“You said it. Lisa also thinks it’s great that somebody’s going around ruining all the kids’ carved pumpkins. She said there was never such a waste of good farmland as that used for raising pumpkins. She says it’s a crop that can’t be used for anything but frivolity. I’ve got to admit that in a way she’s right. Still, what doesn’t get sold can always be used as compost.”

Tricia rolled her eyes, and Ginny laughed but soon sobered. “Anyway, Mrs. Hirt was-” Ginny gave a wry smile. “Well, she was hurt that Eugenia would even want to find out about her biological parents.”

“Doesn’t every adopted child at least wonder about their birth parents? And what kind of proof did Pammy offer?” Tricia asked, thinking about the diary.

Ginny shrugged. “I only got the story thirdhand. Eugenia and I aren’t really chummy. But apparently Pammy knew some deep, dark secret about Eugenia, something the poor kid never told anyone about. She was practically hysterical when Pammy casually mentioned it.”

“Mentioned what?”

“Lisa didn’t know. Eugenia may have been upset, but she wasn’t willing to share what she was upset about-at least not with Lisa.”

Had Eugenia told her father all this? She’d said she’d asked him not to allow Pammy to join them on their Dumpster-diving expeditions. And conveniently soon after, Pammy was dead.

Sweet little Eugenia a murderer?

No. Tricia refused to believe it.

And yet…

“How did you guys get tied up with Eugenia and her father?”

“Brian and Pete have known him since they were little kids. He coached soccer… or was it softball?” She frowned. “I’m not really sure. But we’ve been going out on our expeditions with Eugenia and Joe for at least a year, if not two.”

“This morning Captain Baker asked me if I knew any freegans.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. “What did you tell him?”

“I skirted the question. But it might be a good idea for you or one of your friends to talk to him.”

“What for? We don’t know anything about Pammy’s death.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust those guys-with my life.”

“Even Lisa?”

Ginny didn’t answer.

“If he asks me again-point blank-I can’t lie.”

“No, I guess you can’t. I’ll call the others and see what they want to do.”

“Maybe you could all talk to Captain Baker at once.”

“Maybe,” Ginny said, without conviction. A customer entered the store, and Ginny jumped to attention. “Can I help you find something?”

Tricia looked through the shop’s big display window. From this vantage point, she couldn’t see the Bookshelf Diner, where Eugenia worked. What deep secret had the poor girl hidden all her life? What did Pammy know about her, how had she found out, and how cruel was she to threaten the kid?

But Eugenia a murderer? No way. Tricia had met her parents and deeply admired her-apparently adoptive-mother. Besides, Eugenia couldn’t possibly have the physical strength to pick Pammy up and toss her into the garbage cart. It had to be a man who did that.

That brought her back to Stuart Paige, who also didn’t look physically capable of killing Pammy. And anyway, maybe the idea hadn’t been to kill Pammy at all. Someone had gotten angry at Pammy and probably decided to scare her. From what the technician had said the day Pammy died, she’d struggled to free herself from the garbage cart before suffocating.

It could have just been a tragic accident. Someone trying to scare someone who’d used scare tactics and blackmail for her own profit. Which brought Tricia back to Jason Turner. He seemed to enjoy being a bully.

Tricia sighed. She simply didn’t have enough information. Eugenia might like her as a customer, but she wouldn’t reveal to Tricia whatever secret she’d hidden her entire life. Nor was it likely her parents would speak about whatever it was Eugenia found so shameful.

Once again, Tricia found herself back to square one.

EIGHTEEN

Lunch came and went. The UPS man delivered the little refrigerator and microwave Tricia had ordered off the Internet. The employee break room would soon be a reality. The next steps were to find a table, something to act as a counter, and some reasonably comfortable chairs.

Ginny was as excited as a child on Christmas morning. “Do you mind if I take the appliances upstairs and get them set up?”

“Oh, they’re much too heavy for you to cart up the stairs.”

Ginny waved off her protests. “No, they’re not. If you could see what I’ve lifted and carried these past few months while working on our house, you’d know I could’ve been a successful stevedore.”

Tricia laughed. “Where did you come up with that description?”

Ginny thought about it. “I don’t know-some book I read. I’ve been reading a lot of classic mysteries lately.”

“Yes, I know. And I think it’s wonderful. But there’s nowhere to put them yet.”

“I’ll just take them out of the boxes and set them on the floor. I can come in early one day and we can set them up. When we get some furniture, that is.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. If they’re too heavy, don’t mess with them. Maybe I can get Bob to help us take them up. He ought to be good for something.”

Ginny giggled and took off for the back of the store.

Business picked up, and Tricia waited on several customers, helping them find their favorite authors and ringing up the sales. In between, she was preoccupied with thoughts of how to approach furnishing the break room. She was staring out the window, looking at nothing, when a Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulled up and parked right outside Haven’t Got a Clue. She watched as a tight-lipped Captain Baker emerged from behind the driver’s seat, slammed his regulation hat onto his head, and marched for the door.

Ginny reappeared and stood behind Tricia. “Uh-oh. This looks like trouble.”

Baker opened the door, letting it slam against the wall, stepped inside, and let it bang shut before he advanced on the sales register like an angry bull.

“Where are they?” he demanded, shoving the red-covered diary at Tricia.

“Where are what?”

“The missing pages. There are at least two sheets-four pages-missing.”

“There are?”

“Would I be here demanding you return them if I didn’t think so?”

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

He opened the book to the middle. “Read the last sentence on this page and see if it makes sense to you.”

Tricia scanned the cursive text at the bottom of the lefthand page. I’ve asked him for money so that I can-her gaze traveled to the top of the right-hand page-and I’m not about to make waves. That would insure I never get him back again.

Tricia frowned. She must have been tired when she originally read that segment of the journal. Otherwise she would’ve noticed that the sentence didn’t make sense. Unless the writer had been fatigued herself, and lost her train of thought. She noticed the diary’s signature threads were loose, as though pages had been ripped out. Funny she hadn’t noticed that before-maybe because the lighting in her living room wasn’t as bright as it could be.

Tricia handed back the journal. “What makes you think I took the page or pages out?”

“You were the last one to have the book in your possession.”

“But why would you think I tore them out? Isn’t it more likely Pammy would’ve done it herself? Or how about the diary’s original owner?”

“Someone did it. If the diary was found here, perhaps the missing pages are here, too.”

Tricia straightened in indignation. “What do you propose? To tear my shop apart looking for them?”

“It’s an option.”

She stood tall. “I don’t think so.”

He stood taller. “I can get a warrant.”

It was all Tricia could do not to explode. “Captain, Pammy was unsupervised in my store for less than two minutes-more like one minute-before she left here on Monday. She only had time to hide the diary. My sister and I took nearly every book off the back shelves before she found it. Pammy could’ve had those pages in her suitcase or her purse. And don’t forget, she tried to confront Stuart Paige at the Food Shelf’s dedication after she left here. Isn’t it likely she would’ve had them with her?”