Part 6 (1/2)
”I agree, but that could be the reason Pammy was killed.”
”What are you thinking? That she was blackmailing someone?”
”It's a cla.s.sic motive for murder.”
Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. ”You think about murder too much.”
”Well, I would, wouldn't I? My job is selling mystery books.”
Angelica retrieved a bread knife from the wooden block on the counter, commandeered the cutting board, and sliced the baguette into half-inch pieces, but not cutting all the way through the loaf. Then she spread the b.u.t.ter-garlic mixture on both sides of each slice of bread. ”Turn the oven on to three fifty, will you?”
Tricia got up, turned on the oven, and grabbed another winegla.s.s from the cupboard. She made another stop by the refrigerator to grab the already opened bottle of chardonnay. ”I hope that soup goes with white, because I'm flat out of merlot.”
”It's chicken pastina, so it'll go fine.” Angelica set the bread on the baking sheet, wrapped the loaf in foil, and popped it into the oven, before grabbing her gla.s.s. ”What could Pammy possibly know about anybody that would warrant blackmail?”
”You said she was a Dumpster diver. I suppose she could've found financial statements or something of that order.”
”She was a freegan. Looking for financial papers is just not on their scavenging agenda.”
Tricia sipped her wine, and frowned. ”I just don't understand how anybody could eat food that's been in a Dumpster. I mean--think about all the germs. Wouldn't that kill you, or at least make you deathly ill?”
”What kills people these days is not enough germs in their systems. We're all antibioticed to death, if you'll pardon the pun. Between hand sanitizers and antibiotics in the food chain and water, we're at the mercy of super staph germs and the like.”
”Let's get back to Pammy.” Tricia bit her lip. ”Do you think we ought to tell Captain Baker about our suspicions?”
”What suspicions? I don't have any.”
”Well, I do.”
Angelica shook her head. ”Look what trouble sharing your suspicions with the law has gotten you before.”
”Yes, but that was when I was dealing with Sheriff Adams. I think Captain Baker is a lot more”--she paused, trying to come up with an appropriate term--”sympathetic.”
”It's those green eyes of his. You're a sucker for them.”
”So are you,” Tricia countered. Bob Kelly had green eyes, too.
Angelica swirled the wine in her gla.s.s. ”Maybe so. But it's immaterial. I'm sure we haven't seen the last of Captain Baker--but unless he asks, keep your ideas to yourself. We'll both be better off if you do.”
”Okay. But I still think I must know something that could be helpful to the investigation. I just wish I knew what it was.”
FIVE.
Tricia found it hard to sleep that night. Maybe it was the quiet. Pammy's snores had awakened her more than once during her lengthy stay. Staring at the ceiling for hours on end gave Tricia plenty of time to think about Pammy's visit and her untimely death.
Why had she shown up at the Food Shelf just hours before she died? Why had she wanted to speak to Stuart Paige? Maybe if she could talk to Paige, she could find out what his connection to Pammy was. That is, if she could find someone to introduce her to him.
Bob Kelly probably knew the philanthropist.
Tricia winced at the thought. Because of Pammy's death--and her link with Pammy--Bob wasn't likely to introduce her to the man. Not if it meant the possibility of straining relations with the Chamber of Commerce. Could she entice the Food Shelf's chairperson, Libby Hirt, to do so? It might be worth trying.
With that decided, Tricia was finally able to drift off to sleep.
She never heard the alarm clock ring the next morning, and awoke only half an hour before Haven't Got a Clue was to open its doors. After a fast shower, she dressed, fed Miss Marple, and dashed down the stairs to the shop. Mr. Everett was already waiting at the store's entrance.
”My, we're late today,” he commented after Tricia had unlocked the door and let him in.
”I had a rather sleepless night,” she admitted.
Mr. Everett headed straight for the coffeemaker. ”After what happened yesterday, I can well understand that. I'll get this started if you want to get the register up and running.”
”Thank you,” Tricia said gratefully.
By the time she'd taken money from the safe and counted it out for the till, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the front of the store. Mr. Everett brought her a cup, fixed just the way she liked it.
”I'm afraid the wastebasket behind the coffee station wasn't emptied last night,” he said. Something else Ginny was supposed to have done, but hadn't. ”Shall I do it now?”
”Oh, no,” Tricia said. ”I know how those back stairs bother your knees. I'll do it. Would you watch the register for a few minutes?”
”I'd be delighted,” the elderly gent said, and gave her a smile. Come to think of it, he'd been smiling a lot lately. He took his place behind the register, and Tricia found a cap for her cup and set it on the counter at the coffee station. She grabbed the wastebasket.
”I'll be right back.”
The wind was brisk on this sunny October morning as she trundled down the steps that led to the Dumpster. On her way back she again noticed two bowls on the concrete steps leading to the Cookery's back door. She moseyed over to have a look. Sure enough, one contained the remains of dry cat food; the other contained water that had already attracted a few stray locust leaves. She picked them out and tossed them on the ground. The poor kitty shouldn't have to drink dirty water.
Poor Frannie if Angelica found out she was still feeding the neighborhood stray.
Tricia glanced at her watch. By now Angelica would be at her cafe, getting ready for the lunch crowd that would start filing in within the hour. Frannie was safe from detection--for another few hours, at least.
Tricia reentered her store and found that they already had a customer--or at least a guest. Grace Harris, Mr. Everett's special friend, had arrived before the onslaught of tourists. Tricia had met her just a year before, under not very pleasant conditions--at least for Grace, who'd been forced into a nursing home under suspicious circ.u.mstances. Tricia had helped extricate her from the home, and since that time, Grace and Mr. Everett had renewed their decades-old friends.h.i.+p.
As usual, Grace was dressed to the nines. Beautiful name-brand clothes, exquisite jewelry, and expertly coiffed hair, too. With her lovely skin and natural poise, she could have easily made a fortune as a senior citizen model, but her late husband had left her very well off. She liked to read, and she liked Mr. Everett. A lot.
”Good morning, Grace. You're here early.”
”I have so much to do today, and I decided I'd best start early.”
”Don't overdo, dear,” Mr. Everett said kindly.
Grace reached across the counter to clasp his hand. ”I won't.” She gazed back at Tricia, her expression luminous. She looked back at Mr. Everett. ”I don't suppose you've told Tricia our good news.”
Mr. Everett shook his head, a blush coloring his cheeks as his gaze dipped to the counter.
”Shame on you,” Grace scolded. ”Shall I?”
Again he shook his head. ”It's my duty.”