Bookplate Special

ONE

“Get out of my house!”

“Get out of my house!”

“Get out of my house right now!”

Tricia Miles had always considered annoying fixtures to be expendable. Like the stainless steel sink in her last home. The key to a clean kitchen was a clean sink. Water spots became the bane of her existence. So without a hint of remorse, she’d had the sink replaced with a white porcelain one that came clean with a little bleach and very little effort.

Other fixtures in her life weren’t quite so easily taken care of. For instance, Pammy Fredericks, her college roommate. Pammy had arrived two weeks before to “stay the weekend,” and had since taken over Tricia’s living room-and her life.

That was about to end. In fact, while Pammy was taking the first of her twice-daily, forty-minute showers, Tricia had packed one of her suitcases and placed it in the dumbwaiter at the end of her loft apartment over her mystery bookstore, Haven’t Got a Clue, in the picturesque little village of Stoneham, New Hampshire-also known as Booktown.

By the time the water stopped running, Tricia had gulped down two cups of black coffee and rehearsed her speech at least a dozen times, with as many inflections.

The bathroom door opened and Pammy appeared, wearing Tricia’s robe-which was at least three sizes too small for her-underwear, and a grubby, once-white T-shirt. A wet towel hung around her neck, and her damp, shoulder-length, bleached-blond hair fell in stringy clumps around her face. “Any coffee in the pot?” she called.

“No,” Tricia answered, and forced herself to unclench her fists. Her nails had dug into her palms.

“Why don’t you make some more while I go grab some clothes?” Pammy said, evidently missing Tricia’s clipped tone, and headed for the living room.

“Pammy, we need to talk,” Tricia said.

Pammy halted, though not because of Tricia’s words. She took in the now tidy living room, which had been cluttered with her possessions before she’d hit the shower. “Hey, where’s all my stuff?”

“I packed it. Pammy, it’s time for you to go,” Tricia said succinctly.

Pammy turned, her mouth hanging open in shock. “But why? I thought we were having fun.”

“We had fun the night you arrived. Since then… you’ve had fun. You have lain around my home, annoyed my cat, and interfered with my employees and my customers. It’s time for you to go.”

“I cooked you several delicious gourmet meals-supplied the food and everything. You said you enjoyed them.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you.”

“What about that box of books I gave you for your store? Haven’t I always looked for books for you?”

“It was very generous of you… but they’re not really what I carry.”

Pammy’s expression darkened. “If this is about what happened yesterday, I told you I was sorry,” she said defensively.

Saying “I’m sorry” wouldn’t have helped if the coffee she’d spilled on a customer’s foot had been hot-which would have netted Tricia one nice, fat lawsuit. As it was, it had cost her one hundred dollars to pacify the woman and replace her coffee-stained leather shoes. Next up: getting the carpet shampooed.

But that wasn’t the worst.

Tricia crossed her arms over her chest. She was through giving hints. “Pammy, I know about the check.”

Pammy blinked. “Check?”

“Yes, the one you stole out of my checkbook and wrote to yourself for one hundred dollars.”

Pammy laughed nervously. “Oh, that check. Well, you weren’t around, and you’ve been such a generous hostess that I figured-”

“You figured wrong.”

Pammy didn’t apologize. In fact, she just stood there, her expression blank.

“Besides, two weeks is too long for a drop-in visit. It’s time for you to move on.”

“But I don’t have anywhere to go!” Pammy protested.

“You have family in the next county.”

“But I hate them-and they all hate me. You know that,” she accused.

After sharing digs with Pammy once again, Tricia could well understand why the woman’s family might not want her around. Pammy hadn’t changed a bit since college. Lazy. Noisy. Freeloading. Irresponsible. And now a thief. How had Tricia tolerated living with her in that tiny dorm room for eight semesters?

This time, Tricia didn’t back down. “I’m sorry, Pammy. You can’t stay with me any longer.”

A tense silence hung between them for interminably long seconds. Tricia waited for an explosion-or at least tears. Instead, Pammy’s face lost all animation, and she shrugged. “Okay.” She turned away to poke through the open suitcase Tricia had left on the couch. She picked up a blouse, sniffed under the arms, and set it back in the suitcase. She repeated the process until she found a shirt she deemed acceptable, grabbed a pair of jeans, and headed for the bathroom once again. “I’ll be out of your hair in ten minutes,” she said over her shoulder, with no hint of malice.

