A woman approached the cash desk and set four books down by the register. Tricia rang up the sale while Ginny bagged the books. The woman handed her thirty dollars, and Tricia returned her twenty cents change, which the woman promptly dropped into the collection can.
“Thank you,” Tricia said as Ginny stifled a grin.
The woman sketched a wave good-bye and headed out the door.
“See, we’re making a difference already,” Tricia said. She looked around the store. “Did Mr. Everett leave?”
“Grace stopped by and picked him up. Something about talking to the caterer at the Brookview Inn,” Ginny said, and sighed. “While you were gone, we had a lull. By the way, it looks like the book club is off for tonight. Grace and Mr. Everett are busy; Nikki and Julia both called to say they can’t make it, either. I figured what the heck, and made an executive decision to cancel the meeting.”
“It’s just as well,” Tricia said, and sighed. “I forgot I have a date with Russ for tonight. Does everyone know?”
“Yes, I called them all. We should be good to go next week-although Grace and Mr. Everett will be on their honeymoon. We may want to postpone the meetings until they return.”
Tricia nodded.
“I also called the Board of Selectmen to see about renting the gazebo in the park for our wedding. No go.”
“Have you tried Milford?”
“They’ve got a big gazebo in the Oval, but I’m not sure they’d rent that.”
“What about that ball field next to the hospital?”
“I could try that next,” Ginny said uncertainly.
“What about your own yard? It’s pretty big. And you could rent a tent just in case it rains.”
“I hadn’t even thought of that. I’ll put it on the back burner. I mean, I haven’t even talked to Brian about any of this. He might not want to get married at home or under a tent.”
“I think an at-home wedding would be lovely.”
“I’m warming up to the idea,” Ginny said. “Oh, the music’s stopped. I’ll go change the CD.” She headed for the coffee station, which also housed the store’s stereo system.
“Anything else happen while I was gone?” Tricia asked.
Ginny flipped through the jewel boxes. “Captain Baker called. He said he’d call back some other time.”
“What did he want?”
“He didn’t say.” Ginny chose A New Journey by Celtic Woman, setting it on low volume. “It probably had something to do with Pammy’s death, though-don’t you think?”
“Undoubtedly. But I don’t know what else I can tell him. She didn’t confide in me all that much. And sometimes she’d disappear in the evenings and didn’t tell me where she’d been. If only I could find one of the local freegans, I might find out more about what Pammy was up to.”
Ginny returned to the sales counter. “What do you mean?”
“Pammy told Angelica she was a freegan. They Dumpster dive for food.”
“I know what they are,” Ginny said.
“I asked Libby Hirt about them, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Obviously there are people in the village who know about them, but I don’t know who else to ask.”
“I might be able to help,” Ginny said. Her voice had dropped.
“You know someone?”
Ginny nodded. “In fact, I know several freegans.”
“Could you introduce me to them?” Tricia asked eagerly.
“You already know them.”
Tricia blinked. She couldn’t imagine anyone she knew in Stoneham who would be reduced to digging through garbage for food. “Who?”
Ginny shrugged. “Well, for one-me.”
SEVEN
Tricia’s mouth dropped. It felt like someone had just kicked her in the stomach. It took a long moment before she could speak again. “Ginny, I can’t believe you dig through garbage for food.”
“I never intended for you to know,” Ginny said, her head lowered so she did not meet Tricia’s gaze.
“Why would you do such a thing, especially after Brian ended up in the hospital last spring with food poisoning?”
“Ah, but he wasn’t poisoned by anything we got Dumpster diving.”
That was true. Brian had eaten tainted food meant for Tricia.
“Just answer one question. Why? And don’t tell me you’re making a political statement.”
Ginny sighed. “I was a freegan back in college. I thought I didn’t have any money back then, but now it’s a matter of economic survival. Buying our house has been a lot more expensive than either of us thought it would be-that’s why we can never afford a nice wedding.”
“Are you sorry you bought the house?”
“When I pay the bills, yes. When I drive home from work at night and see the lights on in our little cottage, no, I’m not sorry. We both love the house. It just needed a lot more work than we anticipated, and we have to cut corners where we can.”
“Have you thought about using the Stoneham Food Shelf?”
Ginny shook her head. “That’s for desperate people.”
“And you don’t think digging through trash to get your food is a desperate measure?”
Ginny held her head high. “No, I don’t. Although I don’t like to advertise it,” she added sheepishly.
The shop door opened, and a man and woman entered the store.
Tricia stood straighter and forced a smile. “Hello. Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. Can I help you find anything?”
“No, just browsing,” said the woman, who gave her a return smile.
“Our authors are shelved in alphabetical order. Nonfiction titles are on the left. Please, help yourself to some coffee, and let us know if you need help or a recommendation.”
“Will do,” said the man, and he and the woman split up, each heading for a different part of the store.
Tricia turned her attention back to Ginny. “I don’t know that we should continue this conversation.”
“Agreed. At least this part of it. But you wanted to know about Pammy,” Ginny reminded her.
“Yes. What was she doing in Stoneham? Did she confide in you or any of your… freegan friends?”
