Murder on the Half Shelf (9 page)

“My, don’t you look pretty tonight,” Mr. Everett said in greeting.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” Angelica practically purred.

Mr. Everett nodded and headed for the door. “Good night, ladies. I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Miles.”

“Good night,” Tricia called after him.

“So, you and Bob are going out tonight? I was hoping we could have dinner together.”

“Sorry, no can do,” Angelica said brightly. “Michele Fowler and I are going out to dinner to discuss business.”

Tricia and Angelica had met Michele the previous summer when she’d been the owner of an upscale art gallery. Thanks to the economy that refused to improve, that business had folded. But, as expected, Michele had rebounded.

“That woman could talk to whales under the ocean—and she has far more experience in the restaurant trade than you do. So what could you possibly have to talk about?” Tricia asked.

Angelica straightened her tan leather gloves, which perfectly complemented her camel’s-hair coat. “She wants to pick my brain about how to best get along in such a small town.”

“Like you’re an expert?” Tricia asked. “You’ve lived here all of two and a half years.”

“Which is plenty of time for me to have learned the ropes.” She offered a conciliatory smile. “Why don’t you come along with us—in fact, that’s why I stopped by.”

Tricia frowned. “What? And sit there all night just waiting for an opening to ask you to pass the pepper and salt? I’d never get a word in edgewise.”

“Why, Tricia, I do believe you’re jealous that Michele and I are friends,” Angelica said with glee.

“Of course not.”
That
was a bald-faced lie. Good thing she didn’t have her hand on a stack of Bibles.

“Oh, yes you are. Every time I mention Michele’s name, your eyes get all squinty and you seem to wince.”

“I think she’s a lovely person, and she’s extremely lucky to have a friend like you.”

Angelica positively preened. “Yes, she is—on both counts. We always have such fun when we’re together. I haven’t had a close girlfriend to confide in for ages.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Tricia asked.

“You’re my sister. It’s different,” Angelica said with a dismissing wave of her hand.

Tricia couldn’t help but feel hurt. During her entire childhood Angelica had shut Tricia out of her life. It had taken
them forty years to become friends, and now this larger-than-life woman was spoiling the closeness they had shared for the past two-plus years.

Angelica seemed oblivious to her distress. “I was wondering, would you be a dear and let Sarge out this evening?” Ah, the
real
reason for her visit. “I hate to think of the poor little guy all alone with his tiny legs crossed. Better yet, I could bring him to your apartment and—”

“You know Sarge and Miss Marple don’t get along. It’s not fair for me to allow Sarge into the apartment to torment her.”

“They’d get along fabulously if you’d only let them get acquainted,” Angelica insisted.

Tricia held up a hand. “We’re not going to talk about this again. But I
will
let Sarge out. I won’t see an animal suffer because its mistress is negligent or cruel.”

“I’m going out to dinner, not on a death march,” Angelica said and glanced at the clock. “Oh, I’m late.”

“Where are you meeting Michele?”

“I’m picking her up in Milford. Did you know she got an apartment there?”

“Yes, I seem to remember you telling me that before.” About twenty times before.

“We’re going to try a new family restaurant in Merrimack.”

“That doesn’t sound like your style.”

“She’s going to hire someone to work the grill at the Dog-Eared Page.”

“It doesn’t even open for another month.”

“You can’t leave these things until the last minute.” She wiggled her fingers and started for the door.

“When will Sarge need to go out?” Tricia called after her.

“I let him out about an hour ago. He should be good until eight or nine. Although eight is better for my carpets. Ciao!” Angelica said, and pulled the door closed behind her.

A disgruntled “
Yow!
” sounded from behind the shelf on the wall where Miss Marple liked to perch. Other than that,
the store was silent. Tricia was glad the clock on the wall didn’t tick loudly; that would just reinforce her sense of loneliness.

“This is ridiculous. I
am
used to living alone,” she said to herself, and Miss Marple jumped down on the sales counter to rub her head against Tricia’s arm, as if to remind her she wasn’t totally without company. Tricia scratched the top of Miss Marple’s head, and the cat’s purr went into overdrive.

