Lorna Barrett - Murder Is Binding

"About me, apparently." Tricia said, growing impatient.

Angelica waved a hand in dismissal, put down her glass, and stirred the sauce once more. "It's just an odd coincidence. I'm sure the sheriff's department will take care of everything within a few days and someone else will be the object of everyone's curiosity." She tasted the sauce. "Mmm. Maybe it could use a little more oregano." She started opening cupboards.

"The one by the sink," Tricia said. "And just what is it everyone's saying?"

Angelica squinted at the row of jars. "I told you. That you're a jinx. Don't be surprised if the locals cross the street as you approach. Set the table, will you? The pasta is almost al dente."

Tricia dutifully gathered place mats, plates, and cutlery. "Who did you meet? How did you meet them?"

Angelica sprinkled on the herb and stirred it in. "I took a walk around your new little hometown. It's very cute. I can see why you love it here. Let's see, I spoke to most of the other booksellers, or at least their sales staff. Do you realize there isn't one shoe store in this entire town?" She slapped her forehead. "Like I need to tell you. Look at your feet."

Tricia glanced down at her thick-soled loafers. "What's wrong with my shoes?"

"Honey, between them and those sweater sets, you are in dire need of a fashion intervention. I have not arrived a minute too soon."

"I have to stand for ten hours a day. I need comfortable shoes."

"If you say so. I also noticed that besides the Brookville Inn, there isn't one decent restaurant in Stoneham."

"We've got the Bookshelf Diner."

"As I said, there isn't one decent restaurant," Angelica deadpanned. "Where do regular people go for food that isn't dripping in grease?"

"I eat in a lot."

"Good thing, too. It's a lot healthier." She stirred the pasta. "Now, do you want to hear the results of Doris Gleason's autopsy, or are you squeamish?"

"Give me a break, Ange. I've been reading mysteries and thrillers since I was in grade school."

Angelica snagged her glass and drank. "As expected, the knife wound was fatal-sliced up something terribly vital. She died almost instantaneously, that's why there wasn't much blood."

Hardly a gory account. "Tell me something I didn't know."

Angelica sobered. "The poor woman had pancreatic cancer, which she either didn't know about or had chosen not to have treated. Without immediate treatment, it's likely she would've died within months."

Doris couldn't have known, otherwise she wouldn't have been worried about renegotiating her lease. "That poor soul."

Angelica frowned. "I suppose that depends on your point of view. A quick death with little fear or pain, or lingering in agony: I'll take the former any day."

Tricia reached for linen napkins from a drawer. "How did you find out about Doris's autopsy?"

Angelica went back to work on the salad as she spoke. "Didn't I tell you? Bess, the Brookview Inn's receptionist, has a cousin who works for the county health department, who has a direct pipeline to the medical examiner's office. Isn't it amazing how already I've met the most eclectic assortment of people here in Stoneham? Not many of them seem to know you."

"That's because nearly all my customers are from out of town."

"And I'm sure the fact that-except for today, apparently-you rarely leave the store also has a lot to do with it." She paused in slicing a tomato and looked over at her sister. "I'm worried about you, Trish. You need to have a life outside your bookstore."

"I'm doing just fine."

"Have you made any friends?" Angelica asked, abandoning her knife to add spices to a little bowl of olive oil.

"Of course I have," she said, thinking of her conversation earlier in the day with Deborah.

"All booksellers, no doubt. They probably work themselves to death, too, with no real social outlets. Then again, you were right; aside from reading, there isn't much else to do in this burg."

"It's the main draw. How I and all the other booksellers make our living. And in a world with so many other distractions, it's getting harder and harder to find new readers."

Angelica shook her head sadly. "How typical you'd choose a dying trade."

Tricia ignored the jab. "Have you spoken to any of the locals about Bob Kelly?"

"Of course. He's a fascinating man and I want to know all about him. Although I've noticed people either seem to love him or hate him."

"And you're choosing to love him?" Tricia asked.

"Don't be silly. I only met the man last night. But it seems something's going on in town."

"Oh?" Tricia thought back to Frannie, who hadn't wanted to let on what she thought about Bob's meeting the night before.

"There's talk of a big box store wanting to open up right on the edge of town."

"And just who's saying this?"

"People." She didn't elaborate. "It's a hot topic, and I wouldn't want to get in between someone who's for and another who's against the idea. You could lose your life. Some of the locals don't like all these tourists in town and don't want to encourage any more change. If a big store came in, they might have to actually add a traffic light on Main Street." She rolled her eyes.

"Is Bob negotiating for the village?"

Angelica checked the wine level in her glass, then topped it up. "He's apparently exploring the idea, although I don't know if he's doing it for himself or the Board of Selectmen."

"Who told you all this?"

Angelica's smile was sly. "I told you, I'm sworn to secrecy."

Tricia frowned, growing grumpier by the moment. "That pasta will be gummy if you don't serve it soon."

"Oh, right." Angelica switched off the burner and drained the penne. She placed the salad bowl, sliced bread, and dipping sauce on the table and within another minute had heaped their plates with pasta, ladling the sauce on thick. Tricia had to admit it smelled divine. Angelica took her seat across from Tricia, sighed, and smiled. "Isn't it great to be back in each other's lives again?"

Tricia's fork stopped inches from her mouth, cold dread encircling her heart. "How long were you planning on visiting?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you? I've decided to move to New Hampshire."

Tricia nearly choked on her wine. "You what?"

Angelica picked up her napkin, smoothed out the folds, and placed it on her lap. "I don't like the idea of you living up here all on your own. Murders happening right next to your place of business." She shook her head. "Mother and Daddy would be heartsick if they thought I'd abandon you in such a violent community. I feel it's my duty to stay here with you at least throughout the crisis."

Tricia sat back in her chair. "There is no crisis. This is the first murder in Stoneham in over sixty years. It's not likely to happen again."

"What about that poor woman who crashed her car?"

"You heard about that, too?"

"I told you, people here like to talk."

"Well, there's no proof she was murdered. I'll bet she didn't maintain that old rust bucket she drove."

Angelica picked up her fork, speared a chunk of tomato. "Surely that's what yearly car inspections prevent."

"Let's get back on topic, which is you moving to Stoneham. There's nothing for you to do here. There's no shopping, no art galleries, no museums, no gourmet restaurants-and as you pointed out, no shoe stores."

Angelica toyed with a piece of pasta. "Perhaps it's my destiny to bring culture and a sense of style to this little backwater."

"Stoneham is my home. Don't call it a backwater. It has history and charm and it doesn't need outsiders coming in with an agenda to change it."

"Au contraire. You yourself are an outsider. Bob Kelly told me the majority of booksellers were all recruited from out of state to come here. And you just said yourself that most of your customers are out of towners."