Murder on the Half Shelf (13 page)

“Why would he do that?”

“After her bunny days, Miz Pippa went to Cornell University and got a degree in hotel management. I guess she spent the past five years as an assistant manager at the Mount Washington Hotel and Resort until the opportunity arose for her to manage the Sheer Comfort Inn.”

Tricia knew of the Mount Washington Hotel by its reputation
and was dutifully impressed. Had Pippa become tired of working for a large hotel chain and found the thought of managing a much smaller operation more appealing?

“Did Ellington have a stake in the inn?” she asked.

Frannie shook her head. “Not that my friend said. But she also said that, despite the name, the Comforts didn’t own the inn. They just ran it for someone else.” So, maybe Ellington
did
want to buy the property. And Kelly Realty was the most likely agency to list the property.

And could the current owner of the property be Nigela Ricita Associates? If so, had its local representative, Antonio Barbero, spoken to Ellington to arrange such a deal? Tricia wondered if she ought to pay a visit to the Happy Domestic to see what Ginny knew about the situation. After all, she was engaged to Antonio. Then again, Tricia hoped to see her at the book club that night. Good old Ginny continued to patronize the gathering even after moving on with her career. If nothing else, it gave her and Tricia a chance to catch up on things while the rest of the group discussed the chosen book.

“Will you be at the meeting tonight?” Tricia asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’re going to decide our next few reads, and I’ve already got my list typed up.” Her tone was almost a challenge, and Tricia couldn’t think why she would speak that way.

“I’d better get back to the Cookery. See you later.” Frannie gave a wave good-bye and left the store.

Tricia stared at the closed door for a long time. She heard a
brrrpt!
from behind her and turned to find Miss Marple regarding her from her perch on the shelf behind the cash desk. “Yes, it does seem like a bad omen.”

Again Miss Marple said “
Brrrpt!
” and seemed to nod toward the display case. Tricia looked over to see a small stack of mail on the counter. It must have arrived while she was out. She shuffled through the circulars and found a square envelope addressed to her in care of the bookstore. The address was
printed as though by a computer, but there was no return address and the postmark was smudged. She grabbed the letter opener from the mug of pens on the desk and slit it, withdrawing a piece of copy paper that had been placed around something else. Unfolding the paper, she discovered a stained cocktail napkin. Embossed in gold was the name of what she assumed to be a bar: the Elbow Room.

The Elbow Room? The name held no significance for her.

She sighed, frowning. First the photo, now this. Someone was playing with her, and she didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

Was she supposed to be intrigued, upset, or frightened by this second mysterious offering in the mail?

At that moment the only emotion she could muster was annoyance.

Paperwork in hand, Linda approached the cash desk. “I think I’ve filled everything in properly. Would you like to go over it and then give me the grand tour of the store? I’m eager to get started.”

Tricia shoved the envelope and its contents under the cash desk, forced a smile, and accepted the paperwork, giving it a brief glance. “Everything seems in order. Let’s get another cup of coffee and I’ll explain how we operate here at Haven’t Got a Clue.”

She managed to give the tour sounding cheerful and enthused, despite the growing disquiet within her.

ELEVEN

No sooner
had Tricia said good night to Linda and turned the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED than the members of the Tuesday Night Book Club began to arrive at Haven’t Got a Clue. The first in was Julia Overline, clutching her copy of the current discussion book, Ross MacDonald’s
The Goodbye Look
. She greeted Tricia with a cheery hello and was almost immediately followed by the newest member of the group, Donna Mitchell.

Donna was a wiry wisp of a woman in her late forties and probably never married. At least she didn’t wear a wedding band. She looked like something that had been washed a few times too many, gray and tired—except for the lascivious gleam that often entered the woman’s eyes. She liked to discuss the sex scenes (or lack thereof) in the mysteries the group read. Tricia didn’t much like the woman and thought she might be a better fit with the village’s romance bookstore’s book club,
but she didn’t like to discourage anyone from joining her mystery group—especially if they bought the reading selections from her inventory.

“Won’t you ladies help yourself to coffee while we wait for the rest of the group to arrive?” Tricia suggested.

“Thanks,” Julia said, dropping her book on the readers’ nook’s table and heading for the beverage station. “Can I get you both some?”

“I’ll take mine black with sugar,” Donna said, but Tricia shook her head. She’d had more than enough coffee that day and was looking forward to closing the door on the book group and heading back to her loft for a much-deserved glass of wine—then remembered she had none.

Within minutes Mary Fairchild, Frannie Armstrong, and Nikki Brimfield had closed their businesses and were in attendance. As they all had to close businesses, they were often as much as fifteen minutes late for the meeting, and everyone liked to catch up on news and local gossip for another ten or fifteen minutes before Tricia could start the evening’s discussion. Among the missing were Grace and Mr. Everett. Grace could be counted on to keep the group focused, but since she’d opened the new office for the Everett Charitable Foundation, she hadn’t been able to attend one meeting. And now even her husband was scarce, determined to spend with her whatever time she could spare him.

Tricia drifted around the store, setting out the folding chairs, straightening stock, and eavesdropping on the various conversations. She thought the voices sounded a little lower this evening and, dare she even think it, a bit conspiratorial? She shook the thought away and was about to interrupt and begin the evening’s discussion when the door to Haven’t Got a Clue opened yet again, this time admitting a harried-looking Ginny Wilson.

Tricia crossed the store to meet her. “Hey, stranger,” she called with real pleasure. “Glad you could make it.”

“I heard through the grapevine that you’ve got another new hire?” Ginny said with a giggle, and shrugged out of her jacket.

“I’ll bet the grapevine had a Poirot mustache and kindly blue eyes, too.”

“As a matter of fact, he did. Mr. Everett called and asked if I could use some part-time help at the Happy Domestic.”

