Murder Is Binding

'I didn't know you wanted to open a restaurant, Mrs. Prescott,' said Mr. Everett. 'I'm an old hand when it comes to fresh produce. I'd enjoy having a dialogue on it with you some time, if you wouldn't mind.'

'I'd love to. How about tomorrow? We can unpack books and talk asparagus and Swiss chard.'

'I'll look forward to it,' he said.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Tricia looked around the empty shop. 'Thanks to what's left of Hurricane Sheila, I don't think we're going to have any more customers tonight. Why don't we call it a day? You can head on home, Mr. Everett.'

'If the weather were better, I would insist on staying on until our normal closing time, but I think I will take you up on your generous offer. I will be here bright and early tomorrow, however.' He took off his apron and went to the back of the store to retrieve his jacket and umbrella. 'Until the morning, ladies.'

'Good night,' the sisters chorused, as the door shut on his back.

'I'd better head upstairs and get that chicken in the oven if we're ever going to eat tonight,' Angelica said.

'What chicken?'

'I went out during a lull and got the fixings. If I'd known I'd have something to celebrate, I would've gotten steaks. We can have that tomorrow.'

'Isn't roast chicken kind of pedestrian for you?' Tricia asked.

'Comfort food is comfort food.' Angelica glanced around the shop. 'Miss Marple, are you coming?'

The cat, curled up on one of the nook's comfy chairs, opened one eye, glared at Angelica, and closed it again.

'So much for trying to make friends with you. ' All business, she headed toward the stairs at the back of the shop. 'Okay, I'm off.'

'I've got things to do,' Tricia called. 'Be up in a few minutes.'

Tricia locked the door and pulled the shades down on the big plate-glass window that overlooked the sidewalk on Main Street, thankful to have a few minutes to herself to decompress. Roger Livingston had made her feel better about her own legal situation, but poor Grace Harris was still alone, still trapped at St. Godelive's.

Tricia crossed to the sales counter. With Angelica gone, Miss Marple decided to be more sociable and hopped down from the chair, trotting over to jump up on the counter and then over to the shelf behind the register next to the still-nonfunctioning security camera.

Tricia planted her hands on her hips. 'How many times have I asked you not to get up there?'

Miss Marple said, 'Yeow!'

Tricia lifted the cat from the shelf, placing her on the floor. Not one to take direction well, Miss Marple jumped up on the sales counter and again said, 'Yeow!'

'Don't even think about getting back up there,' Tricia cautioned and turned back for the camera. How could one eight-pound cat continually knock a wall-mounted camera out of alignment? Tricia usually had it pointing at the register-in case someone tried to rob them-but she often thought it made more sense to train it on the back of the shop where shoplifters tended to steal the most merchandise. Now it pointed out toward the street, in the direction of the Cookery, exactly as it had on the night of Doris Gleason's murder.

Tricia peeked around the side of the shade, glancing across the street to Mike Harris's darkened storefront campaign headquarters. She hadn't pulled the shades down on the night of the murder. If Mike had killed Doris, he would've had to cross the street to enter the Cookery during the interval Tricia had left the village to pick up Angelica at the Brookview Inn and her return some thirty minutes later.

She glanced over her shoulder at the camera still mounted on the wall. Had it been in operation at the time? If so, what would she find if she studied the tape?

Footsteps pounded at the far end of the shop, and Angelica appeared at the open doorway to the loft apartment. 'Are you ever coming up? I want you to give me a hand making stuffed grape leaves. My version is just divine.'

'In a minute,' Tricia said, annoyed.

Angelica padded across the shop in her stocking feet. 'What's got you so hyped up?'

'What do you mean?'

'The look on your face. It almost says 'eureka!''

'I'm just wondering…Miss Marple messed with my security system the night Doris was murdered. I don't think I reset the system before I left to pick you up at the inn. What if it recorded Mike Harris crossing the street from his new offices and showed him going to the Cookery?'

Angelica frowned. 'It might show him crossing the street and heading north, but you couldn't prove he went next door.'

'No, but it might be something my new lawyer could use to help prove me innocent should Sheriff Adams make good her threat to arrest me.'

'Well, I'm all for that. I've got the chicken in on low if you want to play your tape. Do we need to take it upstairs?'

'I only have a DVD player in the loft, but we could play it back on the shop's monitor.'

'Go for it.'

Always interested in technology of any kind, Miss Marple moved to the edge of the counter to study the operation. Tricia hadn't touched the cassette since the morning before Doris had been murdered, and the whirr of it rewinding in the player fascinated the cat.

Tricia noticed Angelica's bare feet. 'Where are your shoes?'

'They got wet. Maybe I'll bring a pair of slippers over tomorrow.'

'Don't get too comfortable. You'll soon have your own house here in Stoneham.'

The tape came to a halt with a clunk and Tricia was about to press the play button when someone banged sharply on the shop door. 'Ignore it,' Angelica advised. 'The store's closed.'

The banging came again, this time accompanied by a voice Tricia recognized: Mike Harris. 'Open up. I know you're in there, Tricia. The lights are still on,' he bellowed. Miss Marple jumped down from her perch and hightailed it across the shop and up the stairs to the apartment. Tricia bit her lip, looked back at the door.

'Don't you dare open that door,' Angelica ordered. 'He sounds ticked.'

The banging continued. Then got much louder.

'I think he's kicking it in,' Tricia said, alarmed. 'What if he gets inside?'

'Call the sheriff's department,' Angelica said.

'Are you kidding? They'd probably lock me up, not him!'

The wood around the door began to splinter.

'Don't you have any friends in this town you can call?' Angelica asked anxiously.

'Mr. Everett and Ginny.'

Angelica grabbed the shop's phone and started dialing. 'Why couldn't you have a modern phone?'

'Use your cell,' Tricia implored.

'I left it upstairs. Ah, it's ringing. Come on, Bob, answer!'

The door crashed open and Mike burst into the shop, soaking wet, chest heaving, his face twisted in anger. 'Where the hell do you get off accusing me of murder?' he demanded.

'Answer the phone,' Angelica implored.

'Hang up!' Mike ordered.

A defiant Angelica held on to the receiver.

'I said hang up!'

'Bob, it's Angelica! Get over to Haven't Got a Clue right now. There's a madman-'

Before she could finish her sentence, Mike had charged across the carpet, yanked the phone from her hand, and pulled the cord from the wall. Both she and Tricia darted behind the sales counter, putting it between them and the crazy man before them.

'Why did you visit my mother at the home and fill her head with nonsense?'

'What are you talking about?' Tricia bluffed.

'I just got a call from Sheriff Adams. She said you'd visited Mom, accused me of trying to poison her and steal from her. That's a bold-faced lie!'

'Is it?' Tricia said. 'The home changed their practices, stopped serving her the gourmet chocolate laced with