Murder On The Half Shelf

but we found a patch of blood out in the alley. That’s probably what your little dog was interested in.”

“Ooh, you’re good,” Angelica said under her breath.

Baker looked pleased.

Tricia rolled her eyes.

“I’m having a tech come by and take a sample. You’ll probably see flashing lights in the alley for the next hour or so. I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Worry about a possible mugging or something?” Angelica said, and Tricia shot daggers at her.

“Why would you say a mugging?” Baker asked, again suspicious.

Angelica shrugged. “Do you suspect something worse?”

“I don’t know what to suspect,” Baker said, and scrutinized the women. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I told you what’s on my mind. A nice tall drink. Now, Chief, I’ll take my dog out for one last pee and then I’m going to bed.” She turned toward her sister. “Tricia, you’ve got a long day ahead of you, too. It’s time you went to bed.” She glared at Baker. “And apparently alone.”

She picked up Sarge and headed for the back door.

“I’m sorry, Grant. Angelica really has had a tough day.”

“Yes.” He moved to stand in Tricia’s personal space, something she’d been longing for for days, only now she wished he hadn’t. “Tricia, if something is going on in this village that I should know about, for heaven’s sake-tell me!”

“If I could, I would.” Talk about being vague.

He studied her face, and she willed him to kiss her, but instead he turned aside. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your front door.”

That was the best offer she’d received in a week, and she accepted with resignation.

Baker waited until she’d let herself in before he turned to leave. No good-night kiss, just a terse “See you,” and he headed back down the sidewalk, presumably to take the shortcut to the alley next to the Patisserie and join up with his officers.

Miss Marple made a solitary-and hungry-welcoming committee. She eagerly followed as Tricia climbed the steps to her loft apartment. She fed the cat and, being bone tired, got ready for bed.

Despite the fatigue that weighed down on her, Tricia thought it unlikely she’d be able to fall asleep. Instead of immediately retreating into a book, she turned off the bedroom light and raised the blind on the window.

Stoneham’s streets were deadly quiet, but after such a tumultuous day Tricia drank in the tranquility. Chief Baker’s SUV still sat outside Haven’t Got a Clue, but within a minute or two Tricia saw him walk back down the street to claim it. He looked up at her window, but because of the darkness did not see her watching him. He turned away and climbed into the vehicle. Moments later, the headlights came on and the SUV slowly pulled away from the curb.

“Good night, Grant,” Tricia said with a pang of regret.

Miss Marple jumped up on the windowsill with a sympathetic “Yow!” She nuzzled her head into Tricia’s hand and purred loudly.

Tricia was about to turn away from the window when movement on the sidewalk across the street caught her attention.

Someone-a man-walked briskly up the west side of Main Street, heading north. Tricia recognized the gait-and the set of the shoulders-even though the street was bathed in partial shadow.

Harry Tyler.

And what was he doing in this part of the village at this time of night?

Not surprisingly, Tricia slept late and the morning came far too early. First thing, Tricia called the hospital and found that Mr. Everett had already been released. Okay, the day was starting out with something good, but she didn’t expect to see him at work that day, and she hadn’t had time to do any of the after- hours tasks, nor had she had time to train Linda to do them. That put something else on the to-do list.

After a quick shower and even quicker breakfast, Tricia hurried down the stairs to Haven’t Got a Clue. Miss Marple followed in her wake, always eager to start the workday.

Considering Linda had only observed one closing, the store appeared neat. The mail had been opened and was paper-clipped in stacks on the counter, which Linda had labeled with Post-it notes. Ads and circulars-probable recycles-bills, and…a pastel, multicolored silk scarf. Clipped to it was a printed note that had obviously been cut from a larger sheet of copy paper. It read: Remember when you wore this?

Tricia felt heat rise up her neck to burn her cheeks. No, she didn’t remember ever wearing the scarf. Who was sending her this junk in the mail? First the picture, then the cocktail napkin-now this. Could someone have gotten her mixed up with another person? That didn’t seem likely. The picture had definitely been Tricia.

She looked below the cash desk to the wastebasket, but it was empty. She searched under the counter, but there was no sign of the envelopes the mail had come in, nor the packaging for the scarf.

But something else was missing, too.

The blue bank pouch that should have been under the counter was also missing.

Tricia straightened too quickly and hit her head on the edge of the counter. Stars flashed before her eyes as she touched the top of her head and winced.

“Yow!” Miss Marple offered in sympathy, but Tricia had no time to converse with the cat. She opened the register and her heart sank. There wasn’t a cent in it. No checks, no credit card slips. Nothing. Even the loose change had been removed.

She glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until opening. She had a few questions for Linda when she arrived. But first things first. She headed to the back of the store and brought out the vacuum cleaner, hoping to finish the carpet before the day’s first customers arrived.

She did that and got the coffee started, too. By the time she poured herself a cup, it was ten ten.

No customers. No Linda.

She checked the store’s voice mail but found no messages.

Tricia had a bad feeling about this.

After a quick search, she came up with the paperwork Linda had filled in two days before. Scanning the page, she found Linda’s telephone number and dialed. After one ring, a recorded message said: “You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is out of service. Please check the number and try again.”

As suggested, she tried again-and got the same message.

Tricia’s stomach tightened as she set the heavy receiver back in its cradle.

The door opened and a customer came in. Tricia braved a smile. “Hi, welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. I’m Tricia. Please let me know if you need any help.”

“Thanks,” the woman said, and shuffled off to peruse the shelves.

Sensing something was wrong, Miss Marple jumped up on the sales counter and said, “Brrrpt! ” Tricia petted the cat. “We’re going to believe the best about Linda.”

But ten minutes later, as her customer tried to pay for her purchase in cash, Tricia had no money to make change. She apologized and accepted a check instead. She smiled and gave a wave as her customer let herself out and then sighed. What should she do? Close the store so she could go to the bank and get some change? Borrow some money from Frannie next door?

Call the police?

The phone rang-could it be Linda with a perfectly good explanation as to why she was late and the store’s receipts were missing?

Tricia grabbed the receiver. “Haven’t Got a Clue-”

But it wasn’t Linda on the other end of the line.

“Trish! The worst-the absolute worst thing has happened.”

“Calm down, calm down,” Tricia told Angelica.

“I can’t calm down. That stupid video of me on TV yesterday has gone viral. Now I’m not only the laughingstock of all of New England, but I’m the laughingstock of all of North America-maybe even the world!”

“You’re exaggerating,” Tricia chided her.

“No I’m not,” Angelica howled, verging on tears. “The comments are horrible! Everyone’s acting like it was my fault that the TV station burned down. If that stupid boom guy hadn’t hit me in the