Murder On The Half Shelf Read online

  She sighed. “Harrison Tyler and I were once…close.”

  “How close?” Angelica asked.

  “Like sticky tape,” Tricia admitted.

  Angelica nodded sagely. “Ah.”

  “We’d been seeing each other for several months, and I’d been out with him on that boat four or five times before the accident. It broke my heart when the Coast Guard found that lovely sloop empty with the main mast broken and hanging in the water. Harry had gone sailing just before a hurricane struck the coast. And…” She didn’t need to say any more.

  Angelica looked toward the swinging door that held the kitchen at bay. “And you say this Jon Comfort is really Harrison Tyler?”

  “I’d stake my life on it.”

  “Do you think his wife knew?”

  Tricia shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  For a moment Tricia wasn’t sure what she wanted to do: hug the man or hit him. She was hurt and angry and-her stomach growled-hungry! “What can I do? I assume he’ll deny it, but eventually they’ll prove I’m right.”

  “Did he recognize you?”

  “I’m sure of it. I’ll bet that’s why he disappeared the minute we walked through the front door. He wouldn’t look at me in the kitchen, either. And why should he? I’ve blown his cover. But then, his wife being killed might’ve done that anyway. They always suspect the spouse first-and for very good reason.”

  “Bob gave the inn’s managers the names of the raffle winners yesterday. He might’ve known since then that you were one of them. Maybe they argued about you.”

  “First of all, Bob didn’t know I’d be coming with you. And why would they argue about me, anyway? I haven’t seen Harry in twenty years.”

  “Some women are very jealous.”

  Yes, like you, Tricia somehow managed not to say. But then Angelica had had reason to be jealous. She always picked men with a wandering eye.

  Angelica’s purse began to wobble as a tiny whimper issued from it. “Poor Sarge. He needs a comfort stop. Do you think I’ll get in trouble if I take him outside?”

  “Who cares?”

  “Well, I do. I mean-I don’t want to be in trouble with the law.”

  “You’ll be in trouble with Harry if Sarge pees-or worse-on his oriental rug.”

  “He’s in my purse, which is waterproof,” Angelica said, annoyed, and struggled back into her jacket. She grabbed the purse and headed for the front door. As soon as she was through it, Tricia was back on her feet and tiptoed to the swinging door that separated the parlor from the kitchen. She pressed her ear close to the crack around the door and listened, but all she heard was the low murmur of voices.

  Frowning, she stepped away. All she needed was for Baker to come flying through the door, knock her over, and catch her eavesdropping. She returned to her seat.

  What else would Baker want to know about her former relationship with Harrison Tyler, and would he be asking out of professional or personal interest?

  She waited. And waited. Finally Angelica returned, her pink cheeks attesting to the drop in temperature. “I don’t care what the calendar says, it is not spring yet.”

  “Anything happening outside?”

  “It looks like the medical examiner is about to take off. Good-bye, Pippa.”

  “Don’t be so flip. She seemed like a nice person.”

  “Nice people get murdered all the time, but nobody here had a motive. Except, I would assume, for her husband.”

  “Harry? Why?”

  “Jealousy. You watch. Chief Baker is going to be all over you when he’s done with Mr. Comfort. He’ll probably think you killed her to get back with your old boyfriend.”

  “I don’t believe it. Sheriff Adams might have come up with that motive, but not Grant. And besides, I didn’t even know Harry was in town until ten minutes ago.”

  “Ah, but as they’re Chamber members, he could have known you were in town. They could have argued about you,” she reiterated. “Now, bonk, she’s dead.”

  “How does that implicate me?”

  “If the cops don’t come to that conclusion, the district attorney probably will. You need a lawyer. Yet again.”

  Tricia shook her head. “I do not need a lawyer. If Pippa knew about me and Harry, she sure didn’t show it when we walked in.”

  “She was ticked you weren’t Bob,” Angelica reminded her.

