“What kind of decisions?”

“Mostly financial.” Nikki sniffed several times as she loaded the cookies into a separate white bakery bag. As she handed Tricia the sacks, she burst into tears.

Tricia moved closer to the case, wishing she could get around it and give the poor distraught woman a hug. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Nikki looked up and shook her head. “Not unless you’ve got the name of a good marriage counselor.”

Tricia clamped her teeth shut and tried not to wince. Nikki and Russ Smith had been married just over three months and already they were in trouble? Tricia didn’t want to get in the middle of their marital problems, but if she didn’t say anything—would that make her seem cold and indifferent to the poor woman’s suffering?

“Things can’t be that bad,” she said.

“But they are. Russ says I have to keep working after the baby arrives. That we can’t afford to live on only one income. I think he’s wrong, but he’s adamant. I want to be with our baby every moment of the day. I don’t want to miss that first step or first word. I’m going to breast-feed and later make my own baby food. Nothing will be too good for my child.”

Did she intend to be a helicopter mom—constantly hovering over the poor kid? Oh, well, it wasn’t Tricia’s place to judge. “I’m sure the two of you will work everything out—and soon.”

Nikki shrugged, looking unconvinced, and sniffed again.

Tricia paid for her purchases and started for the door. She needed to give Nikki a shot of hope—or at least the promise of another sale. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope you’ll be feeling better by then.”

“I’d sure appreciate the business,” Nikki said as she commandeered the stool once again.

The door closed with another bang and Tricia hung on to her bakery bags for dear life as she battled the wind and crossed the street, heading for the Coffee Bean, where she bought a cup of French roast for herself and a decaf for Ginny. She had to work up her courage to leave the shop and slog through the gale to the Happy Domestic. She rang the bell and quickly turned her back to the wind. Seconds later, Ginny came out from the store’s back room, crossed the shop, and unlocked the door.

“I thought it might be you,” she said in greeting. “Come in out of that wicked cold before you shatter.”

Tricia welcomed the warmth that enveloped her, not completely sure if it was the temperature or the pretty merchandise that was for sale all around her. “I bring you a decaf coffee and a bran muffin. No more cupcakes for you—you’ve got to eat healthy for the next few months.”

“How did you know I skipped breakfast this morning?” Ginny asked.

Tricia smiled. “Just a hunch.”

Ginny took the coffee tray from her. “Come on back to the office where we can sit.”

The Happy Domestic’s combination storeroom and office was tidy, with a place for everything. The folding metal seats weren’t exactly comfortable, but they’d do. Ginny doled out the coffee while Tricia took off her coat, tossed it onto a stack of cartons, and sat down. She opened the bag and removed the muffins, handing one of them to Ginny.

“Thanks. I think I’ve got some napkins,” she said, scrounged through her desk, and came up with a couple stamped with the Coffee Bean’s logo.

“How’s business?” Tricia asked.

“Slow.”

“Same here. Same everywhere in Stoneham. Nikki said I was only her second customer of the day.”

Ginny nodded. She and Nikki hadn’t talked much since Ginny had scored the Brookview Inn for her wedding reception, the same day as Nikki’s. Nikki had had to settle for the party room at the American Legion hall, which wasn’t anywhere near as swank. “How’s Angelica holding up after yesterday?”

“She’s fine. You know what a trouper she is.”

“That she is. If it were me who’d had to deal with an employee being killed on the premises, I think I’d be ready for a padded room.”

“Angelica is made of tough stuff. Her biggest problem now is keeping things together for the Chamber until she can hire someone to do Betsy’s job.”

“What about Frannie?”

Tricia shrugged. “She has her duties at the Cookery.”

Ginny nodded and sighed. She broke off the top of her muffin but instead of eating it, just stared at it. “I’m so embarrassed about the fuss I caused at your store yesterday. But when Nikki came busting in with her happy news, it just made me feel like such a heel.”

“You are not a heel. And Nikki isn’t as happy as you might think.”

“What do you mean? When I saw her she was absolutely ecstatic.”

“Apparently Russ didn’t share her joy. It seems they’re having financial difficulties. Unless things change, Nikki probably won’t be able to stay home with the baby as she’d like.” Tricia didn’t care to say more.

Ginny frowned. “Here she wants to stay home with her baby and can’t, and I can afford to, but don’t want to. What a pair we make.”

Tricia took a sip of her coffee. “Have you told Antonio yet?”

Ginny shook her head and looked guilty. “But I’m going to have to soon. I know he’ll be happy about it, but I can’t tell him until I feel happy about it.”

“Give yourself a few more days. Once the shock wears off, you’ll be fine.” Tricia broke off a piece of her muffin and nibbled on it.

“Since I haven’t been able to work up the courage to say something about the baby, I’m actually glad Antonio has been working late almost every night lately. Something very hush-hush”—she rolled her eyes at the words—“is going on at NRA and there’s going to be an announcement at any time now.”

“He hasn’t let you in on the big secret?” Tricia asked, surprised.

Ginny shook her head. “The big boss—Nigela Ricita—says it’s on a need-to-know basis, and I don’t need to know.”

Oh, dear. How was it Angelica knew about the NRA real estate agency and not Ginny? Perhaps they weren’t copied on the same e-mails.

Ginny took another bite of her muffin and swallowed. “I suppose it’s too soon to hear if Chief Baker has any good leads on Betsy Dittmeyer’s murder.”

“He hasn’t shared any news with me,” Tricia admitted.

“I’ve tried to remember when I last spoke with her. I guess it was at the January Chamber breakfast. She chided me for not finishing my third cup of coffee. She told me in future I should finish everything I took from the buffet table or not take seconds at all.”

“That sounds like Betsy all right,” Tricia agreed.

“But what’s funny is, after the meeting was over, I hung back to talk to Antonio and saw Betsy pilfering paper napkins. She must have stuffed about a hundred of them into her purse.”

“That is rather rude,” Tricia said, especially for someone who she’d been told had millions squirreled away.

“I mentioned it to Antonio, but he said to forget it. That she always took something after every Chamber breakfast. Once, she swiped a linen tablecloth. He said paper napkins were cheaper and easier to replace.”

They both polished off the last of their muffins and Ginny glanced up at the clock, stood, and sighed. “I hate to be a killjoy, but we both need to get to work.”

Tricia rose, too. Good old Ginny, always the pragmatist. Tricia disposed of her coffee cup, buttoned her coat, and headed for the door, with Ginny right behind her. “We’ll talk again soon,” Tricia promised, gave her former employee a quick wave, and headed out the door.

*   *   *

The sky was overcast with the threat of snow when Tricia arrived back at Haven’t Got a Clue. No sooner had she hung up her coat when the shop door opened, the little bell over it tinkling cheerfully. “Good morning,” Chief Baker called as Tricia approached from the back of the store.

“What brings you out bright and early this not-so-fine morning?” Tricia asked.

“Not much. I just thought I’d pay you a visit. We are friends. And besides, you seem to know everything that goes on around the village.”