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SIXTEEN

Tricia left a message for Captain Baker at eight the next morning. She glanced at the clock as the phone rang ten minutes later. A public servant who arrived at work on time-more or less-and immediately returned his calls. Very refreshing.

Tricia held the phone tightly as she considered how she wanted to phrase her situation. “I’m ready to talk,” she said, expecting a scolding.

“Talk about what?” Baker asked.

“About everything I think I know about Pammy Fredericks’s death.”

“Is this new insight since we spoke yesterday, or have you been holding out on me?”

“What information would I be withholding?”

“I don’t know-perhaps the names of the local freegans. I haven’t had much luck tracking them down.”

Should she confess she’d joined the freegans on one of their Dumpster-diving expeditions? That was probably the prudent thing to do, but would it get Ginny into trouble?

She sidestepped the question. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got the diary my caller has been demanding. It was here in my store, mixed in with my regular stock. I want to turn it over to you.”

“I’ll be right over,” he said, and hung up.

“Right over” was relative, since he had to drive at least thirty miles to get there.

Tricia decided to kill time by heading down to the store. She’d had a run on best sellers and needed to restock-and that meant order forms and faxing. As usual, Miss Marple was keen to start the workday, and accompanied her down the stairs to the shop.

The phone rang at eight thirty, and Tricia picked it up. “Haven’t Got a Clue. We’re closed right now, but we’ll open at-”

“Tricia? It’s Frannie.”

“Hi, Frannie. You’re lucky you caught me in the store.”

“I already tried your home and cell numbers. You ought to turn that cell phone on once in a while, ya know.”

Tricia laughed. “Everybody tells me that. What can I do for you?”

“It’s Penny,” Frannie said, and her voice cracked.

“What’s wrong?”

“She doesn’t like me.” Frannie began to sob.

“Hey, now. How do you know she doesn’t like you?”

“She spent all of last evening hiding behind the couch. I couldn’t even coax her out with cat food, kitty treats, or even a catnip toy.”

“That’s not surprising,” Tricia said. “You’ve only had her a few hours. She doesn’t know she can trust you, yet.”

“Well, of course she knows me. I’ve been feeding her for weeks.”

“You’ve been leaving out bowls of food for weeks. She doesn’t know it was you who did it.”

Frannie sniffed. “What can I do to make her like me?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” she cried, aghast.

“Let her get used to her new home. Let her come to you on her own terms.”

“Is that what you did with Miss Marple?”

“Yes. And with every other cat I’ve had. You’ll see. She’ll warm up to you in a couple of days.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay.”

Tricia moved the phone away from her ear as Frannie blew her nose loudly.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave her alone all day,” Frannie said. “Do you think there’s any way Angelica would ever let me bring her to the store?”

“Not likely. Besides, Penny needs to get used to her new home before you even think of bringing her to the store.”

“But would you ask Angelica about it? I’m sure you could get her to change her mind.”

No one’s powers of persuasion were that good.

“I’ll ask,” Tricia agreed, “but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Oh, thank you, Tricia. You’re a peach! Talk to you later.”

Tricia replaced the receiver. It would be a cold day in hell when Angelica let Frannie bring a cat into the Cookery. Still, she’d keep her promise, and ask. It was the least she could do.

By the time Captain Baker arrived at Haven’t Got a Clue, Tricia had finished her chores and had a fresh pot of coffee waiting, and there was still plenty of time to talk before the store opened or her employees arrived.

She handed the journal to the captain.

“And you say you found it here in the store?” he asked.

Tricia nodded. “Actually, my sister found it. Pammy must have stashed it among my stock on the morning she left-the day she died,” Tricia clarified. “I read through it, and it appears to be a woman’s journal through her pregnancy. Pammy told a couple of the locals she was about to come into a lot of money, and she was very interested in talking to Stuart Paige.”

“Just who did she tell?”

Tricia shrugged. “I’m not sure I remember exactly who told me,” she fudged.

