“Not big at all,” Ginny said. “I’d like to have our friends, our parents, and some of the people here in the village-like you and Mr. Everett and Grace, and Frannie and Nikki, and our friends Pete and Lisa. Nothing really big.”

“Have you ever heard of a potluck wedding?”

Ginny shook her head. “No.”

“You could rent a picnic shelter, invite your friends to bring a dish to pass-just like an old-fashioned wedding.”

“Is that what you did when you got married?”

Tricia thought about the cathedral, the eight attendants, the five-tiered wedding cake with masses of colorful fondant flowers, and the princess gown and veil. “Not exactly,” she said. “But if I had it to do over again, I’d have a much simpler affair.” Easy to say, now that the marriage had failed. And, the truth was, she’d loved every minute of the preparations, the ceremony, and the reception. Ending the marriage hadn’t been Tricia’s idea.

“If simple is what you want, I’m sure it can be arranged. Just pick a date-preferably in warm weather-and start making plans. I’m sure all your friends would love to pitch in. I could get Angelica to help with the food. She’s spoken often about starting a catering service as part of the café-once she gets established.”

“Angelica would not be happy about you volunteering her services for me.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, she’s angry with me because I don’t patronize her café. But it costs money to do that and, besides, it’s always crowded with tourists. I pack my lunch and eat it in my car.”

“You can’t do that much longer-it’s getting cold.”

“Where else am I supposed to go?”

Tricia thought for a second. “You could use the storeroom downstairs. We could put a table in there. And I’ll get one of those dorm fridges and a microwave. It would give you and Mr. Everett somewhere to go on your breaks and save you money at the same time.”

“You’d be going to an awful lot of trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. You’re both valuable employees. I want to keep you.”

Ginny dabbed at her nose with the napkin. “Thank you.”

The kettle began to whistle. Tricia unplugged it and poured the hot water into the mugs. “I can’t make it happen today, but I’ll see what I can do about getting it pulled together in the next couple of days.”

“You’re the best boss I’ve ever had.”

“If I was, I would’ve thought of this a long time ago.”

“You always have a lot on your mind. Especially since yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Pammy dying and all.”

For just a few minutes, Tricia had actually forgotten about it. She handed Ginny her cup.

“I’m sorry I got all weepy over this whole marriage thing. I should go down and apologize to Mr. Everett. He’s the sweetest person on the earth. I feel terrible about hurting his feelings. I think it’s wonderful they’re getting married, and I really am happy for them.” Ginny blew on her cocoa to cool it before taking a tentative sip. “Do you mind if I go down now and apologize? Can I take the cup with me?”

“Yes, of course.”

Ginny slid from her stool. “Thanks, Tricia. You really are the best boss in the world.” Treading carefully, she made her way to the door without spilling a drop.

Best boss in the world? Tricia didn’t know about that. And where would she get one of those dorm fridges? She’d probably have to drive to Nashua or Manchester to find one. Or maybe she could find one in the ad section of the Stoneham Weekly News. Too bad she’d tossed out the last one. On the other hand, she was having dinner with Russ later that evening. He probably had one hanging around his house.

Tricia leaned against the counter, sipping her cocoa, and caught sight of the box of books Pammy had left behind. Setting down her mug, she circled the kitchen island and crossed into the living room. She sat down on the couch, leaned over, and ran her fingers across the book spines. Nothing here that interested her. A couple of old cookbooks, something Angelica might stock at the Cookery, a few mainstream titles circa 1970, and a few battered children’s books.

Poor Pammy was dead. At least Captain Baker seemed interested in finding her killer, unlike his boss during previous murder investigations in Stoneham. But what if Sheriff Adams interfered with his investigation? What if she decided for him that he should concentrate on pinning the murder on her or Angelica?

Tricia couldn’t allow that to happen. What she needed were facts. What she needed to do was to find out why Pammy had wanted to speak to Stuart Paige.

Tricia stood and glanced around her apartment, looking for and finding her purse. In seconds she’d retrieved the crumpled brochure for the Stoneham Food Shelf she’d stashed away the day before. A glance at the hours of operation made her heart sink. It was open Monday mornings from nine to eleven only. However, the Clothing Closet was open weekdays from nine to noon. Tricia frowned. Food would seem to be more essential than clothing… unless, of course, you were buck naked. Why the difference in hours?

She’d just have to ask.

The problem was that Libby Hirt was the head of the Food Shelf, not the Clothing Closet. Still, perhaps someone at the Closet could give her Libby’s number. Perhaps. She might need a reason other than pure curiosity to get that number. She could volunteer Haven’t Got a Clue as a food drop-off site. But that still didn’t guarantee she’d get the number.

Of course, she could just look Libby up in the local phone book.

There were four Hirts listed, but no Libby; no L. Hirt. She was probably married, or had an unlisted number. Or didn’t have a landline at all. A lot of people had given them up, using just their cell phones. But that seemed to be younger people, more Ginny’s age. She could try all four… and say what? “I’m just being nosy, asking what happened at the dedication the other day…” And Libby Hirt might not have a clue, thinking Pammy was just one more pushy broad who wanted to get her money-sucking paws on a philanthropist like Stuart Paige.

Tricia scrutinized the brochure, figured what the heck, and dialed the Food Shelf’s number. If nothing else, voice mail might give her an emergency number to call. Instead of voice mail, a real person answered. “Stoneham Food Shelf, this is Libby. Can I help you?”

“Oh, it’s you,” Tricia blurted.

“Y-e-s.” The word was drawn out.

Tricia laughed. “Sorry. I was expecting voice mail. My name is Tricia Miles. I was at the dedication yesterday. I run Haven’t Got a Clue, the mystery bookshop in Stoneham.”

“Oh. How nice. And thank you for coming to our party. You must be a Chamber member.”

“Yes. I wanted to talk about the possibility of having my store be a drop-off point for the Food Shelf. I’d also love a tour of your facility.”

“We gave tours at the dedication.”

“Unfortunately, I got there a bit late. I would love a personal tour-if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all. When would you like to visit?”

“How about now?”

“Now would be fine.”

“Great. I can be there”-Tricia glanced at the kitchen clock-“in ten minutes.”

“Fine. I’ll be waiting for you. Good-bye.”