Bookplate Special: A Booktown Mystery Part 22

Oops! Tricia hadn't considered that.

"Are we sure it's a man who made the calls? It could've been a woman. You can get those voice-altering devices at places like Radio Shack," Tricia said.

"I'll keep an open mind," Baker said, giving her a wry smile.

Tricia couldn't help but smile as well. Unlike his boss, he had listened to her. At least he hadn't ridiculed her a.s.sumption about Pammy and Stuart Paige.

The ghost of a smile touched Baker's lips. "What?"

"What, what?" Tricia repeated.

"You're smiling."

"I am? Oh, I'd better stop, then," she said, and tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. She laughed and realized she probably looked like an idiot. And heavens--what if he thought she was flirting with him?

Good grief, she realized--she was flirting with him. She covered her mouth with her hand, and this time she was able to wipe the smile from her face. She looked up and into his green eyes. Haunting eyes--like her ex-husband's. The man she'd never really gotten over.

"I apologize, Captain Baker. I was thinking about something funny, and this situation is anything but funny."

"I agree. But there's nothing to apologize for. I'm surprised you're able to keep a sense of humor after what you've been through--not just the death of your friend, but what you've gone through in the past year."

True enough.

"I've been reading mystery books since I was a little girl. I never, ever expected to know a murder victim, and now I've known three. It's terribly upsetting. Pammy and I weren't close, but we had history together. I'd like her killer to be found and brought to justice."

"Justice?" Captain Baker asked with a laugh. "That's not something I see too often in my line of work."

"But you're a man of the law."

He sighed. "Yes." He looked down at the book in his hands. "I'd better get back to the office and read this," he said, reaching for his hat.

"I made a fresh pot of coffee. You could sit in the reader nook. It would at least be quiet--for the next hour, that is."

"I've got an office with a door. It'll be quiet enough. But thank you."

Tricia nodded and walked him to the door.

"Unless I have more questions, your part in this investigation is now done. Is that clear?" he said.

"What do you mean?"

"Sheriff Adams doesn't think you'll be content to . . ." He hesitated.

"To mind my own business?"

"I didn't say that."

"But that's what you were thinking."

Baker sobered. "I don't know you very well, Ms. Miles--"

"Tricia," she insisted.

"But from what I've already seen, you might be as stubborn as a terrier. I wouldn't want you to get hurt pursuing avenues of investigation better left to the Sheriff's Department."

"I'm flattered you're concerned about my personal safety," she managed, trying not to bite her tongue.

"It's my job to protect and serve." His tone was definitely verging on condescending.

She shook her head and pursed her lips. "You had to go and ruin it, didn't you?"

He looked baffled. "Ruin what?"

"Here I thought I'd been dealing with a reasonable member of the Sheriff's Department, and you had to revert to being a jerk just like your boss."

Baker straightened in indignation. "I--what?"

Tricia pointed toward the door. "Go. Now. Before we both say something we'll regret."

Baker opened his mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and closed it. He seemed to do that a lot. His grip on the diary tightened. "Good-bye, Ms. Miles."

He stalked off to the door, yanked it open, and exited.

n.o.body told Tricia what to do. Not Angelica, not Bob Kelly, and certainly not Captain Baker of the Hillsborough County Sheriff's Department.

The problem was . . . she had no plans to defy him. There were no other avenues she could investigate on her own.

Unless . . . If Baker went directly back to his office to read the diary, she might have time to track down Stuart Paige and ask him about Pammy herself. She hadn't remembered to tell Baker about the envelope Pammy had mailed to Paige.

Tricia glanced out the store's large display window, watching as Baker got into his cruiser. There was still time to flag him down and share that piece of news.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, heading north. Should she call him, leave a message about the envelope?

She might have . . . if he hadn't gotten snarky.

Stubborn as a terrier, eh?

What was it Frannie had told her days before--that Paige was staying at the Brookview Inn, just south of the village?

Tricia glanced at her watch, and grimaced. Half an hour before Ginny or Mr. Everett showed up for work. It would take Baker almost half an hour just to get back to his office. She'd still have time to go to the inn and try to talk to Paige. Although if what Frannie had said was true, the inn's receptionist, Eleanor, wasn't likely to help her get in to see the man. Maybe she could bluff her way in.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all Tricia had.

No matter the season, the Brookview Inn always looked lovely. Since it was October, corn shocks, gourds, and pumpkins decorated the long porch that ran across the front of the white-painted colonial structure. And no smashed jack-o'-lanterns, either. Tricia didn't linger to enjoy the view, however, and jogged up the front steps and through the main entrance.

The parking lot had been full, and the noise coming from the restaurant adjacent to the reception desk told Tricia that some kind of breakfast business meeting was still in session. As usual, Eleanor was seated behind the check-in desk. Trust her to be the most dedicated employee on the face of the planet. Didn't she ever take a potty break?

Before Tricia could make a hasty exit, Eleanor called her name.

"Tricia, it's so good to see you. What's it been, three--four months?"

"Hi, Eleanor. Yes. I've had a great summer at the store. Not much time to attend Chamber meetings or even go out to dinner."

"Yes, it's been a long time since you and Russ have been in here."

Tricia cringed at the sound of his name, and Eleanor was quick to notice. "Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?" she asked.

"Russ and I have decided to . . . cool our relations.h.i.+p." That sounded a lot better than saying she'd been dumped. And surprisingly, the whole village didn't know about it yet. Well, they would now.

"I'm so sorry. You made such a nice couple."

"I'm keeping busy."

