expression on his face.
Outside, I turned to Peter and said, “Just what the hell was that all about?”
“Shut up,” he said through a fake smile. “He’s still watching us.”
“Who is?” I asked, bewildered.
“Daniel, of course.”
At the side of his black Jeep, he opened the door and pushed me in. I waited until he had climbed into the driver’s seat before I continued. “Why are we putting on a show for Daniel?”
“I want to throw him off his guard a little” was Peter’s cryptic reply. My additional questions were met with similar nonresponses. After a few minutes, I gave up and stared out the window in frustrated silence. Long stretches of flat sand dotted with empty lifeguard chairs gave way to sandy dunes and faded gray cottages. A sign in front of a washed-out red general store promised to see us in the summer.
“I thought we would go to the grocery first,” Peter said, breaking the silence as he maneuvered the car into town.
“That’s fine with me. I assume you have the list?”
“Got it right here.” He patted the pocket of his coat. He deftly parked in a spot on Main Street and we got out. The temperature had dropped during the night and the wind had picked up. I pulled my coat tightly around me. “Which way?”
“Follow me,” he said, making his way quickly down the street. In spite of the blustery weather, the streets were alive with activity. Aunt Winnie had been right: Peter and I were not going unnoticed. While no one stopped and outwardly gawked, a fair number of heads turned our way. I was surprised that we had been spotted so easily until I remembered that this was a small town and Peter was probably already known by most of the inhabitants. We crunched down the snow-covered, tree-lined street, passing several clapboard buildings in various shades of white and pale yellow. Most were still decked out in their Christmas decorations. Finally, we came to a freshly painted white building sporting a wooden sign in the window that simply read PRITCHARD’S. It was a small, well- stocked grocery store. Several of the customers noted our entrance, and not for the first time that morning I was glad that I had followed Aunt Winnie’s advice.
As Peter and I bagged shiny red apples that looked as if they had been buffed within an inch of their lives, a heavyset woman with a pinched mouth and small, shrewd eyes spotted Peter. She bore down on him with predatory intent.
“Why, Peter!” Her tone was overly familiar. “I thought that was you! Happy New Year!”
At the sound of her voice, Peter stiffened. He turned to face her. “Hello, Mrs. Pritchard. How are you today?”
“Well,
“I don’t know,” Peter said evenly. “What stories have you been hearing?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Pritchard, eagerly leaning her massive frame closer to Peter, “from what I hear, Mr. Ramsey threatened Ms. Reynolds—told her that he would force her to sell him the inn come hell or high water—and she shot him right through the heart! I know she’s an old friend of yours, Peter, but I’ve always said that there is something odd about that woman, if you know what I mean. For one thing, she drives through this town in that car of hers like a raving lunatic.” My hand constricted around the apple I was holding and I fantasized lobbing it at her head. Peter must have sensed this because he discreetly took the apple from me and silently added it to the others in the bag.
“Well, you can take it from me, Mrs. Pritchard,” he said calmly. “Ms. Reynolds was not threatened by Mr. Ramsey, nor did she shoot him. The police are still investigating the matter.”
Mrs. Pritchard’s fleshy face fell in disappointment. “Oh, well, I suppose there’s no dearth of people who wanted to get rid of that old buzzard. He made his daughter’s life a sheer hell, I can tell you. I heard he wouldn’t even let her move out and live on her own. Said it wasn’t proper for a single girl to live alone or some such nonsense. And then there’s that wife of his.” With a crude twist of her mouth, her eyes flashed knowingly at Peter. My stomach roiled in disgust. “I heard that she’d had enough of His Nibs and wanted out. And from what I hear, she has someone waiting in the wings, if you know what I mean.”
I must have made a noise, because her birdlike eyes homed in on me. “And who is this?” she asked. “Your girlfriend?”
“This is Elizabeth Parker,” Peter said. “She’s Ms. Reynolds’s grandniece.” A normal person would have been embarrassed, but not Mrs. Pritchard. She merely stared at me more openly, as if I were a specimen under glass.
“Really?” She studied me from head to toe. “I’ve heard about you.” Her expression indicated she found the inventory lacking. “You’re not at all how I pictured you.”
“Oh?” I said politely. “That’s funny. You’re just how I pictured you, Mrs. Pritchard.”
She blinked. Twice. Before she could respond, a smallish man poked his head out of the back room and called to her.
“Doris!” he yelled in a thin reedy voice. “Can you come here a moment? I can’t find the green beans.” He was as thin as she was heavy. They were Jack Sprat and his wife come to life.
“Helpless man,” Mrs. Pritchard muttered before excusing herself. “Alfred, they’re right next to the canned tomatoes!” she yelled, stalking toward the back room.
“She’s a real charmer,” I said, watching her wide retreating back.
“I think every town must have a Doris Pritchard,” Peter said in a resigned voice.
“Maybe so. But she manages to make Jackie seem innocuous.”
Hoping to avoid another encounter with Doris, we quickly loaded the cart with the remaining items on the list. We were just nearing the checkout line when she descended on us again. With her was a pale, anemic-looking girl. Peter saw them first. “Oh, God,” he moaned under his breath as they approached.
“Oh, there you are!” said Mrs. Pritchard. “I was hoping I would catch you! I was just thinking that there’s no call for you two to lug all this stuff back to the inn. My daughter will be happy to deliver it for you. I’m sure you remember Jessie, don’t you, Peter?”
She thrust the girl forward. Jessie was an unfortunate mix of her mother’s birdlike features and her father’s scrawny build. She peered eagerly out at Peter from behind a lock of limp mousy brown hair with an expression that had nothing to do with a desire to deliver groceries.
“Hello, Peter,” she simpered.
Peter appeared to have lost his voice. I had lost my patience.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Pritchard,” I said, forcing a jolly smile on my face. “But we can’t take you up on your offer.”
“But why ever not?” said Mrs. Pritchard. “I’m sure you have other errands to run today.”
“True,” I said. “But the police have asked us to keep outside traffic to a bare minimum until they’ve finished their investigation. Emergencies only.” It was certainly a bold-faced lie, and expressly against my New Year’s resolutions, but there was no way I was going to let that woman or her daughter within ten feet of Aunt Winnie or the inn.
Mrs. Pritchard raised her eyebrows questioningly at Peter. He said nothing. I gave him a small nudge. What was wrong with him? “Um, yes,” he said finally. “That’s right. Police orders.”
Jessie, looking like a child whose favorite toy had just been snatched away, shrugged her bony shoulders. “Well, if you ever need me—for anything—give me a call,” she said to Peter.
I linked my arm through Peter’s and smiled at her. “Well, thank you, Jessie, that’s very kind of you. Peter and I will do just that.”
The girl peered uncertainly at me and then back at Peter before moving away. Mrs. Pritchard turned to me, her small eyes cold and appraising. “How long are you staying in town, dear?”
“I really haven’t decided yet.” I smiled coyly at Peter. “It all depends.”
Mrs. Pritchard bared her undersized teeth in a semblance of a smile. It wasn’t pretty. “Very well, then,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Yes,” I replied just as sweetly, “we will.”
Gathering up our purchases, we said our goodbyes, fake smiles all around, and lugged everything out to
