Murder On The Half Shelf

TWENTY

“Tricia!”

How could one spoken word convey so many different implications? Exasperation seemed dominant. Disapproval seemed to be second on the list. And at a far third might-might-be actual concern.

“What are you doing here?” Tricia asked Chief Baker, and frowned.

“When I heard the address on my scanner, I naturally grabbed my coat and jumped in my car to find out what was happening. Are you okay?”

So, he did still care.

“Yes, we’re both okay,” Angelica answered, perturbed, and Sarge issued a low growl, baring his teeth.

“Don’t mind Sarge,” Tricia said, indicating the dog. “He’s very protective of Angelica.”

Sarge gave another growl to make sure Baker understood who was top dog.

Baker ignored him. “So, what’s going on?”

Tricia told him-leaving out all mention of their encounter with Chauncey Porter and feeling guilty for doing so. But her gut feeling was that Chauncey was innocent of Pippa Comfort’s death. Still, he might be a target of whoever killed her. And the most likely suspect was still Harry Tyler. Even if he hadn’t killed his wife, she might have told him how Chauncey had recognized her, conveying her anger, and even though she was now dead, Harry might still have punished Chauncey for bringing up a sore-or shameful-subject to Pippa.

Oh yeah? something inside her taunted. Harry had told her he and Pippa weren’t even close anymore. Would he really care to avenge her reputation now that she was dead?

He might. If it helped restore his.

Baker waved a hand in front of Tricia’s face to gain her wandering attention. “What are you thinking about?” he asked suspiciously.

Tricia shook herself. “Oh, nothing important.”

Baker looked skeptical. “Sure.” Only he dragged the word out for at least four seconds. He turned his attention to Angelica. “Are you in the habit of taking your dog for a walk and leaving the door wide open?”

Angelica faced him, offended. “No.”

“Then why tonight?”

“Sarge caught the scent of something and dragged us along.”

Well, she hadn’t lied, but neither did she admit the truth.

“Uh-huh,” Baker uttered, and still looked unconvinced.

The uniformed officer came back downstairs. “All clear,” he called and then, at the sight of his boss standing in the middle of the shop, came to a halt and straightened. “Chief. What are you doing here?”

“Just following up. Go get the big flashlight out of your cruiser. Ms. Miles here”-he indicated Angelica-“says her dog was interested in something in the alley. I’d like to take a look.”

“Sure thing.”

The young officer left the store in a hurry.

Angelica sighed. “I need a drink-preferably alcoholic-and hopefully incredibly strong, thanks to the day I’ve had.”

“We’re not quite through here,” Baker said.

Angelica sighed. “I can see why you installed comfortable upholstered chairs in your store, Tricia. I could sure go for one right now.”

“What do you hope to find in the alley?” Tricia asked Baker.

“Hopefully, nothing.”

“Yes, me, too,” Angelica said, “because upstairs there’s a gin and tonic with my name on it.”

The officer returned, and he and Baker went out the back door.

“Oh no!” Tricia hissed. “What if they find the blood?”

Angelica looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “What blood?”

“Chauncey’s head was bleeding. There was a patch of blood on the asphalt.”

“Oh. That blood.” Angelica bit her lip and shrugged. “It’s dark. They’ll never see it.”

“I hope you’re right.”

But they did see it.

Not five minutes later Baker came back into the store, his expression grim. “I don’t mean to alarm you ladies, but we found a patch of blood out in the alley. That’s probably what your little dog was interested in.”

“Ooh, you’re good,” Angelica said under her breath.

Baker looked pleased.

Tricia rolled her eyes.

“I’m having a tech come by and take a sample. You’ll probably see flashing lights in the alley for the next hour or so. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Worry about a possible mugging or something?” Angelica said, and Tricia shot daggers at her.

“Why would you say a mugging?” Baker asked, again suspicious.

Angelica shrugged. “Do you suspect something worse?”

