“But she’s been out of school for years,” Angelica said.

“Public school, yes, but she’s still taking classes at Daniel Webster College in Nashua.”

“I’m sure she’s practically anonymous at college. Unless you live on campus, most people are.”

Tricia’s mind whirled with the implications. “It had to be Joe who killed Pammy, don’t you see?”

“That poor woman,” Angelica said, shaking her head in sympathy.

“Who, Pammy?”

“No, Libby. Married to a rat. Well, what else is new? I’ve married four rats.” Angelica nodded at the pages on the counter. “What are you going to do with them?”

Tricia sighed. “I certainly don’t want to confront Joe Hirt. I’m going to let Captain Baker take care of that.” She grabbed her purse from the counter and dug through it until she found the business card the captain had given her days before.

By the time the captain arrived more than an hour later, all the mini quiches had been baked and were nestled in plastic wrap in the café’s large freezer.

Tricia and Angelica were sitting at the counter in the dining area, eating tuna sandwiches and spooning up Angelica’s delicious potato-leek soup, when the cruiser arrived. Angelica let the captain in.

“Thank you for calling me, Ms. Miles. Somehow I had the impression you were going to try to deliver justice by yourself.”

“Not me. Last time out, I got my nose broken. I’m content to stand quietly along the sidelines.”

“I’m not sure I would have believed that a few hours ago.”

“I’m sorry if you thought I was interfering. I simply wanted to make sure that whoever killed Pammy was found.”

“Why don’t you have a cup of coffee while you look them over?” Angelica suggested.

This time, Baker took her up on her offer, settling at one of the counter’s stools. He quickly skimmed the pages. When he’d finished, he picked them up, waving them in Tricia’s direction. “This doesn’t prove Joe Hirt killed anyone. All it says is that he fathered a child, with a birth defect, out of wedlock. I’ll be speaking with him concerning this, but we’re still a long way away from proving he or anyone else killed Pamela Fredericks.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Tricia said. “But at least you have one more piece of the puzzle.”

He stood. “I don’t want you to speak to anyone in the Hirt family until this whole thing is settled. Do I make myself clear?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say. But what if I run into Eugenia at the Bookshelf Diner?”

“Stay away from her until this is resolved.” Baker glanced around Angelica’s café, which looked a lot more cheerful with all the lights turned on. “What’s wrong with eating here? It seems like a charming little place.”

“Why, thank you, Captain Baker. Are you in a hurry? I’ve got some wonderful potato-leek soup that’s to die for!”

“No, thank you, I’ve already had dinner. But it does smell good.”

“Suit yourself,” Angelica said, and dug into her soup once more.

Tricia walked him to the door.

“It goes without saying that you shouldn’t talk about the contents of the diary,” Baker said.

But she already had. Ginny knew some of what the diary held. Thankfully, Tricia hadn’t told her what she’d learned from Stuart Paige. And it would be best not to tell her that Eugenia was the subject of the entire diary, since the two young women were… kind of… friends. The same kind of friends she and Pammy had been? More like acquaintances stuck with each other.

Tricia cleared her throat. “Of course, Captain. I don’t want anything to interfere with your investigation.”

“Thank you, Ms. Miles.”

“Call me Tricia.”

He nodded and smiled. “Tricia.” He tipped his hat. “Good night.”

Tricia closed the door, lingering as she watched the captain get into his cruiser and drive off.

“A-hem!”

Tricia looked over at her sister. “What?”

Angelica sported an absurdly smug expression. “Me-thinks you’re sweet on that man.”

Tricia frowned. “Don’t be absurd. I’m merely glad he’s not as obnoxious as his boss. And besides, now that he’s got the missing diary pages, I’ll probably never see him again.”

The thought saddened her, but she wasn’t about to admit it to Angelica.

“Sit down and finish your soup,” Angelica said. “After all, now you can relax. No matter what happens next, it’s totally out of your hands.”

It certainly was.

TWENTY

It was after ten when Tricia decided to put her book down and go to bed. Only then did she realize that for the first night since Pammy’s death, she hadn’t been bothered by her mysterious caller. Did that prove it had been Joe Hirt on the other end of the line? No one had shot at her windows, either. Eugenia had said she and her father shot skeet. Had Captain Baker thought to ask him about owning any guns? And had the captain spoken to Joe with Libby or Eugenia present? She hoped not. But if Joe had killed Pammy, everything would eventually be made public. Would the community rally around Libby? She’d worked tirelessly for more than two decades to help those less fortunate. She deserved better than to be the subject of vicious gossip.

Everything will work out, Tricia told herself. But the uneasy feeling in her stomach wouldn’t go away.

She turned off her bedside lamp and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the closed curtains. Miss Marple jumped up to join her and gave a hearty “Yow!”

“I don’t like them being closed, either,” Tricia said.

She petted the cat’s head and scratched behind her ears, idly wondering how Frannie had made out with Penny. Miss Marple made herself comfortable on the bed, but Tricia didn’t feel as settled as her cat. She got up and nudged the curtains where they met in the center of the window. Once again she saw a figure dart along the west side of Main Street. With hands raised overhead, the figure tossed yet another carved pumpkin into the center of Stoneham ’s main thoroughfare.

She thought she recognized that silhouette, and grinned. It wasn’t only the freegans who donned black and slunk through the shadows like cat burglars. She wasn’t sure what she would do with this new knowledge.

She let the curtain fall once again. “Oh, well, there’s always tomorrow.”

“Yow!” Miss Marple agreed.

Tricia awoke early the next morning, and decided to make use of the time by working in the storeroom. Ginny had moved the microwave and fridge to the second floor the day before, and Tricia was determined to whip at least one part of her mini warehouse into an employee break room.

The front of the storeroom overlooked the street, and contained shelves full of inventoried books, as well as twenty or thirty cases of books that still needed to be unpacked and sorted. The cavernous room also held the assorted furniture and bric-a-brac she hadn’t wanted to incorporate into her apartment. Assessing the space, Tricia decided the back of the room could be sectioned off to make an agreeable space for Ginny and Mr. Everett to eat their lunches or just take a break.

She unearthed her old kitchen table and chairs, and a sideboard that would hold the microwave, and dragged them into place. Digging through a box of kitchen utensils, she found mismatched silverware, a napkin holder, and eight mugs. Only three of the mugs were chipped, and she tossed them. Next she scrubbed the old utility sink so they had a place to rinse their dishes.

It was nearly nine thirty when Tricia stood back to evaluate her work. The space needed some homey touches, but it would do for now. She had just enough time to take a quick shower before opening the store.

Tricia had finished pouring water into the coffeemaker and hit the On button when she heard a knock at the door. She answered it and found a red-eyed Ginny, who’d shown up for work a full five minutes early.