Lorna Barrett - Murder Is Binding

The cat, curled up on one of the nook's comfy chairs, opened one eye, glared at Angelica, and closed it again.

"So much for trying to make friends with you . " All business, she headed toward the stairs at the back of the shop. "Okay, I'm off."

"I've got things to do," Tricia called. "Be up in a few minutes."

Tricia locked the door and pulled the shades down on the big plate-glass window that overlooked the sidewalk on Main Street, thankful to have a few minutes to herself to decompress. Roger Livingston had made her feel better about her own legal situation, but poor Grace Harris was still alone, still trapped at St. Godelive's.

Tricia crossed to the sales counter. With Angelica gone, Miss Marple decided to be more sociable and hopped down from the chair, trotting over to jump up on the counter and then over to the shelf behind the register next to the still-nonfunctioning security camera.

Tricia planted her hands on her hips. "How many times have I asked you not to get up there?"

Miss Marple said, "Yeow!"

Tricia lifted the cat from the shelf, placing her on the floor. Not one to take direction well, Miss Marple jumped up on the sales counter and again said, "Yeow!"

"Don't even think about getting back up there," Tricia cautioned and turned back for the camera. How could one eight-pound cat continually knock a wall-mounted camera out of alignment? Tricia usually had it pointing at the register-in case someone tried to rob them-but she often thought it made more sense to train it on the back of the shop where shoplifters tended to steal the most merchandise. Now it pointed out toward the street, in the direction of the Cookery, exactly as it had on the night of Doris Gleason's murder.

Tricia peeked around the side of the shade, glancing across the street to Mike Harris's darkened storefront campaign headquarters. She hadn't pulled the shades down on the night of the murder. If Mike had killed Doris, he would've had to cross the street to enter the Cookery during the interval Tricia had left the village to pick up Angelica at the Brookview Inn and her return some thirty minutes later.

She glanced over her shoulder at the camera still mounted on the wall. Had it been in operation at the time? If so, what would she find if she studied the tape?

Footsteps pounded at the far end of the shop, and Angelica appeared at the open doorway to the loft apartment. "Are you ever coming up? I want you to give me a hand making stuffed grape leaves. My version is just divine."

"In a minute," Tricia said, annoyed.

Angelica padded across the shop in her stocking feet. "What's got you so hyped up?"

"What do you mean?"

"The look on your face. It almost says 'eureka!'"

"I'm just wondering…Miss Marple messed with my security system the night Doris was murdered. I don't think I reset the system before I left to pick you up at the inn. What if it recorded Mike Harris crossing the street from his new offices and showed him going to the Cookery?"

Angelica frowned. "It might show him crossing the street and heading north, but you couldn't prove he went next door."

"No, but it might be something my new lawyer could use to help prove me innocent should Sheriff Adams make good her threat to arrest me."

"Well, I'm all for that. I've got the chicken in on low if you want to play your tape. Do we need to take it upstairs?"

"I only have a DVD player in the loft, but we could play it back on the shop's monitor."

"Go for it."

Always interested in technology of any kind, Miss Marple moved to the edge of the counter to study the operation. Tricia hadn't touched the cassette since the morning before Doris had been murdered, and the whirr of it rewinding in the player fascinated the cat.

Tricia noticed Angelica's bare feet. "Where are your shoes?"

"They got wet. Maybe I'll bring a pair of slippers over tomorrow."

"Don't get too comfortable. You'll soon have your own house here in Stoneham."

The tape came to a halt with a clunk and Tricia was about to press the play button when someone banged sharply on the shop door. "Ignore it," Angelica advised. "The store's closed."

The banging came again, this time accompanied by a voice Tricia recognized: Mike Harris. "Open up. I know you're in there, Tricia. The lights are still on," he bellowed. Miss Marple jumped down from her perch and hightailed it across the shop and up the stairs to the apartment. Tricia bit her lip, looked back at the door.

"Don't you dare open that door," Angelica ordered. "He sounds ticked."

The banging continued. Then got much louder.

"I think he's kicking it in," Tricia said, alarmed. "What if he gets inside?"

"Call the sheriff's department," Angelica said.

"Are you kidding? They'd probably lock me up, not him!"

The wood around the door began to splinter.

"Don't you have any friends in this town you can call?" Angelica asked anxiously.

"Mr. Everett and Ginny."

Angelica grabbed the shop's phone and started dialing. "Why couldn't you have a modern phone?"

"Use your cell," Tricia implored.

"I left it upstairs. Ah, it's ringing. Come on, Bob, answer!"

The door crashed open and Mike burst into the shop, soaking wet, chest heaving, his face twisted in anger. "Where the hell do you get off accusing me of murder?" he demanded.

"Answer the phone," Angelica implored.

"Hang up!" Mike ordered.

A defiant Angelica held on to the receiver.

"I said hang up!"

"Bob, it's Angelica! Get over to Haven't Got a Clue right now. There's a madman-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Mike had charged across the carpet, yanked the phone from her hand, and pulled the cord from the wall. Both she and Tricia darted behind the sales counter, putting it between them and the crazy man before them.

"Why did you visit my mother at the home and fill her head with nonsense?"

"What are you talking about?" Tricia bluffed.

"I just got a call from Sheriff Adams. She said you'd visited Mom, accused me of trying to poison her and steal from her. That's a bold-faced lie!"

"Is it?" Tricia said. "The home changed their practices, stopped serving her the gourmet chocolate laced with who knows what that you brought her. It only took a couple of days for her mind to clear. She filed papers to keep you away from her assets. Winnie Wentworth may be dead, but you left enough evidence to nail you for selling off items from your mother's home without her permission."

His eyes had narrowed at the mention of Winnie. "You have no proof."

"An admission of guilt if I ever heard one," Angelica quipped.

"Ange, shush!" Tricia ordered.

"Come on, Trish, you were all hyped just now to see if he was on that tape."

"Ange," Tricia warned.

"What tape?" Mike demanded.

"From the security camera. It was focused out on the street the night Doris Gleason was murdered," Angelica said.

"Give it to me," Mike commanded.

"In your dreams," Angelica said with a sneer.

"Ange," Tricia said through clenched teeth. "You're going to get us killed."

"I said give it to me!" Mike lifted the heavy phone with both hands and smashed it through the top of the sales counter, sending chunks and shards of glass spraying across the carpet.

Both women jumped back and screamed.

Deirdre suddenly stood in the open door, her big red handbag dangling from her left forearm. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"Call the sheriff! Call the sheriff!" Angelica squealed.

Instead, Deirdre stepped inside the shop, pushed the door so that it was ajar-but it wouldn't shut properly with the doorjamb broken and hanging.

"I said what's going on?" Deirdre repeated.

"They've got something I want," Mike said, then turned. "Now give it to me."