Lorna Barrett - Murder On The Half Shelf

“No I’m not,” Angelica howled, verging on tears. “The comments are horrible! Everyone’s acting like it was my fault that the TV station burned down. If that stupid boom guy hadn’t hit me in the head with his phalliclike microphone, I’d be on my way to being-”

“The next Paula Deen-yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You could be at least a little sympathetic,” Angelica wailed.

“I’m sorry, Ange, but I’ve got problems of my own. Remember how I rarely let Ginny close for me?”

“What’s that got to do with-”

“With Mr. Everett heading to the hospital yesterday, I left the keys to my store with Linda and told her to lock up at the regular time. Well, she did. And this morning she hasn’t come in and the money from the till is gone.”

“She stole from you-on her second day on the job?”

“I so want to give her the benefit of the doubt. I mean, she’s not that late, just-” She glanced at the clock. “By twenty minutes.”

“Maybe she had car trouble,” Angelica offered.

“I tried calling her at home. The number’s been disconnected.”

“Oh dear. Your day is starting just as crappy as mine,” Angelica said, sounding not quite so paranoid.

“At least one good thing has happened. Mr. Everett was discharged from the hospital and is, presumably, home.”

“Oh good.” Angelica sighed. “Thank you for mentioning that. I’m afraid I have gotten all caught up in myself this morning. I need to keep reminding myself that I have a good life, a good sister, two thriving businesses, and many fine friends.”

“Can’t you make lemonade out of lemons with the video situation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure I’ve heard you say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Call your agent and brainstorm this.”

“Oh, Trish. You’re right. I’m going to do that right now. Thanks. And you should call Grant and ask his advice about Linda.”

“I don’t want to do that just yet. I’ll give her until lunchtime and then…” I will be a complete fink and turn her in.

“It’s business, dear. You hardly know this woman.”

“But I wanted to trust her.”

“I know. Do you need some cash to get started for the day?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll send Frannie right over. And while she’s gone I’ll call my agent. Do you still want me to mention Harry Tyler to him?”

“No way.”

Angelica giggled. “Your wish is my command. Look, I’d better go. Talk to you later, and thank you for making me feel better. Ta-ta for now.”

Tricia put the phone down and stared at it, feeling foolish. Of all the candidates she’d interviewed and hired since Ginny had left, Linda had been the most promising. She’d been frank about her financial situation. Was that why the bank pouch was missing? But there couldn’t have been more than a couple of hundred dollars in the till. Was it worth going to jail for that?

That was the logic a former employee at the Happy Domestic had gone with. Only in her case she got probation-and found a friend in Grace Harris, who found her a job.

Angelica was right. She really should call the police. But she would wait at least until Linda was an hour late for work. She could at least give her that much benefit of a doubt.

The shop’s door opened and Frannie breezed into Haven’t Got a Clue, clutching a number ten envelope that jingled with change as she walked. “Hi, Tricia. Angelica said you needed some money. What happened-someone rob you?” she said, and laughed.

Tricia stared blankly at her.

The mirth vanished from Frannie’s face. “I was only kidding.” She handed over the envelope and watched as Tricia counted out the money and settled it into the register tray. She seemed to be waiting for an explanation, but Tricia didn’t feel inclined to give one.

Frannie leaned her elbows on the top of the glass display case, resting her head in her hands. “I hear Mr. Everett is out of the hospital. That was a close call, wasn’t it?”

“Too close for comfort,” Tricia agreed. “He was better when I saw him last evening. I’m hoping he’ll be back to work in a few days.”

“That’ll be nice,” Frannie agreed. She didn’t seem in a hurry to get back to work at the Cookery. “Have you heard anything new on the Pippa Comfort murder investigation?”

“No,” Tricia said, counting the pennies into the far right section of the coin tray.

“Everyone’s so tight-lipped about this murder,” Frannie complained. “Makes me wonder what’s going on.”

“What could possibly be going on?” Tricia asked.

Frannie shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe it wouldn’t be good for the village if the murderer was revealed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, say it was somebody from Nigela Ricita Associates.”

“There’s only one person in Stoneham who works for them.”

“Two,” Frannie corrected. “You’re forgetting that woman who’s going to run the Dog-Eared Page.”

“You think Michele Fowler killed Pippa Comfort?” Tricia asked in disbelief.

“I didn’t say that. I was just wondering. Of course, what if it’s that charming young man of Ginny’s?”

“That’s just as terrible a thing to suggest. And what motive would either have for killing Pippa, anyway?”

Again Frannie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they decided the inn wasn’t a good investment for their development company. Maybe they wanted to get out of the deal.”

“That’s ridiculous. Nigela Ricita Associates might be moving fast to accumulate properties here in Stoneham, but everything they’ve done has benefited the village.” Tricia realized she was defending the company-something she hadn’t done before. Maybe because Angelica was now involved, and she didn’t want gossip to taint her sister’s reputation-especially when it came from Angelica’s own employee. Of course, there was a good chance Frannie didn’t know Angelica had a share in the inn. But that knowledge was sure to become commonplace in the not-too-distant future. Still, if Angelica wanted Frannie to know about it, she could tell her herself.

“Who else is on your list of suspects?”

“I should be asking you that question,” Frannie said. “After all, it was you who found the body.”

“I haven’t given it any thought,” Tricia said.

“It’s gotta be a man, and the motive had to be jealousy. That leaves three suspects: the victim’s husband, Chauncey Porter, and Clayton Ellington. They all knew her-and more than one if not all of them-biblically, if you catch my drift.”

Tricia glanced up at the clock. “Oh, look at the time. I’m sure Angelica must need you back at the Cookery, and I have an important phone call I have to make.”

“You don’t have to chase me out. I was just about to leave,” Frannie said, not so graciously.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I’m just so preoccupied, what with being here on my own this morning.” Oops. That wasn’t a good revelation. But Frannie didn’t seem to pick up on it, and she let it drop.

“Okay. I’ll be seeing you, Tricia. Have a good day.”

“You, too.” Tricia said, and made to pick up the phone. She started to dial, but when the door closed on Frannie’s back, she put the receiver back down. She had always liked Frannie, but these past few days she found herself hard-pressed to remember why.

Eleven o’clockfinally came and went and still Tricia had not heard from Linda. It was with a heavy heart that she picked up the phone for real and dialed the direct number for the Stoneham police instead of 911. This wasn’t an emergency, after all.

“Our officers are all tied up right now”- dealing with real crime , the dispatcher’s voice seemed to hint-“but we’ll send somebody over in the next couple of hours to take a report.”