"Yes, we are, too. The inn is booked to capacity. It's a real coup for us, since there aren't a lot of accommodations in Milford--we're always packed straight through the Pumpkin Festival."

"I'm sorry I have to keep the store open and will miss it."

"Me, too, for the most part. But I'm taking off a couple of hours so I can enter the pie contest. I won third place two years ago, and I'm going for first this year. But talking about the festival isn't what you came in for. What can I do for you?"

Should she offer the truth?

Why not?

"I'm here to see Stuart Paige."

Eleanor shook her head. "I'm afraid he's tied up right now."

Frannie was right. Eleanor was good at protecting her guests from unwanted visitors.

"He's in the dining room, giving a speech to the Chamber of Commerce."

"What? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"They always meet here on the second Friday of the month. The breakfast portion of the meeting is already over. Since you're a member, I don't see why you can't go in there. Perhaps you can introduce yourself to him when he's finished speaking."

"Thank you, Eleanor. I think I will." And Tricia marched across the lobby. The French doors to the restaurant were open, and Tricia slipped into one of the empty chairs at the closest table. Paige stood at a lectern. His amplified voice sounded rather husky as it resonated through the restaurant's sound system. Tricia recognized a number of her fellow bookstore owners, as well as members of the Board of Selectmen. Sitting at the table closest to the lectern was Russ, jotting down notes on his ever-present steno pad.

Paige's tone changed ever so slightly, and Tricia realized she'd entered just as he was about to wrap up his speech.

"In conclusion, building the Robert Paige Memorial Dialysis Center here in Stoneham will bring new life to the village. New construction, new jobs, new residents, and an influx of tax revenue for Stoneham. It's a win-win situation, and I hope you'll all elect to be a part of it." He collected his notes. "Thank you for inviting me to speak here today--it's been a pleasure."

The room erupted into applause, and Bob Kelly, clad in his green Kelly Realty sports jacket, rose to lead the ovation. So that was why Paige was still in town--to drum up support for another of his pet projects.

Paige's handlers crowded around him, ushering him away from the front of the room, with Bob following in his wake. Bob would no doubt stick to Paige like glue--unless, of course, Paige's entourage interfered. They'd done so after the opening of the Food Shelf. She stood, moving to the side of the room to intercept the man. She might have to ask her questions on the fly.

The applause died down, and already other business owners were up and out of their seats, headed for the exit.

One of Paige's handlers sidled close to his boss, and whispered something in his ear. Paige listened, nodded, and then spoke to Bob, who looked disappointed.

The handler snagged Paige's jacket sleeve, and steered him toward the exit.

Adrenaline coursed through her, making Tricia feel jumpy as she waited the interminable seconds it took for Paige to navigate through the crowd.

"Mr. Paige--Mr. Paige!" she called through the din of overlapping voices. She waved, trying to draw his attention, but Paige's handler looked right through her, still guiding his employer through the thinning ranks of Chamber members.

"Mr. Paige," Tricia called again, falling into step behind her quarry. "What was in the envelope Pammy Fredericks sent you last week?"

Paige abruptly halted, his head jerking around to take her in. "What did you say?"

Tricia caught up. "The Sheriff's Department is investigating Pammy Fredericks's murder. I think they'd be very interested to know what was in the envelope she sent you."

"Envelope? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mr. Paige," the handler insisted, grabbing his employer by the elbow once more. "We're going to be late for your ten thirty meeting."

"She made copies of pages from a woman's diary. A woman who wrote about her pregnancy and intended to strong-arm the father of her baby into marrying her--that is, until the child was born with birth defects. Pammy mailed those pages to you several days before her death."

Another gray-suited flunky stepped behind Tricia, grabbed her by the elbow, and propelled her forward. "Not the time and place for this, honey," he growled. "You're outta here."

"Let me go!" The hand on her elbow tightened. At least she was going in the same direction as Paige, heading for the Brookview's front entrance.

"Mr. Paige! Mr. Paige!" she cried.

Paige was on the top step, and turned back to look at her. Shots rang out, splintering wood and shattering gla.s.s.

The flunky let go of Tricia's arm, pus.h.i.+ng her aside. He made a flying leap at his employer, knocking him forward, and the two of them tumbled down the inn's wooden steps.

"He's. .h.i.t!" came a voice.

A stream of suited businessmen and businesswomen emerged from the inn's open doorway, led by Bob Kelly, whose green jacket stuck out like a flag, while Paige's handlers dragged the wounded man to the side of the inn and out of the line of fire.

"What happened?" Bob demanded.

"Someone fired shots at Mr. Paige--my G.o.d, at me!" Tricia cried.

Instead of stopping to make sure she was all right, or even rea.s.sure her, Bob barreled down the stairs after Paige and his entourage. "Stuart! Stuart!"

"Someone call nine-one-one," a voice behind Tricia shouted.

Russ was suddenly beside her. "Tricia, what happened?"

"Is he dead? Is he dead?" another voice yelled.

Tricia's knees felt weak as she grabbed the banister to keep from stumbling down the stairs. Somehow, she took off after Bob, with Russ right behind her.

A pasty-faced Paige sat on the ground behind a linen delivery truck, his bloodied right hand clasping his left shoulder. His crisp white s.h.i.+rt was stained scarlet. Although gasping for breath, he managed to speak with his flunkies, one of who was on a cell phone. Meanwhile, Bob hovered over them all like a worried mother hen.

The cell phone flipped shut. "The sheriff and ambulance are on their way," the gray-suited man announced.