“See, we’re making a difference already,” Tricia said. She looked around the store. “Did Mr. Everett leave?”

“Grace stopped by and picked him up. Something about talking to the caterer at the Brookview Inn,” Ginny said, and sighed. “While you were gone, we had a lull. By the way, it looks like the book club is off for tonight. Grace and Mr. Everett are busy; Nikki and Julia both called to say they can’t make it, either. I figured what the heck, and made an executive decision to cancel the meeting.”

“It’s just as well,” Tricia said, and sighed. “I forgot I have a date with Russ for tonight. Does everyone know?”

“Yes, I called them all. We should be good to go next week-although Grace and Mr. Everett will be on their honeymoon. We may want to postpone the meetings until they return.”

Tricia nodded.

“I also called the Board of Selectmen to see about renting the gazebo in the park for our wedding. No go.”

“Have you tried Milford?”

“They’ve got a big gazebo in the Oval, but I’m not sure they’d rent that.”

“What about that ball field next to the hospital?”

“I could try that next,” Ginny said uncertainly.

“What about your own yard? It’s pretty big. And you could rent a tent just in case it rains.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that. I’ll put it on the back burner. I mean, I haven’t even talked to Brian about any of this. He might not want to get married at home or under a tent.”

“I think an at-home wedding would be lovely.”

“I’m warming up to the idea,” Ginny said. “Oh, the music’s stopped. I’ll go change the CD.” She headed for the coffee station, which also housed the store’s stereo system.

“Anything else happen while I was gone?” Tricia asked.

Ginny flipped through the jewel boxes. “Captain Baker called. He said he’d call back some other time.”

“What did he want?”

“He didn’t say.” Ginny chose A New Journey by Celtic Woman, setting it on low volume. “It probably had something to do with Pammy’s death, though-don’t you think?”

“Undoubtedly. But I don’t know what else I can tell him. She didn’t confide in me all that much. And sometimes she’d disappear in the evenings and didn’t tell me where she’d been. If only I could find one of the local freegans, I might find out more about what Pammy was up to.”

Ginny returned to the sales counter. “What do you mean?”

“Pammy told Angelica she was a freegan. They Dumpster dive for food.”

“I know what they are,” Ginny said.

“I asked Libby Hirt about them, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Obviously there are people in the village who know about them, but I don’t know who else to ask.”

“I might be able to help,” Ginny said. Her voice had dropped.

“You know someone?”

Ginny nodded. “In fact, I know several freegans.”

“Could you introduce me to them?” Tricia asked eagerly.

“You already know them.”

Tricia blinked. She couldn’t imagine anyone she knew in Stoneham who would be reduced to digging through garbage for food. “Who?”

Ginny shrugged. “Well, for one-me.”

SEVEN

Tricia’s mouth dropped. It felt like someone had just kicked her in the stomach. It took a long moment before she could speak again. “Ginny, I can’t believe you dig through garbage for food.”

“I never intended for you to know,” Ginny said, her head lowered so she did not meet Tricia’s gaze.

“Why would you do such a thing, especially after Brian ended up in the hospital last spring with food poisoning?”

“Ah, but he wasn’t poisoned by anything we got Dumpster diving.”

That was true. Brian had eaten tainted food meant for Tricia.

“Just answer one question. Why? And don’t tell me you’re making a political statement.”

Ginny sighed. “I was a freegan back in college. I thought I didn’t have any money back then, but now it’s a matter of economic survival. Buying our house has been a lot more expensive than either of us thought it would be-that’s why we can never afford a nice wedding.”

“Are you sorry you bought the house?”

“When I pay the bills, yes. When I drive home from work at night and see the lights on in our little cottage, no, I’m not sorry. We both love the house. It just needed a lot more work than we anticipated, and we have to cut corners where we can.”

“Have you thought about using the Stoneham Food Shelf?”

Ginny shook her head. “That’s for desperate people.”

“And you don’t think digging through trash to get your food is a desperate measure?”

Ginny held her head high. “No, I don’t. Although I don’t like to advertise it,” she added sheepishly.

The shop door opened, and a man and woman entered the store.

Tricia stood straighter and forced a smile. “Hello. Welcome to Haven’t Got a Clue. Can I help you find anything?”

“No, just browsing,” said the woman, who gave her a return smile.

“Our authors are shelved in alphabetical order. Nonfiction titles are on the left. Please, help yourself to some coffee, and let us know if you need help or a recommendation.”

“Will do,” said the man, and he and the woman split up, each heading for a different part of the store.

Tricia turned her attention back to Ginny. “I don’t know that we should continue this conversation.”

“Agreed. At least this part of it. But you wanted to know about Pammy,” Ginny reminded her.

“Yes. What was she doing in Stoneham? Did she confide in you or any of your… freegan friends?”

“She didn’t talk to me-she didn’t like me. The feeling was mutual. But she was friendly with some of the others. One of them told me she’d mentioned she was hanging around Stoneham to meet someone.”

“Did she find this person?”

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Who are these people? Can I talk to them?”

“ Stoneham is a small town. We don’t like to advertise who we are to just anyone. We don’t do much scavenging here in the village. We don’t want to catch the flack.”

“Where do you go to… find… what you’re looking for?”

“Sometimes Milford -but Nashua, mostly. But Brian and I have also been to Manchester and Portsmouth, too. We’ve got friends all over.”

“You said I’d know some of these people,” Tricia reminded her.

“I don’t feel comfortable telling you who-at least not without talking to them first.”

Good grief! Who could she be talking about? Fellow booksellers? Respected members of the Chamber of Commerce?

“Would you ask them if they’d mind speaking to me?”

“I’ll try,” Ginny said, “but I can’t promise that anyone will.”

Libby had mentioned the stigma attached to being a freegan. “Fair enough. But I’m not out to expose anyone. I just want to find out who killed Pammy, and why. You can understand that-right?”

“Yes. But I’m certain that none of my friends had anything to do with Pammy’s death. I’d stake my life on it.”

Tricia wasn’t sure that was a wise bet.

It was after five when the phone rang. Since Ginny was at the counter, she picked up the telephone. Tricia looked up from her position at the coffee station. She was proud of that phone, a relic from another age. She liked to imagine that Harriet Vane used the same kind of instrument to talk to Lord Peter Wimsey. The look of distaste on Ginny’s face, however, gave Tricia pause. Ginny laid the receiver on her chest to muffle the mouthpiece. “It’s Angelica. Does she have to remind everyone she talks to that she’s”-she dropped her voice to a whine-“about to be published, and then give the daily countdown?”

Tricia flipped off the switch on the coffeemaker, removed the filter and grounds, and dumped them in the wastebasket before heading for the register and the phone. She took the receiver, which Ginny held out as if it had cooties. “Hey, Ange, what’s up?”