Bookplate Special: A Booktown Mystery Part 12

Not yet, at any rate.

Baker looked skeptically at her before turning back to Angelica. "Let me a.s.sure you that we're investigating every lead we have."

"And how many leads is that?" Tricia asked.

"I'm not at liberty to say. But the ME did find cat hair on the clothes of the deceased."

"Well, there would be. I have a cat. Pammy stayed in my house for two weeks."

"We may want to take hair samples--just in case," Baker added.

"Feel free," Tricia said, disgusted. Then something occurred to her. "Have you informed Pammy's family of her . . . demise?"

Baker nodded solemnly.

"Has anyone stepped forward to claim her body? Have they decided on when to bury her?"

Baker pursed his lips. "They declined to take possession of the body."

"They what?" Angelica said with a gasp.

"I have no further information," Baker said.

Tricia and Angelica exchanged dismayed looks. How could any family fail to step forward and claim their dead? "Did they offer any explanation?" Angelica asked.

Baker shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"What will happen to her?" Tricia asked.

"The body will remain in the county's custody for a limited amount of time, and then they will . . ." He paused, as though considering his words. "They'll dispose of it."

"You mean bury her in an unmarked grave?" Tricia asked.

Baker nodded. "It's not like they trash the indigent. It's done with dignity--just not a lot of flash. The state contributes some funds, but often local funeral parlors donate their services. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I have work to do." He tipped his hat to them and exited the cafe.

They watched as he returned to his cruiser and took off, heading north.

Angelica was the first to speak. "I can't imagine what Pammy could have done that her family would abandon her . . . even in death."

"She did say something about hating them--and that the feeling was mutual. But I thought she had to be exaggerating." Tricia tried to swallow her distress. Okay, Pammy was never what she would've called a good or close friend, but to be abandoned so profoundly . . . Suddenly, Tricia had a better appreciation for her relations.h.i.+p with Angelica, despite their often silly differences.

She took a breath to regain her control. "Why was Captain Baker here so early?"

"Goodness knows. He probably doesn't have any leads but wants to look busy."

Angelica headed into her kitchen food prep station, where an array of vegetables was spread across the counter. She picked up a knife and began to slice a beefsteak tomato. "I've got to hire some help before I go crazy."

"You didn't answer my question. What did he want?"

"I think he came here just to annoy me."

"How?" Tricia demanded, frustrated with Angelica's lack of response.

"By asking the same questions he asked the other day. He's wasting his time and mine."

"It's a cop thing. They try to catch you changing your story."

"What story? I told him the truth. I don't have any hidden agenda, and neither do you."

"Did he ask about me?" Tricia asked.

Angelica nodded, set the tomato slices aside, and started shredding a head of iceberg lettuce. "He still can't figure out why you kept Pammy for two weeks."

"Well, he's got company there, because neither can I." Tricia chewed her lip for a moment. "I've got more news. Ginny is a freegan."

Angelica dropped the lettuce. "You're kidding."

"No. She told me yesterday. I've been thinking I should give her a raise. Then maybe she won't have to dig through garbage for her food."

"Don't you go and feel guilty about this," Angelica said, waving a lettuce leaf in Tricia's direction. "We pay our employees far better than any other booksellers in town. And we give them health care coverage, too."

"And more than one of the booksellers resents us for it," Tricia agreed.

"What Ginny's doing isn't illegal, and we're not responsible if people steal our refuse and then eat it." Angelica shuddered at the thought, set the lettuce aside, and started chopping a pepper. "Grab a knife, will you? I need to get those onions sliced for sandwiches."

"Sorry, I haven't got time. I've got an errand to run before I open the store." Tricia glanced at her watch. "If I get going now, I may just make it."

"What about me? I'm shorthanded."

"Call the employment agency."

"I have--every hour on the hour. n.o.body wants minimum wage jobs--or those who are willing have been rounded up by Immigration. How's a small business supposed to survive these days?"

Tricia had no answers, and bid her sister adieu.

Ten minutes later, she stood outside the Stoneham Library's white-painted doors, admiring the untouched pumpkins that decorated the entrance. They weren't carved, of course, which was probably why they'd escaped being ruined by the neighborhood hooligans.

The library's door was unlocked at precisely nine. "Tricia!" Lois Kerr, Stoneham's longtime head (and only full-time) librarian, greeted Tricia like an old friend. "It's good to see you. What are you doing here so early?"

"Hi, Lois. I'm dropping off some books for the Friends of the Library's upcoming sale, and I wanted to do it before I opened my store."

"That's very nice of you. The revenue from that sale is a wonderful shot in the arm for us. It seems the library is one of the first line items to go when the Board of Selectmen need to trim the village budget."

"I'm glad to help."

