Massachusetts, and Maine.'
'A real pub crawler, eh?'
Mike dazzled her with another of his smiles. 'In my youth. Those wild and carefree days are behind me now.'
'But you never settled down.'
'With a family? Not yet, but there's still time,' he said and winked.
Tricia sipped her soda. A couple rose from a nearby table and walked in front of them to deposit their trash in a bin. The man's pants were slung low around his hips, exposing the top of his rear end and reminding her of the nudist tract in her purse. She'd meant to call other shop owners this morning but hadn't had time. She opened her purse and removed the leaflet. 'Have you seen any of these around town?'
Mike took the paper and squinted at the text. Then he laughed. 'This is a joke, right?'
'I'm afraid not. I've been pulling them out of books for the last couple of days.'
He turned it over and frowned. 'My guess is this is the first in a series.'
'What do you mean?'
'It's just a basic message to get an idea across. The next in the series will give more information. It's been done hundreds of times. The U.S. and British troops dropped thousands of pounds-probably tons-of leaflets on the enemy back in World War Two. It's still done today in war-torn countries.'
'How do you know so much?' she asked, then remembered their conversation the first day they met. 'Didn't you say you were a World War Two buff?'
'Yeah. I've even got a few examples of propaganda leaflets that I bought off the Internet. It's a fascinating subject. They tried dropping them by hand-only to be sucked into the plane's air intake-and in bombs that exploded at a predetermined height above the ground. The Brits were famous-and very successful at reaching their targets- by sending them up in balloons.'
'You sound like an expert.'
He shrugged. 'It's just a hobby.'
Ed returned with a tray laden with steaming bowls and a basket of chunky bread, which he placed before them. 'Eat hearty.'
Tricia picked up her plastic spoon and stirred the thick soup, turning up large pieces of lobster, potatoes, and onions. 'Smells wonderful.'
Mike grinned. 'Dig in. I guarantee you'll feel like you've died and gone to heaven.'
Six
The Jag pulled smoothly to the curb on the west side of Main Street, and Tricia got out. 'See you soon,' Mike called and pulled away, heading south. Tricia didn't even have a chance to look for oncoming traffic before her gaze was drawn to the front of the Cookery. The yellow crime scene tape that had been there less than two hours ago was gone. A huge kelly green poster, decorated with shamrocks and screaming FOR LEASE—KELLY REALTY and a phone number, took up several square feet of the front window. The door was wedged open, and the scene of Doris Gleason's death less than forty-eight hours before was now a hive of activity. Double-parked nearby was a Becker's Moving van. Two guys in buff-colored coveralls emerged from the store, carrying boxes and loading them into the van.
Tricia hurried across the street. 'What are you doing?' she asked. 'You can't take those books. Who said you could-?'
'Don't talk to me, lady. Talk to him.' The mover jerked a thumb over this shoulder just as Bob Kelly emerged from the inside of the store. His nose and mouth were covered with a dust mask, and he held a clipboard in his left hand, making notes with his right.
Tricia marched up to him. 'What's going on?'
Bob looked up, pulling his mask down below his chin. 'I'm clearing out my property. I need to get it professionally cleaned and painted if I'm going to rent it out in the next couple of weeks.'
'Doris hasn't even been buried yet and already you're emptying her store? What kind of an unfeeling monster are you?'
Bob's glare was arctic cold. 'I am a businessman. This is my property. The terms of the lease were immediately negated at the time of Doris Gleason's death.'
'What are you going to do with all her stock?'
'Put it in storage. I've rented a garage over at the self-storage center on Bailey Avenue. I'll bill the cost to her estate.'
'But it's not right!' she cried. 'If the rent was paid till the end of the month-'
Bob's gaze, and his voice, softened. 'You're getting all emotional over nothing, Trish. Doris is gone. What she left behind has no meaning for her now. The sheriff gave me the okay to enter the premises and I'm well within my rights to take care of my property in any way I see fit.'
She had no doubt of that. It was just such a cold-blooded move-and typical of the man. 'Those books are smoke damaged, but they're still salvageable if they're taken care of properly.'
'That's not my concern.'
'Well, it ought to be. You're cheating Doris's heirs out of what's rightfully theirs.'
'The sheriff has been unable to locate any heirs. And besides, I'm not taking anything away from the heirs. Just relocating it. According to the terms of the lease-'
'Oh, give it a rest, Bob.' Fists clenched, Tricia turned on her heel and stalked into her own shop. Ginny was in the midst of making a fresh pot of complimentary coffee for their patrons, while Miss Marple dozed on the sales counter. The sight of such normalcy instantly lowered Tricia's anxiety quotient by half. That still left the other half to bubble over.
Tricia stowed her purse under the counter. 'Did you see what's going on next door?'
'How could I miss it?' Ginny said. 'The truck pulled up only a minute after you left for lunch. I guess that means the police have finished their investigation, otherwise Bob Kelly wouldn't be allowed inside.'
'I've read a lot of true crime and police procedurals and I've never heard of a law enforcement agency abandoning a crime scene so quickly,' Tricia said.
'Wendy Adams will figure it out. She's supposed to be good at her job,' Ginny offered.
'Maybe, but she's never had to solve a murder before.'
'But as she also pointed out, it's an election year. That'll give her plenty of incentive.'
Tricia nodded thoughtfully.
The phone rang. Tricia grabbed it. 'Haven't Got a Clue, Tricia speaking. How can I help you?'
'Trish? It's Deb Black. I wanted to let you know a deputy's been canvassing Main Street, asking questions of all the shop owners.'
'Let me guess: asking questions about me.'
'More like planting suspicions.' She sounded worried.
Tricia swallowed. 'Thanks for the heads-up.' She remembered the nudist tracts. 'Deb, have you had a problem with leaflets about-'
'Nudists!' she cried. 'Yes, and it's really, really tacky. I offer quality merchandise and these horrid little pieces of paper are just plain vulgar. I called the sheriff, but she told me she's too busy with a murder investigation to bother with something so trivial. And besides, they're not illegal, just a nuisance.'
'That's what I was afraid of.'
'I've got customers. See you Tuesday night at the auction-that is if I don't have the baby before then.'
'You got it. See you then.' Tricia hung up.
'More bad news?' Ginny had obviously been eavesdropping.
Tricia shrugged. Movement outside caught her eye. One of the movers placed another carton in the back of the truck and closed the hinged doors, throwing a bolt. 'There goes the first load.' Tricia's thoughts returned to the Cookery. 'Bob said Sheriff Adams hadn't located any of Doris's heirs. That doesn't mean there aren't any. I'm sure the sheriff has already searched Doris's home for that kind of information…insurance policies…whatever.'
