Book Clubbed

“I hope you don’t think of me as the resident gossip.”

“Not at all. We all know Fra

“And you want me to share what I’ve heard?” she asked.

“If you think it might help my investigation, yes. Have you heard anything of interest?”

“I’m not sure I know anything you don’t already know. Are you willing to compare notes? Have you got any suspects?” she asked.

“I’ve spoken to your friend Charlie, the mailman.”

“Charlie? How can you even suspect him? He’s a sweet old man.”

“You, Angelica, and Fra

“What do you mean? He delivers to all the stores. He walks into every store and hands the shop owner his or her mail. Somebody has to have seen him Saturday morning.”

“The shopkeepers know they got their mail that day, but none of them can seem to remember the exact time he delivered it.”

“What possible motive does he have for murdering Betsy?”

“We don’t know. We’re still investigating.”

Tricia couldn’t imagine Charlie hurting a fly—let alone dumping a heavy bookcase on anyone. And ru

“Do you have any other suspects?” Tricia asked.

“We’re continuing to investigate,” Baker reiterated, which meant he wasn’t going to share whatever else he knew—despite his hint just minutes before. “There is another reason I stopped by. I wanted to let you know that I’ve heard from the state crime lab with their analysis of the fingerprint evidence from the break-in at Stan Berry’s home last fall.”

Tricia had to think about what he’d said before she remembered the incident. Three months before, Stan Berry had been murdered at the Brookview I

“And?” Tricia asked.

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but the fingerprints match a set already on file with the state: Bob Kelly.”

“Bob?” Tricia repeated, aghast.

Baker nodded.

“Are you going to arrest him?”

“If I can track him down—yes. If you see him, would you please call me?”

Tricia scrutinized Baker’s face. “Why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t this be confidential until after the deed is done?”

“I felt I owed it to you. You were involved in the case, and you helped bring Berry’s killer to justice.”

And he wanted very desperately to get back in her good graces.

“What else?” she asked, knowing there had to be more to it.

“The man seems to have gone to ground. I went to his office on Thursday. He saw me coming and slipped out the back, as though he knew why I had come to see him. Since then, neither I nor my officers have been able to pin him down. Not at his house or his place of business. His business, home, and cell phone numbers all go to voice mail.”

Tricia digested all that he’d said. “It won’t work, you know.”

“What won’t work?” Baker asked, sounding puzzled.

“Telling me about Bob. And all the other silly excuses you make to see me. Grant, we’re not getting back together again.”

“I know that. But I consider us friends. Can’t a man talk to his friend? Can’t he elicit her help to track down a criminal? Can’t he invite her to lunch once in a while just to talk? And maybe to di

Tricia frowned; it sounded like he and Christopher were quoting the same script. “As long as that’s all there is to it.”

“Are you free for di

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“Is it true, or are you just saying that to blow me off?”

“I’m telling you I am not free for di

“Will you be free tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would you be free if Christopher asked you?” he asked, sounding like a willful child.

“We’re not talking about Christopher.”

“Have you been talking to him?”

“This is begi

“I’d just like some company when I eat. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Have you considered adopting a pet?”

It was Baker’s turn to frown. “Very fu

“I’m not trying to be.”

“I’m sorry I brought up the whole subject,” Baker said diffidently.

Tricia sighed. “Grant, have you noticed that every time we talk lately it ends up feeling like an argument?”

“I don’t mean for that to happen,” he said, defending himself.

“And neither do I. I just wish . . .” She let the sentence hang for a long moment. “I just wish things had turned out differently. It seems like we co

“You mean we never quite co

“Exactly.”

“Are you absolutely sure there can never be a future for us?”

Tricia felt a smile creep onto her lips. “I never say never.”

“But?” Baker asked.

“Your job doesn’t make it easy.”

“Nor does your propensity to find trouble. Trouble in the form of murder.”

“My life revolves around solving puzzles—be it in a mystery book or in life.” She shrugged. “And I’m begi

“Is that why they call you the village jinx?”

Tricia sighed once more. “I guess so.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe it. Not for a minute.”

“Thank you.”

The shop door opened once again, this time admitting Pixie. “Good morning!” she called, sounding insanely cheerful.

“Hi,” Tricia called back.

Baker pursed his lips. “I’d best get back to work. I’m sure we’ll speak again in the coming days.”

“No doubt,” Tricia said.

Baker touched the brim of his hat in good-bye and left the store.

Pixie returned from hanging up her coat. “What did he want? To take you out to di

“Yes.”

“And you said no.”

“Yes.”

Pixie shook her head. “It’s been so long since either one of us has been with a man, I’ll bet we’ve both forgotten how to do it.”

“Do what?” Tricia said, knowing full well what Pixie was getting at.

“The deed. Getting our bones jumped. Having red-hot, sweaty, wonderful sex.”

Tricia sighed. She wasn’t about to talk about her sex life with someone who had performed the act for a living. “Why don’t you shelve those bargain books you priced last night?” Tricia suggested.

Pixie’s smile was wide. “I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about sex. I mean, it’s as natural as . . . well, getting laid.”

“Pixie, conversations such as that are not conducive to maintaining a good employer-employee relationship.”

Pixie frowned. “Gee, I thought we’d gone beyond all that. I thought by now we might actually be friends.”

Again Tricia sighed. “We are, but—”

Pixie held up a hand to stave off the explanation, but Tricia could tell by her expression that Pixie’s feelings had definitely been hurt. “Never mind.” She turned, picked up an armful of books, turning her back on Tricia, and headed for the bargain shelf, leaving Tricia to feel like some kind of repressed prude.

Three of the four conversations she’d had that morning had ended on rather unhappy notes, and Tricia wondered if that was an omen of things to come.

SEVEN

Mr. Everett arrived for work at precisely two o’clock, just as Tricia grabbed her coat and headed across the street for Booked for Lunch. The place was deserted, and Bev, the waitress, had already gone home. That left just Angelica and her short-order cook to clean up the café and make it ready for the next day’s customers.