Part 13 (1/2)

”Ted,” Barbara said again, her voice growing more piercing. ”There're several boxes that need to be taken out back. Could you do that now?”

Ted jerked a thumb in Barbara's direction. ”She's a real witch, ya know.”

”No,” Tricia said, voice hushed.

”That's just between you and me,” he whispered.

She nodded as Barbara called more stridently, ”Ted!”

”See you later, Ted. Bye, Barbara.” Tricia headed for the door.

As Tricia started back to her store, she reflected on everything she knew about Pammy's activities just before her death. She'd made copies of several pages of the diary, and the diary's cover was red. Big deal. She had no clue as to where the diary was or how to prove the copied pages had been delivered. Had Baker found a delivery confirmation receipt among Pammy's things? If not, where was it? Could it have been in her purse? Tricia could ask Captain Baker, but she still didn't feel she had enough evidence to present to him. And for all his kind words so far, was he likely to accept her word? Ted could back up her story--but so what? No one could prove that Pammy had sent Paige copies of the diary pages. The fact that Lois saw her make copies, and she asked for directions to the post office, and then Ted had weighed and stamped an envelope destined for Stuart Paige, didn't mean the two events necessarily had to be related. At least, Tricia had read enough legal thrillers to know a judge would likely rule in that direction.

And who had written the letter to Pammy that she'd never picked up at the post office?

The voice on the phone had said, ”Give back the diary.”

Again Tricia was faced with the same question: What diary? And give it to whom? The caller hadn't been clear about that, either. Maybe she was supposed to find the diary and the next call would tell her what to do with it. If that was the case, all she could do was wait and see if another call came in. And since the other calls had come at night, she had the whole day to kill before that would happen.

Unless the caller got antsy.

Tricia pulled her car into the Stoneham munic.i.p.al parking lot and parked it. She was sure that the only books she'd seen in Pammy's car's trunk when Captain Baker had asked her to inspect the contents had been their college yearbooks.

Tricia had once had a little girl's diary bound in pink floral fabric with a little silver lock. Angelica had found it, broken it open, and not only read every page, but relayed its contents to the entire family at Thanksgiving dinner.

She pushed that unproductive thought away, grateful her relations.h.i.+p with her sister had improved since those days.

During the two weeks Pammy had been her guest, Tricia hadn't seen her friend read anything--not a newspaper, not a book, not even the back of a cereal box. In fact, now that she thought about it, why had Pammy been so keen on keeping the box of books? Perhaps to resell? But nothing in the box had been of any real worth. It was probably only the diary that had been valuable--and only to the person who wrote it, or perhaps wanted to destroy it because of its contents.

Tricia locked her car and started walking toward Haven't Got a Clue. Where had Pammy gotten the diary? Dumpster diving? Possibly. It wasn't likely she prowled used bookstores, despite the fact Stoneham was full of them. Most of the booksellers had a specialty: romance, military history, religion . . .

Ginny was waiting outside the door to Haven't Got a Clue--on time for the first time in days. She held a bulky plastic bag and stamped her feet on the concrete, trying to keep warm. ”I was beginning to wonder where you were,” she said by way of a greeting. ”I didn't see your car in the lot, and when I called your cell phone, there was no answer.”

Tricia sorted through her keys. ”Sorry. I must have it turned off. I had some errands to run.” She unlocked the door and entered the store, with Ginny following close behind.

”Give me your coat and I'll hang it up in back,” Ginny said.

As she straightened up the pile of bookmarks next to the register, Tricia wondered if she ought to call Captain Baker and tell him about the letter at the post office. She was sure to talk to him again sometime soon--maybe she'd just wait.

She tidied the stack of Haven't Got a Clue shopping bags, and had run out of busywork by the time Ginny came back to the front of the store.

”What's Mr. Everett's schedule for the rest of the week?” Ginny asked.

”Coming and going, I'm afraid. There's a lot to pull together fast if you're planning an impromptu wedding.”

”Why don't they just elope?” Ginny grumbled.

”I'm sure they feel this will be the last marriage for each of them. They want their friends to witness it, especially since they have no family.”

”I guess.”

Mr. Everett knew everyone in town. Would he have known Stuart Paige? Paige didn't have a long history in Stoneham, but he was well known throughout the state. Still, Mr. Everett was the soul of discretion; he wouldn't speak of Paige's reckless past if he knew of it . . . but Frannie Armstrong might. Frannie was the eyes and ears of Stoneham--more so than even Ted Missile.

As it happened, Frannie chose that moment to walk past Haven't Got a Clue on her way to the Cookery. In one hand she clutched her purse and a sack lunch; in the other, a bulky wire cage, no doubt the Havahart trap she'd spoken of the day before.

”Oh, look, Frannie's struggling with that cage. She's been trying to catch a stray cat. I think I'll go help her.”

”I can do it,” Ginny volunteered.

”That's okay,” Tricia said, hurrying around the register and heading for the exit. ”Be right back.”

”Whatever,” Ginny said, as Tricia flew out the door.

She hurried down the sidewalk to catch up with Frannie. ”Here, let me help you,” she said.

Frannie gratefully surrendered the cage. ”Hi, Tricia. This thing isn't heavy--at least it wasn't for the first couple of blocks. But then it seemed like it weighed a ton.”

”Think you'll catch Penny today?” Tricia asked as Frannie fumbled with her keys.

”I sure hope so. I hate to think of that poor little cat out in the cold at night. The weatherman says a cold snap is coming down from Canada in the next few days. We might even see a little snow.”

”Not until the leaves are past peak, I hope. I'm praying for an onslaught of tourists to arrive any day now.”

”I hope so, too. But then there's the Milford Pumpkin Festival on the weekend, and Stoneham will be as quiet as a cemetery at midnight.” Frannie opened the door and Tricia followed her into the darkened store. In a moment, the lights were on and Frannie had removed her jacket. ”Need any help setting up this cage?” Tricia asked.

”Thank you. I sure hope the first bus is late. Angelica won't be pleased if I'm not ready to open right on time.” She glanced at the clock. ”Which is in three minutes.”

”I can get things ready here at the register if you want to go load the trap and set it up outside.”

”Thanks, Tricia.”

”It's my pleasure. I want to see little Penny go to her new home.”

Frannie paused. ”I will put an ad in the News--just in case some poor child is missing her kitty. But I'd be lying if I didn't admit I hope no one will claim her.”

Frannie had lived alone for a long time. She deserved a little feline pal. ”Go on, set up the trap,” Tricia said, and gave her friend a smile.

A Granite State bus pa.s.sed the store's display window, heading for the munic.i.p.al lot, where it would disgorge its load. Several customers had entered the store by the time Frannie made it back to the sales desk. She rubbed her hands gleefully. ”By tonight I might have my very own kitty. I've never had a cat before. My family are all dog lovers, ya see. But I fell in love with your Miss Marple, and now I want one of my own.”

”I'll cross my fingers for you.”

Frannie looked toward her customers and raised her voice. ”Y'all just let me know if you need any help.” One of the women nodded and went back to her browsing.

”Frannie,” Tricia started, ”you've been around these parts a lot longer than I have. What do you know about Stuart Paige?”

Frannie shrugged. ”Just what I've read in the papers.”