Baker studied her face for a long moment. Was he psychic? Did his cop’s intuition tell him she wasn’t being entirely truthful?

Finally, he spoke. “I haven’t had any luck finding any of the local freegans. I’ve talked with Mr. Paige, and he assures me he never spoke to Pamela Fredericks.”

“Pammy may have thought he was the father of this woman’s baby, but there’s no way to prove it. The author didn’t name names-not even her own.”

Baker flipped through the pages, reading snatches of it before thumbing through to other passages.

Tricia decided not to mention she’d copied its contents on her all-in-one printer earlier that morning. Those pages now resided in the bottom of the cedar chest in her bedroom.

Baker frowned. “I don’t suppose there are any useful fingerprints on it anymore. You say your sister handled it, too?”

“Sorry, but we did.”

“Did she read the contents?”

Tricia shook her head. “She thought it looked pretty tame. She was right-that is, until the last entry. The author gave up the child, and from the looks of it, then tried to burn the book.”

Baker continued to page through the journal, only half listening to her.

“Captain, I hope you’ll announce to the media that you’ve got the journal or diary or whatever my elusive caller wants to call it. If he knows it’s in your custody, he’ll probably leave me alone.”

He snapped the book shut. “Not if he thinks you read it.”

Oops! Tricia hadn’t considered that.

“Are we sure it’s a man who made the calls? It could’ve been a woman. You can get those voice-altering devices at places like Radio Shack,” Tricia said.

“I’ll keep an open mind,” Baker said, giving her a wry smile.

Tricia couldn’t help but smile as well. Unlike his boss, he had listened to her. At least he hadn’t ridiculed her assumption about Pammy and Stuart Paige.

The ghost of a smile touched Baker’s lips. “What?”

“What, what?” Tricia repeated.

“You’re smiling.”

“I am? Oh, I’d better stop, then,” she said, and tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. She laughed and realized she probably looked like an idiot. And heavens-what if he thought she was flirting with him?

Good grief, she realized-she was flirting with him. She covered her mouth with her hand, and this time she was able to wipe the smile from her face. She looked up and into his green eyes. Haunting eyes-like her ex-husband’s. The man she’d never really gotten over.

“I apologize, Captain Baker. I was thinking about something funny, and this situation is anything but funny.”

“I agree. But there’s nothing to apologize for. I’m surprised you’re able to keep a sense of humor after what you’ve been through-not just the death of your friend, but what you’ve gone through in the past year.”

True enough.

“I’ve been reading mystery books since I was a little girl. I never, ever expected to know a murder victim, and now I’ve known three. It’s terribly upsetting. Pammy and I weren’t close, but we had history together. I’d like her killer to be found and brought to justice.”

“Justice?” Captain Baker asked with a laugh. “That’s not something I see too often in my line of work.”

“But you’re a man of the law.”

He sighed. “Yes.” He looked down at the book in his hands. “I’d better get back to the office and read this,” he said, reaching for his hat.

“I made a fresh pot of coffee. You could sit in the reader nook. It would at least be quiet-for the next hour, that is.”

“I’ve got an office with a door. It’ll be quiet enough. But thank you.”

Tricia nodded and walked him to the door.

“Unless I have more questions, your part in this investigation is now done. Is that clear?” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Sheriff Adams doesn’t think you’ll be content to…” He hesitated.

“To mind my own business?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you were thinking.”

Baker sobered. “I don’t know you very well, Ms. Miles-”

“Tricia,” she insisted.

“But from what I’ve already seen, you might be as stubborn as a terrier. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt pursuing avenues of investigation better left to the Sheriff’s Department.”

“I’m flattered you’re concerned about my personal safety,” she managed, trying not to bite her tongue.

“It’s my job to protect and serve.” His tone was definitely verging on condescending.

She shook her head and pursed her lips. “You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?”

He looked baffled. “Ruin what?”

“Here I thought I’d been dealing with a reasonable member of the Sheriff’s Department, and you had to revert to being a jerk just like your boss.”

Baker straightened in indignation. “I-what?”