Tricia stood rooted to the floor. Her little gray cat, Miss Marple, jumped down from the bedroom windowsill, then trotted up to Tricia in the living room, giving her owner a “what gives?” look.

“You’ve got me,” Tricia said. “But she is leaving.”

“Yow!” Miss Marple said, in what sounded like kitty triumph.

True to her word, Pammy emerged from the bathroom less than five minutes later, her still-damp hair now gathered in a ponytail at her neck. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said. “Or did you think I’d steal your stainless cutlery?” Then she laughed.

“I thought I’d help you with your things.”

“No need,” Pammy said quite affably. She rearranged some of the clothes in the suitcase, latched it, and hauled it off the couch. She slipped her bare feet into her scuffed-up Day-Glo pink Crocs and eyed a carton on the floor. It was filled with books she’d acquired during her stay. “Can I leave this here for a couple of days-just until I get settled? I don’t have room for it in my car right now.”

“Sure,” Tricia said, eager to do whatever it took to get Pammy out of her hair and out of her home. But then, even though her kindness had been abused, everything about this seemed so wrong, so… nasty… so unlike Tricia. “Where will you go, what will you do?”

“Today?” Pammy asked, and smiled. “I might just go to the opening of the village’s new food pantry.”

“The what?”

Pammy glowered at Tricia. “Don’t you even know what’s going on here in Stoneham? Stuart Paige is in town to dedicate the Stoneham Food Shelf.”

“Who?”

Pammy gave her a withering look. “Do a Google search on the man-see what good he’s done here in New Hampshire. You might want to follow in his footsteps.” Pammy grabbed her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder before wrestling the heavy suitcase toward the door.

Stuart Paige? The name did sound familiar.

“Do you need some money?” Tricia asked, the guilt already beginning to seep in.

Pammy managed a wry smile. “You already took care of that, thank you. Look, I’m sorry I told you I had nowhere to go. That wasn’t exactly true. I’ve hooked up with some people here in Stoneham. I’m pretty sure I have a place to stay for the night-or maybe a few. You don’t have to worry about me, Tricia. I’ve survived on my own for a long time now, although I may have to actually get a job.”

For a moment, Tricia was speechless. Was it possible she could have tossed Pammy out days-even weeks-earlier, instead of fuming in silence? And what about the threat of actually looking for work? From what she’d said, Pammy had never held a job for more than a couple of months before some catastrophe would occur and she’d be asked to leave. Still, Tricia couldn’t shake feeling like a heel. As Pammy brushed past her, Tricia reached out to stop her. “I’m sorry, Pammy. It just wasn’t working out.”

“Don’t worry, Tricia. I always have a contingency plan.” She dug into her jeans pocket and came up with Tricia’s extra set of keys, handing them over. “Thanks.” And with that, she went out the door.

“Miss Marple,” Tricia called, and the cat dutifully hurried to the door. It was time for work. Tricia closed the dumbwaiter and sent it down, then shut and locked the apartment door as Miss Marple scampered down the stairs ahead of her. By the time Tricia got to the shop, Pammy was waiting for her to unlock the door that faced Main Street. Tricia retrieved Pammy’s second suitcase from the dumbwaiter and carried it to the exit. Pammy’s cheeks were pink, and for a moment Tricia was afraid she might be on the verge of tears. But when she spoke, her voice was steady.

“Good-bye, Tricia.”

“I’m sorr-”

“No, you’re not.” Pammy shrugged. “I’ll be back for those books in a couple of days. Bye.”

Tricia unlocked the deadbolt and waited for Pammy to exit, but her departing guest stayed rooted.

“Did you piss anyone else off?” she asked.

Tricia frowned. “What do you mean?”

Pammy stepped over what had once been a carved pumpkin. Now it lay shattered on the sidewalk just beyond the welcome mat outside the shop’s door.

“It didn’t belong to me.”

“No, carving a pumpkin is fun, and that’s something I’ll bet you haven’t had in a long, long time,” Pammy said, stepping over the orange mess. She continued north down the street, without another word or a backward glance.

