Murder On The Half Shelf

“Only if you’re in the proximity of a large, heavy brass candleholder.”

“I’ve already spoken with Harry and Chauncey.”

“Then go talk to Clayton Ellington.”

“Under what pretext?”

“I suppose pure nosiness isn’t a good excuse.”

“No.”

The two women were quiet for a few minutes, neither of them touching their lunches while the cafe bustled around them once again. Finally, Angelica spoke. “You know, you could ask Ellington how he managed to win the raffle for the free night at the inn when he wasn’t even at the last Chamber meeting.”

“He wasn’t?”

Angelica shook her head. “In fact, I don’t know as I’ve ever seen him attend a Chamber meeting, and I haven’t missed one in the past six months. You ought to make more of an effort to go-then you wouldn’t have to keep asking me and everyone else what went on and who dished what dirt.”

“So what happens with these raffles?” Tricia asked, ignoring the dig.

“Everyone present puts a business card in a fishbowl and then Bob pulls out however many to give away the prizes. If you’re not there, you can’t win. But Ellington did win.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

“I hadn’t given it any thought until now.”

“Do you think Bob rigged the drawing?”

“Of course. Why else was everyone so surprised when I showed up at the inn with you and not Bob? He made it rather obvious that he expected to rekindle our long-dead relationship that night. As if!”

“Then what about the other winners? Do you suppose they had a reason to be at the inn, too?”

Angelica shook her head. “What motive could Chauncey or Mary have to be there?”

“Chauncey once had the hots for Pippa. He said he used to tip her well when she was a Playboy bunny. Maybe he hoped she’d remember him and…well…reciprocate in kind.”

“The way he looks now? I’ll bet he wasn’t attractive on his best day ever. Besides, Pippa was married-”

“Unhappily so, according to Harry,” Tricia countered.

“And she pitched a fit when Chauncey made a crack about her less-than-sexy attire,” Angelica finished.

“Yes, but let’s say he had unreasonable expectations. The fact that she got angry with him, and in front of a witness-it could have driven him to kill the thing he loved most.”

“I suppose. And what reason could Mary have had to kill Pippa?”

“I have no idea. But she does seem overly interested in the whole situation.”

“The same could be said of you. At first glance, it would appear you’ve got a reason to see the woman dead. Can you prove you haven’t seen Harry in twenty years?”

“Probably not-but they can’t prove I did, either.”

Angelica took off her sunglasses. “Then that leaves one more suspect-Clayton Ellington. Go talk to him and find out what dirty tricks he’s playing.”

“Who says he’s playing any dirty tricks? For all we know Bob could be behind this.”

“You could be right. But to get to Bob you’ll have to talk to Ellington first,” Angelica declared.

Tricia nodded. “Did anything seem out of the ordinary when Bob announced the winners?”

“Not that I remember. It was a pretty standard meeting. Eggs, bacon, croissants, and jam. Bob went around the room and collected everyone’s business cards for the drawing, and while the waitresses were busing the tables, he pulled the four winners. He pulled my name last. It was a huge surprise.”

I’ll bet.

Tricia wasn’t eager to embrace the idea. Instead, she glanced at her watch. “Look at the time. Mr. Everett will be arriving at Haven’t Got a Clue any moment now. I’d better scoot.” She grabbed her coat from the seat beside her and got up. “Will you have time in the next few days to walk me through that cookie recipe?”

“I’ll have plenty of time-especially if I’m still in hiding,” Angelica said, and slipped her sunglasses back on.

Tricia wrestled into the sleeves of her coat. “See you later, then.” She headed for the door.

She wasn’t sure what bothered her more-trying to find an excuse to see Ellington, or having to go to the Full Moon Nudist Camp and Resort to track him down.

“Please, Ms. Miles, don’t make a fuss. I assure you I’m all right,” Mr. Everett said, sounding a little frustrated after Tricia not only made him take a seat at the readers’ nook but brought him several of the thumbprint cookies and a cup of coffee, placing them on the big square coffee table.

“I’m sure you are,” she said, “but please let me spoil you for at least a couple of minutes.”

Mr. Everett’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Oh, very well.”

Miss Marple seemed equally pleased to have Mr. Everett back and jumped on his lap, purring loudly and nuzzling his chin. “My dear Miss Marple, I missed you, too,” he said, and petted the cat.

Linda joined them. “I’m so glad you’re back, Mr. Everett. There’s a lot I need to learn about Haven’t Got a Clue, and I’ve enjoyed our talks so far.”

“As have I,” Mr. Everett admitted.

The door rattled and the bell rang, and Grace entered Haven’t Got a Clue with her sheepish-looking receptionist, Pixie, in tow. If Pixie was in costume once again, her long gray raincoat hid it. “Hello, Tricia,” Grace said, and stepped over to the reader’s nook. “And you must be Linda,” she said, offering her hand.

“This is my wife, Grace Harris-Everett,” Mr. Everett said, introducing them.

Linda and Grace shook hands. “So glad to meet you. You’ve got a keeper here,” she said, and nodded toward Mr. Everett, whose pink cheeks went a shade darker.

“I like to think so. But when I think of how close I came to losing him last night…” She let the sentence trail off, and then cleared her throat and glanced at Pixie, who had so far not made eye contact with any of them. “This is my receptionist, Pixie Poe.”

Tricia raised an eyebrow at the last name. Linda and Mr. Everett nodded, since Pixie did not move forward to shake their hands. “I believe Pixie has something to say to you, Tricia.”

Tricia was glad all eyes were now on Pixie instead of her, for like Mr. Everett she felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

“I…I apol-” That was as far as Pixie got before her face crumpled-but not with shame. It was anger that made her eyes suddenly blaze. “No! I will not apologize to this bitch!” she cried, and glared at Grace, whose jaw had dropped open in shock. “She crossed me!” Pixie swiveled her gaze to glower at Tricia. “Because you tattled on me to Mrs. H-E, I got a real dressing-down. You disrespected me and I will not back down. I don’t care if I lose this job, lose my parole, and go back to the joint-I will not apologize to the likes of you.” She paused long enough to take them all in. “In fact, go to hell-all of you!” she shouted, then turned and stormed out of the store.

Miss Marple hissed at her retreating back, and Mr. Everett began to pet the cat at warp speed in hopes of placating her.

Grace stood rooted, her mouth still agape. “I-I don’t know what to say, Tricia. I am so very sorry.”

Tricia didn’t dare speak, so deep was her shock.

Linda stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on both Tricia’s and Grace’s arms. “Why don’t we all have a nice warming cup of coffee and a couple of cookies to make us feel better?”

No one said a word.

Linda guided Grace to one of the nook’s empty chairs. “Please sit. I’ll bring you a cup. How do you like it?”

“Black, please,” Grace murmured, still in shock.

Linda nodded and left the three of them alone.

Grace shook her head. “When I spoke to Pixie, I thought she understood…I tried to make her realize how her treatment of you was inappropriate. I honestly thought she accepted that her behavior was inappropriate. I told her she’d have to apologize to you, and then all would be forgiven-and she agreed to do so.”

“Grace, I know you wanted to help that woman,” Mr. Everett began, “but perhaps her social skills just aren’t adequate for the job.”

That was the truth.

“But if she doesn’t have a job, there’s a good chance she might go back to prison,” Grace cried, her voice filled with despair.