  “But was she angry at me? I don’t think so. And if you want suspects, for all we know, maybe Pippa was having or once had an affair with Chauncey or Ellington.”

  Angelica laughed. “Chauncey? Not on your life. I mean, maybe twenty years ago and a hundred pounds ago-if he had hair.”

  “Why not Ellington?”

  Angelica bit her lower lip. “He’s a possibility. He’s not bad to look at, and he’s rich.” She pondered the thought.

  Tricia shook her head. “Forget it. Let’s leave this up to the local police force.”

  “Yes, their first murder-and once again, you were there.”

  “I’m starving. How about a pizza? I already told Grant I was going to order one.”

  “What about my leftovers at Booked for Lunch?” Angelica cried.

  “I was going to have it delivered here.”

  “They already said we could go once an officer escorts us to get our luggage.”

  “Come on, you know Grant is going to want to talk to me about Harry.”

  “Well, I don’t have to be part of that conversation,” Angelica said crossly. She gathered up her purse, marched over to the door to the kitchen, and threw it open. “Chief Baker, I want to go home. Now!”

  The chief’s expression went from surprised to a scowl. “Then go.”

  Angelica let the door swing shut. “Tricia, you may bring my luggage home.” Without waiting for a reply, Angelica stalked off to the front door, letting it slam behind her.

  Chauncey Porter, who had apparently lost his police escort, stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh my,” he said in a low voice. Tricia had completely forgotten he was in the house. How long had he been standing there, eavesdropping on their conversation? Had he heard what Angelica had said about him just minutes before?

  Chauncey gripped the handle of his scuffed overnight bag tightly and hefted the book he’d been reading in the other. “I’d-I’d better be going home.” He nodded to Tricia and hurried to the door, looking distinctly guilty. What did he have to hide?

  Suddenly the thought struck her as ominous.

  What if sweet Chauncey Porter wasn’t quite so sweet after all?

  Tricia shook her head and frowned. The fact that a violent death had just occurred encouraged her to think the worst of everyone. And Angelica had been right. When Jon Comfort was proven to be the long-lost best-selling author Harrison Tyler, suspicion was sure to fall on her.

  Anger rolled through her for the years she had mourned the loss of her first lover, Harrison Tyler.

  Now she could just kill him.

  FOUR

  The swinging door from the kitchen banged open and Chief Baker entered the living room with Harry Tyler right behind him. “Was that Mr. Porter leaving?” he asked.

  “Yes, and I’d like to leave, too. If Mr. Comfort-or Tyler, or whatever he’s calling himself today-will give me a hand with my luggage, I’ll be off,” Tricia said rather curtly.

  “I will help you,” Baker said.

  “Fine with me,” Comfort said, and stalked off for the kitchen once again.

  Baker waited until the door swung shut before he spoke, his voice low, angry. “Why didn’t you tell me about Tyler?” he demanded.

  “Have you told me about every woman you’ve ever been with?” Tricia replied.

  “Comfort or Tyler is a suspect in Pippa Comfort’s death. And you could be considered an accomplice.”

  “How? I didn’t even know he was alive until he marched into the inn’s kitchen. You were there. You saw how surprised I was to see Harry Tyler return from the dead.”

  “Of course, but the district attorney might not believe it.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I hadn’t seen or heard from Harry since the day before he disappeared and was presumed dead over twenty years ago. I hadn’t even thought of the man in years.” Okay, that was bending the truth a little. She’d made a point of remembering Harry on his birthday, and on the anniversary of his so-called death, but after such a long period of time they were only wistful thoughts of what might have been. She’d mourned for him for a year or so, and then she’d dated other men and moved on with her life, eventually marrying Christopher Benson.

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” Baker said.

  “Of course it does; you’re the Stoneham chief of police. You’re the one investigating this death.”

  “Yes, and I have to make sure that everyone who’s a viable suspect gets treated exactly the same way. Including you.”

  “I did not kill Pippa Comfort!” Tricia said, a bit louder than necessary.

  “And you didn’t see anyone in that yard when you came out with the dog?”