“I don’t know what to suspect,” Baker said, and scrutinized the women. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I told you what’s on my mind. A nice tall drink. Now, Chief, I’ll take my dog out for one last pee and then I’m going to bed.” She turned toward her sister. “Tricia, you’ve got a long day ahead of you, too. It’s time you went to bed.” She glared at Baker. “And apparently alone.”

She picked up Sarge and headed for the back door.

“I’m sorry, Grant. Angelica really has had a tough day.”

“Yes.” He moved to stand in Tricia’s personal space, something she’d been longing for for days, only now she wished he hadn’t. “Tricia, if something is going on in this village that I should know about, for heaven’s sake-tell me!”

“If I could, I would.” Talk about being vague.

He studied her face, and she willed him to kiss her, but instead he turned aside. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your front door.”

That was the best offer she’d received in a week, and she accepted with resignation.

Baker waited until she’d let herself in before he turned to leave. No good-night kiss, just a terse “See you,” and he headed back down the sidewalk, presumably to take the shortcut to the alley next to the Patisserie and join up with his officers.

Miss Marple made a solitary-and hungry-welcoming committee. She eagerly followed as Tricia climbed the steps to her loft apartment. She fed the cat and, being bone tired, got ready for bed.

Despite the fatigue that weighed down on her, Tricia thought it unlikely she’d be able to fall asleep. Instead of immediately retreating into a book, she turned off the bedroom light and raised the blind on the window.

Stoneham’s streets were deadly quiet, but after such a tumultuous day Tricia drank in the tranquility. Chief Baker’s SUV still sat outside Haven’t Got a Clue, but within a minute or two Tricia saw him walk back down the street to claim it. He looked up at her window, but because of the darkness did not see her watching him. He turned away and climbed into the vehicle. Moments later, the headlights came on and the SUV slowly pulled away from the curb.

“Good night, Grant,” Tricia said with a pang of regret.

Miss Marple jumped up on the windowsill with a sympathetic “Yow!” She nuzzled her head into Tricia’s hand and purred loudly.

Tricia was about to turn away from the window when movement on the sidewalk across the street caught her attention.

Someone-a man-walked briskly up the west side of Main Street, heading north. Tricia recognized the gait-and the set of the shoulders-even though the street was bathed in partial shadow.

Harry Tyler.

And what was he doing in this part of the village at this time of night?

Not surprisingly, Tricia slept late and the morning came far too early. First thing, Tricia called the hospital and found that Mr. Everett had already been released. Okay, the day was starting out with something good, but she didn’t expect to see him at work that day, and she hadn’t had time to do any of the after-hours tasks, nor had she had time to train Linda to do them. That put something else on the to-do list.

After a quick shower and even quicker breakfast, Tricia hurried down the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple followed in her wake, always eager to start the workday.

Considering Linda had only observed one closing, the store appeared neat. The mail had been opened and was paper-clipped in stacks on the counter, which Linda had labeled with Post-it notes. Ads and circulars-probable recycles-bills, and…a pastel, multicolored silk scarf. Clipped to it was a printed note that had obviously been cut from a larger sheet of copy paper. It read: Remember when you wore this?

Tricia felt heat rise up her neck to burn her cheeks. No, she didn’t remember ever wearing the scarf. Who was sending her this junk in the mail? First the picture, then the cocktail napkin-now this. Could someone have gotten her mixed up with another person? That didn’t seem likely. The picture had definitely been Tricia.

She looked below the cash desk to the wastebasket, but it was empty. She searched under the counter, but there was no sign of the envelopes the mail had come in, nor the packaging for the scarf.

But something else was missing, too.

The blue bank pouch that should have been under the counter was also missing.

Tricia straightened too quickly and hit her head on the edge of the counter. Stars flashed before her eyes as she touched the top of her head and winced.

“Yow!” Miss Marple offered in sympathy, but Tricia had no time to converse with the cat. She opened the register and her heart sank. There wasn’t a cent in it. No checks, no credit card slips. Nothing. Even the loose change had been removed.

