Lorna Barrett - Murder On The Half Shelf

“What was her reaction?” Tricia asked, keeping her tone level and nonjudgmental.

“She was offended. She told me it would be a very long night indeed if she had to put up with the likes of me.”

But it wasn’t a long night for her. Within an hour or so, Pippa Comfort was dead.

“How did you remember her face from a magazine that was published so long ago?”

Chauncey looked up. “Magazine?”

“Yes. I understand she was a Playboy bunny and a model.”

“A bunny, yes. A model? I don’t think so. She used to wait tables at the Playboy Club in New York. I was a member. She was always nice to me. She was my favorite. I used to give her big tips, but I think she was embarrassed that I remembered her after all these years.”

That didn’t mesh with what Frannie said.

Tricia decided to push him, but how without letting him know it was Frannie who’d outed him as a collector of pornographic material?

“Umm…I understand that there was great cachet in being a member of the Playboy Club and having that coveted key.”

Chauncey smiled. “That there was. The heyday was back in the sixties when I was a brash young man from Youngstown, Ohio, living in a cold-water, fourth-floor walk-up. I had two indulgences: my yearly subscription to Playboy magazine and my membership at the Playboy Club. I could barely afford either.” He sighed wistfully. “I loved the short stories in the magazine and became a fan of some of the greats. Jean Shepherd, Roald Dahl, Shel Silverstein, and even Stephen King sold to Playboy in the golden days of the magazine. Ah, yes, those were the days.” He laughed. “My copies were well thumbed, but I think I enjoyed the editorial content as much as, if not more than, the pictures.”

Which again did not agree with Jim Roth’s-or was it Frannie’s?-spin on the story.

“Do you still have the magazines?” Tricia asked.

“A few of the rare ones encased in inert plastic. I really should try to sell them. I might even make a month’s rent if I did. That could keep Bob Kelly off my back for a couple of weeks.”

“Has he been hounding you?” Tricia asked.

“Only when I’m more than a day behind in the rent.”

Angelica entered the room with a makeshift tray made from the lid of a paper carton and containing three mugs. Sarge looked up hopefully, but when no treat was forthcoming, he settled back down again.

“Here we go,” Angelica said, and doled out a thick restaurant china mug to each of them. “Did I hear Bob Kelly’s name mentioned?” she asked, her tone neutral.

Chauncey blew on his steaming cocoa before nodding.

Angelica frowned. “Your back room is awfully cramped, Chauncey. There’s even a cot back there. One would almost think you’ve moved in.”

Again Chauncey’s face colored in embarrassment. “I had a choice. Give up my apartment or give up my store. I guess you can tell where things landed.”

“Are things really that bad?” Angelica asked.

Chauncey shrugged. “I couldn’t very well sign a new lease on my apartment if my income is going to continue to be so erratic.”

Tricia sipped her cocoa and wished she could say or do something to ease the poor man’s problems. For what it was worth, she didn’t think he was capable of killing anyone, but would the law think that way? He had deep financial problems and had had words with the dead woman not long before she was found dead. Would Grant Baker try to make something of it?

Why did he have to go incommunicado right now? And was he plotting to toss her in jail at any moment?

“You know,” Angelica said, breaking the quiet. “What you need to do is diversify your product line.”

Again Chauncey shrugged. “I sell travel books-and mostly used ones at that.”

“Couldn’t you sell things travelers need? Like plug converters, so people going to England can plug in their shavers and other electrical items. Or compact pillows and travel blankets. Maybe foreign language software. Luggage tags.”

Chauncey frowned. “All that takes money. I’m cash starved.”

“That is a problem,” Angelica agreed.

“Can you hang on until the tourists start coming back? It’s only a month or so,” Tricia added.

“That’s why I moved into the back room. If things don’t turn around, I figure I’ve got maybe three, maybe four months until I have to close down and declare bankruptcy.”

They sat there for a long time sipping their hot chocolate and not talking. It was Angelica who finally set her mug down on the counter. “Well, sorry to break up this happy meeting, but Sarge and I really need to call it a night.” At the sound of his name, the dog jumped to his feet, his tail wagging with joy.

Oh to be a dog and to be so happy , Tricia thought, her frown deepening. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” she asked Chauncey.

He nodded and smiled, apparently grateful that she cared enough to ask.

Angelica placed a hand on his shoulder. “Things will get better. I have a feeling about these things.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m not often wrong,” Angelica said with a wry smile. She straightened and took Sarge’s leash from her sister. “Come along, Tricia.”

Tricia followed obediently.

The door closed behind them with the sound of the deadbolt clicking.

As usual, the streets of Stoneham were deserted at that time of night. At first the quiet-or as Tricia had initially described it, virtual deadness-had proved disturbing after the perpetual hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Now the nighttime quiet gave Tricia a sense of peace and contentment.

Most of the time.

“He’s going to lose his business,” Tricia said idly as she, Angelica, and Sarge crossed the street.

“There ought to be low-cost loans available for the business people here in Stoneham. The Chamber of Commerce ought to be talking to the Bank of Stoneham to arrange such things.”

“That isn’t likely to happen with Bob in charge,” Tricia said. They paused in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. “Were you serious when you said you might run for president of the Chamber?” she asked again.

“Deadly serious,” Angelica said. As though to second her declaration, Sarge gave a sharp yip in agreement.

“Frannie painted Chauncey as some kind of porn fiend, but that’s not the impression I got talking to him tonight,” Tricia said.

Angelica shook her head. “Frannie’s a terrific store manager, and I love her for it, but she’s a terrible gossip. I don’t think she means to hurt people with her opinions, but she often speaks before thinking. I trust your assessment of Chauncey, and I’d like to help him stay in business if I could. I just don’t think I have the means. I’m stretched pretty thin right now, what with my investment in the inn, and the fact that I may lose most if not all of it thanks to Pippa Comfort’s death.”

Pride in her sister swelled within Tricia. She had underestimated Angelica’s capacity for generosity. Tricia reached out and patted her sister’s arm. “Maybe we’ll think of something. I just hope Bob doesn’t find out Chauncey’s living in the back room of his store. I’m sure there’s some ordinance against that.”

“Probably for good reason, but not if your choice is being homeless,” Angelica agreed. She frowned. “I suppose I should take Sarge back out in the alley.”

“Oh my goodness! Did we ever lock up before we took Chauncey back to his place?”

“Oh no!” Angelica wailed, and the women hurried over to the Cookery. Angelica fumbled with her keys and finally managed to get the front door unlocked. They ran to the back of the store. Sure enough, the back door was wide open, but it didn’t look like anyone had entered the store. Still, Sarge began sniffing the carpet that led to the stairwell that led to Angelica’s apartment, and started barking.