Tricia pointed toward the door. “Go. Now. Before we both say something we’ll regret.”

Baker opened his mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and closed it. He seemed to do that a lot. His grip on the diary tightened. “Good-bye, Ms. Miles.”

He stalked off to the door, yanked it open, and exited.

Nobody told Tricia what to do. Not Angelica, not Bob Kelly, and certainly not Captain Baker of the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department.

The problem was… she had no plans to defy him. There were no other avenues she could investigate on her own.

Unless… If Baker went directly back to his office to read the diary, she might have time to track down Stuart Paige and ask him about Pammy herself. She hadn’t remembered to tell Baker about the envelope Pammy had mailed to Paige.

Tricia glanced out the store’s large display window, watching as Baker got into his cruiser. There was still time to flag him down and share that piece of news.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, heading north. Should she call him, leave a message about the envelope?

She might have… if he hadn’t gotten snarky.

Stubborn as a terrier, eh?

What was it Frannie had told her days before-that Paige was staying at the Brookview Inn, just south of the village?

Tricia glanced at her watch, and grimaced. Half an hour before Ginny or Mr. Everett showed up for work. It would take Baker almost half an hour just to get back to his office. She’d still have time to go to the inn and try to talk to Paige. Although if what Frannie had said was true, the inn’s receptionist, Eleanor, wasn’t likely to help her get in to see the man. Maybe she could bluff her way in.

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all Tricia had.


No matter the season, the Brookview Inn always looked lovely. Since it was October, corn shocks, gourds, and pumpkins decorated the long porch that ran across the front of the white-painted colonial structure. And no smashed jack-o’-lanterns, either. Tricia didn’t linger to enjoy the view, however, and jogged up the front steps and through the main entrance.

The parking lot had been full, and the noise coming from the restaurant adjacent to the reception desk told Tricia that some kind of breakfast business meeting was still in session. As usual, Eleanor was seated behind the check-in desk. Trust her to be the most dedicated employee on the face of the planet. Didn’t she ever take a potty break?

Before Tricia could make a hasty exit, Eleanor called her name.

“Tricia, it’s so good to see you. What’s it been, three-four months?”

“Hi, Eleanor. Yes. I’ve had a great summer at the store. Not much time to attend Chamber meetings or even go out to dinner.”

“Yes, it’s been a long time since you and Russ have been in here.”

Tricia cringed at the sound of his name, and Eleanor was quick to notice. “Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?” she asked.

“Russ and I have decided to… cool our relationship.” That sounded a lot better than saying she’d been dumped. And surprisingly, the whole village didn’t know about it yet. Well, they would now.

“I’m so sorry. You made such a nice couple.”

“I’m keeping busy.”

“Yes, we are, too. The inn is booked to capacity. It’s a real coup for us, since there aren’t a lot of accommodations in Milford -we’re always packed straight through the Pumpkin Festival.”

“I’m sorry I have to keep the store open and will miss it.”

“Me, too, for the most part. But I’m taking off a couple of hours so I can enter the pie contest. I won third place two years ago, and I’m going for first this year. But talking about the festival isn’t what you came in for. What can I do for you?”

Should she offer the truth?

Why not?

“I’m here to see Stuart Paige.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I’m afraid he’s tied up right now.”

Frannie was right. Eleanor was good at protecting her guests from unwanted visitors.

“He’s in the dining room, giving a speech to the Chamber of Commerce.”

“What? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They always meet here on the second Friday of the month. The breakfast portion of the meeting is already over. Since you’re a member, I don’t see why you can’t go in there. Perhaps you can introduce yourself to him when he’s finished speaking.”

“Thank you, Eleanor. I think I will.” And Tricia marched across the lobby. The French doors to the restaurant were open, and Tricia slipped into one of the empty chairs at the closest table. Paige stood at a lectern. His amplified voice sounded rather husky as it resonated through the restaurant’s sound system. Tricia recognized a number of her fellow bookstore owners, as well as members of the Board of Selectmen. Sitting at the table closest to the lectern was Russ, jotting down notes on his ever-present steno pad.