Lois ushered Tricia inside and showed her where to stow the books in the library's small community room. It looked like other citizens of Stoneham had been as generous, for the room was very nearly stuffed to the ceiling along the back wall.

"Thank you so much," Lois said, then lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "I'm so sorry you've had to endure more unpleasantness."

Tricia nodded, but couldn't think of how to reply. At least, with Pammy being a n.o.body, the press hadn't descended upon Stoneham, as they had when the author Zoe Carter had died in Haven't Got a Clue's washroom.

"I understand the woman you found behind your sister's restaurant was a friend of yours."

"We were college roommates."

Lois tsked. "You must have been devastated."

"It was very upsetting," Tricia admitted.

Lois shook her head in sympathy. "And to think, she was in here only last week, making copies."

Tricia blinked. "She what?"

"Yes. As it happened, I was the one who helped her. Margaret was helping another patron check out books when your friend came in to use the copier. It jammed, and I had to clear the machine for her."

"Did you see what she was copying?"

"Some kind of journal."

"A diary?" Tricia asked eagerly.

Lois nodded. "Yes, perhaps it was."

"What did it look like? How many pages did she copy?"

"It had a red cover. I'm not certain how many copies she made. Maybe four or five pages. Is it important?"

"Possibly. Did she say anything else?"

"She asked me for directions to the post office."

Tricia stared at Lois for long seconds, her mind racing. "I have to go," she said, and turned.

"To the post office?"

Tricia looked back to see a grin breaking across Lois's face. "You could've been a detective."

"I don't think so," Lois said. "But maybe one day I might write a book about one."

Tricia smiled. "See you later, Lois."

The Stoneham branch of the U.S. Postal Service was located in a neat brick structure on the south end of town, its windows outlined in crisp white paint. A row of four small, cheerful-looking uncarved pumpkins sat outside the door. The Stars and Stripes flapped in the stiff breeze above her as Tricia entered the squat building.

Forty-something Ted Missile seldom wore his official Postal Service uniform. He often came to work in a polo s.h.i.+rt or a Patriots' sweats.h.i.+rt. On the other hand, his boss, Postmaster Barbara Yarrows, could be counted on to be dressed in full regalia, from her regulation blue blouse down to her official uniform slacks or skirt. She was definitely old-school civil service, whereas Ted had taken the job after being laid off from a tool-and-die shop in Milford. Ted knew everybody in the village and greeted them by name. Barbara didn't. Tricia was glad it was Ted who stood behind the counter, and hoped he would be able to tell her what she needed to know.

Luckily, only one other person was inside the building. Tricia nodded a h.e.l.lo as the woman checked her mailbox, withdrew the contents, locked it again, and headed for the door.

"What can I do for you today, Tricia?" Ted asked. "Do you need a book of stamps? We've got a new 'dead entertainer' stamp out this week."

"Sure, I'll take a book. But I'll have one of those pretty flowered ones, instead."

"Coming right up," he said, and shuffled through the drawer, pulling out the correct one.

Tricia withdrew a ten-dollar bill from her wallet, which he accepted and made change.

"You want that in an envelope?"

"No, I'll just put it in my purse."

"Everything okay with you and your sister?" Ted asked, leaning across the counter and speaking low.

"Okay?" Tricia repeated, playing dumb.

"I mean, about that poor woman being found behind Angelica's new cafe the other day. You found her, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said, and sighed. It was expected that everybody in Stoneham knew her business and would ask about it--but sometimes it just got old. "Poor Pammy. I can't believe anyone would want to hurt her." Except maybe the person she was blackmailing, if that's what she was doing.

"She came in here the other day, you know," Ted said, bouncing on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet.

"No, I didn't," Tricia lied.

Ted nodded. "Had a great big envelope filled with papers. Two ounces' worth."

"Ted," Barbara warned from the back of the post office.

"You wouldn't happen to know who the envelope was addressed to, would you?"

Ted looked over his shoulder. Barbara was pointedly staring at him. Ted turned back to face Tricia and shook his head, but mouthed the words "Stuart Paige."

"The millionaire philanthropist?" Tricia whispered, in mock awe.

Ted nodded and whispered back, "It went priority rate. She even paid extra for delivery confirmation."

"Ted," Barbara warned.

"I understand Pammy got mail here, addressed to General Delivery," Tricia said.

"A few letters. There might be one here now," he said, and bent to paw through a stack of envelopes under the counter. "Yeah, here it is."

Tricia's breath caught in her throat, and she resisted the urge to s.n.a.t.c.h the letter from his hand. "I don't suppose you could give it to me? I was, after all, her best friend."

Ted shook his head. "No can do. It would be illegal."

"It might be something Captain Baker of the Sheriff's Department might want to see. He's in charge of the investigation."

"Oh, yeah, I hadn't thought of that."

"Maybe you should give him a call," Tricia hinted.