Lorna Barrett - Bookplate Special

“She never worked here. She only annoyed, and perhaps even alienated, a portion of my customer base by her presence.”

“I thought so. I told her I would let her know, but with T-shirts and jeans, she doesn’t dress appropriately for the image I want to convey.”

And that was another reason Tricia had objected to Pammy hanging around Haven’t Got a Clue. “Did Pammy list an address on her application?”

“Yes-yours; two twenty-one Main Street, Stoneham, New Hampshire.”

“She is no longer staying with me,” Tricia said emphatically.

“About time you finally got fed up with her.”

“That happened two weeks ago. I asked her to leave only about an hour ago.”

“You know what they say about fish and house guests: after three days they stink. I’d have asked her to leave eleven days sooner than you did.”

“But I-”

“Felt sorry for her?” Deborah asked, sarcastically.

“I always considered compassion an admirable trait,” Tricia replied.

“It is, sweetie. If you don’t let people take advantage of your goodwill.”

Tricia’s entire body tensed at the dig. Oh, yes, she’d been a real sucker. “I’ll try to remember that,” she said coolly.

“Oh, Trish, don’t get mad. Angelica feels the same way I do-as all your friends do. You do too much for everyone. You’re just too nice. Think of yourself first, for once. You deserve it.”

Talk about a backhanded compliment. At least Deborah thought Tricia was a good person. Pammy had just been upset when she’d tossed off her parting slurs. “I’d better get going,” Tricia said, and glanced at the clock as though it would give her permission to end the call.

“Talk to you later,” Deborah said, and the line went silent.

Tricia hung up the phone. She had better things to think about than Pammy Fredericks. And if Pammy used her name again as a reference… Well, she’d deal with it when and if it happened.

And it happened about half an hour later when Russ Smith walked through the door, carrying two take-out cups of the Coffee Bean’s best brew. “Good morning,” he called cheerfully, and paused in front of the sales counter. He leaned forward, brushed a kiss on Tricia’s cheek, and handed her one of the cups.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said, giving him a pleased smile.

“So are you.” He removed the cap from his cup, blowing on the coffee to cool it. “I had a visit a little while ago from-”

Tricia felt her blood pressure skyrocket and held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t tell me; Pammy Fredericks. And I’ll bet she was not only looking for a job, but listed me as her last employer, and my address as her residence.”

“You’ve developed psychic abilities,” he declared, and laughed.

“No. You’re not the first person to give me this news,” she said crossly.

Russ sipped his coffee.

“Are you likely to hire her?” Tricia asked.

“I asked her if she could type. She admitted to using only two fingers.”

“Did you let her down gently?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t.

“I didn’t need to. I’m not looking for help. In fact… things haven’t been going real well on the advertising front. I may have to let one of my girls go.”

Tricia removed the cap to her coffee and frowned. “Yes, I’ve noticed the last couple of issues have had more filler than usual.”

“Tough economic times mean tough measures.” Russ took another sip and stared into the depths of his cup, his expression dour.

Time to lighten the mood. “Why are you wandering around town during working hours?” Tricia asked.

“I’m heading out for the opening of the new food pantry. You going?”

“No. I have a business to run.”

“Stuart Paige will be there,” he said with a lilt to his voice. Was that supposed to be some kind of inducement?

“Why does everyone think I’d care? I’ve met lots of famous people, especially authors. I’m not the least bit impressed by celebrity.”

Russ held his hands up in submission. “Okay, don’t shoot the messenger.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “I’d better get going. Maybe I can get a couple of quotes for the next issue.” He leaned forward, again brushing a soft kiss on her cheek. That made twice he’d missed her lips.

He started for the door. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

“No.”

“Good. How about dinner? We could go to that nice little French bistro you like in Milford.”

Tricia shook her head; they’d been apart too much lately, and she didn’t want to share Russ with a room full of other people. “Let’s stay in. My place or yours?”

“Mine.” He recapped his coffee. “Come on over as soon as you close the store. I’ll have dinner waiting.”

“Sounds great.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” He threw a glance at Ginny across the way. She was with a customer, but her gaze kept darting in their direction.

“I’m intrigued,” Tricia said, hoping her inquisitive look would get him to give her more information.

Instead, Russ opened the shop door. “See you tomorrow, then.” And out he went.

The vintage black phone on the sales counter rang once again. Tricia picked it up. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia. How can I help you?”

“Oh, good, it’s you. I need a favor,” said the disembodied voice of Bob Kelly, head of the Stoneham Chamber of Commerce, president of Kelly Realty, and her sister Angelica’s significant other.

Tricia had learned to tolerate him for her sister’s sake, and even managed to sound cheerful when she replied, “What?”

“The Stoneham Food Shelf reopens today in their new location. The Chamber needs warm bodies to show up at the dedication.”

“I’d love to go, Bob,” she lied, “but I’m so tied up with the store.”

Her customer had gone back to perusing the bookshelves, and Ginny joined Tricia. “I can take care of things here while you’re gone. And Mr. Everett will be in here at two this afternoon. Go. Have a good time.”

“That’s great,” Bob said, since he’d obviously heard Ginny. “It’s a quarter mile north of Stoneham. That new pole-barn structure they’ve been building. Just head out Main Street, you can’t miss it. I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”

“But, Bob-!”

He hung up.

Tricia put the phone down and turned her gaze on her assistant. “Why did you say that?”

Ginny bounced on her feet, looking pleased with herself. “I thought you might like to go. Maybe Russ will take your picture and you can give the store some free publicity. Besides,” she said, delivering the coup de grace, “it’s for charity.”

Stoneham was ready for the leaf peepers-tourists who came to New Hampshire to enjoy the beauty of autumn. It seemed like every store and home was decorated with red and orange wreaths, pumpkins, and corn shocks, while big plastic spiders in imitation webs covered bushes and inflatable ghosties and goblins swayed in the gentle breeze. Kelly Realty had a stack of small pumpkins in its drive with a sign declaring FREE PUMPKIN WHEN YOU LIST WITH US.

Parking for the dedication was more difficult than Tricia had imagined. Of course, the Food Shelf’s lot was meant to hold only a dozen cars, and so both sides of the road were lined with another twenty or so. Flattened in the center of the street was the remnant of another smashed pumpkin. She shook her head. Kids!

Tricia watched traffic zooming past, waiting for a break before making her way across the road to the newly constructed building. As Bob had described, it was corrugated metal with a green metal roof. According to the sign atop the long, low building, the Food Shelf would be sharing space with the Stoneham Clothing Closet. She hadn’t heard about that, either. Maybe she didn’t get out enough.