Murder Is Binding

free coffee and, despite hanging around for most of the day, he ate only one or two of the complimentary cookies that she laid out for the paying clientele. And if she and Ginny were busy with customers, Mr. Everett had been known to make a recommendation or two and could knowledgeably talk about any book they had in stock.

Tricia unlocked the shop's door. 'Good morning, Mr. Everett.'

'Morning, Ms. Miles. Looks like rain today.'

A glance at the sky proved the clouds hung low. 'Ah, but rain is good for retail. It brings in customers who spend. And there's no better weather to settle down with a good book.'

'Obviously you haven't yet seen one of our winters.'

She laughed. 'You've got me there.'

Mr. Everett didn't share in her mirth, nor did he move to his customary seat in the nook; instead he looked down at the folded newspaper in his hands. 'I brought you a present, but I don't think you're going to like it.' He handed her an obviously read copy of the Stoneham Weekly News. The 72-point headline screamed 'A Murderer Among Us?'

'Oh dear,' Tricia breathed.

Mr. Everett patted her arm. 'Why don't I make the coffee this morning?'

Tricia nodded dumbly and headed for the sales counter. She laid the paper flat and immediately Miss Marple jumped up to investigate. The swishing of her tail and rubbing of her head against Tricia's chin made it difficult to follow the text. By the time she'd reached the end of the first column, Tricia had removed a miffed Miss Marple and set her on the floor. She looked over at Mr. Everett, who'd taken shelter behind the side counter and the coffeemaker. He averted his gaze.

For a moment Tricia wasn't sure if she'd been libeled or slandered. She finished the article, then read it again. And again. Russ Smith was a careful writer, so suing him was definitely out. It wasn't so much what he said, but what he didn't say that inferred her probable guilt. Her lack of answers to his questions and the fact that Sheriff Adams had no other suspects in Doris Gleason's murder painted an unflattering picture.

Bob Kelly hadn't been mentioned at all. The editor knew Bob had an appointment with Doris the night she was killed, knew the two of them had argued about the leases, but instead he'd intimated that Tricia was suspected of murder-no one else.

Ginny arrived just as the phone rang. Tricia had no intention of answering it. She let the answering machine take it as Ginny hung up her coat. Then she folded the newspaper and put it under the counter.

The door opened and a couple of women entered. 'Good morning, ladies, and welcome to Haven't Got a Clue.'

Dressed in jogging attire, they didn't look like tourists, and they didn't have that we're here to spend look in their eyes. One of the women giggled. 'This is a mystery bookstore, isn't it? You sell murder mysteries, don't you?'

Tricia swallowed, forced a smile. 'Yes.'

'I hope you don't murder your customers,' the other woman said and snickered.

Ginny returned in her shop apron with the look of a mother tiger out to save her cub and insinuated herself between Tricia and the women. 'Mrs. Barton, Mrs. Grant, thanks for stopping by. This must be your first visit to Haven't Got a Clue. Can I help you find a book?'

'No, thanks, we just came by to look the place over,' one of them said, bending to look around Ginny and catch a glimpse of Tricia.

Tricia turned her back on the women and found some busywork at the counter. She tried not to listen to the rest of the conversation, but noted Ginny's words were not delivered in her usual, friendly tone.

Eventually the door opened, the bell tinkled, and the door closed. Footsteps approached. 'You okay?' Ginny asked.

Tricia turned, braved a smile. 'Sure.'

'Everybody's talking about Russ Smith's front-page article. I wouldn't be surprised if more of the villagers dropped by just to have a look at-' She stopped, looked embarrassed.

'Look at what?' Mr. Everett asked, still standing at the coffee station.

'The, uh, jinx,' Ginny said in a tiny voice.

The muscles in Tricia's calves ached from being so tense. 'We'll just have to welcome them, if they do. Maybe I should get another couple of pounds of coffee.' She almost managed to keep her voice steady.

'You're being a lot more generous than I could be,' Ginny said.

'I won't let idle gossip run me out of town. I'm here for the long haul.'

Ginny's smile was tentative. 'You go, girl.'

With a small tray in hand, Mr. Everett appeared behind Ginny. 'Coffee, ladies?'

Tricia and Ginny each took a cup, and Mr. Everett took one, too. 'I propose a toast. To Haven't Got a Clue, the best bookshop in all of Stoneham. Long may we read!'

Tricia swallowed down the lump in her throat.

'Here, here!' Ginny agreed, and the three of them raised their cardboard coffee cups in salute.

Like most Friday afternoons, this one was busy, and the forecasted rain did bring out paying customers. Stoneham was a favorite day trip for senior groups from Vermont, Massachusetts, and from within New Hampshire itself, a happy happenstance for every business owner in the village. And while most seniors took the trips to alleviate boredom, a lot of them actually were avid readers. However, when four or five buses converged at once, the result was chaos.

Ten or twelve customers hovered like angry bees around the sales counter in Haven't Got a Clue. 'Our bus leaves in less than ten minutes,' someone from the back of the crowd growled.

'It won't leave without you,' Ginny said reasonably, as she stacked wrapped books into a plastic carrier bag.

'Well if it does, you'll be paying my hotel bill for the night,' snapped a thin, bleached blonde in a beige cashmere sweater set and pearls. An idle threat. There were no hotels or motels in or around Stoneham. Just the Brookview Inn.

Tricia's fingers flew over the cash register's keys, and not for the first time she wished the store had a laser checkout system. Though tagging the books would be great for inventory purposes, the resale value on the older, most expensive books would plummet.

'As soon as the last bus rolls down the road and out of town, we'll break open that pound of Godiva I've been saving,' she muttered to Ginny, who smiled gratefully. Lunchtime had come and gone several hours earlier, but they'd been too busy to even stop and grab a bite.

The shop door opened and the little bell rang as Tricia accepted a copy of Dorothy L. Sayers's Gaudy Night from a pair of outstretched hands. She turned to ring it up when from beside her Ginny let out a stifled scream. Mouth covered with one hand, with the other she pointed at the apparition standing just inside the door.

Tricia, too, gulped at the sight of the seventysomething plump, but smartly dressed woman who stood in the doorway. She took in the tailored red pantsuit, white turtleneck shirt, and large red leather purse, designer glasses, and severely short, dyed jet-black hair. Unable to find her voice, Tricia mouthed the name: 'Doris?'

The woman charged forward with an energy the living Doris Gleason had never possessed. 'Hello, I'm Deirdre Gleason. Doris was my sister.' The voice was a shade deeper, her words spoken more slowly. 'What on Earth happened to Doris's shop? Why is it empty? Where is all her stock?'

'Excuse me, but I was here first,' said the woman in a damp trench coat, elbowing her way forward.

Tricia looked from her customers to the doppelganger in front of her. 'Can you give us a couple of minutes? We're a little overwhelmed right now, but I'd be glad to tell you everything I know as soon as things calm down.' She gestured toward the coffee station. 'Help yourself and then we'll talk.'

The woman's lips pursed, but she nodded and skirted the crowd at the sales counter.

Once the initial shock had passed, Tricia had little time to think about Deirdre Gleason, who wandered the store during the rush. Nine customers and three hundred dollars later, the shop was nearly empty and Ginny gave Tricia a nudge in the direction of the mystery woman who had finally settled in the sitting nook. 'I believe in ghosts,' she whispered. 'Make sure she isn't one of them, will you?'