look into it.”

“Thank you,” Angelica said.

Did she miss his condescending tone?

“In the meantime,” Baker continued, “if you two think of anything that might help in this serious investigation, I hope you’ll share it with me.”

Despite his tone, Tricia considered mentioning the phone calls she’d received the night before. But what if someone was just toying with her? She had no proof the diary the person on the phone had mentioned even belonged to Pammy.

And how sincere was Baker? His superior officer, Sheriff Adams, had openly scoffed at Tricia’s theories on more than one occasion. And since Baker reported to her, would his opinion be colored by his boss’s?

“Is everything all right, Ms. Miles?” he inquired.

Tricia started at the sound of her name. She looked up at the captain. “Excuse me?”

“You look deep in thought. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Tricia shook her head. “No.”

Not yet, at any rate.

Baker looked skeptically at her before turning back to Angelica. “Let me assure you that we’re investigating every lead we have.”

“And how many leads is that?” Tricia asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say. But the ME did find cat hair on the clothes of the deceased.”

“Well, there would be. I have a cat. Pammy stayed in my house for two weeks.”

“We may want to take hair samples-just in case,” Baker added.

“Feel free,” Tricia said, disgusted. Then something occurred to her. “Have you informed Pammy’s family of her… demise?”

Baker nodded solemnly.

“Has anyone stepped forward to claim her body? Have they decided on when to bury her?”

Baker pursed his lips. “They declined to take possession of the body.”

“They what?” Angelica said with a gasp.

“I have no further information,” Baker said.

Tricia and Angelica exchanged dismayed looks. How could any family fail to step forward and claim their dead? “Did they offer any explanation?” Angelica asked.

Baker shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“What will happen to her?” Tricia asked.

“The body will remain in the county’s custody for a limited amount of time, and then they will…” He paused, as though considering his words. “They’ll dispose of it.”

“You mean bury her in an unmarked grave?” Tricia asked.

Baker nodded. “It’s not like they trash the indigent. It’s done with dignity-just not a lot of flash. The state contributes some funds, but often local funeral parlors donate their services. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have work to do.” He tipped his hat to them and exited the café.

They watched as he returned to his cruiser and took off, heading north.

Angelica was the first to speak. “I can’t imagine what Pammy could have done that her family would abandon her… even in death.”

“She did say something about hating them-and that the feeling was mutual. But I thought she had to be exaggerating.” Tricia tried to swallow her distress. Okay, Pammy was never what she would’ve called a good or close friend, but to be abandoned so profoundly… Suddenly, Tricia had a better appreciation for her relationship with Angelica, despite their often silly differences.

She took a breath to regain her control. “Why was Captain Baker here so early?”

“Goodness knows. He probably doesn’t have any leads but wants to look busy.”

Angelica headed into her kitchen food prep station, where an array of vegetables was spread across the counter. She picked up a knife and began to slice a beefsteak tomato. “I’ve got to hire some help before I go crazy.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What did he want?”

“I think he came here just to annoy me.”

“How?” Tricia demanded, frustrated with Angelica’s lack of response.

“By asking the same questions he asked the other day. He’s wasting his time and mine.”

“It’s a cop thing. They try to catch you changing your story.”

“What story? I told him the truth. I don’t have any hidden agenda, and neither do you.”

“Did he ask about me?” Tricia asked.

Angelica nodded, set the tomato slices aside, and started shredding a head of iceberg lettuce. “He still can’t figure out why you kept Pammy for two weeks.”

“Well, he’s got company there, because neither can I.” Tricia chewed her lip for a moment. “I’ve got more news. Ginny is a freegan.”

Angelica dropped the lettuce. “You’re kidding.”

“No. She told me yesterday. I’ve been thinking I should give her a raise. Then maybe she won’t have to dig through garbage for her food.”

“Don’t you go and feel guilty about this,” Angelica said, waving a lettuce leaf in Tricia’s direction. “We pay our employees far better than any other booksellers in town. And we give them health care coverage, too.”

“And more than one of the booksellers resents us for it,” Tricia agreed.

“What Ginny’s doing isn’t illegal, and we’re not responsible if people steal our refuse and then eat it.” Angelica shuddered at the thought, set the lettuce aside, and started chopping a pepper. “Grab a knife, will you? I need to get those onions sliced for sandwiches.”

“Sorry, I haven’t got time. I’ve got an errand to run before I open the store.” Tricia glanced at her watch. “If I get going now, I may just make it.”