Tricia studied the shattered pumpkin; its crushed, lop-sided, toothy grin looked menacing. She closed the door and went in search of a broom and a trash bag.

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

Never had an old saw held so much promise-and guilt-for Tricia. Though preoccupied with the whole Pammy situation, she managed to get through the store’s opening rituals. Pammy’s comment, that she might learn something from the likes of Stuart Paige-whoever he was-and the crack about having fun, had stung. She was a productive member of her community, pitched in at community events, and liked to think she treated her employees and customers well. And she had fun… sometimes.

Okay, not so much lately. She worked seven days a week, had no time for friends or hobbies, and her love life…

Lost in thought, she barely noticed when her assistant, Ginny Wilson, showed up for work a full fifteen minutes late.

“Sorry,” she apologized, already shrugging off her jacket. “The car wouldn’t start. Brian had already left for work, and I thought the guys from the garage would get to my place quicker than they did. And when I went to call you, the battery in my cell phone was dead.”

Tricia waved a hand in dismissal. “The day started out crappy, so nothing could upset me this morning.”

“Oh, good. Maybe I should ask for an extra day off-with pay,” Ginny said, and giggled.

“You’re not improving my mood,” Tricia said, but didn’t bother to stifle the beginnings of a smile that threatened to creep onto her lips.

“Isn’t Russ back today? That should cheer you up. Have you got a date with him tonight?” Ginny asked, rolling her Windbreaker into a ball and shoving it under the sales counter, along with her purse.

Tricia’s statement that nothing could upset her had obviously been a lie. Things hadn’t been going so well on the romance front. Pammy’s presence these past few weeks hadn’t helped. “I’m not sure if he’s back yet.” Russ had been traveling on business a lot lately, although he hadn’t exactly been candid about what that business entailed. As the owner/editor of the Stoneham Weekly News, why did he even need to go out of town, when nearly all his revenue came from local ads?

Ginny looked around the store, which was devoid of customers. “Goodness. Are we to have a Pammy-free day, or is she still in bed?”

“She’s gone for good-I hope,” Tricia affirmed. “After what happened yesterday, I felt I had to ask her to leave. I can’t risk a repeat of her carelessness-not when it comes to my customers.” She wasn’t about to mention the forged check.

“Hallelujah! Now the cookies and coffee we put out will actually go to our customers, instead of being hogged by that-that-” Ginny seemed at a loss for words. She scrutinized Tricia’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Tricia sighed. “I feel bad about the way I-”

“Tossed her out?” Ginny suggested.

“I did not toss her out. I merely suggested that two weeks was a tad long for a short visit. Pammy wasn’t the least bit fazed. In fact, she said she’d ‘hooked up’ with some local people.”

Ginny pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Do you think she could’ve found a boyfriend here in Stoneham?” Tricia asked.

“Stranger things have happened.” Ginny cleared her throat.

“Pammy mentioned the opening of a new food pantry here in Stoneham. What do you know about it?”

“Oh, yeah, I heard Stuart Paige is in town to dedicate it,” Ginny said.

“Stuart Paige…” Tricia repeated. “I’ve heard the name. I just can’t remember who he is.”

“Some rich mucky-muck. He gives away money. That’s got to be good karma, right?”

“I guess,” Tricia said. The circa-1930s black phone on the sales desk rang, and she grabbed the heavy receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue, Tricia speaking.”

“Tricia, it’s Deborah Black.” Tricia’s fellow shopkeeper; owner of the Happy Domestic book and gift shop. “I just had a visit from your friend, Pam Fredericks. She wanted to know if I had a job opening. As it happens, I do. Did you know she’s listing Haven’t Got a Clue as her last place of employment?”

“What?”

“I thought that would be your reaction.” Tricia could hear the smile in Deborah’s voice.

“She never worked here. She only annoyed, and perhaps even alienated, a portion of my customer base by her presence.”

“I thought so. I told her I would let her know, but with T-shirts and jeans, she doesn’t dress appropriately for the image I want to convey.”

And that was another reason Tricia had objected to Pammy hanging around Haven’t Got a Clue. “Did Pammy list an address on her application?”

“Yes-yours; two twenty-one Main Street, Stoneham, New Hampshire.”