Paige’s tone changed ever so slightly, and Tricia realized she’d entered just as he was about to wrap up his speech.

“In conclusion, building the Robert Paige Memorial Dialysis Center here in Stoneham will bring new life to the village. New construction, new jobs, new residents, and an influx of tax revenue for Stoneham. It’s a win-win situation, and I hope you’ll all elect to be a part of it.” He collected his notes. “Thank you for inviting me to speak here today-it’s been a pleasure.”

The room erupted into applause, and Bob Kelly, clad in his green Kelly Realty sports jacket, rose to lead the ovation. So that was why Paige was still in town-to drum up support for another of his pet projects.

Paige’s handlers crowded around him, ushering him away from the front of the room, with Bob following in his wake. Bob would no doubt stick to Paige like glue-unless, of course, Paige’s entourage interfered. They’d done so after the opening of the Food Shelf. She stood, moving to the side of the room to intercept the man. She might have to ask her questions on the fly.

The applause died down, and already other business owners were up and out of their seats, headed for the exit.

One of Paige’s handlers sidled close to his boss, and whispered something in his ear. Paige listened, nodded, and then spoke to Bob, who looked disappointed.

The handler snagged Paige’s jacket sleeve, and steered him toward the exit.

Adrenaline coursed through her, making Tricia feel jumpy as she waited the interminable seconds it took for Paige to navigate through the crowd.

“Mr. Paige-Mr. Paige!” she called through the din of overlapping voices. She waved, trying to draw his attention, but Paige’s handler looked right through her, still guiding his employer through the thinning ranks of Chamber members.

“Mr. Paige,” Tricia called again, falling into step behind her quarry. “What was in the envelope Pammy Fredericks sent you last week?”

Paige abruptly halted, his head jerking around to take her in. “What did you say?”

Tricia caught up. “The Sheriff’s Department is investigating Pammy Fredericks’s murder. I think they’d be very interested to know what was in the envelope she sent you.”

“Envelope? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. Paige,” the handler insisted, grabbing his employer by the elbow once more. “We’re going to be late for your ten thirty meeting.”

“She made copies of pages from a woman’s diary. A woman who wrote about her pregnancy and intended to strong-arm the father of her baby into marrying her-that is, until the child was born with birth defects. Pammy mailed those pages to you several days before her death.”

Another gray-suited flunky stepped behind Tricia, grabbed her by the elbow, and propelled her forward. “Not the time and place for this, honey,” he growled. “You’re outta here.”

“Let me go!” The hand on her elbow tightened. At least she was going in the same direction as Paige, heading for the Brookview’s front entrance.

“Mr. Paige! Mr. Paige!” she cried.

Paige was on the top step, and turned back to look at her. Shots rang out, splintering wood and shattering glass.

The flunky let go of Tricia’s arm, pushing her aside. He made a flying leap at his employer, knocking him forward, and the two of them tumbled down the inn’s wooden steps.

“He’s hit!” came a voice.

A stream of suited businessmen and businesswomen emerged from the inn’s open doorway, led by Bob Kelly, whose green jacket stuck out like a flag, while Paige’s handlers dragged the wounded man to the side of the inn and out of the line of fire.

“What happened?” Bob demanded.

“Someone fired shots at Mr. Paige-my God, at me!” Tricia cried.

Instead of stopping to make sure she was all right, or even reassure her, Bob barreled down the stairs after Paige and his entourage. “Stuart! Stuart!”

“Someone call nine-one-one,” a voice behind Tricia shouted.

Russ was suddenly beside her. “Tricia, what happened?”

“Is he dead? Is he dead?” another voice yelled.

Tricia’s knees felt weak as she grabbed the banister to keep from stumbling down the stairs. Somehow, she took off after Bob, with Russ right behind her.

A pasty-faced Paige sat on the ground behind a linen delivery truck, his bloodied right hand clasping his left shoulder. His crisp white shirt was stained scarlet. Although gasping for breath, he managed to speak with his flunkies, one of who was on a cell phone. Meanwhile, Bob hovered over them all like a worried mother hen.