  “It was as quiet as a grave.”

  Baker actually winced at her word choice.

  “Now, since you let Angelica leave in a huff, I’ve got to bring all her luggage home, and my sister does not travel light. And unless you or one of your men gives me a ride home, I’ve got to drag that luggage through the streets of Stoneham.”

  “I will give you a ride home.”

  “Thank you. The suite is this way.” Tricia turned and started up the stairs with Baker hot on her heels.

  “What were you doing here tonight, anyway?” he asked.

  “Angelica won a raffle at the last Chamber of Commerce meeting. A night’s stay at the inn. Pippa
thought she’d be bringing Bob along. She was shocked to see it was me.”

  “Oh?” Baker asked suspiciously as they rounded the first landing.

  “And don’t read anything into that. Bob’s a real estate agent. I’m sure she was hoping he’d tell prospective clients about the inn. Pippa gave us the master suite, which is why we’re still climbing stairs.” But by the time she’d said that, they had finished their ascent. Tricia rattled the door to the room and only then realized that Angelica still had the room key. “Oh, crap! Ange has the key.”

  “There’s got to be a spare. I’ll go down and ask Comfort for it. Do you want to come with me and see him again for yourself? Make sure he’s the man you say he is?”

  “After what he pulled, I have no desire to see or hear from Harry Tyler ever again. I’ll wait here, thank you.”

  Baker frowned, noticed the back stairs, and took off.

  Tricia leaned against the locked door and sighed. This was not how she’d envisioned her evening would go. A soak in the suite’s Jacuzzi tub would be just the thing right now, too. Then again, she’d felt guilty leaving Miss Marple alone for the night. When she got home, she’d make up for her absence by filling the cat’s bowl with kitty snacks.

  She heard footsteps coming up the main staircase and seconds later saw Jon/Harry. He paused when he saw her standing there.

  “What do you want?” Tricia asked.

  “I live here.”

  “Not in this suite. Did Chief Baker ask you to come up with the key?”

  “No, I-” He stopped, ran his tongue over dry lips, and didn’t finish the sentence. He swallowed. “I thought you’d already be gone. I figured I should make sure the room was…inhabitable.”

  “You’re still planning to open next week after what happened tonight?”

  “I’ve got to make a living, if only to bury poor Pippa.”

  Poor Pippa indeed. Only he didn’t sound all that sorrowful. Then again, maybe he was in shock. It hadn’t even been an hour since he’d learned of his wife’s death. Maybe he was in denial, and maybe Tricia was being too hard on him.

  “I’m so sorry about Pippa. I only spoke to her for a minute or two, but…she seemed like a nice person.”

  “She was. Maybe too nice.”

  “Did she know about your past life-your other identity?”

  Comfort hesitated. “We talked.”

  As evasive an answer as Tricia had ever heard, but at least he wasn’t denying his former identity.

  “Did you know I was in Stoneham?” she asked.

  “Not until a couple of days ago when I saw the Chamber roster, and even then, I couldn’t be sure it was you. And why in God’s name did you have to show up here, anyway? Pippa was expecting Bob Kelly to accompany your sister.”

  Footsteps on the stairs made them both turn. An annoyed Baker topped the landing. “Here you are. I’ve been chasing all over the house looking for you. Do you have the passkey?”

  Comfort took a ring from his pocket and offered it to Baker.

  “Which one opens this door?”

  Comfort chose a key and handed it to the chief. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” He turned his attention back to Tricia. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Miles.” He turned away and headed down the stairs.

  Tricia’s mouth dropped open in amazement, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. “Don’t tell me he denied being Harry Tyler when you questioned him before.”

  “He did,” Baker confirmed. “And if he’s lying about not knowing anything about his wife’s death and then being Harrison Tyler, he’ll be in even more trouble.” He thrust the key into the lock and opened the door to the suite. “Let’s not talk about this any more tonight. We’ll get your luggage and get you home. I’m sure Miss Marple will be glad to have you back.”

