“And what do I get out of the deal?”

“I never tell Angelica just what kind of a nutcase you really are.” She shook her head. “I still don’t know what it is she sees in you. But-there’s no accounting for taste. And you do have some redeeming qualities,” she said, remembering what Libby Hirt had said about him championing the Food Shelf.

Bob stared into his cooling soup. “Okay, I’ll clean up the mess and I won’t smash any more pumpkins.”

“Good.” Tricia rose from her seat. “I’m glad we came to this understanding, Bob. I really wouldn’t want the rest of the villagers-and God forbid, the organizers of the Pumpkin Festival-to know anything about this. I mean, you’re a respected man in this town. If only for Angelica’s sake, I don’t want people to think you’re a total jerk.”

“Thank you, Tricia.” His face screwed into a frown as he thought about what she’d said. “I think.”

“We’ll talk no more about this, shall we?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” Bob rose from his seat and walked around his chair, offering her his hand.

She took it, resisting the urge to wipe it on her jacket afterward. “Well, I’d best be on my way. I’ve still got a business to run.”

“Yes. Me, too.”

Tricia gave him a big smile. “See you later, Bob.”

“You, too, Tricia.”

And off she went to pick up her lunch.

It was nearly three o’clock, and once again the store was empty of customers. If Tricia had better anticipated the slowdown, she could’ve had Ginny start inventorying the books up in the storeroom, but it was too late in the day for that.

The phone rang, and Ginny grabbed it. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Ginny. How can I-” She paused. “Sure thing. Tricia, it’s Frannie-for you.” She held out the phone.

Tricia left the shelves filled with true crime titles she’d been alphabetizing, and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Frannie. What’s up?”

“Oh, Tricia-I’ve been meaning to call you all day, but with one thing and another-”

“Don’t tell me you made headway with Penny?”

“I sure did. Just like you said. I ignored her last night. It took a few hours, but eventually she came out from behind the couch. First she sat in the middle of the living room. Then, little by little, she moved closer to me. By the time the eleven o’clock news came on, she was sitting on my lap and purring like crazy.”

“See, I told you.”

“Yes, you did. And I can’t thank you enough.”

“It wasn’t me. It was you. Sometimes you just need to show a little patience where animals are concerned.” And people, too?

No, she was not going to think about Russ again. He’d made his decision. He could live with it. She was determined to do so, too.

Tricia heard the soft tinkle of a bell.

“Oops-got a customer. Gotta go. See you at the wedding tomorrow.”

No sooner had Tricia hung up the phone than it began to ring again. Tricia picked it up. “Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Tricia. How can I help you?”

“Tricia, it’s Libby Hirt.”

Good grief.

“Libby, I’m not supposed to talk to you or Joe or Eugenia until-”

“Why did you give that diary to the Sheriff’s Department? Why did you have to drag up the past? Why couldn’t you just destroy the damn thing?”

Tricia took a deep breath. She should hang up the phone. She should do as she had been told, and end the conversation. But the hurt in Libby’s voice, the anguish, was like a stab in the heart. “Libby, I’m sorry. It’s evidence in Pammy Fredericks’s death.”

“How? It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Did you know about Joe’s affair with M. J. Collins?”

Silence. Then, “Not until last night. I wish he’d never told me. It destroys the faith I’ve had in him. It makes our entire marriage a sham. And what will it do to our daughter when she finds out the truth?”

“Perhaps it could bring you all closer together.”

“Or it could destroy our family.”

“Everyone seems to forget that Pammy Fredericks was murdered.”

“Maybe she deserved it,” Libby said bitterly. “Blackmail is an ugly game. Would she have bled Joe dry? And what about Mr. Paige?”

“Libby, I know you’re upset and you don’t mean what you just said.”

“And just maybe I do.”

She broke the connection.

Tricia hung up the phone. Was there something in the Stoneham water supply causing relationships to crash and burn? First she and Russ; Ginny and Brian might be on the skids; and now Libby and Joe Hirt-who, until yesterday, had apparently represented the village’s most stable marriage.

And what was she going to tell Captain Baker, now that she’d spoken to yet another member of the Hirt family? There was no way she could set foot inside the Bookshelf Diner-and run into Eugenia-until this whole mess was resolved. In fact, if she was smart, she wouldn’t step outside Haven’t Got a Clue.

She forced herself to think about other things. With the wedding set for the next day, she had too much to do. The store needed a thorough cleaning. Although it was last minute, perhaps she should hire a cleaning team to come in-but did cleaners work Saturday evenings? What if she couldn’t engage someone to come after store hours? And had anyone thought to rent chairs for the reception? Or maybe tall tables, so the guests had somewhere to park their plates of breakfast foods, champagne, and cake while they ate? She’d have to ask Angelica.

With less than sixteen hours to go, Grace and Mr. Everett’s wedding seemed so far away-so normal and life-affirming. And Pammy was still-and forever would be-dead. Although she’d been on the outs with her family for years, it seemed doubly cruel they should decide not to claim her body. There’d be no commemoration of her life. And if Tricia took it upon herself to arrange one, would anyone show up?

Pammy had been shy and awkward when they’d met twenty-four years ago. She’d been shrewd and apparently heartless the last time they’d spoken. And she’d accused Tricia of not knowing how to have any fun. But was fun at someone else’s expense enjoyable, or just spite?

Tricia preferred to think the latter.

Pammy was dead and, as far as Tricia knew, no one-and she would have to include herself-would mourn her.

A truly wasted life.

Though she had too many other phone calls to make, on impulse Tricia hauled out the phone book and called the Hillsborough County Medical Examiner’s office. Maybe Pammy’s family had reconsidered. Maybe plans were already in place for some kind of service, and no one had thought to call her. However, the person she spoke with at the ME’s office only reaffirmed what she’d already been told by Captain Baker.

“What does that mean?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eventually, the body will be buried at taxpayers’ expense.”

“Thank you.” Tricia hung up the phone.

Buried in an unmarked grave. Did anyone deserve that?

Several customers entered the store. Tricia waited on them, all the while thinking of the phone calls she needed to make to ensure the wedding went off without a hitch. It was time to put Pammy out of her mind… forever.

Still, until her killer was caught, Tricia wasn’t sure she could do that.

Everything felt unfinished. Like Pammy’s life.

And Tricia hated that feeling of helplessness.