Part 24 (1/2)
Moments later, Baker jogged to catch up with her. ”Ms. Miles, please wait.”
Tricia halted, still fuming.
Baker removed his trooper hat, holding it in front of him like a scolded child looking for mercy. ”Ms. Miles, let me apologize. We seem to have gotten off track today.”
An apology? From a member of the Sheriff's Department?
”I'm sincerely worried that you could get hurt if you continue to poke around and ask questions about Pamela Fredericks's death. As I understand it, you and your sister were nearly killed in a car accident last fall when you got involved with an unsavory character. And you were physically a.s.saulted last spring. I don't want to see a repeat of either scenario.”
Tricia found herself looking into Baker's sincere green eyes, and felt herself melting once again.
d.a.m.n those eyes!
She swallowed. ”I don't know anything more about Pammy's death--or what she did in the hours before she died--than I've already told you.”
”Will you please promise me that you'll stop looking into this?”
”How can I promise that? I run a store where every piece of stock involves a mystery. If somebody tells me something, of course I'm going to be curious about the implications. I can't deny my nature, Captain.”
Baker exhaled an exasperated breath. ”You can be curious all you want. Just don't act on that curiosity. Please!”
Tricia shrugged. ”I'll try.”
Baker squeezed his eyes shut, his lips pursing. Was he about to explode?
”I think you should ask Mr. Turner where he was at the time of Pammy's death,” Tricia said. ”How do we know he didn't decide to shut Pammy up after she'd tried to blackmail his boss?”
Baker sighed. ”What would his motivation be?”
”Protecting his employer.”
”I will definitely speak with him--and his employer, whenever he's available. Now, please put this out of your mind.”
”Pammy Fredericks was my friend.”
”You said she was 'sort of' your friend,” Baker reminded her.
”Nevertheless, we had a twenty-four-year history, even if we weren't particularly close. And what headway have you made in the case?”
”I'm not at liberty to talk about it.”
”In other words: none. How about the shooter at the inn? Have you scouted out the woods across the road from the inn?”
”My men are doing that now.”
”What are the odds it's the same person who shot at my bedroom window?”
”Of course, we can't rule that out. Yet from what I understand, Mr. Paige was not shot with a BB gun or air pistol.”
”Well, of course not. Although as far as we know, they haven't dug a slug out of him yet.”
”As soon as I talk to the doctors, I'll know more.” Baker set his high-crowned hat back on his head. ”Good day, Ms. Miles.”
”Good day, Captain Baker.”
He turned away, and Tricia continued on to her car. Thinking . . . thinking.
Turner knew the contents of Pammy's envelope. Baker would probably know the contents of that envelope within the hour. She wanted to know, too. Pammy had wanted money to keep the paternity of the journal author's child quiet. Paige was the object of her blackmail scheme.
That explained why Pammy had been killed, but not who had done it. All attention would be riveted on Paige or his a.s.sociates, as it should be.
End of mystery, at least from Tricia's point of view.
Maybe.
She unlocked her car and climbed in. It was just as well. She had a wedding to host on Sunday, and losing Mr. Everett to his honeymoon during prime leaf-peeping season, she'd be too busy to think about Pammy's death.
It was all for the best.
Why did she have a niggling feeling that she had missed something?
That niggling continued into the early afternoon. Tricia rang up a thirty-nine dollar and eighty-five cent purchase for three Rex Stout mysteries while on autopilot. She kept turning over in her mind what little she knew about Pammy's interactions with Paige and the freegans; neither Gray Suit nor Ginny's friends had been willing to share much.
Ginny staggered to the register, dumping a stack of old books, most missing their dust covers, on the counter for what looked to be the best sale of the day. ”This lady here sure is a fan of Ngaio Marsh.”
”Yes, I can see,” Tricia said with delight, and quickly totaled up the sale. Two hundred and twenty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents. Not a bad afternoon at that.
Ginny bagged up the books and sent the customer on her way before looking at her watch. ”Almost lunchtime. I'm having celery dipped in one hundred percent virgin olive oil.”
”Your take from the other night?”
Ginny laughed. ”They were the best things we found that night.”
”I've been thinking a lot about our Dumpster-diving expedition,” Tricia said.
”Sorry you had to come on such a dull night.”
”It was very interesting. If nothing else, you have a diverse group of friends.”
”I wouldn't exactly say we're all friends. But we work together well.”
”Tell me, is Lisa always so annoying?”
”Yes. Pete and Brian have been friends since they were kids. Unfortunately, Lisa now comes with the package. She's the only militant freegan in the group. Well, Eugenia thinks she is because she once ate vegan for an entire month, but Lisa wouldn't agree.”
”I noticed she hardly spoke to Eugenia. They aren't friends, either?”