  Baker ushered Tricia in. Thankfully, Angelica hadn’t taken time to unpack. Tricia gathered up the white waitress uniform, stuffed it and the shoes into Angelica’s suitcase, and zippered it shut. Grabbing her own duffel and the pink cosmetic case, she let Baker handle the enormous suitcase.

  “Did you ever order that pizza?” Baker asked as Tricia preceded him out of the room. He turned off the light and closed the door, and they started down the main staircase.

  “No. And it’s probably too late now.”

  “I’ve got some leftover pizza at my place,” he offered, and this time there was none of the irritation she’d heard in his tone during the previous hour. Still, after the evening she’d endured, she wasn’t up to being interrogated, and she knew he’d only want to talk about the evening’s events. He could do that tomorrow, during business hours. Right now all she wanted to do was jump into bed with a good book-not her sometime lover, full-time cop.

  “No, thank you. Please, just drive me home. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

  When they got to the bottom of the stairs they found no sign of Comfort. Exiting the entryway, they found that all but one of the police cruisers were gone. A young officer stood at the bottom of the porch steps. He nodded. “Chief. Ma’am.”

  “Give these keys back to Mr. Comfort, will you?”

  “Sure thing, Chief.”

  “And stick around until the end of your shift, Rogers. Martinez will relieve you when he comes on duty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Baker took the lead, wrestling Angelica’s suitcase through the door and out into the cold night air. Tricia followed him to his car. He hadn’t bothered to arrive in his own police cruiser. Good. The last thing Tricia wanted was for any of her neighbors to see her arrive home in a cop car.

  Baker stuffed the luggage in the back of his SUV and opened the door for Tricia to get in. Tricia had buckled herself in by the time he opened the driver’s-side door and got inside. He started the engine.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what to say right now. I have to be careful, Tricia. I’m the chief of police and I can’t let our relationship get in the way of my investigation.”

  Tricia sighed. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in three days. It was hardly what anyone would call an overly close relationship. But then he’d explained at least a thousand times how important it was to get the department up and running, and she knew from reading police procedurals that what he said was true. But why did his work always have to encroach on their time together?

  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Baker demanded.

  Tricia kept her eyes focused on the headlights’ narrow beams, which cut through the darkness. “It seems to me that you’ve said it all.”

  They drove through the quiet streets of Stoneham, neither saying a word. And Tricia really didn’t want to talk. It was late, they were both tired and hungry, and the timing wasn’t right.

  Baker paused on Main Street, did a U-turn, and pulled up in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. Without uttering a word, they got out of the car and Baker retrieved the luggage from the back of his SUV. “I’ll help you carry this into the store.”

  “Thanks. I figured I’d dump it in the Cookery. Otherwise I’m sure Angelica will make me carry it up two flights.”

  “Doesn’t she have a dumbwaiter, too?”

  “Yes, but that won’t stop her from making me do it anyway.”

  Baker shook his head. “I’m glad I only had a brother.” He followed her to the Cookery and waited as she separated the correct key from her ring, opened the door, punched in the security code on the pad on the wall, set the suitcase inside, then quickly reset the system and locked up again.

  Baker walked her to her shop. “I know I don’t deserve it, but can I have a kiss good night?”

  “I don’t just kiss anyone, you know.”

  “I’ve heard that.” Her eyes widened with surprise, and he smiled. “Okay, I haven’t heard that. But it got you going there for a second, didn’t it?”

  She wanted to be angry with him. Some part of her wanted to haul off and hit him.

  Instead, she kissed him. And again. And then again…

  FIVE

  Despite their amicable parting, Tricia did not invite Chief Baker to accompany her inside her store. She really was too tired for that. Yet by the time she got upstairs, she found she was too restless to even contemplate sleep. Instead, Tricia dug through a box in the back of her closet to find an old photo album. Grabbing a glass of wine, she settled on her couch to study the pictures. After insisting on another helping of kitty snacks, Miss Marple deigned to join her.