Untitled (13 page)

   A search of the Yahoo! Yellow Pages gave her Hamilton's office number, and she eagerly dialed the phone. An answering machine picked up after the third ring, directing her to leave a message. "This is Tricia Miles, owner of the Haven't Got a Clue bookstore in Stoneham, New Hampshire. I'm sorry to say that your client Zoë Carter died in my store on Tuesday night. Stoneham is having a memorial service in her honor, and we wanted to invite—"

   The phone clicked in her ear. "Ms. Miles? This is Artemus Hamilton. Thank you for calling."

   The man himself. No doubt he'd received some crank calls, or possibly had been hounded by the press since Zoë's death and found it necessary to screen his calls. Or perhaps his assistant was out to lunch and he was monitoring his own phone.

   "I don't suppose you remember me, Mr. Hamilton. We met several years ago at one of Sylvia Cranston's parties."

   "Sorry. I meet a lot of people." Oh, well. That was no doubt true. "What were you saying about a memorial service?"

   "Since Zoë was a longtime resident of Stoneham, we naturally want to honor her. We hope you and some of Zoë's other colleagues could join us on Saturday for a memorial service."

   "That's odd. I spoke with Zoë's niece this morning, and she said nothing about a memorial service."

   "I'm sure at the time she wasn't aware of the Chamber of Commerce's plans. You know Kimberly Peters?"

   "Yes, of course. I had dinner with Zoë and Kimberly on a number of occasions. Delightful young woman." He must've seen a side of Kimberly she hadn't bothered to show to the citizens of Stoneham. "What time is the ceremony?" he asked.

   "Eleven o'clock. It'll be outside, as there's also a statue dedication."

   "How on earth did you get a statue of Zoë made so quickly?"

   "It's actually a statue of a . . . a book." Boy, that sounded lame.

   "A book?" he repeated in disbelief.

   "Yes. It's really very nice," she lied. She hadn't actually seen it. "It's a big block of white marble with an opened stone book on the top." She flinched at her own words. It sounded ridiculous even to her.

   "Eleven's rather early to come up from New York. Perhaps I should arrive the night before. Is there anywhere decent to stay in Stoneham?"

   "I can recommend the Brookview Inn."

   "Can you e-mail me the particulars? I'll have my assistant book me a room as soon as she comes back from lunch."

   "Fine."

   "Where can I reach you in case I need to call?"

   Tricia gave him Angelica's number and that of her cell phone. "We'd also like to invite Zoë's editor. Would you be willing to share that number, or would you talk to him or her and have them contact me?"

   "I'll speak to him, and if he's interested he can get in touch with you. Thank you again for the invitation. I'll be in touch," Hamilton said and ended the call.

   Tricia got her facts together concerning the inn and e-mailed Hamilton's office, then checked that her phone was fully charged before heading down to the Cookery, where she found an impatient Ginny waiting for her.

   "Oh, good. You're back," Ginny said, and glanced over her shoulder to see if Angelica was close by and listening in. "Whatever you said to Angelica must've worked. She's hardly yelled at us at all today. Makes me wonder when I'll feel the stab of pain in my back when she reverts to type."

   "Ginny," Tricia chided.

   "Oh, sorry," Ginny hastily apologized. "I keep forgetting she's your sister. Anyway, while there's a lull, we'd better go over the plans for Saturday. Did you know they were changing the focus of the celebration?"

   "Yes. I've already talked to Bob Kelly about it, and he asked me to invite some of Zoë's colleagues. Her agent will be here on Saturday, possibly her editor as well. I'm waiting to hear."

   "That's great. Several members of the Tuesday Night Book Club have stopped by or called to ask if we should do something special in honor of Zoë."

   "You mean like flowers or something?"

   She nodded. "They're taking up a collection and thought it would be a nice touch, since most of them were among the last people to see her alive."

   And Tricia had been the one to find her dead. She gave a little shudder and tried not to think about it.

   "On our end," Ginny continued, "Mr. Everett managed to snag the UPS man and signed for the books for the dedication on Saturday. So at least we can set up shop and get a little income for the week."