She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until opening. She had a few questions for Linda when she arrived. But first things first. She headed to the back of the store and brought out the vacuum cleaner, hoping to finish the carpet before the day’s first customers arrived.

She did that and got the coffee started, too. By the time she poured herself a cup, it was ten ten.

No customers. No Linda.

She checked the store’s voice mail but found no messages.

Tricia had a bad feeling about this.

After a quick search, she came up with the paperwork Linda had filled in two days before. Scanning the page, she found Linda’s telephone number and dialed. After one ring, a recorded message said: “You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is out of service. Please check the number and try again.”

As suggested, she tried again-and got the same message.

Tricia’s stomach tightened as she set the heavy receiver back in its cradle.

The door opened and a customer came in. Tricia braved a smile. “Hi, welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m Tricia. Please let me know if you need any help.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, and shuffled off to peruse the shelves.

Sensing something was wrong, Miss Marple jumped up on the sales counter and said, “Brrrpt!” Tricia petted the cat. “We’re going to believe the best about Linda.”

But ten minutes later, as her customer tried to pay for her purchase in cash, Tricia had no money to make change. She apologized and accepted a check instead. She smiled and gave a wave as her customer let herself out and then sighed. What should she do? Close the store so she could go to the bank and get some change? Borrow some money from Frannie next door?

Call the police?

The phone rang-could it be Linda with a perfectly good explanation as to why she was late and the store’s receipts were missing?

Tricia grabbed the receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue-”

But it wasn’t Linda on the other end of the line.

“Trish! The worst-the absolute worst thing has happened.”

“Calm down, calm down,” Tricia told Angelica.

“I can’t calm down. That stupid video of me on TV yesterday has gone viral. Now I’m not only the laughingstock of all of New England, but I’m the laughingstock of all of North America-maybe even the world!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Tricia chided her.

“No I’m not,” Angelica howled, verging on tears. “The comments are horrible! Everyone’s acting like it was my fault that the TV station burned down. If that stupid boom guy hadn’t hit me in the head with his phalliclike microphone, I’d be on my way to being-”

“The next Paula Deen-yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You could be at least a little sympathetic,” Angelica wailed.

“I’m sorry, Ange, but I’ve got problems of my own. Remember how I rarely let Ginny close for me?”

“What’s that got to do with-”

“With Mr. Everett heading to the hospital yesterday, I left the keys to my store with Linda and told her to lock up at the regular time. Well, she did. And this morning she hasn’t come in and the money from the till is gone.”

“She stole from you-on her second day on the job?”

“I so want to give her the benefit of the doubt. I mean, she’s not that late, just-” She glanced at the clock. “By twenty minutes.”

“Maybe she had car trouble,” Angelica offered.

“I tried calling her at home. The number’s been disconnected.”

“Oh dear. Your day is starting just as crappy as mine,” Angelica said, sounding not quite so paranoid.

“At least one good thing has happened. Mr. Everett was discharged from the hospital and is, presumably, home.”

“Oh good.” Angelica sighed. “Thank you for mentioning that. I’m afraid I have gotten all caught up in myself this morning. I need to keep reminding myself that I have a good life, a good sister, two thriving businesses, and many fine friends.”

“Can’t you make lemonade out of lemons with the video situation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure I’ve heard you say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Call your agent and brainstorm this.”

“Oh, Trish. You’re right. I’m going to do that right now. Thanks. And you should call Grant and ask his advice about Linda.”

“I don’t want to do that just yet. I’ll give her until lunchtime and then…” I will be a complete fink and turn her in.

“It’s business, dear. You hardly know this woman.”

“But I wanted to trust her.”

“I know. Do you need some cash to get started for the day?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll send Frannie right over. And while she’s gone I’ll call my agent. Do you still want me to mention Harry Tyler to him?”

“No way.”

Angelica giggled. “Your wish is my command. Look, I’d better go. Talk to you later, and thank you for making me feel better. Ta-ta for now.”

