Murder On The Half Shelf

gossip to spill. But what was she doing at Haven’t Got a Clue at midmorning when she should be running the till over at the Cookery? The fact that she wasn’t wearing a coat gave Tricia a clue.

Frannie walked up to the nook. “Hey, Tricia. Angelica sent me over here to ask if you could give us some small bills. We had a couple of customers paying with cash who only had fifties and hundred-dollar bills.”

“Sure thing,” Tricia said, but before she started for her own register, she introduced Frannie and Linda.

“Pleased to meet you,” Frannie said with a grin. “You’re gonna love working for ole Tricia here. She’s the best-well, next to my boss, of course. She and Tricia are sisters.”

Linda gave a weak smile. “How nice.”

“I’ll get you that change,” Tricia said, and Frannie gave Linda a nod and followed her to the register. She handed Tricia a hundred-dollar bill, and Tricia counted out the equivalent in twenties, tens, fives, and ones.

“So what’s new?” Tricia asked, giving Frannie an open invitation to spill her guts.

Frannie leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “The rumor mill is alive and well this morning,” she confided. “There’s another suspect in the Comfort murder case.”

Tricia’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Frannie nodded. “I’ve heard tell that Miz Pippa Comfort once had a relationship with that Ellington fella who owns the Full Moon Nudist Camp and Resort. In fact, they got together when she was a Playboy bunny.”

“A Playboy bunny?” That had to be years ago. The last club shut down back in the late 1980s…although, hadn’t it been resurrected in Las Vegas some time ago? Tricia wasn’t quite sure. “Where did you hear all this?” she asked.

“I have a friend who works at the nudist camp. I won’t name names,” Frannie said with pursed lips, “but she had a relationship with Ellington-had being the operative word. When the relationship soured, she threatened a sexual harassment lawsuit. She kept her job and got a big fat raise, and now the two of them pretend that nothing ever happened.”

“So what did she say?” Tricia asked, since it was apparent that Frannie was dying to finish her story.

“What she told me was all pillow talk. They’d spoken about ex-lovers, and how many women do you know with the name of Pippa, anyway?”

None, Tricia admitted to herself.

“Anyway, it seems Mr. Ellington had contacted Miz Pippa and told her that Stoneham was in need of hotel rooms.”

“Why would he do that?”

“After her bunny days, Miz Pippa went to Cornell University and got a degree in hotel management. I guess she spent the past five years as an assistant manager at the Mount Washington Hotel and Resort until the opportunity arose for her to manage the Sheer Comfort Inn.”

Tricia knew of the Mount Washington Hotel by its reputation and was dutifully impressed. Had Pippa become tired of working for a large hotel chain and found the thought of managing a much smaller operation more appealing?

“Did Ellington have a stake in the inn?” she asked.

Frannie shook her head. “Not that my friend said. But she also said that, despite the name, the Comforts didn’t own the inn. They just ran it for someone else.” So, maybe Ellington did want to buy the property. And Kelly Realty was the most likely agency to list the property.

And could the current owner of the property be Nigela Ricita Associates? If so, had its local representative, Antonio Barbero, spoken to Ellington to arrange such a deal? Tricia wondered if she ought to pay a visit to the Happy Domestic to see what Ginny knew about the situation. After all, she was engaged to Antonio. Then again, Tricia hoped to see her at the book club that night. Good old Ginny continued to patronize the gathering even after moving on with her career. If nothing else, it gave her and Tricia a chance to catch up on things while the rest of the group discussed the chosen book.

“Will you be at the meeting tonight?” Tricia asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’re going to decide our next few reads, and I’ve already got my list typed up.” Her tone was almost a challenge, and Tricia couldn’t think why she would speak that way.

“I’d better get back to the Cookery. See you later.” Frannie gave a wave good-bye and left the store.

Tricia stared at the closed door for a long time. She heard a brrrpt! from behind her and turned to find Miss Marple regarding her from her perch on the shelf behind the cash desk. “Yes, it does seem like a bad omen.”

Again Miss Marple said “Brrrpt!” and seemed to nod toward the display case. Tricia looked over to see a small stack of mail on the counter. It must have arrived while she was out. She shuffled through the circulars and found a square envelope addressed to her in care of the bookstore. The address was printed as though by a computer, but there was no return address and the postmark was smudged. She grabbed the letter opener from the mug of pens on the desk and slit it, withdrawing a piece of copy paper that had been placed around something else. Unfolding the paper, she discovered a stained cocktail napkin. Embossed in gold was the name of what she assumed to be a bar: the Elbow Room.

The Elbow Room? The name held no significance for her.

She sighed, frowning. First the photo, now this. Someone was playing with her, and she didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

Was she supposed to be intrigued, upset, or frightened by this second mysterious offering in the mail?

At that moment the only emotion she could muster was annoyance.

Paperwork in hand, Linda approached the cash desk. “I think I’ve filled everything in properly. Would you like to go over it and then give me the grand tour of the store? I’m eager to get started.”

Tricia shoved the envelope and its contents under the cash desk, forced a smile, and accepted the paperwork, giving it a brief glance. “Everything seems in order. Let’s get another cup of coffee and I’ll explain how we operate here at Haven’t Got a Clue.”

She managed to give the tour sounding cheerful and enthused, despite the growing disquiet within her.

ELEVEN

No sooner had Tricia said good night to Linda and turned the sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED than the members of the Tuesday Night Book Club began to arrive at Haven’t Got a Clue. The first in was Julia Overline, clutching her copy of the current discussion book, Ross MacDonald’s The Goodbye Look. She greeted Tricia with a cheery hello and was almost immediately followed by the newest member of the group, Donna Mitchell.

Donna was a wiry wisp of a woman in her late forties and probably never married. At least she didn’t wear a wedding band. She looked like something that had been washed a few times too many, gray and tired-except for the lascivious gleam that often entered the woman’s eyes. She liked to discuss the sex scenes (or lack thereof) in the mysteries the group read. Tricia didn’t much like the woman and thought she might be a better fit with the village’s romance bookstore’s book club, but she didn’t like to discourage anyone from joining her mystery group- especially if they bought the reading selections from her inventory.

“Won’t you ladies help yourself to coffee while we wait for the rest of the group to arrive?” Tricia suggested.

“Thanks,” Julia said, dropping her book on the readers’ nook’s table and heading for the beverage station. “Can I get you both some?”

“I’ll take mine black with sugar,” Donna said, but Tricia shook her head. She’d had more than enough coffee that day and was looking forward to closing the door on the book group and heading back to her loft for a much- deserved glass of wine-then remembered she had none.

Within minutes Mary Fairchild, Frannie Armstrong, and Nikki Brimfield had closed their businesses and were in attendance. As they all had to close businesses, they were often as much as fifteen minutes late for the meeting, and everyone liked to catch up on news and local gossip for another ten or fifteen minutes before Tricia could start the evening’s discussion. Among the missing were Grace and Mr. Everett. Grace could be counted on to keep the group focused, but since she’d opened the new office for the Everett Charitable Foundation, she hadn’t been able to