Lorna Barrett - Murder On The Half Shelf

She heard footsteps coming up the main staircase and seconds later saw Jon/Harry. He paused when he saw her standing there.

“What do you want?” Tricia asked.

“I live here.”

“Not in this suite. Did Chief Baker ask you to come up with the key?”

“No, I-” He stopped, ran his tongue over dry lips, and didn’t finish the sentence. He swallowed. “I thought you’d already be gone. I figured I should make sure the room was…inhabitable.”

“You’re still planning to open next week after what happened tonight?”

“I’ve got to make a living, if only to bury poor Pippa.”

Poor Pippa indeed. Only he didn’t sound all that sorrowful. Then again, maybe he was in shock. It hadn’t even been an hour since he’d learned of his wife’s death. Maybe he was in denial, and maybe Tricia was being too hard on him.

“I’m so sorry about Pippa. I only spoke to her for a minute or two, but…she seemed like a nice person.”

“She was. Maybe too nice.”

“Did she know about your past life-your other identity?”

Comfort hesitated. “We talked.”

As evasive an answer as Tricia had ever heard, but at least he wasn’t denying his former identity.

“Did you know I was in Stoneham?” she asked.

“Not until a couple of days ago when I saw the Chamber roster, and even then, I couldn’t be sure it was you. And why in God’s name did you have to show up here, anyway? Pippa was expecting Bob Kelly to accompany your sister.”

Footsteps on the stairs made them both turn. An annoyed Baker topped the landing. “Here you are. I’ve been chasing all over the house looking for you. Do you have the passkey?”

Comfort took a ring from his pocket and offered it to Baker.

“Which one opens this door?”

Comfort chose a key and handed it to the chief. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” He turned his attention back to Tricia. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Miles.” He turned away and headed down the stairs.

Tricia’s mouth dropped open in amazement, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. “Don’t tell me he denied being Harry Tyler when you questioned him before.”

“He did,” Baker confirmed. “And if he’s lying about not knowing anything about his wife’s death and then being Harrison Tyler, he’ll be in even more trouble.” He thrust the key into the lock and opened the door to the suite. “Let’s not talk about this any more tonight. We’ll get your luggage and get you home. I’m sure Miss Marple will be glad to have you back.”

Baker ushered Tricia in. Thankfully, Angelica hadn’t taken time to unpack. Tricia gathered up the white waitress uniform, stuffed it and the shoes into Angelica’s suitcase, and zippered it shut. Grabbing her own duffel and the pink cosmetic case, she let Baker handle the enormous suitcase.

“Did you ever order that pizza?” Baker asked as Tricia preceded him out of the room. He turned off the light and closed the door, and they started down the main staircase.

“No. And it’s probably too late now.”

“I’ve got some leftover pizza at my place,” he offered, and this time there was none of the irritation she’d heard in his tone during the previous hour. Still, after the evening she’d endured, she wasn’t up to being interrogated, and she knew he’d only want to talk about the evening’s events. He could do that tomorrow, during business hours. Right now all she wanted to do was jump into bed with a good book-not her sometime lover, full-time cop.

“No, thank you. Please, just drive me home. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

When they got to the bottom of the stairs they found no sign of Comfort. Exiting the entryway, they found that all but one of the police cruisers were gone. A young officer stood at the bottom of the porch steps. He nodded. “Chief. Ma’am.”

“Give these keys back to Mr. Comfort, will you?”

“Sure thing, Chief.”

“And stick around until the end of your shift, Rogers. Martinez will relieve you when he comes on duty.”

“Yes, sir.”

Baker took the lead, wrestling Angelica’s suitcase through the door and out into the cold night air. Tricia followed him to his car. He hadn’t bothered to arrive in his own police cruiser. Good. The last thing Tricia wanted was for any of her neighbors to see her arrive home in a cop car.

Baker stuffed the luggage in the back of his SUV and opened the door for Tricia to get in. Tricia had buckled herself in by the time he opened the driver’s-side door and got inside. He started the engine.

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

“I don’t know what to say right now. I have to be careful, Tricia. I’m the chief of police and I can’t let our relationship get in the way of my investigation.”

Tricia sighed. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in three days. It was hardly what anyone would call an overly close relationship. But then he’d explained at least a thousand times how important it was to get the department up and running, and she knew from reading police procedurals that what he said was true. But why did his work always have to encroach on their time together?

“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Baker demanded.

Tricia kept her eyes focused on the headlights’ narrow beams, which cut through the darkness. “It seems to me that you’ve said it all.”

They drove through the quiet streets of Stoneham, neither saying a word. And Tricia really didn’t want to talk. It was late, they were both tired and hungry, and the timing wasn’t right.

Baker paused on Main Street, did a U-turn, and pulled up in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. Without uttering a word, they got out of the car and Baker retrieved the luggage from the back of his SUV. “I’ll help you carry this into the store.”

“Thanks. I figured I’d dump it in the Cookery. Otherwise I’m sure Angelica will make me carry it up two flights.”

“Doesn’t she have a dumbwaiter, too?”

“Yes, but that won’t stop her from making me do it anyway.”

Baker shook his head. “I’m glad I only had a brother.” He followed her to the Cookery and waited as she separated the correct key from her ring, opened the door, punched in the security code on the pad on the wall, set the suitcase inside, then quickly reset the system and locked up again.

Baker walked her to her shop. “I know I don’t deserve it, but can I have a kiss good night?”

“I don’t just kiss anyone, you know.”

“I’ve heard that.” Her eyes widened with surprise, and he smiled. “Okay, I haven’t heard that. But it got you going there for a second, didn’t it?”

She wanted to be angry with him. Some part of her wanted to haul off and hit him.

Instead, she kissed him. And again. And then again…

Despite theiramicable parting, Tricia did not invite Chief Baker to accompany her inside her store. She really was too tired for that. Yet by the time she got upstairs, she found she was too restless to even contemplate sleep. Instead, Tricia dug through a box in the back of her closet to find an old photo album. Grabbing a glass of wine, she settled on her couch to study the pictures. After insisting on another helping of kitty snacks, Miss Marple deigned to join her.

The pictures dated from the time of her college graduation until just before she’d met Christopher. Included among those featured were three or four photos of Harrison Tyler-whom, at the time, she’d thought of as her first love. After seeing him again that evening, her emotions weren’t quite that charitable.

The first photo was taken on the night they’d met at a dusty little bookshop in Soho. A small crowd had gathered to hear Harrison-“just call me Harry, darlin’”-speak about his phenomenal first novel, Death Beckons . The others had drifted away after a while, and the storekeeper was eager to close down for the night when Harry invited her out for a coffee. Giggling girlishly, she’d accepted.