Murder Is Binding

Winnie's newspaper clippings and several colored markers. She'd been itching to jump into the task since she'd found the papers in Winnie's car.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that Winnie had circled any sales that mentioned books, which wasn't at all unusual since she had apparently bought and then sold a lot of them to the other booksellers in Stoneham. Too bad Ginny had discouraged her from coming around.

Tricia took the first clipping and started charting the addresses in pink for the week prior to Winnie's death, blue for the week she died. Miss Marple sashayed back into the kitchen, rubbing her head on the backs of Tricia's calves. 'Don't try to get back in my good graces,' Tricia muttered and squinted at another listing, this from two weeks before Winnie died. 'Follow the signs on Canfield Road.' That was where Mike Harris's mother's house was located.

The ad didn't specify the house address, but Mike's mother's home had a detached garage. Would he have been so foolish as to sell the valuable old manuscript for pennies at such a sale? Then again, the book had been in remarkably good condition. He might have considered it a reproduction and not given it a second thought.

Tricia eyed the phone. She could try to call Mike, but what would she say? 'Sorry I ran out of your house like a raving idiot. Now did you sell a valuable book to an old lady, kill another elderly woman for buying that book from her, and then kill the first old lady to cover your tracks?' That wouldn't go over well, but she would have to find a way to casually run into him and tactfully ask some questions. And maybe hell would freeze over in the next couple of days, too.

Miss Marple levitated onto the island. 'Hey, you're not supposed to be up here,' Tricia scolded, but the cat merely circled around, rubbed her head against Tricia's chin, purring lustily.

Tricia scratched the cat's head, but kept her gaze on the yellowing ad. 'Follow the signs on Canfield Road,' she repeated. Russ Smith should be able to check who'd placed the ad. Surely there were no confidentiality issues between a newspaper's ad page and the purchaser of said ad. There'd be no one at the paper at this time on a Sunday night. Another task for the morning, and something law enforcement ought to be doing.

Angelica taunting the sheriff hadn't been wise, and while Tricia appreciated the sentiment behind it, she was still irked at her sister. Then again, why was the sheriff so intent on nailing her for Doris Gleason's death besides clearing up the matter before the pending election? And was that enough of a motive? One thing was certain, Sheriff Adams wasn't interested in finding another suspect. If her name was to be cleared, Tricia was going to have to do it herself.

Tricia leaned against the brick wall beside the door of the Stoneham Weekly News, clutching a cardboard tray with two cups of the Coffee Bean's best brew. The recorded message had said the paper's office hours were from eight until five, but Tricia had shown up at seven forty, anticipating Russ would arrive for work before office hours. And she'd been right.

'Been waiting long?' Russ asked, as he approached from around the corner. He pulled a set of keys from his jacket pocket, selecting one of them. He looked like a farmer in well-worn jeans with the collar of a blue plaid flannel shirt sticking out the neck of his denim jacket.

'About five minutes. Hope you're thirsty,' Tricia said, proffering the cardboard tray.

'I am.' He unlocked the door. 'Come on in.'

She followed him as he led her through the darkened office. He hit the main switch and the place was flooded with fluorescent light. Peeling off his jacket, he headed for a glass cubicle in the back of the room. The rest of the office was open landscaping, with two desks with computer terminals. Stacks of the most recent issue sat atop a long counter that separated the public part of the office with the work zone behind it.

Russ took his seat, powering up his computer. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

Tricia set the tray down and handed him a cup, offering creamer and sugar. 'Just a little thank-you for your help the other night.'

'What're friends for?'

So now he considered himself a friend. All the better. Tricia took one of the standard office guest chairs in front of his desk. 'As you know, the sheriff seems determined to prove I killed Doris Gleason, quite a feat as I didn't do it.'

Russ made no comment, but dumped a tub of the half-and-half into his paper cup.

'I'm taking your advice and trying to find out who did kill Doris.'

'And you want me to help.' It wasn't a question.

Tricia leaned forward. 'I'm convinced Winnie Wentworth bought Doris's stolen cookbook at a tag sale, and I think I've found the ad right here in the Stoneham Weekly News. I was hoping you could tell me who placed it.'

Russ stirred his coffee, then leaned back in his chair. 'Depends on how long ago it was placed. We purge our system on a monthly basis, otherwise it gets bogged down storing all that data.'

'Why don't you just copy it onto a CD?'

'What for? It's not even old news. We don't really care who buys classified ad space. It's the display ads that bring in the money. And we keep bound copies of the paper for posterity-not that I think anyone would ever want to look at an old ad ever again.'

'The ad I'm concerned with was printed in the August nineteenth issue.'

Russ tapped at his computer keyboard, studied the screen, then shook his head. 'Looks like Sherry has already purged the August ads.'

Tricia gripped her cup, hoping her disappointment wasn't too obvious. 'Well, thank you for looking.'

Russ turned back to face her and picked up his cup once more. 'Just who did you think placed the ad?'

'I don't think I should speculate, at least not to you, without some other kind of proof.'

'How will you find it?'

'I don't know. But I'm not going to give up.' Tricia took a sip of her coffee. Since Russ was supposed to be on top of everything that happened in Stoneham, she decided to tap him for more information.

'What's the scuttlebutt on a big box store coming to the area?'

He shrugged. 'I hadn't heard about it.'

'Is that so?' she said, incredulous.

Russ laughed. 'I've got no reason to lie.'

'You've at least heard about the nudist tracts someone's been leaving all over the village.'

'Nudists?' Either he was clueless or the world's worst reporter.

'You need to get out of your office more often. According to the website listed on the leaflets, a nudist resort is supposed to open somewhere near here next summer.'

He picked up a pen, jotted down a note. 'Tell me more.'

She gave him the name of the business. 'Drop by any of the bookstores if you want copies of the tracts. We've all got them.'

'I'll do just that.'

Tricia stood and picked up her coffee. 'The day's getting away from me.' She turned to leave, paused, and turned back. 'Just one thing: would you have told me who bought the ad if the information had still been available?'

Russ smiled. 'Don't you know that a good reporter never reveals a source-be it of information or revenue?'

Tricia swallowed down her annoyance. 'I'll remember that for future reference.'

Piqued, Tricia discarded her nearly full cup of coffee in one of Stoneham's municipal trash cans and headed back for Haven't Got a Clue. The lights inside the Cookery were already on, and she could see that Deirdre had finished washing the walls and had even made some progress with her restocking efforts. Had Bob opened up the storage unit and let her reclaim the display pieces? Some of them even had books on them, perhaps from the stock stored on the second floor or from Doris's home storeroom.

Tricia hammered on the door and waited. Deirdre had to be in the back room. She knocked again. Sure enough, Deirdre lumbered out of the back. She looked uncannily like her sister-but then wasn't that the way with identical twins? She even seemed to have lost her glasses.

Deirdre opened the door, her smile of welcome almost convincing. 'Good morning, Tricia. You're out early.'