table was not to Angelica's liking.
'This is outrageous,' she grumbled, knocking her elbow against the paneled wall. We deserve a better table than this.'
'And there aren't any others, so be quiet and read your menu.' But Tricia wasn't looking at her own menu; instead, she squinted at the tiny print on the map's index.
'Aren't you even the least bit curious as to why Deirdre made it sound like she wasn't in town before her sister's death? And how come nobody in town even knew Doris had a sister?'
'Of course I'm interested,' Tricia said, setting the map aside and diving into her purse for her reading glasses. 'But right now I'm more interested in finding out where Winnie got that blasted cookbook.'
It was Angelica's turn to shush Tricia.
'And the reason nobody in town knew Doris had a sister,' Tricia whispered, 'is because she's not a Stoneham native. Aside from a few people like Mr. Everett, not many of the townspeople frequent the bookstores. Bess probably didn't even know Doris existed until Deirdre came to visit.'
'It still seems funny to me,' Angelica griped, but focused her attention on the menu. 'Especially since the sheriff told you the dead woman had no relatives.'
Had the sheriff said so, or had Tricia only imagined she had? Now she wasn't sure.
She thought back. It had been Bob who'd said Doris had no heirs the day he'd cleared out the Cookery. He'd either been in denial or clueless.
'Speak of the devil,' Angelica muttered, looking over Tricia's shoulder.
Tricia turned. Sheriff Adams was maneuvering her bulk past the Brookview's dining patrons, bumping into chairs and jostling tables and glasses as she made her way toward the sisters. 'Now what?'
Sheriff Adams paused in front of Tricia's table, her thumbs hooked into her belt loops, a stance that would've done John Wayne proud. 'Ms. Miles, I'd like to speak with you.'
'Now? On a Sunday evening? In the middle of the Brookview's dining room? What about?'
The sheriff surveyed the dining room, as though making sure those at nearby tables could hear her. 'Doris Gleason's murder. We can discuss it here, or we can do it in the lobby.'
Tricia gauged the interest from her neighbors, who'd suddenly lowered their heads to study their soup courses or were now hiding behind menus. 'I have nothing to hide. Ask away.'
'I'm going to ask a judge to have your financial records subpoenaed. I contend that you stole that valuable book and killed Doris Gleason for financial gain.'
'Interesting that you'd make such an accusation without proof and in front of so many witnesses,' Angelica commented, still perusing her menu. 'I'm sure you understand the legal ramifications of slander.'
'I'm not talking to you,' the sheriff growled.
'And you know something, Tricia, I don't think you should talk to the sheriff, either. I mean, not without a lawyer present. You want someone with legal experience who can document just how ridiculously this investigation is proceeding.'
'Ange-' Tricia warned.
'I mean really,' Angelica continued. 'I'm sure you've got more money in your petty cash fund than the sheriff makes in a year. And since you couldn't give a Kadota fig about cooking or cookery books no matter how old and valuable they are, I don't see that continuing this conversation for an instant longer is going to be productive for either you or the sheriff. Especially when there are other people the law could be investigating.'
'Like whom?' Sheriff Adams demanded.
'Bob Kelly, for one,' Tricia said.
'We've already been over that territory.'
'Then how about Deirdre Gleason,' Angelica suggested. 'She was in town days before her sister was murdered. Funny she didn't step forward to reveal her relationship with poor Doris until you went looking for her.'
'She was out of town at the time of the murder,' the sheriff said.
'And you have proof of that?'
'Deirdre Gleason was registered with the inn for three days before the murder. And although she paid for the room, she was out of town at the time of her sister's death. I'm satisfied with the information I've obtained to corroborate her story.'
'And why aren't you satisfied with Tricia's answers? Because she's younger and prettier and much, much thinner than you?' Angelica asked pointedly.
Tricia slapped the table. 'That's enough, Angie.'
Angelica waved Tricia's protests aside, leveling her gaze at a pink-cheeked Wendy Adams. 'Now unless you have specific allegations you want Tricia to address, please go away and let us have our dinner in peace. Perhaps you could do something useful, like finding out who broke Tricia's store window, or is even that beyond you?' She looked back down at her menu. 'I think the herb-crusted sea bass sounds divine. How about you, Tricia?'
Tricia picked up her menu once again, struggling to keep her voice level. 'I was thinking more along the lines of fowl. Perhaps the candied peacock?'
Sheriff Adams stood rooted to the spot, mouth open, eyes bulging, for a full ten seconds before she turned and stalked back across the dining room, jostling more tables as she went.
Tricia turned her menu so it hid her face from the onlookers. 'That bit about me being thinner was a real low blow,' she whispered. 'But thanks for getting in the shot about my window.'
'Well, she deserved it. There's no reason for her to keep hounding you. And do you really think she's looked into Deirdre's alibi?'
'I would think she'd have to. What makes you think Deirdre would've killed her sister?'
'Are you really sure it was Doris Gleason you saw lying dead on the floor of the Cookery? You saw her within an hour of her death; did you see her face? What was she wearing when you found her?'
Tricia thought back. 'She had on the sweater she'd been wearing all day.'
'Are you sure?'
She nodded and shuddered. 'I can picture it-bloodstained-with the knife handle sticking out of it.'
'What about her hair? Was it the same?'
'I…I don't know. It was all mussed-it covered her face, and at the time I was glad of it.' She hadn't wanted to see the dead woman's lifeless eyes.
The waiter arrived to take their orders. Angelica took her time, consulting the wine list and asking for recommendations before settling on a sauterne that would go with both the appetizers and entrees. Tricia had plenty of time to think about their conversation.
The waiter departed and Angelica leaned close. 'What are you thinking?'
'Suppose Deirdre did kill Doris, she might've hightailed it back to her home in Connecticut to establish an alibi. And she also had plenty of time to plant that cookbook in my shop the day she came in and introduced herself to us. We were swamped and she wandered the store for a good ten minutes before I could stop long enough to talk to her.'
'Yes, but you also said Bob could've planted it, or even Mike Harris. Make up your mind, Trish, just who is your prime suspect?'
'That's the problem. I'm as much in the dark as Sheriff Adams.'
Fifteen
Miss Marple swished her tail, refusing to let Tricia pet her after Angelica dropped her off at Haven't Got a Clue. 'Your dinner is only ten minutes late,' she explained, but Miss Marple would have none of it.
Tricia gathered up the empty dish and water bowl, chose a can of seafood platter, and set the dish and freshwater down before the cat. Miss Marple sniffed, turned her nose up at the offering, and walked away. 'You're just being contrary,' Tricia accused, but Miss Marple continued across the kitchen before pausing to wash her front left paw.
With the track lights turned up to full over the kitchen's island, Tricia spread out her C of C map along with