The cell phone flipped shut. “The sheriff and ambulance are on their way,” the gray-suited man announced.

“Can I get you something? Something cold to drink? Something hot?” Bob blathered.

The flunky in brown pushed him aside. “Why don’t you take care of crowd control?”

Bob nodded like a bobblehead. “Sure, sure.”

Again he pushed past Tricia, heading back for the inn’s entrance.

Tricia surged forward, but a hand held her back. “Tricia!”

Russ! “Let go,” she growled, and pulled away. She crouched next to Paige. “Had you been threatened before this happened? Who’d want to kill you? Does it have anything to do with those pages Pammy Fredericks sent you?”

Paige opened his mouth to speak, but Tricia was yanked upright before she could hear what he said.

“Hey!”

“Stand back, ma’am. Give the man some air,” said the flunky in brown.

“I tried to stop her,” Russ said, sounding like a tattletale.

The wail of a siren cut through the cool autumn morning, and moments later the Stoneham Fire Department’s rescue unit pulled alongside the inn’s entrance. The EMTs jumped out, equipment in hand, and jogged to intercept Gray Suit.

Tricia and Russ were shunted off to one side, forced to stand with the rest of the rubberneckers. Their attention was riveted on the wounded man, but Tricia stared at the wooded area across the road from the inn. It hadn’t been developed. In addition to trees, the area was thick with brush-the perfect hiding place for someone with a rifle.

“Is that where the shots came from?” Russ asked.

She nodded. She was in no mood to look at-let alone speak to-him, and moved aside, skirting the crowd to stand on the other side of the inn’s driveway.

Once a couple of deputies had arrived, Bob managed to wrangle his way back to the mob surrounding Paige. No doubt he was already pondering the bad press that this incident would generate, and thinking about damage control.

“He’s going to be all right, right?” he badgered.

“His wounds aren’t life threatening,” an EMT told him, “but to be on the safe side, we’re going to take him to the trauma center in Nashua.”

Another Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up outside the inn, and Tricia was surprised Captain Baker wasn’t behind the wheel. Good. That would buy her more time.

She decided not to wait for the ambulance to take off, and walked purposefully for her car in the back parking lot. If she could arrive at the hospital before the captain, perhaps she could sneak in to see Paige before the sheriff’s deputy could interrogate the philanthropist.

“Tricia, wait!”

She turned and stopped. Russ. Again.

“Tricia!” he called again, and caught up with her. “What were you asking Paige? What’s with the envelope you mentioned?”

So, he had heard her. And, typically, he was more interested in the story than in her. He hadn’t been this interested on Tuesday before he’d dropped his bombshell about leaving Stoneham.

Her anger boiled over. But instead of coming up with a scathing retort, she settled on simplicity. “Leave me alone.”

He reached for her arm, but she wrenched it away. “Come on, we’ve been friends a long time.”

“A year. We were friends for a year. We’re not friends anymore.”

“Tricia!”

She pointed at the crowd still milling around the Sheriff’s Department cruisers and the ambulance. “Go get your story. You need the practice if you’re going to be a big-time crime beat reporter once again.”

Russ glared at her for what seemed like a long time, and then he turned to stalk back down the driveway.

Tricia watched him for a couple of seconds before she started for her car. As she walked, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, and punched in the preset button to dial Ginny’s cell phone. She picked up on the second ring.

“Ginny, it’s Tricia.”

“Where are you? The store was supposed to open five minutes ago!”

“I had an errand to run. I’ll be right there. By the way, didn’t you once tell me that Brian has an aunt who works at the medical center in Nashua?”

“Sure. Her name’s Elsie Temple. She works at the reception desk in the ER.”

Bingo!

“Is there any chance you could pull in a favor for me?”

“I can try,” Ginny said warily. “What do you have in mind?”


FIFTEEN | Bookplate Special | SEVENTEEN