Murder on the Half Shelf (11 page)

“I didn’t know you were planning to stay that long.”

Angelica glared at Tricia, then turned back for the stove.
“Line a cookie sheet with foil and spread out the crackers, will you. And turn on the oven to four hundred.”

Tricia did as directed.

“Now,” Angelica continued, “you’ve got to help me decide what to make for the TV show.”

“Why don’t you just make this recipe? It seems simple enough.”

“I’m not even sure they’ve got a hot plate, let alone an oven. I’ll call Bill in the morning to ask what I should bring.”

Tricia could already smell the melting butter. Angelica measured the sugar and tossed it in, grabbing a wooden spoon from the utility crock to stir the mixture. “This recipe is so easy, even you could make it.”

“You think?” Tricia said dutifully. The mix of ingredients didn’t sound promising, but if Angelica said it would taste good, Tricia had to believe her. Then again, just about anything that was covered in chocolate had to be good.

“The recipe I use on the TV show has got to be simple,” Angelica said. “Something I can have partially made, something I can cook in a skillet in a minute or so, and something with panache.”

“Crepes flambé,” Tricia suggested, expecting a scornful response. Instead, Angelica squealed with delight.

“Oh, Trish, that’s perfect! Maybe you should help me pick out the recipes for the next couple of books. Too bad you don’t actually eat much of anything besides iceberg lettuce and canned tuna.”

“I do, too.”

Angelica just shrugged and attended to her sugar-and-butter mixture, which was beginning to bubble. She inspected the tray covered with crackers, neatened up the rows, and then poured the hot mixture over the crackers. She placed it in the oven. “Now to let it bake for five minutes.” She adjusted the stove’s timer.

Angelica served herself the last of the wine and went looking
for more. Sadly, that was the last of it. “You need to make a grocery run and restock your wine cellar.”

“I’ve had a lot of help drinking the last few bottles,” Tricia said, and drained her own glass. She sighed, allowing herself to pout. “I wouldn’t have to drink so much if my life weren’t such a mess.”

“Cheer up,” Angelica said without sympathy, “It can’t get much worse.” She bent to look into the oven to check on the crackers, which were madly frothing. The stove timer went off, so she grabbed a pot holder and removed the tray. “Hand me the chocolate chips, will you?”

Tricia did. Angelica sprinkled them over the crackers, then reached for a spatula. “When they’re all nice and gooey, I’ll spread the chocolate around. Oh dear. I forgot. They need to sit in the fridge for an hour or so before they can be eaten.”

“So much for a quick treat,” Tricia groused.

“Let them cool for a minute and eat one anyway. To err is human. To hang around waiting for perfection is just too damn long. You might want to apply that last little piece of advice to your love life, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve been hanging around for nearly eighteen months waiting for Grant Baker to find time for you. It’s time to move on, my girl.”

“And we’ve talked about how slim the pickings are around here.”

“Then broaden your horizons. Why not try a dating service?”

“Have you been talking to Frannie?” Tricia asked suspiciously.

“Only about her own love life—not yours, which is nonexistent. You’re not getting any younger.”

“Neither are you. And if I’m not mistaken, you and Bob have been on the outs for quite some time, too.”

“I’m busy with my careers. For the first time in my life, I
really haven’t got time for romance, and I must say I don’t miss it all that much. But I’m not swearing off men—just taking a much-needed hiatus. And the next man I commit to had better be monogamous. Or else.”

Angelica poked at the cooling crackers, broke off a piece, and offered it to Tricia. She took a bite and her eyes widened with delight. She chewed and swallowed. “Whoa—who knew such innocent ingredients could taste so decadent.”

Angelica laughed. “I’ll make a cook out of you yet, darling Trish. And I’ve always found that the way to a man’s heart
is
through his stomach. You might want to try that approach yourself.”

Tricia broke off another piece of the candy and ate it. The stuff was seriously addictive, even if it did stick to her molars. Still, she hardly needed Angelica’s advice when it came to men. And she remembered a conversation she’d had earlier that day.

“Were you serious when you said you were going to call your agent tomorrow?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I spoke to Harry this morning. He’s still writing. And he’s looking for a literary agent.”

“He’s not getting mine,” Angelica snapped, and opened the fridge to make room for the baking tray. “Let him get his own agent. And why in the world would you want to help him, anyway, after he left you, his family, his publisher,
and
his agent in the lurch twenty years ago? What’s to say he wouldn’t go and do it again—especially with a murder rap hanging over his head?”

“He hasn’t been charged with anything,” Tricia pointed out.

“Yet,” Angelica countered, and collected her jacket. “Grandma always said, ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’ Besides, you have enough men problems without adding
him
to the mix.”

Tricia hated to admit Angelica was right. She ignored her. Anyway, Artemus owed her a favor, and she could call or e-mail him herself…but she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to do that. Angelica was right about that, too. Had Harry changed, or was he likely to just cut and run again?

Harry Tyler was going to have to prove himself. And how long was that going to take, and how was Tricia to know he was worthy of her friendship, let alone anything deeper?

“Now, about this candy,” Angelica said. “Leave it in the fridge for an hour. After it sets, you can break it up into pieces. It’ll be something fabulous to offer Mr. Everett and your customers tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Tricia said grudgingly.

Angelica pouted. “Trish, forget Harry. Forget Grant Baker. Concentrate on being the best shop owner Stoneham has ever seen.”

“And be lonely for the rest of my life?”

Angelica shook her head. “I’m done talking
at
you, since it’s obvious you have no intention of listening to my golden words of wisdom.” She grabbed her coat and headed for the door to the stairway. “Think about what I’ve said, though. Good advice is seldom taken—and that’s the only kind I have to give.”