Tricia put the phone down and stared at it, feeling foolish. Of all the candidates she’d interviewed and hired since Ginny had left, Linda had been the most promising. She’d been frank about her financial situation. Was that why the bank pouch was missing? But there couldn’t have been more than a couple of hundred dollars in the till. Was it worth going to jail for that?

That was the logic a former employee at the Happy Domestic had gone with. Only in her case she got probation-and found a friend in Grace Harris, who found her a job.

Angelica was right. She really should call the police. But she would wait at least until Linda was an hour late for work. She could at least give her that much benefit of a doubt.

The shop’s door opened and Frannie breezed into Haven’t Got a Clue, clutching a number ten envelope that jingled with change as she walked. “Hi, Tricia. Angelica said you needed some money. What happened-someone rob you?” she said, and laughed.

Tricia stared blankly at her.

The mirth vanished from Frannie’s face. “I was only kidding.” She handed over the envelope and watched as Tricia counted out the money and settled it into the register tray. She seemed to be waiting for an explanation, but Tricia didn’t feel inclined to give one.

Frannie leaned her elbows on the top of the glass display case, resting her head in her hands. “I hear Mr. Everett is out of the hospital. That was a close call, wasn’t it?”

“Too close for comfort,” Tricia agreed. “He was better when I saw him last evening. I’m hoping he’ll be back to work in a few days.”

“That’ll be nice,” Frannie agreed. She didn’t seem in a hurry to get back to work at the Cookery. “Have you heard anything new on the Pippa Comfort murder investigation?”

“No,” Tricia said, counting the pennies into the far right section of the coin tray.

“Everyone’s so tight-lipped about this murder,” Frannie complained. “Makes me wonder what’s going on.”

“What could possibly be going on?” Tricia asked.

Frannie shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe it wouldn’t be good for the village if the murderer was revealed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, say it was somebody from Nigela Ricita Associates.”

“There’s only one person in Stoneham who works for them.”

“Two,” Frannie corrected. “You’re forgetting that woman who’s going to run the Dog-Eared Page.”

“You think Michele Fowler killed Pippa Comfort?” Tricia asked in disbelief.

“I didn’t say that. I was just wondering. Of course, what if it’s that charming young man of Ginny’s?”

“That’s just as terrible a thing to suggest. And what motive would either have for killing Pippa, anyway?”

Again Frannie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they decided the inn wasn’t a good investment for their development company. Maybe they wanted to get out of the deal.”

“That’s ridiculous. Nigela Ricita Associates might be moving fast to accumulate properties here in Stoneham, but everything they’ve done has benefited the village.” Tricia realized she was defending the company-something she hadn’t done before. Maybe because Angelica was now involved, and she didn’t want gossip to taint her sister’s reputation-especially when it came from Angelica’s own employee. Of course, there was a good chance Frannie didn’t know Angelica had a share in the inn. But that knowledge was sure to become commonplace in the not-too-distant future. Still, if Angelica wanted Frannie to know about it, she could tell her herself.

“Who else is on your list of suspects?”

“I should be asking you that question,” Frannie said. “After all, it was you who found the body.”

“I haven’t given it any thought,” Tricia said.

“It’s gotta be a man, and the motive had to be jealousy. That leaves three suspects: the victim’s husband, Chauncey Porter, and Clayton Ellington. They all knew her-and more than one if not all of them-biblically, if you catch my drift.”

Tricia glanced up at the clock. “Oh, look at the time. I’m sure Angelica must need you back at the Cookery, and I have an important phone call I have to make.”

“You don’t have to chase me out. I was just about to leave,” Frannie said, not so graciously.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I’m just so preoccupied, what with being here on my own this morning.” Oops. That wasn’t a good revelation. But Frannie didn’t seem to pick up on it, and she let it drop.

“Okay. I’ll be seeing you, Tricia. Have a good day.”

“You, too.” Tricia said, and made to pick up the phone. She started to dial, but when the door closed on Frannie’s back, she put the receiver back down. She had always liked Frannie, but these past few days she found herself hard-pressed to remember why.

