Murder Is Binding

'You tell me.'

'He could have murdered Doris, then showed up later feigning no knowledge.'

Russ sat back, folded his arms across his chest. 'If I was you, I'd quit harping on Bob Kelly as a possible suspect. For one thing, he would've never started the fire at the Cookery and put his property at risk just to get rid of a tenant. And even so, it wouldn't matter if he were caught plunging the knife in the victim's back. Most people around here consider him a savior for how he almost single-handedly brought Stoneham back to life.'

'So someone like me, who's innocent, should take the blame?'

'I didn't say that. But in the sheriff's eyes, so far you are the only 'person of note.''

Tricia picked up her glass, signaling the waitress for a refill. 'I did not kill Doris Gleason. I had no reason to kill Doris Gleason.'

Heads turned at the sound of her words.

'I'd start looking for reasons why others might've wanted her dead.'

'That isn't my job. You said you were once a big-time reporter; isn't there at least a shred of Clark Kent left inside you? Why don't you take up the challenge, or at least direct one of your minions to do it?'

'Honey, I have a staff of two, one of which spends her time soliciting ads to keep us afloat. My chief reporter is a soccer mom who writes most of her copy after her kids go to bed. I do everything else. You own a small business-you know the drill.'

'Do I ever.'

The waitress returned with another glass of wine and their dinners.

Russ picked up his fork and stabbed at his mashed potatoes. 'Besides, you run a mystery bookstore. You've probably read enough of them to get you started. In fact, you may already have bits and pieces of knowledge about the murder you haven't yet put together. I'd be happy to brainstorm with you about it.'

'You'd be the last person I'd bare my soul to. I'd see whatever I tell you in next Friday's edition. It's just as likely whoever killed Doris was a transient. Someone who'd canvassed the Cookery, figured any book worth locking up would be of value, killed Doris, and stole it.' She took another sip from her glass.

'Is that you or the wine talking? Don't kid yourself. The fact that book was found in your store means someone wants you to take the blame. You can either keep wandering around in denial or ask yourself some tough questions: like who wants you out of the picture and why?'

Twelve

When the check arrived, Tricia and Russ ponied up their shares, donned their jackets, and headed for the exit. The wind had picked up and the clouds had departed, leaving the sky clear and star-strewn. 'Walk you home?' Russ offered.

They stood outside the Bookshelf Diner. Tricia buttoned her jacket. 'I'm not afraid of the dark. And besides, Stoneham is safe.'

'I believed that a week ago,' he said. 'Now I'm not so sure.'

Tricia looked down the street and saw the flashing lights of a police cruiser. 'Now what?' She started walking, heading south down the sidewalk at a brisk pace.

'Looks like it's parked outside the Cookery,' Russ said, as he struggled to keep up with her.

It was, but a deputy stood outside Haven't Got a Clue. Tricia broke into a run, crossed the street, and practically skidded to a halt in front of her shop. The large plate-glass window now sported a gaping hole in its center, with cracks radiating from it in a sunburst array. Inside the shop, what was left of her security system wailed.

'You wanna shut that thing off?' She didn't recognize the deputy, whose name tag read 'Placer.'

Heart pounding, Tricia fumbled for her key, unlocked the door, and flipped on the light switch. Seconds later, she'd disarmed the alarm and quiet descended. She joined the deputy on the sidewalk. 'What happened?' she asked, breathless.

'Looks like a rock,' he said, peering into the hole.

Tricia frowned at his blasé attitude. Glass covered Tricia's display of Ross Macdonald's books. Several people had turned up, rubbernecking from behind the back of a parked car.

'So what's the story, Jim?' Russ asked Placer.

'Just what it looks like, petty vandalism.'

'How can you be sure?' Tricia asked. 'A woman was killed right next door just days ago. This could be tied in.'

The deputy shook his head, turned his attention to the clipboard he held and the report he'd already started to fill in. 'Probably just kids.'

'Did anybody see anything?' Tricia called to the unfamiliar faces in the gathering crowd, but they all shook their heads, huddling in their coats and jackets.

Placer handed Tricia a business card. 'These guys can board up the window until you can get it fixed. You want me to hang around until then?' He couldn't have sounded more bored.

'Wait a minute. Aren't you going to check out the shop?'

'The door was locked-you opened it yourself. Did you see any other damage or anything missing?'

'I've hardly had a chance to look.'

'So look,' he said and turned his attention back to his clipboard.

Tricia threw Russ a glance, as if to ask if this was the way all law enforcement acted in Stoneham. He shrugged.

Tricia reentered her store, doing a quick walk-through. Save for the gaping hole in her window, everything seemed just as she'd left it a little over an hour before. The door to the stairs was still closed. The alarm would've sounded in the apartment, too. Poor Miss Marple was probably hiding under the bed, terrified.

Russ stood inside the doorway. 'Want me to go upstairs with you, make sure everything's okay? I got Jim to promise he'd hang around at least another five minutes.'

'If you wouldn't mind, thank you.'

Tricia opened the door, threw the switch to bathe the stairwell with light, and bounded up. The door to the second-floor storeroom was locked, just as she'd left it. Still, she took out the key, opened it, and groped for the light switch and entered. Nothing looked out of place in the cavernous room full of stacked boxes-all of them containing books. She closed and locked the door.

Russ was behind her as she started up the stairs once again. The door to her loft apartment was unlocked and she quickly decided to amend her own personal security measures in the future. She'd left a light on for Miss Marple, but the cat was nowhere in sight.

'Miss Marple. Miss Marple!' she called. Sure enough, a pair of frightened green eyes appeared when Tricia lifted the bed's dust ruffle. She reached for the cat, scooping her into her arms. 'Oh, you poor little thing,' she cooed, as she struggled to her feet.

She found Russ standing in the middle of her kitchen. 'Everything okay?'

'Yes, thank goodness.' Miss Marple had already engaged her motor and nuzzled Tricia's chin, purring loudly. 'She was just frightened.'

Russ smiled. 'I'll go downstairs and keep watch. Why don't you call the guys to cover the window?'

'Good idea. But first, I think someone deserves a treat.' At the sound of the magic word, Miss Marple wriggled to get down and Tricia placed her on the floor. She spilled half a packet of kitty cookies into Miss Marple's bowl, knowing she'd only toss most of them later. But at that moment, she didn't care.

The board-up service the deputy recommended was available twenty-four/seven and promised Tricia someone would be there within the hour. Next up, a call to her security company. They weren't as helpful, saying a service rep might be by bright and early Monday morning. No more chances, Tricia decided. It was time to find another security company.

Miss Marple had had her fill of cookies and had settled on one of the breakfast bar's chairs, ready for a nap by the time Tricia headed back downstairs to the store.

Russ had closed the shop's door and the crowd had dispersed. He sat in the nook, reading an article in