Tricia got up to follow her, but Angelica held up a hand to stop her. “I can see myself out—and lock up and reset the security system downstairs. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

Angelica closed the door and, frowning, Tricia locked it behind her.

She absolutely hated it when Angelica was right.

TEN

Tricia’s morning
started as most mornings did. A run on the treadmill, a shower, getting dressed, feeding the cat, and drinking half a pot of coffee with a breakfast of black cherry yogurt. Only this morning Tricia extracted most of the candy Angelica had made the night before, put it on a plate, and took it down to the shop with her. It was too tempting to keep it all in the apartment. And as Angelica said, Mr. Everett and her customers would probably enjoy it.

Down in the shop, Miss Marple settled herself on a chair in the reader’s nook while Tricia checked voice mail and found a message from the employment agency. They were sending over a new candidate at ten thirty and awaited a confirmation. She quickly returned the call. Would this person be the one to finally replace Ginny? All she could do was hope.

Tricia had just hit the button on the coffeemaker when Mr. Everett arrived for work several minutes early, still looking as
sad as he had the day before. “Good morning,” he greeted Tricia, but there was no heartiness in his voice.

Tricia waited until he’d donned his Haven’t Got a Clue apron to approach him on what might be a sensitive subject. Mr. Everett wasn’t usually one to wear his heart on his sleeve. That he was visibly unhappy meant something was definitely out of kilter. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s hard to keep anything from you, Ms. Miles. Like the protagonists in many of your favorite mysteries, you would have made a fine detective.”

“It doesn’t take great sleuthing skill to see that you haven’t been your usual chipper self of late. Is there something I can do to help?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps you can. A man my age has outlived most of his friends,” Mr. Everett admitted. “Except for Grace, I have no one else to confide in.”

Oh dear. It didn’t sound like an announcement of good news was on the way. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” Tricia said in all sincerity.

His cheeks colored, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “It’s…my marriage to Grace.”

Oh no! Trouble in paradise. They were the one couple she thought would never experience marital strife.

“You see, Grace is so preoccupied with running the charitable foundation, she has very little time for me any more.”

Hmm. “Have you spoken to her about it?”

“On several occasions. She laughed it off.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I hate to put you in the middle of our marital discord, but…is there a possibility you could speak with Grace? She values your opinion.”

“Oh, Mr. Everett. If it were on any other subject…” But then the old man’s bottom lip began to tremble, and if there was one thing Tricia didn’t think she could handle, it was Mr. Everett’s tears. She sighed. “I’d be glad to.”

His eyes widened but were still watery. “Thank you, Ms. Miles. She’s in her office right now,” he said, looking hopeful.

“Now?” she asked, her voice rising. That didn’t give her much time to prepare something to say.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he encouraged.

She sighed again. “Of course.”

“I’ll get your jacket,” Mr. Everett volunteered, and headed for the back of the shop.

If she had to go out anyway, Tricia decided she’d combine the visit with a trip to the bank to deposit the previous day’s receipts. Stuffing her blue bank pouch into her purse, she was ready to go after Mr. Everett helped her on with her jacket.

“Thank you, Ms. Miles. I really appreciate this.”

“While I’m gone, help yourself to a piece of chocolate toffee. It’s homemade.” She indicated the plate sitting on the counter of the beverage station.

A look of panic came over Mr. Everett’s face. “Did you make it?”

Tricia frowned. “Don’t worry—it’s safe to eat. Angelica made it last night.”

Mr. Everett looked relieved, took a small piece of the candy, chewed, and brightened. “Your sister is a marvelous cook.” Tricia could envision the thought balloon over his head that might’ve said,
Why can’t you cook, too?

“I’d better get going,” Tricia said, then smiled wanly and headed out the door.

The air was brisk as she crossed the street, heading for Booked for Lunch. She peeked through the window, but all was dark in the dining room, although she could see a glint of light in the back where the kitchen was located. No doubt Tommy the cook was already preparing the day’s soup.

Tricia stopped at the door that led to the building’s other tenants on the second and third floors. The wall inside the small alcove held mailboxes and a short directory for the tenants.
The Everett Charitable Foundation had offices on the second floor.

Tricia trudged up the stairs to the second floor, dreading the confrontation to come. She hadn’t had a chance to visit the newly opened office, and if it weren’t for the imminent conversation, she would have been looking forward to it. She opened the frosted glass door. Inside was a small carpeted area, a door leading to the inner sanctum, and a reception desk behind a half wall with a glass window that was closed. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a doctor’s office, and not at all welcoming, which surprised her.

Tricia didn’t recognize the woman who sat behind the window, sorting through an enormous pile of unopened mail. She had to be in her late forties or early fifties, clad in a vintage dress from the 1940s, with carrot-colored hair done up in a pompadour, heavy makeup, and a tattoo of a rose with a dagger through it on her left forearm.
Queen of the Roller Derby
, Tricia thought, and instantly felt ashamed for making such a quick value judgment.

The woman looked up at Tricia, and her face crumpled into a sneer. She reached to open the window. “Can I help you?” she said, her tone nasal and unwelcoming.

Trouble with a capital
T
. Tricia adopted what she hoped was a friendly smile. “My name is Tricia Miles. I’m a friend of Mrs. Harris-Everett’s. Could you please tell her I’m here to see her?”

Carrot-top glared at Tricia for at least ten incredibly long seconds before answering, “No.” She reached up and closed the window once again.

Aghast, Tricia stood there in disbelief. Then she shook herself and tapped on the glass with the knuckles of her right hand. “Excuse me.”

Carrot-top ignored her and reached over to a small radio on the desk, turning up the volume on an oldies station.