Eleven o’clock finally came and went and still Tricia had not heard from Linda. It was with a heavy heart that she picked up the phone for real and dialed the direct number for the Stoneham police instead of 911. This wasn’t an emergency, after all.

“Our officers are all tied up right now”-dealing with real crime, the dispatcher’s voice seemed to hint-“but we’ll send somebody over in the next couple of hours to take a report.”

“That’ll be fine. Thank you,” Tricia said and hung up the phone.

Therefore, she was surprised when ten minutes later Grant Baker’s familiar SUV pulled up outside Haven’t Got a Clue.

“Will there ever be a day when you don’t find yourself mixed up in some kind of trouble?” Baker asked upon entering the store.

“Good morning to you, too. Isn’t a shop owner supposed to call the police when she’s been robbed?”

“Robbed of what?”

“Yesterday’s receipts.”

“And how much was that?”

“I’m not quite sure. Now that you mention it, I forgot to run the receipts from the register.”

Baker sighed. Heavily. “Do you keep calling the police just to see me?”

“My, don’t you have an inflated ego.”

“And just who robbed you?”

“My new hire. Her name is Linda Fugitt. At least that’s what she said her name was.”

“How long has she worked for you?”

Tricia felt a blush creep up her neck to stain her cheeks. “A day and a half.”

“And did she break in?”

“No. I…left her here in charge of the store.”

“You left a person you barely know in your store with an open register?”

“I thought Mr. Everett had had a heart attack. I couldn’t get hold of his wife. I had to go to the hospital until I was sure he was okay.”

“And you left this woman alone in the store?”

Tricia hung her head, feeling like a scolded child. “Yes.”

“Did she fill out any paperwork?”

“I tried the number she wrote on her application, but it’s been disconnected.”

Boy, did that sound bad.

“And you left a near-perfect stranger-with a bad phone number-alone in your store with an open register.”

“Will you stop saying that? At the time it seemed a perfectly sensible thing to do.”

Baker did not look convinced. “All right. I’ll write up a report and we’ll try to see if we can track this Fugitt woman down. If that’s her real name. Of course you realize the Stoneham police are very busy right now.”

“Yes. You’ve got a murder to solve. Quite frankly, I’m surprised the dispatcher sent you yet again.”

“I heard the address on the scanner and I-”

“Took it upon yourself to investigate? Are you sure you don’t keep showing up here just to see me?”

It was Baker’s turn to blush.

The door rattled and the little bell chimed as a breathless Linda burst into the store.

“Oh, Tricia, I’m so sorry I’m late, but my car wouldn’t start and my phone is out of order and I had to cancel my cell phone after my unemployment ran out and you can’t find a pay phone anywhere these days, and I figured you’d be worried since I didn’t know what to do with the money from the register, which I took home with me, and I knew you’d need change this morning and-” She finally ran out of breath as she opened her purse and took out the missing bank pouch. As she went to hand it to Tricia, she suddenly seemed to recognize that it was a uniformed policeman who stood in front of the register.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is everything okay? Did something else happen since I closed last night?”

“Um…no,” Tricia said. She indicated Baker. “The chief and I are friends. He just dropped by to say hello. Didn’t you, Grant?” she said, her eyes imploring him to agree.

“Yes. Hello, Tricia,” Baker said in a clipped tone. “Well, I guess I’d better be off.”

“So soon?” Linda asked, and unbuttoned her coat.

“I’ve got an investigation to get back to.” He nodded at Tricia. “I’ll be seeing you.” It almost sounded like a threat.

Tricia watched him go as Linda headed toward the back of the store to hang up her coat. The SUV was pulling away from the curb when Linda returned, tying on a Haven’t Got a Clue apron.

“How’s Mr. Everett?” she asked.

Tricia busied herself at the cash desk, neatening a stack of unruly bookmarks. “I haven’t heard from him or Grace yet today, but he was released from the hospital early this morning.”

