"Howdy!" came a female voice with a thick Texas twang. "How can I help you?"
Tricia stepped up to a counter, where a thin woman with close-cropped, gray-streaked brown hair, with a face wrinkled by years of smiles, and wearing a baggy crimson-and-white Hawaiian shirt awaited. "I was hoping to find Bob Kelly here. His real estate office is closed and I thought-"
"I don't usually see much of Bob during the workday. He tends to catch up on chamber business on evenings and weekends. Today's an exception. He's been doing damage control; interviews with the media and such. We've got ourselves a little PR crisis here in Stoneham after last night's events."
So now Doris's death was an event?
"Is there something I can help you with?" the woman asked again and went back to chomping on her gum cud.
"My name is Tricia Miles, and-"
"I know you! You're the lady runs that mystery store. Let's see, joined in late March this year. Haven't made one of our luncheons at the Brookview Inn, yet, have you? Best grub in town, that's for sure."
"Uh, no," Tricia said, wondering if this woman was for real or putting on an act.
The woman extended a calloused hand. "Hi. Frannie Mae Armstrong, but folks just call me Frannie. Named after my grandma on Daddy's side."
Tricia blinked, but took her hand. "How nice."
Frannie's handshake was as strong as any man's though not crushing. "How's the book business? Doin' real well, are ya? I read romances myself. Love that Nora Roberts-but not those J. D. Robb ones she writes." Frannie leaned closer, lowered her voice confidentially. "They're set in the future, ya know, and that's just plain weird."
"Can't say as I've ever read any of her work."
"You're missing out on some real entertainment. Since that Have a Heart romance bookstore opened, my TV watching has dropped by half."
"You'd seem to be one of the few locals who patronize us."
Frannie nodded sagely. "Oh, there's a few of us out there. Maybe you should try starting a reader group-maybe team up with the library on that. They supply the warm bodies, you supply the books."
"That's a good idea. Thanks."
"But you're right about one thing: there does seem to be an us-verses-them sort of rivalry going on among the merchants. There's also no doubt that bringing in the booksellers has revitalized Stoneham. Some of the old-timers-that's what I call those businessmen who were around before the booksellers came-resent you newcomers. What for?" she asked, her hands flying into the air. "They didn't want to be located on Main Street anyway-it was falling apart. Most of 'em moved to the edge of town to be near the highway. And the bookstores bring in lots of money. Saved 'em all from bankruptcy if you ask me." She shook her head.
"Have you lived in Stoneham long?" Tricia asked, genuinely interested.
"Must be going on twenty years, now." She laughed and the windows rattled. "It's my accent, huh? I am a long way from home," she admitted, "but I've come to love the changing seasons. That is until I retire, then I'll be off to Hawaii. They call it paradise, ya know." She straightened, her face losing some of its animation, all business now. "Now just what was it you wanted to ask of old Bob?"
Tricia had almost forgotten why she'd stopped in. "I had some questions concerning Doris Gleason's murder."
Frannie shook her head, her left hand rising to clasp the side of her face. "Lord, isn't that just awful. And I heard you found her, you poor little thing."
"Yes, I did. Did you know Doris?"
"No. She wasn't a chamber member. I called her several times to ask if she wanted to join, but she was just the most ornery woman I ever did speak to. Told me to stop bothering her or she'd report me to the state's attorney general as a telemarketer."
"But being a chamber member is great, even if you only use it to promote your store."
"I know, and I tried to tell her that, but she hung up on me. I don't see how she stayed in business as long as she did. And now she's dead. Well, I guess she annoyed someone one time too many, don'tcha think?"
Tricia shrugged, afraid to agree-especially as it appeared she was the prime suspect. "Doris told me she had an appointment to meet with Bob last night, but apparently he didn't make it over to the Cookery to see her before she was killed."
Frannie crossed her thin arms across her equally thin chest. "Well, that's Bob for you. He's always overbooking himself. Thinks he's Superman." Frannie laughed again, and Tricia feared for the window's mullions. "I know he had a dinner meeting at the Brookview Inn. Must've fallen behind schedule."
"I saw him there last night. When he left, he said he was late for an appointment. I assumed he meant with Doris, but he didn't show up for at least another hour after he left the inn."
"Do tell," Frannie said and cocked her head. She paused in her gum chewing, looking thoughtful. "I wonder…" But she didn't articulate exactly what it was she pondered. Long seconds went by before she shook herself and seemed to remember Tricia stood before her. "Do you want to leave Bob a message?"
Tricia shook her head. "I'll call him later."
"You want his cell number? He doesn't mind taking calls when it comes to protecting the good name of Stoneham. Business is business, ya know."
"I don't want to bother him." That wasn't exactly true…
"Well, I'll tell him you stopped by. If there's anything the chamber can do for you, you just give us a holler, ya hear?"
Discussion over.
Tricia managed a wan smile. "Thank you, Frannie, you've been most helpful." Not.
She headed for the door with Frannie calling a cheerful good-bye behind her. Once outside, Tricia stood on the porch for a few moments, wondering what it was concerning Bob that Frannie hadn't wanted to talk about.
Since she'd gone inside, a crew had arrived to take down the Safest Town banner from the north end of the street. Had they already removed the one from the south end?
A sheriff's cruiser rolled slowly past, its driver taking in both sides of the street. Was it just the cool breeze that made the hairs on the back of Tricia's neck prickle or was it the idea the deputy might be watching her?
Two hours later, Tricia was positive she did not suffer from paranoia. Even Ginny remarked about the sheriff's cruiser making a regular circuit up and down Main Street, and that too often its occupant's attention seemed to be focused on Haven't Got a Clue.
When she ducked out to take the previous day's receipts to the bank, Tricia noticed a patrol car parked in the municipal lot. Inside it, a deputy's gaze was trained on Stoneham's main drag. It made Tricia want to look over her shoulder, keeping an eye out for the real murderer. Then again, Doris's killer could be just about anybody. Since there was no sign of forced entry and the door had been unlocked, it was likely Doris had opened it to let in her killer. Meaning, she'd probably known the person-and Tricia wasn't about to let anyone think that person might be her.
What would Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot, or any other self-respecting protagonist in a Christie novel do in this situation? Ask questions.
Tricia took a detour on the way back to her shop, stopping at the Happy Domestic, a boutique specializing in new and gently used products, consisting of how-to books, gifts, and home decor. She'd met the owner, Deborah Black, at an auction several months before where they'd shared coffee and local gossip, and they had continued to look out for each other at every other sale. Deborah loaded up on glassware and bric-a-brac while Tricia had scoured box lots for interesting titles.
Thirtysomething Deborah, her swollen belly straining against a maternity smock, wore a plastic smile that never waned until the customer she'd waited on had exited her store. "Oh God," she exhaled and collapsed against her sales counter. "Sometimes I think I'll kill myself if I have to coo over another satin pillow with the words 'Do Not Disturb' cross-stitched on it."