Bookplate Special

“I told you,” Angelica said patiently, “Captain Baker tore this place apart.”

Tricia studied everything on the shelves above her. A big glass jar held white crystals. Sugar or salt?

“Why is that stuff up there in a jar-and what is it?”

“Sugar. I had ants just after I started stocking the place. I didn’t want to spray chemicals around my food prep area, so I sprinkled some borax on the shelves and put my sugar in jars. I haven’t seen an ant since.”

Tricia reached for the jar. The lid did not want to come loose.

“Give it to me,” Angelica said. Since the opening of the café, her nails had taken a beating, but her hands were bigger and stronger than Tricia’s. She wrenched off the lid and shook the container. The sugar didn’t want to budge. She grabbed a spoon from the drying rack, plunged it into the sugar, and stirred it around.

Nothing but sugar. No folded pages. No nothing.

“Rats! I was really hoping we’d found them,” Tricia said.

Angelica replaced the lid and put the jar back on the shelf. “Too easy. And I’m sure Captain Baker looked in every other container in this kitchen, too. Those pages just aren’t here.”

Tricia wasn’t about to give up.

While Angelica stirred the spinach into the egg mixture, Tricia took out the step stool and moved it to the shelving. Since Angelica seemed in an affable mood, Tricia decided to broach a potentially volatile subject. “Fra

“Pe

“Her new cat.” Tricia climbed to the stool’s top step and steadied herself by grabbing onto the shelf. It was obvious everything had been moved, for Angelica liked order, and nothing was lined up to her usual standards. Cans of vegetables, tuna, and fruit stood next to a meat slicer and a food processor-everything you’d expect to see in a small working kitchen.

“She hates to leave the poor little thing all alone at home while she’s at work all day. It could make for a neurotic cat.”

“Well, she’s not bringing it to the Cookery. I’ve made that clear. And I’m assuming she’d have to lug a carrier with her to work everyday. That wouldn’t be good for the cat. Talk about making the thing neurotic. Can’t she get it a friend to keep it company during the day?”

“Maybe,” Tricia admitted, exasperated.

“If there’s one thing the Cookery doesn’t need, it’s some kind of animal mascot,” Angelica said, and it was obvious by her tone that the subject was now closed.

Tricia wasn’t ready to quit. “Ange, what is your problem with people having pets? Just because you don’t like them-”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with pets,” Angelica said, shaking her whisk in Tricia’s direction. “They die on you. You give them all your love for years and years, and then they go and die on you, and give you a broken heart.” She finished the sentence with a sob, her eyes filled with sudden tears.

“Ange,” Tricia said, with understanding, “have you lost a pet?”

Angelica wiped at her eyes with the edge of her apron. “Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. Was it a dog or a cat?”

Angelica sniffed. “A toy poodle. His name was Pom-Pom. John, my second husband, bought him for me. When he left, all I had was my little Pom-Pom. He was the joy of my life. And then he got sick. Cancer.” Tears cascaded down Angelica’s cheeks, and her face scrunched into an ugly mask of grief.

A lump formed in Tricia’s throat. “I’m so sorry, Ange. You never told me you had a dog.”

“Well, why would I? It sounds so stupid to love a damn animal.”

“No, it doesn’t. Pets enrich our lives.”

Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. “Anyway, after Pom-Pom died, I told myself I’d never put myself through it again.”

“How many years did you have him?”

“Just three. He was such a tiny boy. I spent thousands of dollars on treatment, but it didn’t help. It nearly killed me when I had to have him…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Tricia wrapped her arms around her sister. “I’m sure he loved you. And you had three wonderful years with him.”

Angelica sniffed. “Not nearly enough.” Then suddenly she was sobbing into Tricia’s shoulder.

Tricia patted her sister’s back. “How long have you been denying yourself the love of a pet?”

Angelica hiccuped. “Fifteen years.”

“Oh, Ange, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand how you can allow yourself to love that silly little cat of yours, knowing you’re going to lose her someday.”

“It’s painful to lose a pet. Especially for people like us, who’ll never have children. But I like to think of the wonderful years Miss Marple has already given me, and I hope we’ll have many more years together. Our pets give us unconditional love. Something we can’t always count on with people,” she added, thinking of both her ex-husband, Christopher, and Russ.

“It’s been a long time since you lost Pom-Pom. And you’ve got a lot of love inside you. Wouldn’t you like to share it with someone besides just me and Bob?”

Angelica pulled back and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Maybe. But my heart would be broken when that pet died, too.”

“Yes, but if your heart breaks, at least you know it was real love that you felt.” Tears filled Tricia’s eyes, too. “I’m not saying this right. What I guess I mean is… why deny yourself any kind of love? You deserve it, Ange.”

Angelica straightened up, took a stiff breath, and swallowed hard. “You know, maybe you’re right. I was a wonderful mother to my sweet little Pom-Pom.”

“Yes. And you could do the same for some other dog or cat. There are a lot of abandoned dogs and cats who need homes.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to do this again just yet.”

Yet? Pom-Pom had been consigned to doggy heaven at least fifteen years before.

“When you are, you should really consider contacting a shelter to make your choice. I’d be glad to help you with that.”

“Well, I guess I hadn’t thought that getting a new pet would actually honor Pom-Pom’s memory,” Angelica said softly. “No other dog could ever take his place.”

“Of course not.” Tricia patted Angelica’s back one last time, and stood back. “And you know, if you gave her a chance, you might get to like Fra

“Cats aren’t as bad as I thought,” Angelica admitted. “I actually kind of liked it when you and Miss Marple stayed with me last spring. She’s really not a bad little cat at all.”

Tricia smiled. “No, she’s not.”

Angelica cleared her throat and started beating the egg mixture with renewed vigor.

Tricia let out a long breath, feeling exhausted.

She let her gaze travel around the entire kitchen. Everything looked just fine… except for maybe the clock, which was a teensy bit crooked. No doubt Captain Baker had knocked it askew during his search of the premises.

She moved the step stool across the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Angelica asked.

“The clock is crooked. It bugs me.”

“And you always say I’m the picky one.”

Tricia mounted the steps. As she grasped the clock, something slid out from behind it. “ Eureka!” In her haste to get down, she nearly fell.

“Watch out!” Angelica cautioned.

Tricia scooped up the folded papers and spread them out on the counter. They were indeed the missing pages from Pammy’s diary.

“Read, read!” Angelica encouraged.

Tricia sca

I’m so a

Tricia gasped. “Good Lord! Joe-Libby! She’s talking about the Hirts.”

“You think little Eugenia’s father killed Pammy?” Angelica asked, aghast.

Tricia’s mind whirled with the implications. “Oh, sweet heaven! Eugenia was the baby who needed gender assignment. No wonder she didn’t want anyone to know her secret. Can you imagine how the kids at school would have teased her with that piece of news?”