Lorna Barrett - Murder On The Half Shelf

Grace bristled at his description of her former assistant but said nothing.

Linda arrived with a tray filled with cups and a small plate of cookies. “Just what kind of business do you run, Grace?”

“A charitable foundation.”

That sparked Linda’s attention.

“I don’t know how I’ll manage without Pixie. I guess I’ll call Libby Hirt at the Food Shelf and Job Bank to see if she has any other candidates with office experience.”

Linda bit her lip as she passed out the cups of coffee.

Tricia said nothing. She wasn’t about to suggest that Linda apply for the job. She had experience at a nonprofit, but Grace wasn’t looking for a person of Linda’s caliber. She needed someone to answer phones and lick envelopes, which was far below Linda’s skill and qualifications.

And working retail isn’t? a small voice inside Tricia asked.

The four of them sipped their coffee, although Tricia was fairly certain none of them really tasted it. It was only when a customer entered the store that both Linda and Mr. Everett sprang from their chairs-which sent Miss Marple flying to the floor-to see if they could help that the mini pity party broke up. Grace also stood, and Tricia followed.

“I really must be going,” Grace said.

“Yes, and I have an errand to run as well,” Tricia said.

“I’ll see you soon,” Grace said, and reached for Tricia’s hand. “I am sorry about all of this. And even sorrier about Pixie. I had such high hopes for her. She was my first test case-and my first failure. I shall have to reevaluate the validity of the whole Everett Charitable Foundation.”

“Please don’t give it up because of this one incident. You’ve already made an impact for good-I’m sure this is just a temporary setback.”

Grace’s smile was faint. “I’m sure you’re right.” But she didn’t sound convinced. “Good-bye, Tricia.”

Tricia leaned forward and gave Grace a quick kiss on the cheek.

She watched as Grace said good-bye to her husband and Linda. Pixie sure had blown her chance to make amends. Which reminded Tricia of her own dilemma. In order to get back with Grant, she had to clear her name. Angelica was right. Her first step should be to talk to Clayton Ellington.

She headed for the back of the store to retrieve her coat. With both Linda and Mr. Everett to watch over Haven’t Got a Clue, she knew she could leave her store without worrying.

As the door closed behind her, she worried more about what she’d say to Ellington when she arrived at the Full Moon Nudist Camp and Resort, and wondered if she’d be terribly overdressed.

Tricia admittedto having more than a few butterflies as she turned into the drive. A FULL MOON NUDIST CAMP AND RESORT sign resplendent in hunter green and gold leaf greeted her. She drove slowly up the long driveway and parked her car outside the reception building. Somehow she expected a bigger parking lot. Instead of a sea of asphalt, there was only a small pond of tarmac surrounding the cottagelike building. Painted white with black trim, the squat building with a red tile roof could have passed for a Hollywood bungalow from the 1920s.

Tricia stepped out of the car, feeling self-conscious. What was she going to say to the receptionist? Worse, where was she going to look?

She opened the plate glass door, and a blast of hot air hit her. They probably need to keep it set high to keep warm , she thought, and approached the pony wall that separated the inner sanctum from a rather luxurious waiting room filled with tapestry-upholstered chairs. A woman holding a spreadsheet leaned over the receptionist, and they conversed in low tones for a moment before noticing her presence. Tricia hadn’t been sure what she expected when she walked into the reception area, but finding the staff fully clothed was a little startling.

The woman with the spreadsheet whispered, “We’ll finish this later,” and disappeared inside one of the offices.

“Hello, may I help you?” the receptionist politely asked Tricia. Not only did she look smart, she was everything Pixie was not when it came to presenting a positive image. A placard on the half-wall’s shelf read Sarah . Was this the woman Frannie had spoken of, the one who’d had the affair with Ellington?

“Um, you ladies are dressed. I thought this was a nudist camp,” Tricia said.

“It is only fifty-three degrees outside. Do you want us to freeze?” Sarah asked, then laughed. “I’m sorry. This office is just like any other. You have to actually go inside the resort if you want to be a part of the lifestyle.”

“Oh. Um, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Ellington.”

“His office is in this building. Do you have an appointment?” Sarah asked, and consulted her computer screen.

“No. I’m a member of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce and-”

“Your name?”

“Tricia Miles. I own Haven’t Got a Clue, the mystery bookstore in the village.”

“And do you have a clue?”

Tricia forced a smile. If she had a dollar for every time she heard that line…“Yes.”

Sarah rose from her chair. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

The woman whom Tricia had seen a few minutes before looked out of her office and eyed her, then disappeared again. What was with that? Maybe they didn’t get a lot of visitors in the late winter and anyone visiting the office was fair game for gawking.

Sarah returned to her post. “Mr. Ellington has a few minutes free before another appointment. You can go in now. Please follow me.” She led the way back to Ellington’s office, then shut the door behind her.

Sumptuous. That was the word that immediately came to mind as Tricia looked at the furnishings and paintings. No doubt about it, a nudist resort had to be a gold mine. Black leather chairs and couch, deep-pile carpet, expensive window treatments, and original artwork-nudes, of course.

Ellington hung up his phone and stood. “Ms. Miles-I wondered how soon it would be before you visited me.”

Tricia blinked. “I’m sorry.”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

And it was probably Bob Kelly who’d warned him she might pay him a visit.

Ellington gestured for her to take one of the chairs in front of his polished cherry desk. “Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about Pippa Comfort’s murder?”

“Did you do it?”

It was Ellington’s turn to blink. “That’s not very funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

He shook his head. “I had no motive to kill the lady.”

“But you had been friends many years ago.”

“That’s true.” Ellington sighed, and his gaze drifted to his left as though a melancholy memory had overtaken him.

Tricia wasn’t sure how much of his time Ellington would give her, so she figured it was time to test her budding theory. “Why did you bribe Bob Kelly for a night at the Sheer Comfort Inn?”

That shook him out of his reverie. “Who says I bribed anyone?”

“Bob, for one.” Okay, that was really fudging things, but how was she going to get people to level with her by telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

Ellington glowered. Tricia could almost read the thought balloon over his head. The slimy little bastard.

“Mr. Ellington, everyone knows”- except me apparently -“that Chamber members have to be at the meetings to win the monthly raffles. You weren’t in attendance the day the winners of the night’s stay at the inn were drawn. There’s only one way you could have won, and that was if Bob announced your name instead of the card he actually pulled. He isn’t known to be particularly generous.”