Murder On The Half Shelf

maybe he wanted her to be close at hand.”

“If he went to all that trouble, why would he want to kill her?”

“I haven’t figured out a motive yet.”

“And what if he has none?”

“It seems suspicious to me that he’d call up an old lover after twenty years and say, ‘Hey, I’ve got a line on a job for you. Come live in the same small town as me and my wife.’”

“All the more reason why he wouldn’t kill her. Murdering an ex-lover is not the way to keep your marriage intact.”

“Some people don’t think ahead.”

“You do if you’re a successful businessman.”

“And successful people with money often get rid of problems.”

“How was Pippa a problem?”

“I haven’t-”

“-figured that out yet,” Angelica finished for her. “I’ve already heard that explanation once in this conversation. And why are you still ignoring the fact that her husband might have done it?”

“I’m not ignoring it. I just don’t have any idea why Harry would do it. He said they weren’t close, but if he wanted to leave her, he didn’t have to accompany her here to open the inn.”

“Divorce is expensive,” Angelica pointed out. “I know. I’ve been through four of them.” She waggled her right index finger close to Tricia’s face. “You just don’t want him to be guilty of murder. You still care for him.”

“I do not!” Tricia protested.

“Oh, yes you do. Admit it, things haven’t been going well with you and Chief Baker. Before that, Russ dumped you. And before that, Christopher. But now there’s the possibility that you and Jon Comfort-”

“Harry Tyler!”

“-could get back together again.”

“You’re living in fantasyland.”

Angelica’s eyes blazed, and Tricia figured she had better put an end to the argument before they both said something they’d regret. “This is where I could use a GPS,” Tricia said. “How about telling me where to go?”

“Do you realize the opening you just gave me?” Angelica said with just a touch of malice.

Tricia frowned. “I could let you out here.”

“Turn left at the next light,” Angelica directed with lips pursed.

Except for directions, they rode the rest of the way without speaking, which was okay with Tricia. Even Sarge remained quiet at the bottom of Angelica’s big purse.

After dropping Angelica off at the parking lot, Tricia waited to make sure she and Sarge got into the car and started the engine before she took off. She felt guilty for spending so little time in the store since Linda had started, even though she knew she was in Mr. Everett’s knowledgeable hands. But there was one more stop she wanted to make before she returned to Haven’t Got a Clue.

Tricia stepped on the gas and headed for home, making a stop at a doughnut joint to buy a half a dozen greasy fried cakes. After all, in some respects, cops and journalists weren’t all that different.

Tricia had to summon up some courage to enter the Stoneham Weekly News. She and the paper’s owner, Russ Smith, had had a stormy relationship. They’d started out as adversaries, migrated into lovers, and then had an acrimonious parting. It was only when Russ had started dating Nikki Brimfield that Tricia felt she could again speak to him in a friendly manner. Thanks to past events, she didn’t think she’d ever again feel completely comfortable around him.

Patty Perkins, who seemed to do a little of everything around the paper’s office-from answering phones to writing advertising copy-sat at the reception desk behind a computer, pecking away at her keyboard. She looked up as the buzzer sounded when Tricia opened the door.

“Hey, Tricia. Long time no see.”

Tricia clutched the white bakery bag and braved a smile. “I’ve been busy. How about you?”

“Still employed,” she said, nodding toward the door to Russ’s office. “You wanna see the boss?”

“If he’s in.”

“Russ!” she called. “Tricia’s here to see you.”

Seconds later, Russ shambled into the doorway. His hair always seemed to need a trim, and his glasses were perpetually sliding down his long thin nose. A plaid shirt-in shades of red today-and wrinkled jeans seemed to be his standard uniform. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked Tricia, smiling.

“I just stopped by to say congratulations on your engagement and to bring you a little present to celebrate the event.” She held up the grease-stained bag.

Russ’s head dipped and his cheeks colored in embarrassment. He had to push his glasses back up his nose to keep them from falling off. “Nikki mentioned that she’d told you.”

“It’s wonderful news. You’ve got yourself one fine lady-and all the goodies you can eat, I’ll bet.”

“That turned out to be quite the unexpected perk,” he admitted, and his eyes slid over to the counter that stood against the wall, housing a coffeemaker and a plate of Nikki’s thumbprint jam cookies. “I’ll probably have to start going to the gym in Milford if she keeps feeding me like she has. Cakes, cookies, breads.” He patted his stomach, which was straining against his belt more than it had when the two of them had been a couple. But then Tricia had rarely-if ever-cooked for him. Still, she knew Russ’s preferences for bad fast food would not be usurped by Nikki’s decadent desserts.

“Come on in and sit down,” he said, ushering her into his office. “Can I take your jacket?” Russ glanced at the coat rack that stood in the corner and held his own bomber jacket.

“I can’t stay long,” Tricia said, then handed him the bag of fried cakes and took one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Have you made any headway on a venue for the wedding reception?”

Russ took the faux leather chair behind his desk, opened the bag, and took out one of the doughnuts. “Not yet. We’re not in any great hurry.”

No, she doubted he was. Especially if Nikki was going to move in with him ahead of the ceremony. But she wasn’t going to mention that. His commitment difficulties with her were ancient news. She really did want to see the two of them happy. She got a glimpse of pure bliss when he bit into the doughnut, betting he hadn’t had anything as common as a fried cake in months.

“I get the feeling your good wishes aren’t the only reason for your visit,” he said, and brushed a stray crumb from his mouth. “Whenever a crime happens in Stoneham, you’ll always find a way to be involved.”

“Just the luck of the draw that I always seem to be present when someone is killed around here.”

“Maybe you are the village jinx,” he said, and seemed to enjoy it when she winced at the phrase. “And now you’ve come to me to see what I know about the investigation. What’s the matter, your cop boyfriend won’t talk to you about it?”

“That’s exactly it. Because I knew Pippa Comfort’s husband some twenty years ago, he seems to think that makes me a viable suspect. He thinks there might be some kind of conflict of interest if we see or talk to each other in the interim.”

He laughed. “I’ll bet that didn’t go over well with you.”

“You got that right. Still, I’m rather surprised you haven’t come to see me to pump me for information about Harry Tyler’s resurrection.”

Russ shrugged, took another bite of doughnut, chewed, and swallowed. “I edit a piddly weekly rag. It’s not a blip on anybody’s radar.”

Tricia scrutinized his smug face, and understanding dawned. “You’ve already spoken to Harry Tyler, otherwise you would’ve been over to see me pretty darn quick.”

He took another bite, swallowed, and grinned. “You got it.”

“Did he give you an exclusive?”

Russ shook his head. “Not exactly. But I brokered a deal for him for a cut of the money.”

She should’ve seen that coming. “Who did you sell the story to?”

“People magazine.”

It figured. She had nothing to trade and had wasted four dollars and change for the fried cakes. He wasn’t likely to give her any information now.