“What about me? I’m shorthanded.”

“Call the employment agency.”

“I have-every hour on the hour. Nobody wants minimum wage jobs-or those who are willing have been rounded up by Immigration. How’s a small business supposed to survive these days?”

Tricia had no answers, and bid her sister adieu.

Ten minutes later, she stood outside the Stoneham Library’s white-painted doors, admiring the untouched pumpkins that decorated the entrance. They weren’t carved, of course, which was probably why they’d escaped being ruined by the neighborhood hooligans.

The library’s door was unlocked at precisely nine. “Tricia!” Lois Kerr, Stoneham ’s longtime head (and only full-time) librarian, greeted Tricia like an old friend. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing here so early?”

“Hi, Lois. I’m dropping off some books for the Friends of the Library’s upcoming sale, and I wanted to do it before I opened my store.”

“That’s very nice of you. The revenue from that sale is a wonderful shot in the arm for us. It seems the library is one of the first line items to go when the Board of Selectmen need to trim the village budget.”

“I’m glad to help.”

Lois ushered Tricia inside and showed her where to stow the books in the library’s small community room. It looked like other citizens of Stoneham had been as generous, for the room was very nearly stuffed to the ceiling along the back wall.

“Thank you so much,” Lois said, then lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to endure more unpleasantness.”

Tricia nodded, but couldn’t think of how to reply. At least, with Pammy being a nobody, the press hadn’t descended upon Stoneham, as they had when the author Zoë Carter had died in Haven’t Got a Clue’s washroom.

“I understand the woman you found behind your sister’s restaurant was a friend of yours.”

“We were college roommates.”

Lois tsked. “You must have been devastated.”

“It was very upsetting,” Tricia admitted.

Lois shook her head in sympathy. “And to think, she was in here only last week, making copies.”

Tricia blinked. “She what?”

“Yes. As it happened, I was the one who helped her. Margaret was helping another patron check out books when your friend came in to use the copier. It jammed, and I had to clear the machine for her.”

“Did you see what she was copying?”

“Some kind of journal.”

“A diary?” Tricia asked eagerly.

Lois nodded. “Yes, perhaps it was.”

“What did it look like? How many pages did she copy?”

“It had a red cover. I’m not certain how many copies she made. Maybe four or five pages. Is it important?”

“Possibly. Did she say anything else?”

“She asked me for directions to the post office.”

Tricia stared at Lois for long seconds, her mind racing. “I have to go,” she said, and turned.

“To the post office?”

Tricia looked back to see a grin breaking across Lois’s face. “You could’ve been a detective.”

“I don’t think so,” Lois said. “But maybe one day I might write a book about one.”

Tricia smiled. “See you later, Lois.”

The Stoneham branch of the U.S. Postal Service was located in a neat brick structure on the south end of town, its windows outlined in crisp white paint. A row of four small, cheerful-looking uncarved pumpkins sat outside the door. The Stars and Stripes flapped in the stiff breeze above her as Tricia entered the squat building.

Forty-something Ted Missile seldom wore his official Postal Service uniform. He often came to work in a polo shirt or a Patriots’ sweatshirt. On the other hand, his boss, Postmaster Barbara Yarrows, could be counted on to be dressed in full regalia, from her regulation blue blouse down to her official uniform slacks or skirt. She was definitely old-school civil service, whereas Ted had taken the job after being laid off from a tool-and-die shop in Milford. Ted knew everybody in the village and greeted them by name. Barbara didn’t. Tricia was glad it was Ted who stood behind the counter, and hoped he would be able to tell her what she needed to know.

Luckily, only one other person was inside the building. Tricia nodded a hello as the woman checked her mailbox, withdrew the contents, locked it again, and headed for the door.

“What can I do for you today, Tricia?” Ted asked. “Do you need a book of stamps? We’ve got a new ‘dead entertainer’ stamp out this week.”

“Sure, I’ll take a book. But I’ll have one of those pretty flowered ones, instead.”

“Coming right up,” he said, and shuffled through the drawer, pulling out the correct one.

Tricia withdrew a ten-dollar bill from her wallet, which he accepted and made change.

“You want that in an envelope?”

“No, I’ll just put it in my purse.”

“Everything okay with you and your sister?” Ted asked, leaning across the counter and speaking low.

“Okay?” Tricia repeated, playing dumb.

