basket full of toiletries, and handed it to Tricia. “Here, use this.”
“A shower cap? And then what am I supposed to do with Sarge’s little bundle of…joy?”
“Put him back in my purse and find a garbage pail. They’re sure to have at least one out back. Then come back up here and we’ll leave.”
“We are taking him
“I thought I’d leave him in the bathroom. He’ll be okay for an hour or so.”
Tricia shook her head. “Uh-uh. Either he comes with us, or we’re not leaving.”
“Oh, all right. But that just means we have to sneak him back in again.”
“
Angelica sighed. “Have it your way. After your little walk, we’ll meet at my car. I’ll stop and tell Pippa we’ll be back after we get a bite to eat.”
“Don’t take too long. You don’t need to put on all new makeup if we’re just going to Booked for Lunch.”
“You are such a grouch,” Angelica complained, then grabbed a sweater and slacks from her suitcase and stomped off for the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Sarge looked after her with hurt eyes and whimpered. “You’ll see your mama in just a few minutes,” Tricia promised. “Now, back into the purse you go, little man. And don’t you make a sound.”
As Angelica had said, Sarge was used to being carried in a purse. His former owner had carried him around in the same fashion, and he wasn’t the slightest bit upset to be hidden away. Maybe he looked at going into the purse as though it were some big doggy adventure. After all, he never knew where he’d end up once he was taken out again.
Tricia crept down the back stairs, looking around to make sure the coast was clear and hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone. But as she rounded the landing on the second floor, a voice called out to her. “Tricia, is that you?”
Mary Fairchild owned By Hook or By Book, the village’s craft store. Tricia was used to seeing her sitting behind a counter, dressed in one of her store’s aprons, with a knitting or crochet project before her. She so seldom saw Mary standing, let alone dressed in fashionable clothing, that for a moment she stopped in her tracks, stunned.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Mary said rather nervously. She seemed a little out of breath and her cheeks were pink. In her hands were two of the liqueur glasses that had sat on a tray in the living room not long before.
“Yes. Angelica won the night’s stay and asked me to come with her.”
Mary looked startled. “She didn’t come with Bob?”
Was that going to be everyone’s reaction?
“No. And everyone seems sad to see it’s me she invited,” she said, feeling a bit put out.
Mary laughed. “Don’t be silly. It’s just that…well, they say romance is rekindled at these little B-and-Bs. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. When you’ve been married for half your life like Luke and me, romance can be hard to come by.”
Romance was just as hard to come by when your so-called boyfriend was a cop, too, but Tricia didn’t voice that opinion.
“Isn’t this the most darling place? Have you done any exploring yet?” Mary asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“I haven’t had time. We came in through the front door and went right up to the master suite.”
“I was just downstairs in the parlor, grabbing a couple of glasses of sherry.” Mary eyed Tricia’s coat and the large handbag hanging from her shoulder. “Looks like you’re on your way out again.”
Sarge moved around in the purse, reminding Tricia of her task. She forced yet another smile. “Yes, Angelica and I haven’t had dinner. We’re going out for a quick bite, and then we’ll be back to enjoy all the inn’s amenities.”
“Then if I don’t see you again this evening, I’ll catch up with you in the morning. I can’t wait to see what kind of breakfast they serve.”
Breakfast? If Tricia didn’t get out of there, she’d never even get her dinner. “Me, either,” she said. “I’ll see you later, Mary.” And with that she wiggled her fingers in a wave and headed down the stairs once more.
Once at the bottom, Tricia gave a furtive look around. Luckily, no one was in the large spacious kitchen. From the looks of the gleaming stainless steel commercial appliances, granite countertops, and refinished hardwood floor, it had been recently remodeled. She hoped Angelica wouldn’t come down the back stairs. She’d no doubt want to explore every inch of the room, which would delay their dinner even more.
Sarge gave an anguished yip from inside the purse, reminding Tricia that the little guy needed to make a pit stop before they could head for Booked for Lunch.
Tricia crossed the kitchen on tiptoes and found the door to the backyard unlocked. With special care, she opened the door and exited the inn, quietly closing the door behind her. A lamp on the northeast corner of the house bathed the yard in a harsh white light. After three steps down, she stood on the walk laid out in concrete pavers. She looked around, saw no one, and opened the top of Angelica’s purse. Sarge’s head popped up like a jack-in-the-box, and he gave an anguished bark.
“Yes, I know you’ve got to go,” Tricia said, and removed the dog from the purse, setting him onto the grass. Tricia pressed the button to release the cord on the retractable leash. Sarge trotted over to the white picket fence, where he raised his left hind leg. Tricia sighed and looked away, grateful her cat, Miss Marple, could attend to her own lavatory needs.
Tricia glanced around the yard, noting how the branches in the tall bare trees danced in the slight wind, and waited impatiently as Sarge started his sniffathon of the Comfort’s backyard. The small patio promised many afternoons relaxing in the shade-perhaps with that sweating pitcher of lemonade she’d thought about earlier. The idea was certainly appealing. She’d spent most of her adult life living in an apartment. It would be nice to have a yard with trees and flowers…especially if someone else maintained it for her.
The lease on her mystery bookstore, Haven’t Got a Clue, was soon to run out, and if she didn’t find competent help soon to replace her former assistant, Ginny Wilson, she might as well close shop. Okay, that was an overreaction. Still, the past few months had seen a parade of men and women who just didn’t fit in at the store.
She thought again about her digs above Haven’t Got a Clue in the third-floor loft, where she’d lived for the past three years. She hadn’t given any thought to trading it in for a real home, and she’d left it too late to start looking for a house should she lose her lease. So many of the homes in Stoneham were behemoths like the Sheer Comfort Inn-much too big for one person and a small cat. And she wasn’t sure she could be happy in a tiny cottage like where her former employee currently lived.
A noise off in the darkened part of the yard startled her out of her daydream. It was Sarge, growling.
She extended her arm to reel in a couple of feet of Sarge’s leash and tugged it, to signal the dog it was time to come back to her, but Sarge wouldn’t budge.
“Sarge,” she whispered.
The dog yipped and growled again.
She tugged harder on the leash and called again, but the dog only yipped louder. They’d be found out for sure if this continued.
Tricia walked across the yard to intercept the dog, who had his nose firmly planted between two of the pickets. “Sarge!”
The dog pulled his head back, looked up at Tricia, and barked-loudly!
“Shhh!”
She hit the button on the leash, reeling all but the last four feet in, and bent down and scooped him up. “Naughty dog! You must be quiet.”
She put Sarge back into Angelica’s purse, but before she turned back toward the house, she glanced over the fence and saw a mound of what looked like clothing on the other side. Taking out her keys, she pushed the little button on the fob and a little beam of light shot out. She dragged the beam over something purple-a bulky sweater-and it came to rest on a bloodied mass of tangled blonde-gray hair.
Pippa Comfort’s hair.