Tricia locked up the day’s receipts, tidied the store, and vacuumed, but all those tasks took only fifteen minutes. She still had the rest of the evening in front of her. She could watch TV or read but didn’t feel the need to do either. It was nearing her own dinner hour, but she wasn’t particularly hungry and wondered if a brisk walk would do her some good. As long as she as going, she figured she might as well take Sarge out, too.

Donning her coat and a Polar fleece hat, she grabbed her keys, shut off all but the security lights, and locked the door behind her. Three minutes later, she and an enthusiastic Sarge were on the sidewalk, striding toward the village park once again.

The lights were still on at the Patisserie as Tricia passed. She waved to Nikki Brimfield, who was swabbing out one of her big glass display cases, and gave a cheerful wave in return. That reminded Trisha that she needed to buy some cookies for her customers the next morning. Something else for her to-do list.

She stopped at the corner and, as before, Sarge promptly sat awaiting the command that it was safe to go. Since there was no traffic, Tricia tugged the leash and he sprang to his feet, eager to set off again.

They did a quick circuit around the park, but as the wind wasn’t as strong as Tricia had anticipated, she decided to head on down one of the side streets. Sarge was quite happy to trot along by her side.

Minutes later Tricia found herself heading up Maple Avenue. She slowed her pace as she neared the Sheer Comfort Inn.
Unlike the last time she saw it, there were no welcoming lights in its mullioned windows. Even the sconces along the front door were dark so that the porch was bathed in shadows.

Tricia turned away. Was Harry in the back of the house somewhere, sitting all alone, brooding? Or was he in front of his computer writing? Or maybe he had lost himself in the pages of a book.

Why was she even thinking about him? It wasn’t because she cared. Well, she did care. But she
didn’t
care, too. Her feelings were all mixed up. She felt sorry for anyone in his position. But now she questioned her own motives for wandering in this direction.

She continued to walk down the pavement, into the shadow of the neighbor’s hedges, which were in need of trimming. Sarge paused to give the base of the bushes a good sniff. Tricia tugged the leash, but Sarge had found something that had piqued his interest. The truth was,
any
smell piqued a dog’s interest.

“Come on, Sarge, we’d better start for home,” Tricia said, but the dog strained against the leash, trying to pull her forward. Had he found a dead bird or something equally smelly?

Tricia yanked her keys out of her pocket and pressed the button on the fob. A thin beam of light cut the darkness. She trained it on Sarge’s head, then raked it along the base of the bushes. Tricia bent lower and could see something yellowish and metallic caught in the shrubbery. Her small flashlight’s beam caught a rusty-colored substance along the bottom edge of the object and her stomach tightened. She yanked Sarge away from the bush and quickly crossed the street. Sarge reluctantly followed.

Tricia pulled her cell phone from her pocket and punched number four on her speed dial. It rang twice before a deep male voice answered, “Hello.”

“Grant, it’s Tricia. I’m on Maple Avenue a couple of houses
down from the Sheer Comfort Inn. I’ve found something I think you should see.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. And…you might want to bring an evidence bag with you.”

Tricia was
frozen to the bone and night had fully fallen by the time Chief Baker’s SUV arrived in front of the pretty Victorian home. She stood under a lamppost stamping her feet in an effort to keep the circulation going. Sarge sprang to his feet and started to bark as Baker exited the vehicle.

“Why is it always you?” Baker asked in exasperation as he joined Tricia on the sidewalk, holding a large flashlight in one hand.

She shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess. Come on, I’ll show you what I’ve found.” She led him and Sarge back to the hedges across the way. “Let me have your flashlight,” she said, and he turned it on for her. It wasn’t hard to find the object—Sarge had his nose right on it once again.

“Hold him back, will you?” Baker said, and took the flashlight from her, inspecting the object. “Is it a—”

“Brass candleholder,” Tricia finished. “Pretty heavy, from the looks of it. It looked like there was some blood on it, too.”

Baker squinted up at her. “Did you see another one like it in the inn the other night?”

“I wasn’t paying that much attention. But I’ll bet if you ask Angelica, she could give you an inventory of everything she saw in that house.”

