Lorna Barrett - Bookplate Special

It was nearly nine thirty when Tricia stood back to evaluate her work. The space needed some homey touches, but it would do for now. She had just enough time to take a quick shower before opening the store.

Tricia had finished pouring water into the coffeemaker and hit the On button when she heard a knock at the door. She answered it and found a red-eyed Ginny, who’d shown up for work a full five minutes early.

“Is something wrong?” Tricia asked.

Ginny shook her head and sniffed. “No.” Her voice was strained. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you hang up your coat, and then come back and have a cup of coffee?”

Ginny nodded and shuffled toward the back of the store. By the time she returned, Tricia had poured the coffee. She handed Ginny a cup, and they moved to sit in the readers’ nook.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Every Friday night I balance our checkbook. Last night was no different. But things just aren’t adding up. Brian works all those extra hours, and it’s not showing up in the bank.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure if I want to know the answer.”

What had Angelica said about rats?

Tricia decided to push. “What do you suspect-that he’s seeing someone on the side?”

“Until last night, I never would’ve even considered he might cheat on me. We’ve been together since high school.”

And maybe that was part of the problem.

“What do you think I should do?” Ginny asked.

Tricia chose her words carefully. The last thing she wanted was to give Ginny advice and then have it blow up in her face if Brian had a reasonable explanation for his actions. “I’ve always found the best thing to do in these situations is to talk things through.” The way she had talked things through with Russ? By leaping out of her seat and fleeing from his house? By refusing to return his telephone calls?

Oh, yes, she was one to talk. But then, she wasn’t in the dark about where their relationship stood. Russ had made it plain he was moving on.

Tricia took in Ginny’s tear-swollen eyes and decided it was time to lighten the mood. “Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Ginny sniffed. “For me?”

“The break room. It’s finished. Well, almost.”

Ginny brightened. “Do we have time for me to look at it before we open?”

“Sure.”

Tricia led the way upstairs to the storeroom. She threw open the door. “Ta-da!”

Ginny entered before her, her mouth opened in awe. “When did you have time to pull this together? It was a mess the last time I was up here.”

“This morning. I got up a little early. The fridge is plugged in, and I even tested the microwave. It does boil water.”

“This is fantastic. Thank you, Tricia. You sure know how to keep your employees happy.”

Tricia glanced at the microwave’s clock. “Oops! We should’ve opened a full minute ago. We’d better go. I hope you won’t sit in your car to eat your lunch anymore.”

“No way. Maybe I’ll bring in my old boom box. That way I can listen to music while I eat lunch or read.”

“Go for it!”

Back in the store, Tricia unlocked the shop door, turned the sign to say OPEN, and headed for the register. Not thirty seconds later, the door opened, the little bell overhead jingling as Joe Hirt stepped over the threshold. He didn’t look happy.

“Hello, Tricia.”

Tricia’s heart sank.

Joe nodded at Ginny. “Can I have a few minutes alone with your boss?”

“No, you can’t,” Tricia said. “Captain Baker told me I’m not supposed to speak to you.”

“I’ll bet he did. When was that? Right after you gave him Pammy’s diary?”

“I really should go… do something,” Ginny said nervously.

“No, please stay. Joe, you’ll have to leave. I simply can’t speak to you about any of this. I promised Captain Baker.”

“You’re finishing what your friend tried to do-break up my family,” he accused.

“I turned the diary over to the Sheriff’s Department. Anything else would’ve been obstruction of justice-a crime. And I really cannot talk about any of this with you. If you don’t leave, I’ll have to call the Sheriff’s Department and have them remove you from my store.”

His arms hung rigidly at his sides as he clenched his fists-not unlike Clint Eastwood in an old spaghetti western, about to draw and fire. “We’ll speak again,” Joe said grimly, then turned and left the shop.

Tricia let out a long sigh and leaned against the counter, feeling drained.

“What’s he so pissed off about?” Ginny asked. “And why does he think you’re trying to hurt his family?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it to anyone.”

“Not even me?” Ginny asked, hurt.

Tricia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ginny, not even you.”

Ginny sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I guess I have enough problems to worry about anyway.”

They both looked up as the shop door opened. This time it was a real customer.

Tricia spoke. “Sometimes the best thing you can do when things aren’t going well is to lose yourself in work. That’s what I’m planning to do today.”

Ginny drank the last of her coffee and tossed the cup into the wastebasket. “You know, we ought to use those china mugs I saw up on the sideboard in the break room-at least for you and me and Mr. Everett. We’re wasting a lot of paper when we drink out of these disposable cups several times every day. And it would be better for the business’s bottom line.”

Trust Ginny to be worried about the store’s welfare-if not the entire planet’s. “I never wanted to bother with washing them,” Tricia admitted.

“How about if I do it?”

“That would be great. Maybe later I’ll go upstairs and bring some down, unless you’d like to bring in one of your own from home.”

“I do have a favorite one-it’s got a little gray cat on it. It reminds me of Miss Marple.” At the sound of her name, Tricia’s cat appeared and jumped on the counter, giving a yow! for attention. Ginny petted her, but even the damp nose nuzzling her hand didn’t seem to lift her spirits.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be up here,” Tricia scolded the cat. She picked her up and set her on the floor. Miss Marple walked away with her head and her tail held high.

Ginny took a deep breath, as though steeling herself. “I guess I’ll ask if this customer needs help.”

Tricia touched her assistant’s arm, and nodded in reassurance.

With Ginny occupied, Tricia took out the disinfecting spray and wiped down the counter before she headed for the register, taking the paper cup and its tepid coffee with her. The phone rang. She forced a smile into her voice that she didn’t feel. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia. How may I help you?”

“You didn’t do as I said,” came the voice. “You didn’t give me the diary.”

That damn voice again. And he/she/it had called the shop line, not her personal line.

“How could I? Besides, I told you, Joe, I can’t talk to you. And I’ve told the Sheriff’s Department about these calls. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already tapped my line to catch you.” A lie, but the caller didn’t have to know that.

“You’ll pay for this,” said the voice.

Tricia hung up the phone. She wasn’t about to be intimidated by Joe Hirt. Instead, she picked up the receiver and dialed the Sheriff’s Department. It took five minutes on hold before Captain Baker came on the line.

“I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you again,” he said.

“Neither did I, but Joe Hirt came to my shop this morning.”

“That is a problem,” Baker agreed. “I talked to him earlier, and I told him not to contact you.”