“I mean, about that poor woman being found behind Angelica’s new café the other day. You found her, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, and sighed. It was expected that everybody in Stoneham knew her business and would ask about it-but sometimes it just got old. “Poor Pammy. I can’t believe anyone would want to hurt her.” Except maybe the person she was blackmailing, if that’s what she was doing.

“She came in here the other day, you know,” Ted said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“No, I didn’t,” Tricia lied.

Ted nodded. “Had a great big envelope filled with papers. Two ounces’ worth.”

“Ted,” Barbara warned from the back of the post office.

“You wouldn’t happen to know who the envelope was addressed to, would you?”

Ted looked over his shoulder. Barbara was pointedly staring at him. Ted turned back to face Tricia and shook his head, but mouthed the words “Stuart Paige.”

“The millionaire philanthropist?” Tricia whispered, in mock awe.

Ted nodded and whispered back, “It went priority rate. She even paid extra for delivery confirmation.”

“Ted,” Barbara warned.

“I understand Pammy got mail here, addressed to General Delivery,” Tricia said.

“A few letters. There might be one here now,” he said, and bent to paw through a stack of envelopes under the counter. “Yeah, here it is.”

Tricia’s breath caught in her throat, and she resisted the urge to snatch the letter from his hand. “I don’t suppose you could give it to me? I was, after all, her best friend.”

Ted shook his head. “No can do. It would be illegal.”

“It might be something Captain Baker of the Sheriff’s Department might want to see. He’s in charge of the investigation.”

“Oh, yeah, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Maybe you should give him a call,” Tricia hinted.

“Ted,” Barbara said again, her voice growing more piercing. “There’re several boxes that need to be taken out back. Could you do that now?”

Ted jerked a thumb in Barbara’s direction. “She’s a real witch, ya know.”

“No,” Tricia said, voice hushed.

“That’s just between you and me,” he whispered.

She nodded as Barbara called more stridently, “Ted!”

“See you later, Ted. Bye, Barbara.” Tricia headed for the door.

As Tricia started back to her store, she reflected on everything she knew about Pammy’s activities just before her death. She’d made copies of several pages of the diary, and the diary’s cover was red. Big deal. She had no clue as to where the diary was or how to prove the copied pages had been delivered. Had Baker found a delivery confirmation receipt among Pammy’s things? If not, where was it? Could it have been in her purse? Tricia could ask Captain Baker, but she still didn’t feel she had enough evidence to present to him. And for all his kind words so far, was he likely to accept her word? Ted could back up her story-but so what? No one could prove that Pammy had sent Paige copies of the diary pages. The fact that Lois saw her make copies, and she asked for directions to the post office, and then Ted had weighed and stamped an envelope destined for Stuart Paige, didn’t mean the two events necessarily had to be related. At least, Tricia had read enough legal thrillers to know a judge would likely rule in that direction.

And who had written the letter to Pammy that she’d never picked up at the post office?

The voice on the phone had said, “Give back the diary.”

Again Tricia was faced with the same question: What diary? And give it to whom? The caller hadn’t been clear about that, either. Maybe she was supposed to find the diary and the next call would tell her what to do with it. If that was the case, all she could do was wait and see if another call came in. And since the other calls had come at night, she had the whole day to kill before that would happen.

Unless the caller got antsy.

Tricia pulled her car into the Stoneham municipal parking lot and parked it. She was sure that the only books she’d seen in Pammy’s car’s trunk when Captain Baker had asked her to inspect the contents had been their college yearbooks.

Tricia had once had a little girl’s diary bound in pink floral fabric with a little silver lock. Angelica had found it, broken it open, and not only read every page, but relayed its contents to the entire family at Thanksgiving dinner.

She pushed that unproductive thought away, grateful her relationship with her sister had improved since those days.

During the two weeks Pammy had been her guest, Tricia hadn’t seen her friend read anything-not a newspaper, not a book, not even the back of a cereal box. In fact, now that she thought about it, why had Pammy been so keen on keeping the box of books? Perhaps to resell? But nothing in the box had been of any real worth. It was probably only the diary that had been valuable-and only to the person who wrote it, or perhaps wanted to destroy it because of its contents.

Tricia locked her car and started walking toward Haven’t Got a Clue. Where had Pammy gotten the diary? Dumpster diving? Possibly. It wasn’t likely she prowled used bookstores, despite the fact Stoneham was full of them. Most of the booksellers had a specialty: romance, military history, religion…

Ginny was waiting outside the door to Haven’t Got a Clue-on time for the first time in days. She held a bulky plastic bag and stamped her feet on the concrete, trying to keep warm. “I was beginning to wonder where you were,” she said by way of a greeting. “I didn’t see your car in the lot, and when I called your cell phone, there was no answer.”