“She didn’t talk to me-she didn’t like me. The feeling was mutual. But she was friendly with some of the others. One of them told me she’d mentioned she was hanging around Stoneham to meet someone.”
“Did she find this person?”
Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Who are these people? Can I talk to them?”
“ Stoneham is a small town. We don’t like to advertise who we are to just anyone. We don’t do much scavenging here in the village. We don’t want to catch the flack.”
“Where do you go to… find… what you’re looking for?”
“Sometimes Milford -but Nashua, mostly. But Brian and I have also been to Manchester and Portsmouth, too. We’ve got friends all over.”
“You said I’d know some of these people,” Tricia reminded her.
“I don’t feel comfortable telling you who-at least not without talking to them first.”
Good grief! Who could she be talking about? Fellow booksellers? Respected members of the Chamber of Commerce?
“Would you ask them if they’d mind speaking to me?”
“I’ll try,” Ginny said, “but I can’t promise that anyone will.”
Libby had mentioned the stigma attached to being a freegan. “Fair enough. But I’m not out to expose anyone. I just want to find out who killed Pammy, and why. You can understand that-right?”
“Yes. But I’m certain that none of my friends had anything to do with Pammy’s death. I’d stake my life on it.”
Tricia wasn’t sure that was a wise bet.
***
It was after five when the phone rang. Since Ginny was at the counter, she picked up the telephone. Tricia looked up from her position at the coffee station. She was proud of that phone, a relic from another age. She liked to imagine tha
t Harriet Vane used the same kind of instrument to talk to Lord Peter Wimsey. The look of distaste on Ginny’s face, however, gave Tricia pause. Ginny laid the receiver on her chest to muffle the mouthpiece. “It’s Angelica. Does she have to remind everyone she talks to that she’s”-she dropped her voice to a whine-“about to be published, and then give the daily countdown?”
Tricia flipped off the switch on the coffeemaker, removed the filter and grounds, and dumped them in the wastebasket before heading for the register and the phone. She took the receiver, which Ginny held out as if it had cooties. “Hey, Ange, what’s up?”
“I need your help,” Angelica said, her voice filled with drama. “Jake has taken off again, and I’ve got no one to help me, and-”
“Ange, I have a store to run-”
“Then can you loan me Ginny or Mr. Everett?”
“Mr. Everett has the afternoon off.”
“Again?” Angelica wailed.
“What do you need?” Tricia asked.
“I’ve got the kitchen back in shape for tomorrow’s lunch crowd, but I need help bringing my garbage over to the Cookery. Captain Baker took one of my garbage carts, and the other one is overflowing. I’ve got bags of trash I have to dump somewhere. I may even need to put some in your Dumpster. Will you help me, please?”
The last thing Tricia wanted to do was soil her pretty peach sweater set, but she couldn’t very well ask Ginny to ruin her clothes, either.
“I can give you ten minutes. No more.”
“That’s all I need. Now get over here, will you? I’ve got paperwork to finish over at the Cookery. Why I ever thought I could run two businesses at the same time…”
Tricia hung up the phone and shifted her gaze to her employee. Ginny didn’t look pleased.
“I’ve got to help Angelica with her trash problem,” she said, and forced a smile. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes.”
Ginny folded her arms across her chest, but made no comment.
Tricia headed for the door without a backward glance. Why should she feel guilty? After all, they weren’t exactly inundated with customers, and Angelica was her sister. She was short-staffed and-
Why was she making excuses-if only to herself?
She crossed the street and found Angelica had piled several black plastic trash bags outside the door to Booked for Lunch, and was already locking the door for the day.
Tricia came to a halt at the edge of the pavement. “You needed help for four bags? Couldn’t you just make a couple of trips across the street by yourself?”
Angelica turned hard eyes on her sister. “Don’t start with me. I’ve had a rough day. You should wait on eighty-seven customers while wearing heels and no one to do food prep.”
“For heaven’s sake, buy some sensible shoes.”
“I don’t have time to buy new shoes. I don’t have time to scratch my-”
Tricia held up a hand to stave off the rest of that statement. “Never mind. I’ll grab two of these bags. You get the others.”
“Be careful, they’re heavy,” Angelica warned.
Tricia grabbed the first bag and nearly staggered under its weight. “What have you got in here? Lead?”
“I told you they were heavy. It’s paper, mostly. Napkins, milk shake cups, et cetera. And food waste.”
Tricia picked up the other bag, holding it at arm’s length, her muscles straining under the load. “Let’s hurry up. I’ve got my own end-of-day chores to do at Haven’t Got a Clue.”
The sisters hefted their bags, waited for a minivan to pass, and staggered across the street.
“Do we have to walk around the block to get to your Dumpster?” Tricia asked.
“It’s too far,” Angelica said. “We’ll walk straight through the Cookery. But for heaven’s sake, don’t drop those bags. If one of them splits on my carpet-”
The cheerful bell rang overhead as Angelica opened the Cookery’s door and led the way. “Coming through,” she told a surprised Frannie, who stood at the register with a woman customer.
Tricia plastered on a smile as she nodded a hello to Frannie and the well-dressed tourist who clutched a Cookery shopping bag in one hand. “Hi,” she said, and shuffled after her sister.
