“Which one?”
“The Food Shelf. Libby Hirt can always use the money.”
“Have you done so?”
“Uh…I haven’t had time. I’m a very busy man.”
“It’s been a week since the raffle; what were you waiting for-Christmas?”
“I’m going to do it. Look, if it’ll make you happy I’ll write a check out right now.” He withdrew a large ledger book of checks, opened it, and took out a pen. “No one has to know about this except us.”
Tricia shook her head. “Uh-uh. Pippa Comfort died that night. Someone who was at the inn that night killed her. You might be an accessory to her death.”
Bob’s mouth dropped open in horror. “But-but I wasn’t even there!” he protested.
“You may have given her killer the opportunity to strike.”
Bob shook his head, waving his hands in front of him in denial. “You can’t pin anything on me. I may have taken their money, but as far as I knew they all just wanted a cheap night in a homelike setting. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I’ll even take a polygraph.”
Tricia had no doubt he’d ace such a test. Bob had little to no conscience. She’d never felt such contempt for another human being. “I’m so glad Angelica dumped you. You are lower than a slug.” And without another word, Tricia turned and left his office.
As she walked back to Haven’t Got a Clue, she contemplated her next move. She had to talk to Baker, but her meeting with Angelica and Pixie was less than an hour away. Bob wasn’t likely to volunteer the information, but it would keep for an hour or more.
Still it was disturbing to think she’d spoken with Pippa’s murderer and that person-whoever it was-had pretty good acting skills.
She didn’t have a clue who’d bludgeoned Pippa Comfort to death.
TWENTY-SIX
“It’s almost three thirty,” Linda said, and pointed at her watch. She hadn’t told Tricia how her interview with Grace had gone, but the small smile that covered her lips and the gleam in her eyes left no doubt that a job offer had been-or was about to be-made.
Tricia felt sick at the thought of conducting yet more interviews for the job of assistant manager at Haven’t Got a Clue. The prospect of working with Pixie was just as nauseating.
“You don’t want to be late,” Linda encouraged.
A submissive Tricia collected her coat from the peg at the back of the store and exited the shop, feeling like a child being forced to go to the class bully’s birthday party.
As usual on a cold April afternoon, traffic on Main Street was less than light. In fact, there wasn’t a car in sight, and Tricia jaywalked to get to Booked for Lunch. She noted the lights were still on inside, but the neon OPEN sign had been extinguished. She tried the door handle, found it unlocked, and entered the cafe as though stepping before a firing squad.
Angelica had changed her clothes since Tricia had seen her at lunch. She now wore a tight black pencil skirt and a tucked-in black-and-white striped shirt with a button-down polka-dot bib. She’d donned a pair of reading glasses on a chain that gave her the look of a high-powered secretary-or worse, the high school principal from Tricia’s past. She stood on three-inch heels in the aisle between the booths along the south wall and the counter opposite.
“Right on time. Take off your coat and take a seat,” she chimed, directing Tricia toward the first booth, where Pixie already sat. Dressed in a tan-and-brown striped vintage dress from what appeared to be from the 1940s, with her hair once again done in a pompadour, Pixie looked like she’d just stepped out of the pages of an old
“Hello, Pixie,” Tricia said, her voice barely audible.
“Mmm,” Pixie grunted.
Not an auspicious beginning. Angelica didn’t seem to have noticed.
“Now, ladies, let’s begin. First off, Pixie has something to say.”
Pixie glowered, but her anger seemed to melt under Angelica’s reproachful glare. “I’m…sorry, Ms. Miles. Er, Tricia. I was rude and I apologize.” The words sounded rehearsed and not at all sincere. Had Angelica coached her on this?
Tricia sighed. It was only polite to acknowledge Pixie’s apology. “I accept,” she said, and even managed a wan smile.
Pixie looked…frightened? She really
Tricia turned up the wattage on her smile, hoping she didn’t look demented. “Angelica tells me you know a lot about vintage mysteries.”
Pixie’s eyes widened with interest at the change of subject. “My dad was a big fan of Erle Stanley Gardner. He used to read to me at bedtime, but instead of fairy tales he read me all the Perry Mason stories. When I got a little older, we used to watch reruns of the old black-and-white TV show. Oh, that Raymond Burr-what a guy! Did you ever see
Tricia had only seen the show in reruns, not when it had run on network TV, but she nodded just the same. “I have to admit I liked the latter-day TV movies better than the old Perry Mason show. Let’s face it, William Katt as Paul Drake Junior was a lot sexier than William Hopper on the original series.”
Pixie grinned. “Oh, you better believe it. Did you know he was actually Barbara Hale’s son?”
“I did,” Tricia admitted. “I had a crush on him when I was in junior high. You had to love all that curly blond hair.”
“Ahem.” All eyes turned to Angelica. “Let’s stay on topic, ladies,” she admonished, and Tricia and Pixie were both suitably cowed once again. “Tricia, did you have any questions you wanted to ask Pixie?”
Tricia fought the urge to squirm. She had a lot of questions, but would the goodwill they’d just shared disappear if she asked them? She decided to tread lightly.
“Have you ever worked in a retail business before?”
“Oh, sure,” Pixie said. “Before my last stint in stir, I was a checkout girl at Hannaford’s in Nashua. Held the job for almost six months. Then I met this guy in a bar and got arrested again…” Her sentence trailed off. “But I’ve sworn off my old ways,” she said, suddenly sitting up straighter. “I mean, at my age there aren’t that many men who are interested.”
“How are you at getting along with others?” Angelica asked. “Tricia has an elderly part-time employee.”
“Yeah, I know. Mrs. Harris-Everett’s hubby. She’s real fond of the old geezer.”
Tricia’s eyes widened in indignation. “We call him Mr. Everett. He deserves that kind of respect.”
“Oh sure, I could call him that. Unless he tells me to call him something else, that is.”
“Are you reliable? Will you show up for work every day?” Tricia asked.
“I’ve got a car. It’s kind of a relic, but it works. Just ask Mrs. H-E, she can tell you I never missed a day and I was on time every day, too.”
That wasn’t saying much. She’d worked for Grace for only a couple of weeks.
“I know a lot about old mysteries,” Pixie continued. “I read every one in the prison library at least three times. I can talk ’em up good for the customers, too. If you’ll give me a chance,” she added with sincerity.
Tricia glanced at Angelica, whose eyes were encouraging as she nodded like a bobblehead figurine.
Tricia didn’t like feeling cornered into making a decision, but if Linda was going to leave anyway, what was the point in fighting it? “Okay. We’ll give it a try-on a trial basis. Two weeks, and then if the situation seems to be working out, we’ll call it permanent.”
“How much are we talking per hour?” Pixie asked, then held up her left hand and rubbed her thumbs against her fingers.
“Two dollars over minimum wage.”
Pixie nodded. “I’ll take it. You won’t regret this, Ms. Miles.”