   Tricia glanced around the store, spotted Mr. Everett speaking with a customer, and smiled. "I am so proud of you two. You've made this whole unpleasant situation much easier to take."

   "Thanks, Tricia. It's nice to hear a kind word." Ginny leveled a pointed glance at Angelica's back.

   "Has the sheriff or her team been anywhere near Haven't Got a Clue today?" Tricia asked.

   Ginny shook her head. "It doesn't seem like she's doing much in the way of investigating, as far as I can see, so why won't she let us reopen?"

   "Pure and plain nastiness."

   "Speaking of which," Ginny said, lowering her voice, her gaze wandering to a disapproving Angelica, who waited on a customer at the register. "Did you know Angelica threw away all of the gorgeous cookies Nikki sent over yesterday?"

   Tricia frowned. "Why?"

   "I think she was jealous. She said she wasn't going to serve someone else's products in her store."

   Angelica had made that perfectly clear the day before. "Well, they weren't sent here to be served in her store," Tricia said testily. "They were sent to me."

   Ginny giggled. "I hope you don't mind, but I grabbed a few before she tossed them in the Dumpster out back. I wrapped them up for later. Do you want a couple?"

   Tricia sighed. "With everything that's been going on, I've kind of lost my appetite. You enjoy."

   Ginny nodded. "So how are your inquiries going?"

   Tricia looked around the shop, making sure no customers were in listening range. "Don't say a word, because I have no proof . . . but several people I've talked to don't think Zoë was the author of the Jess and Addie
Forever
series."

   Ginny's eyes widened. "That's very interesting. And certainly a motive for murder."

   "Exactly."

   "Any hints on who did write them?" she asked, eagerly.

   Tricia shook her head. "Uh-uh. Not until I have more information."

   "Darn! Is there anything I can do to help you?"

   "Thanks, but no. In the meantime, I need to talk to Kimberly again. To see if I can pin her down." Tricia remembered what Frannie had said about Deborah and Kimberly possibly being classmates. Deborah and Ginny both had long hair. Could she have gotten them mixed up? "You weren't in high school with Kimberly, were you?"

   Ginny nodded. "But I didn't know her. She was a senior when I was a freshman—a much lower form of life. Eventually we all knew her by reputation, as the class slut."

   Which supported what Lois Kerr had said. "Do you think any of her friends still live in Stoneham?"

   "What friends? She slept with every decent-looking guy in the school. Not many of the girls would even talk to her."

   How sad. Did she act out just to get attention—attention she didn't receive from Zoë?

   "I'd like to call her, but of course Zoë's phone number is unlisted, and all my contact information is locked up inside Haven't Got a Clue."

   Ginny pulled a little notebook out of her Cookery apron pocket. Tricia recognized it as one she usually carried in her Haven't Got a Clue apron. "I've got Zoë's Stoneham number. Why don't you call Kimberly now?"

   Tricia smiled. "Remember that bonus I mentioned earlier? It just got bigger."

   Ginny positively beamed.

Tricia was
glad Kimberly answered the phone after only two rings, though she quickly made it clear she had no desire to discuss her aunt. That is, until Tricia suggested they meet for dinner; then suddenly Kimberly was only too happy to oblige. They made plans to meet at the Bookshelf Diner at seven.

   Tricia adopted her bravest smile and prepared to spend the next five hours hand-selling—she nearly shuddered— cookbooks.

   But before she had a chance to dive into the world of cookery, a Milford Florist Shop truck pulled up outside and double-parked in front of Angelica's store. Tricia watched without interest as the driver got out, went to the back of the truck, and opened the gate. He consulted a clipboard, then pawed through his inventory and withdrew a large white box. He jogged to the door and opened it. "Delivery," he called.

   Angelica rushed forward, her face flushed with pleasure. "Oh, that Bob! He's such a sweetheart." Her grin soon disappeared as she looked at the card on the top of the box. She turned, annoyed. "They're for you, Trish. Seems to be your week to receive gifts."

   Tricia stepped forward, unsure she wanted to accept the box. They had to be from Russ, and she wasn't sure she was ready to accept an apology. She took the card, opened it, and frowned.
Please forgive me. Love, Russ.

   
Love?
He hadn't uttered that word to her in person.

