Tricia laughed. "Only a few days more and you'll have a vacation from customers. You're due next week, aren't you?"
"And, boy, am I ready. Jim Roth over at History Repeats Itself has a parlay going. He says I won't make it until my due date on Monday." She looked down at herself and laughed. "And he may be right."
"Hey, nobody told me about the parlay."
"I think there's a few squares left, if you want to get in."
"I may just visit him when I leave here."
Deborah studied Tricia's face. "Betting on my baby's birth is not why you came to visit today-not during work hours. You're here about Doris, right?"
"That obvious, huh?"
"Well, her murder is the talk about town." She bent down to pick up a cardboard carton.
"Let me get that," Tricia said and lifted the box onto the counter. "So, tell me what you know about Doris," Tricia prompted.
Deborah untucked one of the box's flaps and withdrew a paper-wrapped package, talking as she worked. "She was a nasty piece of work. The rest of us avoided her at all costs. Never a positive word. Never contributed to the United Way. Never wanted to do anything positive for the village or the community at large. Her view in life seemed to be 'What have you done for me lately?'"
"So the rest of the shop owners won't be mourning her."
Deborah shook her head, tossing her long brown hair back across her shoulders. "You know what she was like."
How pathetic, Tricia thought, not to be mourned at all. Surely Doris had had some redeeming qualities. She voiced that question.
Deborah shook her head, unwrapping the first of the bundles, a delicate pink, etched water goblet. "Not that I noticed. You might want to talk to some of the other booksellers. Most have been around here longer than me. But if you expect heartfelt tributes, you're wasting your time." She held up one of the glasses to the light. "Aren't these just the prettiest crystal?"
Tricia nodded and counted the remaining bundles. "Only seven."
"If nothing else, I can sell them as a set of six. I'll set up a whole new display around them. Lots of pink, girly items. It'll be gorgeous."
"Did you pick these up at the last auction?"
She shook her head. "No. I got them from Winnie Wentworth."
"Who?"
Deborah laughed. "The village eccentric. A combination bag lady/antiques picker. I'm surprised you haven't met her. She sells to all the shop owners."
Tricia inspected one of the goblets. "Is the quality of her merchandise always this good?"
"Gosh, no. She sells mostly junk-but occasionally she comes up with a few prizes. I learned to inspect most items pretty thoroughly for chips, nicks, and repairs before I part with any money."
Tricia set the glass back down on the counter. "I'm sure you've heard the gossip going around town. Doris had an appointment with Bob Kelly, but no one wants to look at him as a possible suspect. You've been here longer than me-what do you know about him?"
Deborah sobered. "Definitely a man who focuses on results. It's no wonder he's been single all these years. He lives and breathes the real estate business. But he has been good for the village."
Another testimonial for Saint Bob.
"Doris complained about her new lease," Deborah continued, "and it's made me look at my bottom line as well. I'm already trying to budget for a substantial increase when it comes time for me to renew."
"Can you afford it?"
"It'll be a stretch, but the village-and Bob in particular-gambled on me and all the other booksellers when we first came aboard. Most of us have done okay. And it may be that Bob was tired of dealing with Doris's complaints. He may have simply demanded a higher price to get rid of her. I don't know, and anyway it's moot. Doris is history. Now he can rent the place to anyone he pleases."
Tricia's thoughts exactly.
The door opened and a couple of women entered the store. "Can I help you?" Deborah asked cheerfully, abandoning the glassware.
"Thanks for the chat." Tricia clasped her leather briefcase and Deborah gave her a quick wave as she headed for the door.
Tricia's next stop was the Coffee Bean, a heavenly shop that sold exotic blends and decadent chocolates, where she bought a five-pound bag of fresh-ground Colombian coffee. Too many customers clogged the shop for her to engage the owner in idle gossip, and she'd intended to head straight back for her own store, but a new enterprise on the block caught her attention. She made one more diversion.
A red-white-and-blue poster, with patriotic stars across the top, heralded Mike Harris's selectman campaign office. Tucked between two shops-Stoneham's Stoneware and History Repeats Itself-it had to be the most narrow storefront on Main Street. No wonder it had remained empty since Tricia's arrival. It really was too small for a retail establishment.
Tricia opened the door and entered the crowded room. Boxes and cartons stacked along the north wall awaited unpacking. Two desks and assorted chairs seemed to be in place, but none of the usual office accouterments yet occupied them. A fake ficus stood in the corner, looking decidedly forlorn.
Footsteps sounded from a back room.
"Hello!" Tricia called.
Mike Harris stepped into the main room. Dressed in jeans and sneakers, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked ready to tackle the towering boxes.
"Looks like we're neighbors," Tricia said.
"Hey, thanks for stopping by."
Tricia glanced around at the freshly painted walls and the stacks of printed literature in one of the only opened boxes. "No offense, but I wouldn't have thought the race for selectman warranted a campaign office."
"Ordinarily I'd agree with you. The lease on my current office is about to run out and Bob Kelly offered me a great deal. Besides, I intended to open shop here in the village after the election anyway."
Tricia glanced around. "By the look of things, you haven't been here long."
Mike nodded. "I moved in last evening."
"Before all the chaos?"
He frowned. "I heard what happened to Ms. Gleason, but I didn't see anything." He shook his head. "Her death could become a campaign issue."
Tricia frowned. "How?"
"Not all our citizens are happy with the way development has been handled in Stoneham. They think the village is growing too fast and want a moratorium on new businesses until an impact study can be done." That echoed what Frannie had said about the unofficial divide between the old-timers and newcomers.
"Sounds like a waste of taxpayer funds. From what I understand, the influx of money has paid for a new a library and sewer systems-things the village sorely needed. What's so bad about that?"
Mike crossed his arms over his chest, sobering. "When the tax base expands, so does the cost of maintaining it. That new sewer system is just one example."
He had a point, but it didn't make sense. The newcomers had taken over the crumbling Main Street while the old-timers had fled the village for the outskirts of town, presumably building new structures along the way. No wonder there was animosity between the two camps.
Still, how sad was it that Doris had been reduced to a campaign issue.
"I hope you've registered to vote."
"Yes, as a matter of fact I have."
He grabbed a brochure from the stack. "That's what we need in this town. Voters who care about Stoneham's future."
She took the paper from him; he must've forgotten he'd given her one the day before. "I'll read through it carefully. Why don't you stop by my shop for a welcome-to-the-neighborhood coffee later?"
"Sounds great. Thanks."
"See you then," she said and backed toward the door.