“She is no longer staying with me,” Tricia said emphatically.

“About time you finally got fed up with her.”

“That happened two weeks ago. I asked her to leave only about an hour ago.”

“You know what they say about fish and house guests: after three days they stink. I’d have asked her to leave eleven days sooner than you did.”

“But I-”

“Felt sorry for her?” Deborah asked, sarcastically.

“I always considered compassion an admirable trait,” Tricia replied.

“It is, sweetie. If you don’t let people take advantage of your goodwill.”

Tricia’s entire body tensed at the dig. Oh, yes, she’d been a real sucker. “I’ll try to remember that,” she said coolly.

“Oh, Trish, don’t get mad. Angelica feels the same way I do-as all your friends do. You do too much for everyone. You’re just too nice. Think of yourself first, for once. You deserve it.”

Talk about a backhanded compliment. At least Deborah thought Tricia was a good person. Pammy had just been upset when she’d tossed off her parting slurs. “I’d better get going,” Tricia said, and glanced at the clock as though it would give her permission to end the call.

“Talk to you later,” Deborah said, and the line went silent.

Tricia hung up the phone. She had better things to think about than Pammy Fredericks. And if Pammy used her name again as a reference… Well, she’d deal with it when and if it happened.

And it happened about half an hour later when Russ Smith walked through the door, carrying two take-out cups of the Coffee Bean’s best brew. “Good morning,” he called cheerfully, and paused in front of the sales counter. He leaned forward, brushed a kiss on Tricia’s cheek, and handed her one of the cups.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said, giving him a pleased smile.

“So are you.” He removed the cap from his cup, blowing on the coffee to cool it. “I had a visit a little while ago from-”

Tricia felt her blood pressure skyrocket and held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t tell me; Pammy Fredericks. And I’ll bet she was not only looking for a job, but listed me as her last employer, and my address as her residence.”

“You’ve developed psychic abilities,” he declared, and laughed.

“No. You’re not the first person to give me this news,” she said crossly.

Russ sipped his coffee.

“Are you likely to hire her?” Tricia asked.

“I asked her if she could type. She admitted to using only two fingers.”

“Did you let her down gently?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t.

“I didn’t need to. I’m not looking for help. In fact… things haven’t been going real well on the advertising front. I may have to let one of my girls go.”

Tricia removed the cap to her coffee and frowned. “Yes, I’ve noticed the last couple of issues have had more filler than usual.”

“Tough economic times mean tough measures.” Russ took another sip and stared into the depths of his cup, his expression dour.

Time to lighten the mood. “Why are you wandering around town during working hours?” Tricia asked.

“I’m heading out for the opening of the new food pantry. You going?”

“No. I have a business to run.”

“Stuart Paige will be there,” he said with a lilt to his voice. Was that supposed to be some kind of inducement?

“Why does everyone think I’d care? I’ve met lots of famous people, especially authors. I’m not the least bit impressed by celebrity.”

Russ held his hands up in submission. “Okay, don’t shoot the messenger.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I’d better get going. Maybe I can get a couple of quotes for the next issue.” He leaned forward, again brushing a soft kiss on her cheek. That made twice he’d missed her lips.

He started for the door. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

“No.”

“Good. How about dinner? We could go to that nice little French bistro you like in Milford.”

Tricia shook her head; they’d been apart too much lately, and she didn’t want to share Russ with a room full of other people. “Let’s stay in. My place or yours?”

“Mine.” He recapped his coffee. “Come on over as soon as you close the store. I’ll have dinner waiting.”

“Sounds great.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” He threw a glance at Ginny across the way. She was with a customer, but her gaze kept darting in their direction.

“I’m intrigued,” Tricia said, hoping her inquisitive look would get him to give her more information.

Instead, Russ opened the shop door. “See you tomorrow, then.” And out he went.

The vintage black phone on the sales counter rang once again. Tricia picked it up. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia. How can I help you?”

“Oh, good, it’s you. I need a favor,” said the disembodied voice of Bob Kelly, head of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce, president of Kelly Realty, and her sister Angelica’s significant other.

Tricia had learned to tolerate him for her sister’s sake, and even managed to sound cheerful when she replied, “What?”