“Oh, good. I’ve been so worried. He really is a dear sweet man.”

“Thank you for opening the mail yesterday…”

“You’re welcome.”

“-but I really do prefer to do it myself.”

Linda looked unsure of herself. “Oh. Okay. My secretary used to do that for me and it seemed one less burden I had to tackle on any given day.”

“I do wish you’d left a note saying you’d taken the bank pouch,” Tricia said, finding it hard to keep the strain from her voice.

“But I did. It’s right-”

She looked at the shelf behind the register where Miss Marple lay curled up in a ball. “Oh. It’s not there. I put a Post-it note on Miss Marple’s shelf, thinking you’d see it right away. It must have fallen down.”

Tricia cast about and saw a square sheet of yellow paper on the floor in the corner. She bent to pick it up. Sure enough in tight script it said: I wasn’t sure what to do with the money. I’ve taken the bank pouch home. Will try to get in early tomorrow. Linda.

Tricia’s heart sank. She looked up at Linda and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words so she closed it again.

Understanding dawned. “Oh, Tricia, I hope you didn’t think-”

“I’m sorry, Linda. I didn’t know what to think.”

“That’s why the cop was here. To take your statement that you’d been robbed.”

Tricia wasn’t sure how to interpret Linda’s words-her tone was so neutral.

“It must have been awful for you to think your new employee was…” Linda stopped, as though unable to say the word.

“A thief? I’m the one who should feel bad. I didn’t trust you, and I apologize.”

Linda shook her head and waved a hand to dismiss the notion. “No. It’s perfectly understandable under the circumstances.” She looked up at Miss Marple, who was pretending to be asleep. Her eyes were shut, but her pricked ears betrayed that she’d been listening to the whole conversation. “You’re a naughty cat,” Linda scolded.

“Brrrpt!” Miss Marple replied, and still didn’t bother to open her eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tricia said.

“Why don’t you say, ‘Linda, how would you like to learn to do inventory?’ I think that might be a good start. Mr. Everett was telling me how Ginny took care of that for you, and that you’ve had to do it all yourself since she’s been gone.”

Tricia managed a smile. “Thank you for-”

“Let’s not talk about it any more. But would you mind if we talked about inventory over a cup of coffee? After the morning I’ve put in, I’m pretty stressed. And I’ll bet you are, too. Here, let me get you a cup. You like it with just creamer, right?” And off she headed for the beverage station.

It was then that Tricia was sure she’d found a permanent replacement for Ginny.

Linda did learn fast. She’d mentioned that Google and Wikipedia had become her new best friends and had spent the previous evening doing research on vintage mystery authors. She was helping a customer, and holding her own in a discussion of Agatha Christie versus Dorothy L. Sayers, when the phone rang. Tricia picked up the receiver.

“Haven’t Got a Clue. This is Tricia. How may I help you?”

“Ms. Miles?” It was Mr. Everett!

“Oh, Mr. Everett, I’m so pleased you called. How are you feeling?”

“Much better today. In fact, I’d like to come back to work this afternoon. If it’s all right with you, that is.”

“Oh, so soon? Shouldn’t you rest?”

“The doctors told me I had an anxiety attack-nothing more serious. I am back in the pink and eager to get back to work. Grace has already gone into the office for the day and I find it quite lonely being here by myself.”

“Then by all means come back to work. Linda and I will be waiting for your return.”

“Do you think she’s working out?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, I do.” And she wasn’t going to mention her fears of earlier in the day-to anyone.

“That’s very good,” he said, but he didn’t sound enthusiastic. She’d mention to him that Ginny at the Happy Domestic was looking forward to sharing his work time with Tricia. It was a win-win situation for all, really.

“Is everything all right between you and Grace?” Tricia asked, feeling terribly nosy.

“We had a long talk. I believe things will be different from now on. Better.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I shall report for work at my usual time,” Mr. Everett said, regaining control of the conversation. He didn’t like to talk about personal things, after all.

