*   *   *

During the rest of the morning, Tricia moped around the cash desk, waiting on the few customers who had braved the brisk wind and bone-chilling cold. Too often she found herself gazing out onto the quiet street, willing the winter to end and the spring to bring back the tourists.

It was nearly lunchtime when Mr. Everett approached the register. “Ms. Miles, I wonder if I might speak to you for a moment.” He sounded so serious, and his expression was positively grim—a far cry from when he’d come into work that morning.

“Of course,” she said.

“I am a terrible employee, and I feel like I’ve been taking money from you under false pretenses.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We haven’t had a customer in nearly an hour, and yet you’ve scheduled both Pixie and me to work today—and tomorrow. With business the way it is, I would prefer if you didn’t pay me for my time this week.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that,” Tricia said. “We may not have had a lot of customers, but we’re still in the black. And you not only provide our customers with good service, but you take care of the store, Miss Marple, Pixie, and me.”

Mr. Everett was about to reply, when the phone rang. “Hang on,” Tricia told him and picked up the receiver.

“Trish? It’s Angelica. I need a favor. I’m not going to get away from the café for hours yet. Could you go over to my place, get Sarge, and take him for a walk?”

“I’d be happy to,” Tricia said, glad for an opportunity to end her conversation with Mr. Everett. She’d have to think of some way to allay his fears that he was driving her to the poorhouse, but that would take a bit of thought. “I’ll go right now.”

“Thanks. Tootles.”

Tricia hung up the phone. “That was Angelica. She wants me to take her dog for a walk.”

“I could do that,” he volunteered, but Tricia shook her head. The sidewalk could be icy in places, and she hated the thought of him possibly falling and getting hurt. She told him so, and he bristled at the notion.

“I’m sorry,” Tricia apologized. “The only job around here that needs doing is processing the Internet orders. I’ve got two of them up in the storeroom ready to be packaged right now.”

“I could do that. Grace bought me a computer for Christmas. I’m getting quite good at using it. If you or Pixie could show me what needs to be done, I could take over processing all the electronic orders.”

“That’s a great idea. Why don’t we do that as soon as I get back from walking Sarge?”

“While you’re out, I could wrap the books that are already waiting. And I’ll look forward to being trained on a new task,” he said, smiling.

Tricia accompanied Mr. Everett to the back of the store. He entered the door marked PRIVATE leading to the stairs and the storeroom while Tricia grabbed her hat and coat. “Pixie, I’ve got to take Sarge for a walk. I should be back in about twenty minutes.”

“Take your time,” she said, once again fussing with Sarah Jane in her carriage. The way she fretted over the doll was a bit unnerving. Had she had dolls as a child? If not, was this a way to placate her inner child?

Tricia was still pondering that thought as she left her store. The sky had cleared and the wind had done a good job of blowing the snow from Main Street’s sidewalks. Tricia hurried the ten or so feet to the Cookery’s door and entered. Frannie stood behind the cash desk with a novel open before her. She looked up.

“Hi, Frannie,” Tricia said, pulling her gloves off and stuffing them into her coat pocket.

“What brings you into the Cookery on this not-so-fine day?” Frannie asked, smiling.

“I’m on my way up to collect Sarge to take him for a walk.”

“It’s been a while. His little legs are probably crossed by now. Angelica has had to put so much time in over at Booked for Lunch, she hasn’t been around much during the day lately.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Tricia took a step toward the back of the shop, but Frannie’s voice stopped her.

“Have you heard anything new on poor Betsy’s murder investigation?”

Tricia knew better than to share what she knew with Frannie, who was liable to repeat it to the next person who walked through the door. “No. How about you?”

She shook her head. “Not a damn thing. It’s this prolonged cold spell. People have been holing up and keeping to themselves. The grapevine has shriveled to just about nothing. By now you’ve usually got things all figured out and have put our little police force to shame.”

Tricia blinked, taken aback, and wasn’t sure how to reply to that nugget.

Frannie laughed. “I meant that as a compliment.” It hadn’t sounded like it. She went on, “You usually make a fine suspect yourself, what with how you always manage to be involved in all the deaths that have happened these past few years.”

Tricia didn’t appreciate the comment. “Frannie, do you realize you could be considered a suspect in Betsy’s death?”

Frannie waved a hand in dismissal. “No way. I barely knew the woman.”

“That may be, but you went out of your way to irritate her every chance you got.”

“Little old me?” Frannie asked, as though astounded by the news.

“You teased her every day she came to work in Angelica’s storeroom.”

“I was just making conversation,” Frannie said, a note of defensiveness creeping into her voice.

“You made sure to let her know that leaving the Chamber was the best thing that could have happened to you. That you got all sorts of perks, like health insurance, and more money, when you came to work for Angelica, and hinted that though Betsy now worked for her via the Chamber, she had none of those things.” Of course it turned out it didn’t matter anyway; Betsy apparently had more money stashed away than all of them.

“Oh, Tricia, do you really think I’m that cruel?” Frannie asked. She wasn’t kidding around now.

“I wouldn’t say cruel, but in this instance, unkind, and that’s not like you, Frannie.”

Frannie stood taller. “Maybe I did tease her just a little. But you have to remember, I held the Chamber receptionist job for over ten years. Bob Kelly treated me like a slave and then fired me for helping a friend. I heard Bob hired Betsy for more than I ever got paid. And she got other perks, like more vacation, too.” She let out a breath, her expression growing harder. “I guess maybe I was a little bitter, but I promise you I never wished Betsy any harm. I was just as shocked as everyone else when she died. And don’t forget, I was with you and Angelica at the time of her death. I can’t be blamed for her getting killed.”

“No, not unless you paid someone to do it,” Tricia suggested.

Frannie’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Now you’re really living in fantasyland. I save every penny I make for my retirement. A hundred thousand more and I’ll be ready for the big move to Hawaii. I’d never waste a nickel on the likes of Betsy Dittmeyer, no matter how jealous of her I might have been.”

“So you say,” Tricia said diffidently.

Frannie frowned. “I’m really hurt that you could even say that, Tricia.”

“I’m just playing devil’s advocate,” Tricia said evenly.

“You know, you really should leave the sleuthing to the professionals and not make accusations about innocent people.” She sniffed. “Poor little Sarge is waiting for you,” Frannie said in dismissal.

“You’re right. I’ll be back down in a minute or so.”

Tricia felt Frannie’s eyes on her as she made her way to the back of the store. She really shouldn’t have laid it on so thick, but Frannie hadn’t been kind to Betsy and she hadn’t been all that kind to Tricia during their conversation. Still, Tricia ended up feeling like she was in the doghouse once again.

She opened the door to Angelica’s apartment and Sarge came barreling out to greet her, just as happy as he’d been the night before. Unlike people, dogs, bless them, were all-forgiving.