Tricia sorted through her keys. “Sorry. I must have it turned off. I had some errands to run.” She unlocked the door and entered the store, with Ginny following close behind.

“Give me your coat and I’ll hang it up in back,” Ginny said.

As she straightened up the pile of bookmarks next to the register, Tricia wondered if she ought to call Captain Baker and tell him about the letter at the post office. She was sure to talk to him again sometime soon-maybe she’d just wait.

She tidied the stack of Haven’t Got a Clue shopping bags, and had run out of busywork by the time Ginny came back to the front of the store.

“What’s Mr. Everett’s schedule for the rest of the week?” Ginny asked.

“Coming and going, I’m afraid. There’s a lot to pull together fast if you’re planning an impromptu wedding.”

“Why don’t they just elope?” Ginny grumbled.

“I’m sure they feel this will be the last marriage for each of them. They want their friends to witness it, especially since they have no family.”

“I guess.”

Mr. Everett knew everyone in town. Would he have known Stuart Paige? Paige didn’t have a long history in Stoneham, but he was well known throughout the state. Still, Mr. Everett was the soul of discretion; he wouldn’t speak of Paige’s reckless past if he knew of it… but Frannie Armstrong might. Frannie was the eyes and ears of Stoneham -more so than even Ted Missile.

As it happened, Frannie chose that moment to walk past Haven’t Got a Clue on her way to the Cookery. In one hand she clutched her purse and a sack lunch; in the other, a bulky wire cage, no doubt the Havahart trap she’d spoken of the day before.

“Oh, look, Frannie’s struggling with that cage. She’s been trying to catch a stray cat. I think I’ll go help her.”

“I can do it,” Ginny volunteered.

“That’s okay,” Tricia said, hurrying around the register and heading for the exit. “Be right back.”

“Whatever,” Ginny said, as Tricia flew out the door.

She hurried down the sidewalk to catch up with Frannie. “Here, let me help you,” she said.

Frannie gratefully surrendered the cage. “Hi, Tricia. This thing isn’t heavy-at least it wasn’t for the first couple of blocks. But then it seemed like it weighed a ton.”

“Think you’ll catch Penny today?” Tricia asked as Frannie fumbled with her keys.

“I sure hope so. I hate to think of that poor little cat out in the cold at night. The weatherman says a cold snap is coming down from Canada in the next few days. We might even see a little snow.”

“Not until the leaves are past peak, I hope. I’m praying for an onslaught of tourists to arrive any day now.”

“I hope so, too. But then there’s the Milford Pumpkin Festival on the weekend, and Stoneham will be as quiet as a cemetery at midnight.” Frannie opened the door and Tricia followed her into the darkened store. In a moment, the lights were on and Frannie had removed her jacket. “Need any help setting up this cage?” Tricia asked.

“Thank you. I sure hope the first bus is late. Angelica won’t be pleased if I’m not ready to open right on time.” She glanced at the clock. “Which is in three minutes.”

“I can get things ready here at the register if you want to go load the trap and set it up outside.”

“Thanks, Tricia.”

“It’s my pleasure. I want to see little Penny go to her new home.”

Frannie paused. “I will put an ad in the News-just in case some poor child is missing her kitty. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I hope no one will claim her.”

Frannie had lived alone for a long time. She deserved a little feline pal. “Go on, set up the trap,” Tricia said, and gave her friend a smile.

A Granite State bus passed the store’s display window, heading for the municipal lot, where it would disgorge its load. Several customers had entered the store by the time Frannie made it back to the sales desk. She rubbed her hands gleefully. “By tonight I might have my very own kitty. I’ve never had a cat before. My family are all dog lovers, ya see. But I fell in love with your Miss Marple, and now I want one of my own.”

“I’ll cross my fingers for you.”

Frannie looked toward her customers and raised her voice. “Y’all just let me know if you need any help.” One of the women nodded and went back to her browsing.

“Frannie,” Tricia started, “you’ve been around these parts a lot longer than I have. What do you know about Stuart Paige?”

Frannie shrugged. “Just what I’ve read in the papers.”

That wasn’t what Tricia wanted to hear.

“Although,” Frannie added, almost as an afterthought, “it’s been said that he was a real womanizer when he was in his early twenties.”

Now that was more like it. “Oh?” Tricia prompted.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about that accident where he was driving his father’s Alfa Romeo, crashed it into Portsmouth Harbor, and some woman died.”