   She set the card aside and removed the red ribbon that bound the box. Drawing back the green tissue, she gasped. She'd expected roses, but instead found nine perfect calla lilies—her favorite. Had she ever told him? How else could he have known?

   She glanced at Angelica, who seemed reluctant to meet her gaze. Was there a conspiracy in the works?

   "Ooooh," Ginny cooed, coming up behind her. "Someone thinks a lot of you."

   "Possibly," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, and lifted the card to read it once again.

   "I think I've got a vase in back," Angelica said, and disappeared to find it.

   "Are you going to call him?" Ginny asked.

   "Who says they're from a 'him'?"

   "Oh, come on, Tricia, they've got to be from Russ."

   Angelica returned with a tall, clear, pressed-glass vase. She stopped at the little sink in her demonstration area to fill it with water, then set it on the counter. "You are going to call and thank him, I hope."

   Tricia blinked innocently. "Who?"

   "Russ."

   She frowned. "Why does everyone assume these flow ers are from Russ?"

   "Well, who else have you been dating for the past five months?"

   Tricia turned up her nose. "I have a lot of admirers."

   "Not in this burg," Angelica quipped.

   The door opened, and several customers entered. Angelica and Ginny both sprang into action, leaving Tricia at the sales counter with her flowers. She lifted them one by one and placed them in the vase.

   
Love, Russ.

   She didn't love him, at least not yet, but, she admitted to herself, she was quite fond of him. She didn't like there being tension between them. Still, she didn't want him to think he could buy her affection with a vase of flowers— beautiful though they might be.

   
Love, Russ.

   She glanced around, saw Angelica, Ginny, and Mr. Everett were busy, and turned back to her lilies, allowing herself a small smile.

It was
after six, and the sun hadn't yet begun to set as Mr. Everett buttoned his coat, getting ready to leave for the evening. Ginny had grabbed her purse and jacket. "Are we coming back here tomorrow?" she inquired, her voice almost a whine.

   "I didn't hear from the sheriff that I could open tomorrow—so I guess we're stuck here at least one more day."

   Ginny let out a long breath and almost looked like she wanted to cry.

   Since there were no customers in the store, Angelica flounced around the bookshelves with her lamb's wool duster, humming happily.

   "Today wasn't so bad, was it?" Tricia asked.

   Mr. Everett looked to Ginny, who seemed all too ready to speak for the two of them. "No, but that's only because you were here. You will be here tomorrow, won't you?"

   "As far as I know."

   "I shall say good night now," Mr. Everett said. He called to Angelica. "Good night, Mrs. Prescott."

   Angelica looked up from her dusting, and frowned. "That's Ms. Miles," she reminded him. "Good night. And good night to you, too, Ginny!"

   "Good night," Ginny growled, and turned her back on Angelica. "I'd better leave before she finds one more thing for me to—"

   "Oh, before you leave—" Angelica said, hurrying to the front of the store.

   "Go!" Tricia ordered, and Ginny and Mr. Everett quickly made their escape.

   "Hey," Angelica protested, "I wanted Ginny to post a couple of bills for me."

   "I'll do it when I leave to go to dinner. I'm meeting Kimberly at the Bookshelf Diner."

   "You're not eating here?"

   "Kimberly insisted we meet there. I want to please her. If she's happy, she might be more open with me about her aunt."

   "What more do you need to know about the woman? She's dead. Seems like you've talked to everyone in town who knew her. Whoever killed her isn't going to just walk up to you and say, 'Hello, I killed Zoë Carter.' "

   "Have you seen Sheriff Adams—or even a patrol car— roll by even once today, let alone enter Haven't Got a Clue?"

   "No, but what's that got to do with—?"

   "As long as Wendy Adams isn't breaking a sweat to investigate this murder, it's up to me to do all I can. I want my store to reopen.
Now
!"

   Angelica backed off. "Okay, okay!"

   The door opened and Nikki Brimfield stepped inside. "Am I interrupting something?"

   "Not at all," Angelica said with relief.

   Tricia remembered yesterday's box of goodies and flushed with guilt. "Nikki—I meant to drop by and thank you for the cookies. That was so sweet of you."