“And you said,” Tricia prompted.

“Yes. I lucked into a niche market here in Stoneham. The locals seem to support the Happy Domestic far better than they do the rest of the booksellers, thanks to all the cutesy knickknacks and such that I stock. Business has been good and will probably pick up once the tourists come back next month. But I’m hoping things will even out with Grace and she and Mr. Everett will get to spend more time together.”

“Me, too. As for my new hire…why don’t we go to lunch in a day or so and I’ll let you know how Linda is working out. That’ll give her time to shine.”

Ginny cocked her head and met Tricia’s gaze. “You think she’s the one?”

“She could be.”

“Well, now that I’ll have Mr. Everett covering for me, I think a lunch break now and then away from the store would be heaven.”

“Ahem!” Frannie cleared her throat, diverting their attention to her. “Hi, Ginny. Um, Tricia—shouldn’t we get started?”

“By all means.” Tricia directed Ginny to one of the open chairs and took a seat next to her. She preferred to sit rather than stand over the group. She found it made the conversations more open and intimate. “I’m glad you all could make it tonight. Before we get started on our current read, let’s recap what we agreed on at our last meeting.”

“I’d rather talk about what’s happening here in Stoneham,” Donna said, her eyes wide and trained on Tricia. “A real-life murder and
you
found the body.”

On second thought, maybe she should stand. Tricia wasn’t keen on opening up her own personal life to the group—especially on the topic of Pippa Comfort’s death.

“My sister’s dog found the body,” she clarified. “And I’ve been asked by the Stoneham Police Department not to talk about the crime.” That last part wasn’t exactly true, but she hoped it would shut down that topic of conversation. Donna frowned and looked away.

“Mary was also at the inn the night it happened,” Frannie pointed out. “Did you see anything suspicious before the killing?”

Mary’s mouth dropped open, and she quickly turned to Tricia as though looking for backup. Tricia could only shrug.

Mary’s cheeks colored. “I was in my room for quite some time before Mrs. Comfort was found dead.”

That wasn’t quite true.

“Did your room overlook the backyard where the poor woman died?” Frannie pressed.

Eyes widening, Mary suddenly looked frightened. “I didn’t see anything. If I had, I’d have told the police—not all of you.”

Frannie shrugged. “Sorry, Mare. I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. But you have to admit, it’s scary and exciting all at the same time.”

“Scary is right, and I really don’t want to talk about it,” Mary said, her voice shaking and her cheeks going pinker.

“And I think we should respect Mary’s wishes,” Tricia seconded, glad to put the subject behind them. “Now, we agreed we’d select the three books we’d like to read before we take a break for the summer. We decided we’d tackle one classic and two contemporary mysteries and narrowed it down to three authors and six titles. They are:
No Love Lost
or
The Tiger in the Smoke
by Margery Allingham; Patricia Cornwell’s
The Scarpetta Factor
or
Port Mortuary
, and
Fade Away
or
Back Spin
by Harlan Coban.” Tricia had already read every one of them, but the nominations had been a group decision. “Shall we vote by a show of hands?”

Julia raised her hand, but not to vote. “I’d like to add one more title to the mix. Harrison Tyler’s
Death Beckons
.”

“Oh darn,” Frannie cried, “that was going to be my suggestion.” She eyed Tricia with glee. “Especially since we now know the author lives right here in town and that Tricia is his ex-lover.”

Tricia winced at that descriptor, true though it might be.

“What was he like in bed?” Donna asked, leaning in for the juicy details.

Tricia cleared her throat. “We won’t be going there,” she said with authority. At least Donna had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“Were you starstruck when you met Mr. Tyler?” Frannie asked. “And how did you meet him?”

Everyone’s eyes were now focused on her face. Tricia felt heat move from her neck to her cheeks. They weren’t going to let this go. Perhaps if she answered the most innocent of their questions, they’d leave it at that. She sighed. “I was fresh out of college, and a voracious mystery reader. Mr. Tyler gave a talk at a bookstore near where I worked. We had coffee afterward and ended up closing down the café.”

“Sounds romantic,” Julia said wistfully.

It had been.

“That was a long time ago. I’d much rather talk about our next book selection,” Tricia said firmly.

“Let’s vote on
Death Beckons
. All in favor?” Frannie said.

Everyone except Ginny voted for the book.

“Terrific,” Frannie said, sounding satisfied.

“Have any of you ever read the book?” Tricia asked.

“When it first came out, but that was a long time ago,” Julia admitted.

“I haven’t read it,” Frannie said. “And I’d especially like to get your take on it when we discuss it,” she said, again staring right at Tricia.

Ginny, who had been silent during the whole conversation,
lifted a hand to gain the group’s attention. “I think we ought to consider Tricia’s feelings on this. Perhaps she wouldn’t like to lead the discussion on this particular book.”

“I could do it,” Donna volunteered. That was a first. If the monthly book held no sex scenes, she was usually content to sit back, drink the shop’s free coffee, and nibble on the complimentary cookies.

“I agree with Ginny,” Nikki said. “We haven’t considered Tricia’s feelings.”

“But the book is back on the
New York Times
best sellers list,” Donna insisted.

That wasn’t true. While the book had never gone out of print, it would be weeks before it could possibly show up on any of the major book lists. And Tricia hadn’t even considered ordering additional copies. If memory served, she had one or two used paperbacks in the bargain section.

Right now all she wanted was to put this whole mess behind her. That wasn’t going to be possible if the group insisted on reading it. And maybe she should just let Donna lead the discussion. The group could meet at the store and she could stay behind the cash desk and catch up on her paperwork.

“
Death Beckons
it is,” Tricia said without enthusiasm. “Now how about the other titles?”