Lorna Barrett - Murder On The Half Shelf

“Isn’t Bob Kelly the head of the Chamber?”

Tricia nodded. “And has been for at least a decade. It was great that he brought in all the booksellers, but I’m afraid it was also selfishness on his part. He owns most of Main Street. It might be time for some fresh blood. I’ll bet you could give him a run for his money.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, girl. I haven’t yet joined the organization.”

“Wishful thinking,” Tricia admitted, and took another sip of her sherry. Her gaze slid to the clock on the wall. “Good grief, is that the time? My cat is probably pacing the floor waiting for me. Her dinner is already an hour late.”

“My life has been ruled by dogs-but I’m between them right now. When my life settles down again, I’m sure one will find me. In the meantime, I’ll just go to Angelica’s for a little puppy love. Isn’t Sarge adorable?”

“Yes, he is.” Tricia donned her coat once more. “Thanks for the drink-and the conversation.”

“Any time. And I’m not kidding. Once we open, we’re going to depend on the locals to keep us in business. You’re one of them.”

Tricia laughed. “I’ll do my best. Just make sure you have plenty of wine in the cellar.”

“Already stocked,” Michele admitted, and walked Tricia to the door. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“You sure will.”

The door closed on Tricia’s back, and she glanced across the street to Haven’t Got a Clue. Standing in the doorway, back to the street, stood a solitary figure. Now that Russ had given up stalking her, there was only one person she could think of who might be hanging around waiting for her…and she wasn’t eager to talk to him.

Despite thefact Tricia was pretty sure she knew who lurked around her doorstep, she wasn’t about to take chances. Taking out her keys, she held them so that three of them poked out between the fingers of her right hand. After all, there was a murderer hanging around the village, and what if her visitor was indeed that person?

She started across the street. Halfway there she called out, “Can I help you?”

The figure turned. Sure enough, it was Harry Tyler.

“Help? You tell me.”

Harry was likely the prime suspect in his wife’s death, but for some reason Tricia didn’t fear him at all. She singled out the key to her door, opened it, and let him in. An alert Miss Marple, who sat on one of the chairs in the readers’ nook, reprimanded Tricia with a sharp “ Yow! ” for being late in serving her dinner.

Tricia ignored the cat for the moment. She was more interested in what Harry had to say. “My Tuesday Night Book Club has voted to read Death Beckons .”

“Ah, new sales. Too bad I no longer get those hefty royalty checks. They’d sure come in handy right now.”

As Tricia turned to face him, Miss Marple jumped down from the chair, bounded across the room, and rubbed her head against Tricia’s black slacks, leaving a trail of gray hairs in her wake. “How would you use the money?” To run away-again?

“I hired a lawyer this afternoon. I didn’t kill Pippa-but I wouldn’t be the first husband railroaded to jail just so some DA could add a successful prosecution to his résumé. I’ve written that scenario myself.”

Tricia bypassed that topic of conversation. “Who gets the money?” she asked, folding her arms across her peach sweater set.

“For Death Beckons ?” Harry asked. Tricia nodded. “My sister. I’m sure she won’t be at all happy to learn I’ve resurfaced.”

“Do you intend to make a claim for the money?” she asked, and ignored Miss Marple, who cried piteously at her heels.

“I don’t have the wherewithal to fight her for it-and she won’t give up that gravy train without a battle. She’s the one who had me declared legally dead, after all.”

No love lost there. “Why did you leave your estate to her?”

He shrugged. “She was the only family I had.”

The silence lagged. Only Miss Marple’s hopeful purring broke the quiet.

“Would you like some coffee? I think there’s still a cup or two left in the pot,” Tricia said. No way was she going to invite him up to her loft-despite Miss Marple’s attempts to hurry her along.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Sit down in the reader’s nook. I’ll give my cat a treat and then bring it right over.”

Miss Marple knew the word treat , and also that Tricia kept a bag of them behind the beverage station. She trotted in Tricia’s wake and sat at attention until Tricia produced the snack. Tricia filled a small bowl, giving the cat more than she usually would-just in case this conversation should become prolonged.

Although it had been twenty years, Tricia remembered to doctor Harry’s coffee with creamer and two teaspoons of sugar. She handed him the Haven’t Got a Clue paper cup. He took a sip and smiled.

“Strong and sweet. Just how I like it.” The pleasure in his smile warmed her. But when she thought about it, her satisfaction turned to discomfort. After so many years, had he remembered anything she liked?

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Tricia asked, and seated herself.

Harry’s smile was lukewarm. “I hope you won’t judge me as despicable if I tell you I’m lonely.”

An overwhelming sense of momentary excitement quite suddenly turned to regret. “I think that’s to be expected after losing your wife so suddenly. How long were the two of you together?”

“Fifteen years.”

Oh yes, he’d said that earlier. No wonder he was lonely. And yet…he didn’t seem to be wearing his heart on his sleeve, either.

“I was wondering,” he continued, “if you’d like to go out with me some time? Just for dinner,” he amended. “I know you’ve got the store to take care of during the day. But it might be fun to catch up over a nice bottle of Bordeaux.”

Tricia blinked in surprise. “Your wife just died. Aren’t you worried how it would look if you were to be seen with another woman so soon after losing her?”

“We were together for a long time, but these last couple of years our relationship was pretty much platonic. In fact, it was more of a business relationship,” he corrected. “I’ve already told the police the same thing.”

Tricia’s mind was spinning. If Baker already thought she might have some kind of motive for killing Pippa, being seen in public with Harry was sure to reinforce that misconception. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Harry, but even if circumstances were different-you walked out on me once before. Why would I want to take a chance you’d do it again?”

He seemed to mull that over for a few moments. “Maybe because we have unfinished business.”

“Harry, you’re the prime suspect in Pippa’s murder. Getting involved wouldn’t be advisable-for either of us.”

His lips settled into a thin line. “You’re sweet on that cop, Chief Baker, aren’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. He’s a decent human being. More than decent,” she added, thinking of how Baker had stood by his ex-wife during her recent illness.

He nodded and sipped his coffee. “You can’t blame a man for trying.” He gave her a shy smile. “By any chance did you happen to talk to your sister about her literary agent?”

Small fingers of annoyance tapped a relentless tattoo in rhythm with her quick pulse, and whatever interest she might still have had in the man instantly evaporated. Despite their shared history, his invitation to dinner had been a sham. He just wanted her help to revive his long-dead literary career.

“Sorry. I haven’t had time,” she apologized without much feeling. “My shop keeps me pretty busy during working hours, and tonight was our book club, so I haven’t had a chance to mention it to her.” That was more polite than telling him Angelica had refused.