Why did everyone seem to remember the make of the car more than the name of the victim? “Yes, I did hear that.”

“Apparently she was the love of his life. When she died, he turned over a new leaf. Got religion, so to speak, although I don’t think he joined any official denomination. But he decided to change his ways and do good in the world.”

That sounded like a great plot for a 1950s movie. In fact it was… The Magnificent Obsession, with Rock Hudson and Jane Wyman. But did that sort of thing happen in the late 1980s? Tricia wasn’t so sure. As her grandmother often said, “A leopard doesn’t change its spots.” There had to be more to the story than that.

If Frannie didn’t know, then probably no one else in the village did.

Rats!

A customer ambled up to the register with several heavy volumes. Tricia wrapped the order while Frannie rang it up and made change. As soon as the woman turned her back on them and headed for the door, Frannie picked up where she left off. “I heard Mr. Paige has been staying at the Brookview Inn. In fact, he’s taken a room long term. They say he’s got some kind of business deal brewing. I’ll bet Bob Kelly knows about it.”

“And wouldn’t tell me if he did.”

“That’s true. Bob is very loyal to Chamber members.”

“But would Paige be a member? He doesn’t have a business, or even live here in Stoneham.”

“Yet,” Frannie added. “I wouldn’t know about new members since I left the Chamber. It’s always possible Mr. Paige’s cooking up something good for the village. Maybe he intends to help people who’ve lost their jobs. You know, open some kind of light manufacturing plant, or something. Bob was always trying to entice someone to locate a new business here.”

That was a possibility, Tricia supposed. Now, could she get past Paige’s keepers to talk to the man? “What do you know about his entourage?”

“I don’t think he’s got bodyguards, if that’s what you mean. But I know he travels with at least one or two people-one of them is a secretary or something. Keeps the riffraff from bothering him.”

Would Tricia be considered riffraff?

“I wonder if Eleanor could get me in to see him.” Tricia envisioned Eleanor at her reception desk at the Brookview Inn. Plump, and in her mid-sixties, she was the soul of the place. She made sure everyone who stayed there enjoyed his or her visit.

“What do you need to see Stuart Paige for?” Frannie asked.

Should she tell Frannie about Pammy trying to crash the Food Shelf’s dedication ceremony? Then again, Frannie probably knew all about it.

“My friend Pammy tried to talk to him the day she died. I was just wondering if he knew her.”

“I heard about that,” Frannie said.

Of course!

Frannie sighed. “But I doubt Eleanor would bother a guest just to satisfy your curiosity. People who stay at the Brookview expect exceptional treatment-and Eleanor sees to it they get it. Even though she considers you a friend, I’m sure her first loyalty would always be to her guests.”

“As it should be,” Tricia reluctantly admitted.

“That said, there’s no reason you can’t ask,” Frannie said with the hint of a smile on her lips. A customer stepped up to the register. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Tricia noticed the wastebasket under the counter hadn’t been emptied. She signaled to Frannie that she would take it out back. She disarmed the Cookery’s security system, stepped outside, and looked around. The trap sat neatly to one side, with a heaping bowl of cat food and a water bowl inside the cage. Come on, Penny! The Cookery’s Dumpster and her own stood side by side in the alley. There was nothing in them to interest one of the local freegans. In addition to speaking to Stuart Paige, Tricia needed to speak to the freegans as well. Had Ginny contacted any of her scavenger friends?

There was only one way to find out.

Tricia emptied the wastebasket, reentered the Cookery, reset the alarm, and saw Frannie was still tied up with customers. Replacing the wastebasket, she waved good-bye to Frannie and headed back to her own store.

Ginny was inundated with customers, and it was more than an hour later when Tricia finally had a chance to speak to her. “I was wondering, have you’d had time to talk to any of your”-she glanced to see if any of the customers was within earshot-“you-know-what friends about Pammy yet.”

Ginny shook her head. “No. But we’re meeting up with a bunch of them tonight in Nashua. Want to come along? They all agreed it would be okay.”

“Definitely. Where and when?”

“I brought a change of clothes so that Brian could pick us up here at seven.”

“That doesn’t give us any time to have dinner.”

“We’ll eat on the way.”

Tricia felt her cheeks redden.

Ginny laughed. “Don’t worry; we’re not going to eat what we find tonight. We’ll stop and get something along the way.”

“Okay. But I’ve got one question: What does one wear to go Dumpster diving?”