“I’m sorry I have to keep the store open and will miss it.”

“Me, too, for the most part. But I’m taking off a couple of hours so I can enter the pie contest. I won third place two years ago, and I’m going for first this year. But talking about the festival isn’t what you came in for. What can I do for you?”

Should she offer the truth?

Why not?

“I’m here to see Stuart Paige.”

Eleanor shook her head. “I’m afraid he’s tied up right now.”

Frannie was right. Eleanor was good at protecting her guests from unwanted visitors.

“He’s in the dining room, giving a speech to the Chamber of Commerce.”

“What? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“They always meet here on the second Friday of the month. The breakfast portion of the meeting is already over. Since you’re a member, I don’t see why you can’t go in there. Perhaps you can introduce yourself to him when he’s finished speaking.”

“Thank you, Eleanor. I think I will.” And Tricia marched across the lobby. The French doors to the restaurant were open, and Tricia slipped into one of the empty chairs at the closest table. Paige stood at a lectern. His amplified voice sounded rather husky as it resonated through the restaurant’s sound system. Tricia recognized a number of her fellow bookstore owners, as well as members of the Board of Selectmen. Sitting at the table closest to the lectern was Russ, jotting down notes on his ever-present steno pad.

Paige’s tone changed ever so slightly, and Tricia realized she’d entered just as he was about to wrap up his speech.

“In conclusion, building the Robert Paige Memorial Dialysis Center here in Stoneham will bring new life to the village. New construction, new jobs, new residents, and an influx of tax revenue for Stoneham. It’s a win-win situation, and I hope you’ll all elect to be a part of it.” He collected his notes. “Thank you for inviting me to speak here today-it’s been a pleasure.”

The room erupted into applause, and Bob Kelly, clad in his green Kelly Realty sports jacket, rose to lead the ovation. So that was why Paige was still in town-to drum up support for another of his pet projects.

Paige’s handlers crowded around him, ushering him away from the front of the room, with Bob following in his wake. Bob would no doubt stick to Paige like glue-unless, of course, Paige’s entourage interfered. They’d done so after the opening of the Food Shelf. She stood, moving to the side of the room to intercept the man. She might have to ask her questions on the fly.

The applause died down, and already other business owners were up and out of their seats, headed for the exit.

One of Paige’s handlers sidled close to his boss, and whispered something in his ear. Paige listened, nodded, and then spoke to Bob, who looked disappointed.

The handler snagged Paige’s jacket sleeve, and steered him toward the exit.

Adrenaline coursed through her, making Tricia feel jumpy as she waited the interminable seconds it took for Paige to navigate through the crowd.

“Mr. Paige-Mr. Paige!” she called through the din of overlapping voices. She waved, trying to draw his attention, but Paige’s handler looked right through her, still guiding his employer through the thinning ranks of Chamber members.

“Mr. Paige,” Tricia called again, falling into step behind her quarry. “What was in the envelope Pammy Fredericks sent you last week?”

Paige abruptly halted, his head jerking around to take her in. “What did you say?”

Tricia caught up. “The Sheriff’s Department is investigating Pammy Fredericks’s murder. I think they’d be very interested to know what was in the envelope she sent you.”

“Envelope? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mr. Paige,” the handler insisted, grabbing his employer by the elbow once more. “We’re going to be late for your ten thirty meeting.”

“She made copies of pages from a woman’s diary. A woman who wrote about her pregnancy and intended to strong-arm the father of her baby into marrying her-that is, until the child was born with birth defects. Pammy mailed those pages to you several days before her death.”

Another gray-suited flunky stepped behind Tricia, grabbed her by the elbow, and propelled her forward. “Not the time and place for this, honey,” he growled. “You’re outta here.”

“Let me go!” The hand on her elbow tightened. At least she was going in the same direction as Paige, heading for the Brookview’s front entrance.

“Mr. Paige! Mr. Paige!” she cried.

Paige was on the top step, and turned back to look at her. Shots rang out, splintering wood and shattering glass.

The flunky let go of Tricia’s arm, pushing her aside. He made a flying leap at his employer, knocking him forward, and the two of them tumbled down the inn’s wooden steps.

“He’s hit!” came a voice.

A stream of suited businessmen and businesswomen emerged from the inn’s open doorway, led by Bob Kelly, whose green jacket stuck out like a flag, while Paige’s handlers dragged the wounded man to the side of the inn and out of the line of fire.

“What happened?” Bob demanded.

“Someone fired shots at Mr. Paige-my God, at me!” Tricia cried.

Instead of stopping to make sure she was all right, or even reassure her, Bob barreled down the stairs after Paige and his entourage. “Stuart! Stuart!”

“Someone call nine-one-one,” a voice behind Tricia shouted.

Russ was suddenly beside her. “Tricia, what happened?”

“Is he dead? Is he dead?” another voice yelled.

Tricia’s knees felt weak as she grabbed the banister to keep from stumbling down the stairs. Somehow, she took off after Bob, with Russ right behind her.

A pasty-faced Paige sat on the ground behind a linen delivery truck, his bloodied right hand clasping his left shoulder. His crisp white shirt was stained scarlet. Although gasping for breath, he managed to speak with his flunkies, one of who was on a cell phone. Meanwhile, Bob hovered over them all like a worried mother hen.

The cell phone flipped shut. “The sheriff and ambulance are on their way,” the gray-suited man announced.

“Can I get you something? Something cold to drink? Something hot?” Bob blathered.

The flunky in brown pushed him aside. “Why don’t you take care of crowd control?”

Bob nodded like a bobblehead. “Sure, sure.”

Again he pushed past Tricia, heading back for the inn’s entrance.

Tricia surged forward, but a hand held her back. “Tricia!”

Russ! “Let go,” she growled, and pulled away. She crouched next to Paige. “Had you been threatened before this happened? Who’d want to kill you? Does it have anything to do with those pages Pammy Fredericks sent you?”

Paige opened his mouth to speak, but Tricia was yanked upright before she could hear what he said.

“Hey!”

“Stand back, ma’am. Give the man some air,” said the flunky in brown.

“I tried to stop her,” Russ said, sounding like a tattletale.

The wail of a siren cut through the cool autumn morning, and moments later the Stoneham Fire Department’s rescue unit pulled alongside the inn’s entrance. The EMTs jumped out, equipment in hand, and jogged to intercept Gray Suit.

Tricia and Russ were shunted off to one side, forced to stand with the rest of the rubberneckers. Their attention was riveted on the wounded man, but Tricia stared at the wooded area across the road from the inn. It hadn’t been developed. In addition to trees, the area was thick with brush-the perfect hiding place for someone with a rifle.

“Is that where the shots came from?” Russ asked.

She nodded. She was in no mood to look at-let alone speak to-him, and moved aside, skirting the crowd to stand on the other side of the inn’s driveway.

Once a couple of deputies had arrived, Bob managed to wrangle his way back to the mob surrounding Paige. No doubt he was already pondering the bad press that this incident would generate, and thinking about damage control.