Baker straightened and looked her in the eye, his exasperation level escalating. “I’m glad you found it, but…I really wish
you
hadn’t found it.”

“Well, my fingerprints won’t be on it, so that ought to clear me.”

“Unless there are no fingerprints on it. That could mean
you wiped it down before discarding it. And what brought you out here tonight, anyway?”

“Angelica went out for the evening and asked me to walk her dog.”

Baker scowled. “And the rest of it?”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“You just happened to be walking Angelica’s dog—right past the house where a murder occurred the night before. A murder where
you
found the body. The body of your ex-lover’s wife. And now you conveniently find what appears to be the murder weapon.”

“Would you rather I hadn’t reported it?”

He shook his head wearily. “No.”

“Why don’t we hope this
is
the murder weapon, and that it will lead you to the
real
killer, instead of all this supposition that I held some kind of grudge against a woman I’d known for less than fifteen minutes.”

“You know perfectly well what the DA is going to think.”

“And that should give you even more incentive to prove him wrong. That is, if you don’t believe I’m capable of murder—unlike your ex-boss. Sheriff Adams was willing to railroad me to jail for a crime I didn’t commit. Are you going to do the same?”

Before he could answer, a patrol car with lights flashing turned the corner and pulled up behind Baker’s SUV. “Why don’t you and Sarge wait in my car? At least you’ll be out of the cold.” Like all cops, he’d left the motor running.

Tricia reluctantly retreated to the car. She
was
freezing. She lifted Sarge, got in, and shut the door. Baker was already conversing with the officer, and they both went over to look at the candlestick.

Time dragged. After a while Sarge gave up watching the men across the road and curled into a ball on Tricia’s lap and went to sleep. She wished she’d brought a book along.

Meanwhile, the Sheer Comfort Inn continued to stay dark.
If Baker or his officer had gone to check to see if the owner was at home, Tricia hadn’t noticed. She’d been alternating looking out the window and watching the gas gauge plummet.

Eventually a Sheriff’s Department cruiser showed up. Since Stoneham’s newly reinstalled police department had no technical team, they still had to rely on the Sheriff’s Department for some things.

After another five minutes of discussion, the deputy donned latex gloves and extracted the candlestick from the hedge. Baker finally returned to the SUV to check in with Tricia. She hit the button and rolled down the window.

“If you want to wait here in the car until we’re done, I’ll drive you home.”

“How long is that going to take?” she asked.

He let out a weary breath. “Could be another hour.”

“I think I’ll walk.” She lifted a groggy Sarge off her lap, opened the car door, and got out.

“I’ll come over to your place later. Have you eaten?” Baker asked.

She shook her head.

“How about I bring a pizza?”

Tricia sighed. She had nothing else planned. “Sure. Why not?”

“You be careful walking home. You’ve got your cell phone, right?”

“That’s how I called you in the first place,” she reminded him. At least he was still concerned for her welfare.

“Oh, yeah.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, and finally he just lunged ahead and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. The others had discreetly turned their backs on them.

“I’ll see you in a while,” Tricia said, and started off down the pavement once more. She looked back at the corner. Baker had rejoined the other officers, but he was watching her and gave a wave. She waved back and continued on her way.

After another circuit around the park, Tricia started back for the Cookery. She let herself in and took Sarge back to Angelica’s loft. The lights were off. Angelica hadn’t yet returned from her dinner with Michele Fowler.

Tricia had just locked the door to the Cookery when Baker pulled up and parked across the street from Haven’t Got a Clue. Instead of a pizza box, he held a long paper bag with a sub sandwich inside. It was likely to be smothered in onions and hot peppers. Oh well.

He crossed the street.

“That was quick,” Tricia said in greeting.

“Mr. Comfort hasn’t yet returned home. I’ve left Rogers there to wait for him and have a call in to Judge Weaver for a warrant to search the inn.”

“Looking for what? The matching candlestick?”

He nodded.

Tricia unlocked her own shop door and let herself in. Miss Marple rose and stretched on one of the readers’ nook’s comfy chairs. “Dinnertime!” Tricia called, and the cat jumped to the floor and headed for the back of the shop and the stairs leading to Tricia’s third-floor loft.