Murder On The Half Shelf

Angelica set her glass on the kitchen island and wiggled out of the sleeves of her coat. “At dinner tonight, Michele and I ran into the station manager and producer of Good Morning, Portsmouth.”

“I never heard of it.”

“Of course not. It’s only been on the air since this morning. It’s on the new start-up affiliate that just came to Portsmouth and began broadcasting today.”

“If nobody knows the station is even on the air, how will that sell cookbooks?”

“Do you have to be such a stick in the mud?” Angelica snapped.

“I’m trying to be realistic.”

“Can’t you just be happy for me?” Angelica insisted.

Tricia sighed and sank onto one of the stools. “I am happy for you. In fact, I’m ecstatic. Tell me more.”

Angelica’s mood instantly returned to euphoric. “Well, it turns out this station manager, Bill Haskins, and Michele are old friends. She sold him a bunch of artwork for his condo in Tucker’s Cove.”

Tricia raised an eyebrow. She wouldn’t have thought the manager of a start-up television station could afford to live in such a tony neighborhood. Or was that why he could afford to start up a new TV station in a city that had none?

Angelica settled herself on one of the island stools and took a more ladylike sip of her wine. “When Bill learned I was a nationally best-selling cookbook author, he immediately invited me to do a segment on the show Wednesday morning.”

“That doesn’t give you much time to prepare, does it? And what are you going to cook?”

“I have no idea. But it’ll probably be a recipe from my first book-as the second one won’t be out for another four months.”

Angelica poked at the sandwich still on the island and picked out a piece of cheese, nibbling on it. It was then that Tricia saw a bit of ham on the edge of the island. Had Miss Marple helped herself to a little snack while Tricia let Baker out? Without a word she grabbed a napkin, scooped up the ham, and discreetly hid the evidence. Angelica didn’t even notice.

“What are you going to wear?”

“I have no idea. I’ll call Artemus tomorrow and see what he suggests.”

It seemed to Tricia that Angelica bothered her literary agent, Artemus Hamilton, far too often with trivial questions. “Why don’t you just Google it?”

“You know how Artie loves to hear from me,” she said, then picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

Did Artie love hearing from her?

Angelica finished chewing and swallowed. “Besides, maybe he can send out a press release.”

“Isn’t that your job-not his?”

Angelica frowned. “I am one of his more successful clients. I’m sure he’ll just ask his assistant to draft something.”

“It’s rather short notice-one day in advance.”

“You worry too much,” Angelica said, and drained her glass. She got up from her seat, grabbed the wine bottle, and poured herself another. “And why are you so grumpy, anyway?”

Tricia offered her own glass to be topped up. “Oh, I don’t know. The fact that Grant suspects me of Pippa Comfort’s murder and said we can’t see each other-let alone talk to each other unless it’s about the case-until this whole situation is resolved.”

“Why?”

Tricia took a fortifying swallow of wine before she related how she and Sarge had spent the evening.

“Oh dear,” Angelica said, sobering. “Then I guess you won’t be interested in buying advertising on Channel Nine. I mean, not if it looks like you’ll actually be going to jail this time.”

“I am not going to jail!”

“It doesn’t sound too hopeful right now. Why did you take Sarge back to Maple Avenue, anyway? I told you he had an hour or more before he needed to go out. If you hadn’t jumped the gun, someone else might have found that candleholder and you might not be looking at a stint at the New Hampshire State Prison for Women.”

“I’m going to call Roger Livingston in the morning. Hopefully with his help-”

“You mean the help of one of his criminal attorney colleagues,” Angelica interrupted.

“-I will clear my name,” Tricia finished.

Angelica shrugged. “Let’s get back to this TV show. This could be my big break-a one-way ticket to the Food Network.”

Tricia sighed. How like Angelica to be more concerned with her own welfare. “Says who?”

“Me, of course.”

“Only if you can get someone from the Food Network to watch the show.”

“Hmm. That might be a bit hard. But I bet if I charm Bill, he’ll let me send a tape to an exec at the network.” With that little detail worked out, Angelica took another big bite of the sandwich.

“Why are you eating my dinner?” Tricia asked. “You just got back from a restaurant.”

Angelica chewed and swallowed. “Once I heard Bill was station manager, I was too nervous to eat. I’m starved. And where did you get this sandwich? It’s delish.”

“Grant brought it over…just before he told me we shouldn’t see each other.”

“Where’s the rest of it?” Angelica said, and polished off the last bite.

“He took it with him.”

Angelica swallowed. “Well, that wasn’t very nice.”

“It was his sandwich,” Tricia pointed out.

“What else have you got to eat?”

“Not much.”

Angelica went rummaging through one of the cabinets. “Let’s see, saltines, brown sugar, an almost-full bag of chocolate chips. Where’d you get this stuff?”

“If you must know, I eat a lot of soup-which explains the crackers. As for the other, last Christmas I thought I might try my hand at baking again. I just never got around to it. I keep the chocolate chips in case of an emotional emergency. Actually, now that I think about it-now could be a chocolate emergency.”

“If you’ve got real butter squirreled away, we’ve got candy.”

“Candy?” Tricia repeated.

Angelica checked the freezer. “Oh, you do. Smart girl, giving up the processed crap that’s disguised as butter.” With that, Angelica found a saucepan, tossed in the butter, and turned the burner on low. “In about forty minutes, we’ll have a delightful treat.”

“I didn’t know you were planning to stay that long.”

Angelica glared at Tricia, then turned back for the stove. “Line a cookie sheet with foil and spread out the crackers, will you. And turn on the oven to four hundred.”

Tricia did as directed.

“Now,” Angelica continued, “you’ve got to help me decide what to make for the TV show.”

“Why don’t you just make this recipe? It seems simple enough.”

“I’m not even sure they’ve got a hot plate, let alone an oven. I’ll call Bill in the morning to ask what I should bring.”

Tricia could already smell the melting butter. Angelica measured the sugar and tossed it in, grabbing a wooden spoon from the utility crock to stir the mixture. “This recipe is so easy, even you could make it.”

“You think?” Tricia said dutifully. The mix of ingredients didn’t sound promising, but if Angelica said it would taste good, Tricia had to believe her. Then again, just about anything that was covered in chocolate had to be good.

“The recipe I use on the TV show has got to be simple,” Angelica said. “Something I can have partially made, something I can cook in a skillet in a minute or so, and something with panache.”

“Crepes flambe,” Tricia suggested, expecting a scornful response. Instead, Angelica squealed with delight.

“Oh, Trish, that’s perfect! Maybe you should help me pick out the recipes for the next couple of books. Too bad you don’t actually eat much of anything besides iceberg lettuce and canned tuna.”