Murder On The Half Shelf

“I can read your mind,” he said in a low voice. “I always could.”

“I don’t think so.”

He gave another slight shrug. “Okay, I could read your mind maybe seventy-five percent of the time, then.”

That was a definite possibility.

“So, who are your suspects in Pippa Comfort’s death?” he asked, and wiped the sides of his mouth with his thumb and index finger.

“Harry Tyler, of course. He’s bound to get the most scrutiny, too.”

“With you coming in second?”

Tricia hated to acknowledge it, but he was probably right, too.

“Chauncey Porter and Pippa had words not long before her death,” she said, to divert him from that subject. Russ straightened ever so slightly, his eyes widening in real interest. Aha! He hadn’t heard that nugget of information. “Did you know that years ago Pippa was a Playboy bunny?”

“I did hear that in passing,” he admitted.

“Chauncey recognized her as soon as he laid eyes on her. It seems he has quite a Playboy magazine collection.” Okay, that was a guess. If he was into porn he probably started off with Playboy and worked his way to the harder stuff. “He made a flip remark about Pippa’s change of uniform and she gave him a thorough dressing-down.”

“And you witnessed it?”

Tricia shook her head. “Mary Fairchild did.” She could almost see him make a mental note to call Mary the minute Tricia left his office. And he’d probably take a walk down the street to visit Chauncey at his store, the Armchair Tourist.

“Anyone else?” he asked.

“They say Clayton Ellington suggested Pippa take the job as manager of the inn. Was he doing a favor for an old friend, or did he have other motivations?”

“More than one?” Russ asked.

It was Tricia’s turn to shrug. “And other people visited the inn the day Pippa died.”

“Besides you and Angelica?”

“Amy Schram from Milford Nursery and Flowers, for one. There may have been other deliveries that day, too.”

Russ shook his head. “I might believe that if the murder happened on Saturday. But on a Sunday? I don’t think so.”

“I’ve told you my suspects; who’s on your list?”

“What makes you think I have a list?”

“Russ, you always have a list.”

A sly smile crept onto his lips. “I do.”

“And?” she prompted.

“People deal or no, Tyler’s the most likely suspect. As far as I know, he hasn’t got a firm alibi for when his wife was murdered, and he didn’t return home for an hour or more after the cops showed up.”

“I know. I was there.” It did look bad for Harry, but somehow…Tricia couldn’t believe he’d kill his wife. Or was it that she didn’t want to believe Harry was capable of killing her-or anyone. But how trustworthy was a man who faked his death and walked away from his family and friends-and his life-because he was under stress? Were Harry and Pippa stressed simply because of the challenges inherent in opening a new business-even if it didn’t belong to them?

Russ ducked his head and waved a hand in front of Tricia. “Hey, what are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head. “Do you plan on talking to anyone else about the murder?”

Russ shrugged. “Probably not. It’s a pretty boring case.”

“A former Playmate of the Month being bludgeoned to death is boring?” What did a victim have to do or be to warrant a little interest from the media these days?

“She wasn’t a Playmate,” Russ went on. “She was a Playboy bunny and was featured in a story about the New York club. The pictures weren’t the least bit provocative.”

“Then you’ve seen them?”

He sheepishly nodded. “They came up on a Google search.”

If the pictures weren’t memorable, why had Chauncey remembered them after so many years?

Russ reached for the bakery bag, rolled the top down, and stowed it in his desk drawer, leaving no obvious evidence of her visit.

“Harry Tyler’s new in town. How could he know to come to you with his story?” Tricia asked.

“I may have given him a call,” Russ admitted.

“And you just happen to have an in with People magazine?”

“I wasn’t always just some hack at a weekly rag, you know. I’ve got contacts-big contacts.”

“So you’ve said,” Tricia said, unimpressed.

That was the thing. Russ had always had an ego that seemed to eclipse his journalistic talent. What had she ever seen in the man? But then she had a talent for choosing the wrong guy. There were plenty of wonderful men in the world who made great lovers, great husbands, and great dads. Why did she attract men who were just the opposite?

She stood. “Thanks for your time, Russ. I wish you and Nikki all the happiness in the world.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the great fried cakes, too. And I’m sorry, old girl, you just weren’t the one.” His smile was crooked.

Old girl?

Somehow Tricia held on to her temper. “Good-bye, Russ.”

She turned and left his office-and hoped she’d never have to speak to him again.

SEVENTEEN

It was well past two o’clock when Tricia returned to Haven’t Got a Clue. Linda’s smile was tight when she greeted her new boss.

“What’s the matter?” Tricia asked.

Linda’s gaze darted to Mr. Everett, who seemed to be assaulting the books in the biography section with his lamb’s-wool duster.

“I think you’d better go talk to him. He came back from lunch quite upset. I tried to draw him out to find out what was wrong, but I’m afraid it’ll take time before he considers me a friend, and I think he could use one right now.”

Tricia nodded. “Thanks. I’ll speak with him now.” She gave Linda a smile. “It’ll be okay,” she said, but had little faith in her words.

She approached Mr. Everett, who looked up from his task. “Welcome back, Ms. Miles.” His words were correct but held no warmth.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Everett? You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

“I’m afraid that’s exactly what has happened.” He sighed and his mouth drooped. “The situation is dire, Ms. Miles. I’m afraid my actions have done irreparable damage to my marriage.”

“Irreparable?” Tricia echoed, horrified-and just as frightened about what he might say next.

“I met Grace for lunch and we had a terrible exchange of words.”

“Oh, Mr. Everett, I’m so sorry. I had no idea my speaking to her would cause you so much trouble.”

He shook his head. “It’s my fault. I asked you to do so. If I had had the courage to talk to her myself, all of this might have been avoided.”

Tricia bit her lip, her stomach tensing. “Is there anything I can do to help?”