TWENTY-ONE

Tricia couldn’t remember a day that wore on as long as that particular Saturday. The Milford Pumpkin Festival really had cut into business. The few customers she’d had that afternoon had regaled her with tales of the Great Pumpkin contest, the pumpkin catapult, the chili roundup, and the scarecrow contest. And oh, the food!

Rats, Tricia thought. Maybe Pammy was right. I always miss out on the fun.

Eleanor had indeed won first prize in the pie contest-Frannie had called back with that update. No doubt the blue ribbon would be framed and hung over her receptionist’s desk at the Brookview Inn by the next morning.

Grace had called with an update about the wedding flowers, thanking Tricia profusely once again for letting them hold the ceremony in the store, and promised she would arrive early the next morning to help coordinate the last-minute details.

The thing Tricia hadn’t been able to accomplish was hiring a cleaning firm. That meant the job was up to her. Oh, well… she tried to think of it as part of her gift to Grace and Mr. Everett. With Mr. Everett in short supply these last few days, the place had become dusty, so she commandeered his lamb’s wool duster and started working on the shelves.

It was ten minutes until closing. Haven’t Got a Clue had had no customers for at least twenty minutes when Tricia glanced at her watch. “Don’t you just hate this time of year?” she asked Ginny.

“Yes. When the sun goes down, it’s like the whole world closes up.”

“I’ve been thinking of adopting winter hours-except between Thanksgiving and Christmas, of course.”

“I would hate to see my hours cut, but you have to do what’s best for the store,” Ginny said sensibly. “Besides, it would give me more time to work on the house. I have this vision of the living room being finished in time for Christmas. I can already imagine a crackling fire in the fireplace, and our stockings hanging from the mantel. That is, if I can find someone to tell me the chimney is safe enough to light a fire.”

Tricia laughed. “We’ll stay open until seven tonight, but depending on how trade is on Monday, we might as well adopt new hours.”

“What about the Tuesday Night Book Club?”

Tricia shrugged. “We might have to start an hour earlier. Hey, dinner at a decent hour. Now there’s a plan.”

Ginny laughed and began her end-of-day chores, emptying the coffeemaker’s filter of grounds, and pouring the last of the coffee down the washroom sink. She was still in the back of the store when the door opened. Eugenia Hirt entered Haven’t Got a Clue, her face dark with anger. “What’s going on, Tricia?”

Tricia had been counting out the day’s receipts, and closed the register’s cash drawer. “I’m not supposed to speak to you or anyone in your family. Direct orders from Captain Baker of the Sheriff’s Department.”

“That’s what my mother said. But something’s going on, and nobody will tell me what it is. Everyone seems to think you know.”

“Captain Baker said-”

“I don’t give a damn what any sheriff’s deputy said. You know, and you will tell me!”

“Are you threatening me?” Tricia asked.

Eugenia threw back her head, standing taller. “Maybe I am.”

Tricia tried not to laugh. “Go home.” She had to fight the urge to say little girl. “Your mother is very upset. See if you can make her feel better.”

“Not until you tell me what was in that diary.”

So, she knew about Pammy’s diary. Had Pammy said something, or had she heard her parents arguing about it?

Before Tricia could answer the girl, the shop door flew open. Eugenia whirled. “Dad! What are you doing here?”

“Come on, honey. Let’s go home.”

Eugenia shook her head. “I’m not leaving until someone gives me some answers.”

Ginny reappeared from behind a set of shelves. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Tricia and Joe said in unison.

“Ginny, why don’t you go home?” Joe suggested.

Ginny’s face flushed. “Why?”

“Because it looks like Tricia, Eugenia, and I have some serious things to discuss. Things that you don’t need to be a part of.”

Ginny moved to stand next to Tricia. “I don’t think so.”

Tricia was grateful for the support, but her tightening stomach told her that Ginny might be safer if she left the store-now. “Maybe he’s right, Ginny. I think you should-”

“No way,” Ginny said. “I have a few questions of my own. Like why did you try to run Brian’s car off the road the other night, Eugenia?”

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

“The hell you don’t. When we left you and Joe in Nashua on Wednesday night, you came up behind us and sat on Brian’s bumper, trying to scare us. Why?”

Eugenia shrugged. “It was a joke. Can’t you take a joke?”

“I didn’t think it was funny,” Ginny said.

“Neither did I,” Tricia agreed.

Joe stepped around to the front display window and grabbed the cord, lowering the blinds. Miss Marple, who’d been dozing on the shelf behind the register, got up and stretched. Closing the blinds was usually the signal that dinner was close at hand.

“Why did you close the blinds?” Tricia asked, unease creeping up her spine.

“We need privacy,” Joe said. “Ginny, get your coat and go.”

“No!”

“I don’t care if she hears our business,” Eugenia said. “I want to know everything that’s going on. I’m an adult. It’s time you leveled with me, Dad. What was it Pammy said to you? Please, tell me!”

Joe sighed, all the weight of the world on his shoulders. “She tried to blackmail me.”

“With what?” Eugenia insisted.

“Pam said if she couldn’t shake down Stuart Paige, she would come after me.”

“But Dad, Pammy threatened to tell the world at large about my… my birth defect. That would humiliate only me. What else could she have possibly known that would hurt our family?”

Tricia said, “Eugenia’s not a child anymore. Tell her, Joe. Libby told me you two have already discussed it.”

“Mom knows what?” Eugenia asked.

Joe offered his daughter his hand. She took it, her own visibly shaking. “Princess, we always told you your biological parents were dead. But that’s only partially true. Your biological mother died in a car accident when you were still a baby, but your father is alive.”

“You know who he is?” she asked, eagerly.

“It’s someone you already know and, hopefully, love.”

“Who? Please tell me!”

“It’s… me.”

Eugenia’s mouth fell open, and for a long time she just stared at the man she’d always known as her adoptive father. “I’m really your little girl?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Your birth mother couldn’t handle your… birth defect. She gave you up for adoption. I wanted you. I talked your mother-Libby,” he clarified, “into taking you in as a foster child. I knew she’d fall in love with you-as I already had, even though I’d only seen you from behind the glass window in the hospital nursery.”

Eugenia shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “But Dad, you and Mom have been married almost twenty-five years. I’m twenty-one… that means…”

Joe bit his lip, and looked like he was about to cry as well.

“I never meant to hurt your mother. It just happened. And the thing was… I got you in the bargain. We both got you, and it kept us together. We loved you as you were-we loved you through all the surgeries. We will always love you.”

They fell into each other’s arms, tears streaking their cheeks. Tricia hardened her heart. This was all very nice, but it didn’t answer who killed Pammy Fredericks.

The door opened, the little bell below the transom tinkling cheerfully.

Ginny whirled. “Brian! What are you doing here?”

He nodded toward Eugenia. “I followed her.”

“Why aren’t you at work?” Ginny asked, suspiciously.

“I’ve got some things to tell you, Ginny. I… kind of lost my evening job.”