“The Stoneham Food Shelf reopens today in their new location. The Chamber needs warm bodies to show up at the dedication.”

“I’d love to go, Bob,” she lied, “but I’m so tied up with the store.”

Her customer had gone back to perusing the bookshelves, and Ginny joined Tricia. “I can take care of things here while you’re gone. And Mr. Everett will be in here at two this afternoon. Go. Have a good time.”

“That’s great,” Bob said, since he’d obviously heard Ginny. “It’s a quarter mile north of Stoneham. That new pole-barn structure they’ve been building. Just head out Main Street, you can’t miss it. I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”

“But, Bob-!”

He hung up.

Tricia put the phone down and turned her gaze on her assistant. “Why did you say that?”

Ginny bounced on her feet, looking pleased with herself. “I thought you might like to go. Maybe Russ will take your picture and you can give the store some free publicity. Besides,” she said, delivering the coup de grace, “it’s for charity.”

Stoneham was ready for the leaf peepers-tourists who came to New Hampshire to enjoy the beauty of autumn. It seemed like every store and home was decorated with red and orange wreaths, pumpkins, and corn shocks, while big plastic spiders in imitation webs covered bushes and inflatable ghosties and goblins swayed in the gentle breeze. Kelly Realty had a stack of small pumpkins in its drive with a sign declaring FREE PUMPKIN WHEN YOU LIST WITH US.

Parking for the dedication was more difficult than Tricia had imagined. Of course, the Food Shelf’s lot was meant to hold only a dozen cars, and so both sides of the road were lined with another twenty or so. Flattened in the center of the street was the remnant of another smashed pumpkin. She shook her head. Kids!

Tricia watched traffic zooming past, waiting for a break before making her way across the road to the newly constructed building. As Bob had described, it was corrugated metal with a green metal roof. According to the sign atop the long, low building, the Food Shelf would be sharing space with the Stoneham Clothing Closet. She hadn’t heard about that, either. Maybe she didn’t get out enough.

The heavy glass front door had been wedged open, and Tricia entered the building with trepidation. She soon relaxed when she recognized a number of other Chamber members-no doubt they, too, had been bullied by Bob to attend. She took in the space. The room was painted a flat white, and lined with chrome-wire shelving. Some of the shelves were already filled with sealed cardboard cartons. Cryptic notes in heavy black marker adorned the sides of the boxes. Colorful posters that encouraged donations helped make the interior a bit more cheerful.

Beside one of the shelves was a Lucite brochure stand filled with folded leaflets that looked like they’d been made on a home inkjet printer. Tricia picked up one of the brochures, stuffing it into her purse to read through at a later time.

A hum of voices filled the space, and Tricia inched past several people. In the center of the room stood a sturdy, wooden workbench. It held a glass punch bowl filled with what looked like pink lemonade and several plates piled with an assortment of cookies. A little tent card announced that the baked goods had been donated by the Stoneham Patisserie. Tricia saw no sign of its owner, Nikki Brimfield. She was probably back at her bakery serving her customers-something Tricia felt she ought to be doing as well.

Bypassing the food and drink, Tricia saw Russ, his Nikon camera slung around his neck, working the room, encouraging people to stand together as he took their photographs, and then penciling their names in his ever-present steno pad.

Tricia’s elderly employee, Mr. Everett, and his lady friend, Grace Harris, stood to one side, conversing with other attendees. Mr. Everett caught sight of Tricia, and gave her a cheery wave. She waved back.

Bob Kelly stood near the podium, chatting with a man Tricia didn’t know. The guest of honor, perhaps? The silver-haired gentleman in the charcoal gray suit looked thin and wan, but as he nodded, taking in whatever Bob was saying, his dark brown eyes seemed kind. A group of bystanders hung on their every word, looking ready to pounce on the poor man the minute Bob let him loose.

“Excuse me,” a middle-aged woman said, and sidled past Tricia. Dressed casually in navy slacks and a navy sweatshirt embroidered with red roses on white hearts, the fifty-something woman with gray-tinged brown hair stepped up to Bob, politely interrupted, and indicated it was time to get the show on the road. Bob stepped right in line. Tricia might have to make friends with the woman-anyone who could get Bob to stop talking had to be some kind of miracle worker.