“Very good. I’ll see you then. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

As Tricia hung up the phone, she decided she should get some of Mr. Everett’s favorite thumbprint cookies as a welcome-back gesture. And she’d buy an extra dozen or so to make sure that he could take some home to enjoy later, too. She liberated a twenty-dollar bill from the till and approached her new assistant.

“Linda, I’m heading over to the Patisserie for some cookies. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Sure thing,” Linda said, and went back to her conversation with the customer.

Since it wasn’t a long walk and it was a sunny day, Tricia left Haven’t Got a Clue without a coat and hurried down the sidewalk. Now if only Nikki still had the cookies on hand. Mr. Everett was particularly fond of the thumbprints with raspberry jam but would happily accept any other kind.

She’d timed it right and there were no other customers in the bakery when she arrived. Charging in, she called a cheerful hello but was greeted by a stony-faced Nikki. “Can I help you?” she said coldly.

For a moment Tricia wasn’t sure who Nikki was speaking to, and she looked behind her to see if she’d missed seeing someone else in the bakery’s small waiting area. But as she’d already noted, there was no one else around. “Um…have you got any thumbprint cookies today? Mr. Everett is coming back to work after his scare yesterday and they’re his favorites.”

“Yes,” Nikki said. “How many did you want?”

“How many do you have?”

“Four dozen.”

“I’ll take them all. Whatever my customers don’t eat, Mr. Everett can take home. I assume they freeze well.”

“Yes, they do.” Nikki turned away and filled a bakery box with the cookies. She closed and tied the box with thin white string and rang up the sale.

Tricia gave her the twenty and then accepted the change. “Is anything wrong, Nikki? You don’t seem especially happy this morning.”

“Then I’ll cut to the quick. I don’t appreciate you visiting Russ at his office. You two are no longer together, as if I had to even say it.”

Tricia blinked. “But we’re still-” She gulped. “Friends.” Okay, that was pushing it.

“It’s me he chose, not you. I think you should just back off.”

“I assure you we didn’t talk about anything personal,” Tricia said, finding it hard to believe Nikki could possibly be jealous of her recent conversation with Russ.

“Stay away from my man,” Nikki said bluntly.

“Believe me, I have no romantic interest in Russ. Remember, he dumped me.”

“He still talks about you-way too much.”

“I can’t help what he says,” Tricia replied, feeling defensive. “I only went to his office to ask him what he knew about Pippa Comfort’s murder.”

“Why is it whenever somebody dies here in Stoneham, you’re always involved? You really are the village jinx.”

Not that again!

“Nikki, how can you say such hurtful things? We’re friends.”

“Not anymore. I’m sorry, Tricia, but I really don’t want you to patronize my store.”

“But Mr. Everett loves your cookies. All my customers do.”

“Then if you wish to continue to offer my products, you can send Mr. Everett in to get them.”

“Nikki-” Tricia began, feeling incredibly hurt.

“It goes without saying that I will no longer be a member of the Tuesday Night Book Club. And you are definitely not invited to our wedding.”

Tricia felt hot tears fill her eyes. What had Russ told Nikki after their brief meeting the day before? Had he boasted to her that Tricia still needed him for information? Had the louse lied and said that she’d made a play for him? The doors to his office had been open. Patty Perkins had probably heard their entire conversation and could vouch that nothing untoward had gone on between them. But somehow Tricia doubted that Nikki would believe her-or Patty.

There were other, deeper ties that Tricia had believed bound her and Nikki together as friends. Had Nikki decided that was worth nothing, too?

Tricia’s lower lip trembled, but somehow she managed to speak. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Nikki. I’ve tried to be a good friend to you. How could you even think I’d betray…”

“Please leave,” Nikki said, her face rigid with disdain.

Tricia’s fingers clenched the bakery box and her throat constricted. It was just as well; she couldn’t think of anything to say to sway Nikki’s resolve.

She turned and left the Patisserie, perhaps for the very last time.