Angelica had just punched in the code to disarm the security system when Tricia caught up with her. She opened the door. “If my Dumpster’s full, we can put the overflow into-” Her words ended abruptly as she gazed at the top step outside the Cookery’s back exit.
Tricia remembered the two bowls that had sat on the step earlier that day. “Let’s get this stuff into the trash before a bag splits. Remember your carpets,” she admonished.
Angelica turned, leveled an icy glare at Tricia, and then hefted her own bags of trash before trundling down the concrete steps to the metal trash receptacle. She grunted as she slam-dunked her two bags of trash into the Dumpster, then took Tricia’s from her. Tricia refrained from speaking and followed her sister back up the steps to the store. Angelica paused on the top step, retrieving the empty food bowl and tossing aside what was left in the water bowl.
The store was devoid of customers as she stalked through the aisles of books, halted at the cash desk, and slammed the bowls onto the counter. “Frannie, I’ve asked you not to encourage that cat to come around, and you’ve gone and done it again.”
Frannie managed a strangled laugh. “Done what?”
“You’re feeding that stray cat when I’ve asked you not to.”
“But it’s hungry. And the nights are getting colder. I wouldn’t want that poor kitty to be hungry, let alone cold.”
“It’s wearing a fur coat,” Angelica stated.
“It’s got bare feet,” Frannie countered.
Angelica turned to Tricia. “Are you going to help me out here?”
Tricia shook her head and shrugged. “I think it’s wonderful that Frannie wants to help this little cat.”
“Well, I don’t. I don’t want a store cat like you’ve got. Can the two of you understand that?”
“I wasn’t trying to catch her so she’d be the official Cookery mascot, although I think it would be a wonderful idea,” Frannie said. “I want to take her home-make her my pet.”
Angelica blinked. “Oh. Well. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-”
“Jumping to conclusions, eh, Angelica?” Tricia asked.
Angelica leveled a withering glare at her sister. “You stay out of this.” She turned back to Frannie. “And how are you going to catch this cat? I didn’t see a trap.”
“I’ve got to gain her trust first. I’ve already talked to Animal Control. They’re going to loan me a Havahart trap.”
“When?”
“I thought I might try to trap her in the next couple of days.”
“Well, make it sooner rather than later, will you? I don’t want it hanging around my store. It might have fleas, or some cat disease that could infect my customers.”
“Cats don’t have-” Tricia started.
Angelica whirled on her. “What about allergies? I could get sued if one of my customers has allergies, enters my store, and has a seizure or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. None of my customers has ever so much as sneezed because of Miss Marple.”
Angelica leveled a glare at her sister. “I believe I asked you to stay out of this.”
“Fine. I’m leaving. Good luck catching Penny,” Tricia said to Frannie.
“Penny?” Angelica asked.
“My cat,” Frannie said, and smiled.
Tricia shut the door. The wind had picked up as the sun sank toward the horizon. She wrapped her arms around her chest and stalked back to Haven’t Got a Clue. The leaves on the trees were ablaze with color, and already the leaf peepers were descending on the village. That was good for business but bad if she was going to be shorthanded, with Mr. Everett going on his honeymoon.
She was preoccupied with thoughts of the busy week ahead when she caught sight of a Hillsborough Sheriff’s Department
patrol car moving toward her. She paused, squinting to see who was at the wheel; it was Deputy Placer. She realized that she had hoped it would be Captain Baker.
A gust of wind made her shiver.
Now why would she want to see him? Because he’d called and hadn’t left a message? Or was it those maddening green eyes that reminded her of her ex-husband, Christopher?
And why think about him at all when she had a date with Russ in just over two hours?
The cruiser rounded the corner as she opened the door to Haven’t Got a Clue.
Don’t even think about that man, Tricia chided herself as she resumed her position behind the sales counter. But for the next hour, she kept finding herself looking out the big glass display window, on the lookout for another Sheriff’s Department cruiser.
EIGHT
Tricia showed up at Russ’s house at precisely seven thirty. He met her at the door, looking relaxed in a beige sweater with suede elbow patches. Light from the sconces that flanked the door glinted off his glasses, and his hair curled around his ears. At that moment, he reminded her of an absentminded professor. He leaned forward to give her a kiss. This time his lips actually landed on hers, and she found herself returning the kiss with enthusiasm.
“Whoa, come on in,” Russ urged, holding the door open for her, a bit overwhelmed by her greeting.
After a year of what her grandmother would’ve called “courting,” Tricia felt at home at Russ’s house. She shrugged out of her jacket and he took it from her, hanging it in the closet. As usual, there was a platter of cheese and crackers on the coffee table in his living room. She usually had to ask him to turn off his police scanner when she dropped by, but this night the scanner was silent. Instead, soft jazz played on the stereo. Perhaps things were looking up on the romance front.
As usual, a cut-glass carafe of sherry and glasses sat on the coffee table as well. Tricia took her accustomed seat on the couch, and Russ soon joined her.
“You look tired. What have you been up to all day?” Russ asked, pouring sherry for them both.
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