The woman stepped in front of the podium and tapped the microphone. “May I have your attention, please?”

The buzz of voices quieted as all heads turned to the front of the room.

“Hello, I’m Libby Hirt, Chairperson of the Stoneham Food Shelf’s Executive Committee. I’d like to introduce the rest of our board-” Tricia tuned out of the next portion of her speech as her gaze drifted to the shelving units. Canned and nonperishable boxed goods lined the shelves to her left, and were separated by type: dry cereal, pasta, canned sauces, fruits and vegetables. Pretty basic food items. Another shelf held nonfood items like shampoo, soap, dishwashing liquid, and paper goods.

Tricia studied the canned goods, her thoughts drifting to the sodium content of each unit. What about fresh food: fruits, vegetables, bread, milk, and meat? Did the Food Shelf supply those to its clients? She had a lot to learn-and suddenly she found she wanted to learn more about it, and was glad she’d taken a brochure.

Libby Hirt had moved on to thanking the Chamber of Commerce. “We’re grateful for all their support-in terms of dollars and collection points.” Bob positively beamed at the praise, as a smattering of applause broke out.

Collection points?

“I cannot thank Mrs. Grace Harris enough for her years of tireless work on our behalf. She has been a driving force for soliciting funds from the private sector. Thank you, Grace.”

More applause. Mr. Everett patted Grace’s hand, and she smiled shyly.

“But most of all, we’d like to thank our most generous benefactor, Mr. Stuart Paige. As most of you know, we’ve planned this expansion for a number of years. The Paige Foundation offered a matching grant, and I’m proud to say that we have met our financial match through the generous contributions of our supporters, allowing us to build this new home for the Food Shelf.” A burst of vigorous applause interrupted her speech, and Russ stepped forward, raising his Nikon to snap a few photos.

“In the past twenty years,” Libby continued, “we’ve been located in a number of churches, always outgrowing the space we’ve been allocated. This new building will allow us to house not only the Food Shelf, but the Stoneham Clothing Closet, which has been located in the basement of St. Rita’s Church for the past two years. Having both resources available in a single location will save us time and expense, and will better serve our clientele.”

Another round of applause greeted that announcement.

“Without further ado, let me introduce Mr. Stuart Paige.”

The applause grew more robust, but Paige raised a hand to stave off the attention. It was only after Libby cajoled him that he stepped up to the podium. “Thank you. I’m pleased the Paige Foundation was able to help out. We’re very proud of-”

A scuffling noise and sudden shouting behind them all interrupted his words. Tricia looked over her shoulder to see what was happening, and caught sight of Pammy Fredericks outside. One of the male bystanders had grabbed her arm and was pulling her away from the open doorway. The more he pulled, the more shrill her voice became.

“No, I’ve got to see him,” she shouted.

“Miss, you’ll have to leave!”

“Not until I’ve seen Stuart Paige,” Pammy hollered.

Another suited man threaded his way through the crowd. He kicked aside the wedge in the door and it closed, shutting out the noise.

“Er… as I was saying,” a disconcerted Paige continued, but few faces turned back to listen. “It’s been a pleasure to be here today. My continued hope is that hungry people will always find the help they need here at the Stoneham Food Shelf. Thank you.”

Pammy and the two men disappeared from view, but it took Libby Hirt’s voice to bring everyone’s attention back to the podium. “Thank you, Stuart. I’d like to remind everyone that we’re always looking for new collection points, either for nonperishable food or for putting out a can to collect cash donations. If you’re interested in helping out, please feel free to speak to me or any of the other Executive Committee members. And thank you all so much for coming.”

Again, everyone applauded politely as Paige and Libby left the podium. Paige paused to greet Grace like an old friend, giving her a brief kiss on the cheek.

Tricia glanced back to see the two men reenter the building, trying but failing to look inconspicuous as they melted back into the crowd.

Immediately the whispers began. Who was that woman? What did she want?

Libby had steered Paige toward the food, with Bob and a group of others shuffling along behind, like groupies at a rock show.

Tricia sidled past a crowd of the other guests and exited the building. She looked left and right, and saw Pammy’s retreating figure heading back for town.

What was so important that she’d try to interrupt the dedication ceremony? What could she have possibly wanted to tell Stuart Paige?