“It’s me,” said Angelica. “Look out the window.”

Tricia did so, and saw Angelica standing in the window of Booked for Lunch, waving at her. “Come on over and get some dinner. We had so many leftovers today and I hate to toss out food that I can’t feed to customers.”

“So you’ll feed it to me instead?” Tricia asked, not sure if she should be offended.

“If you can eat a dinner made from food rescued from a Dumpster and not die from food poisoning, you can eat my leftovers and live to see another day.”

She had a point. “Okay, I’ll grab my coat and be right over.”

Tricia gave Miss Marple some kitty snacks before grabbing her coat, hat, and scarf, and then locked the store behind her. She looked up and didn’t see Christopher standing in his window, which was just as well. She’d just told him she had work to do and now she was on her way out. Then it occurred to her that she owed him no explanations, making her angry with herself.

The street was dry, but Tricia walked carefully in case there were patches of black ice, and in less than a minute she entered Booked for Lunch. A virtual smorgasbord of cold salads, sandwiches, and desserts wrapped in plastic had been spread across the café’s counter, with two places set. “Take off your coat and help yourself,” Angelica called from the kitchen.

Tricia wriggled out of the sleeves of her jacket and tossed it onto one of the seats of an empty booth. “Wow, you really do have a lot of leftovers.”

Angelica emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with two bowls of steaming soup. “Tommy took home a load of food, and even took some to Bev, although I told him not to breathe too deeply and catch whatever she’s got. I can’t afford to lose both of them to a virus right now. Although, come to think of it, business has been so bad I could probably take care of the café by myself if I had to. But I don’t want to,” she said, setting the bowls down on the paper place mats. “Dig in.”

“Can’t you give some of the surplus to the food pantry?”

Angelica shook her head, set the tray aside, and sat down on one of the stools. “There are health department rules and regulations that prohibit it.”

Tricia took the stool next to Angelica and picked up her spoon, stirring the soup: cream of tomato. Suddenly she had a hankering for a grilled cheese sandwich, but thought better of requesting one—not with the bonanza of leftovers in front of her. She placed a large spoonful each of tuna salad, egg salad, and chicken salad on the plate Angelica had provided, and helped herself to a packet of oyster crackers that sat before her.

“What a terrible week. First Betsy is killed, and then Bev gets sick,” Angelica said and tested the soup, wincing at its heat. She helped herself to the salads, as well.

“Linda over at the Everett Foundation had an emergency appendectomy, too.”

“That just proves my point,” Angelica said.

They ate in companionable silence for a minute or so before Tricia spoke again. “What do you think about us taking a vacation sometime?”

“The two of us? Together?” Angelica asked, surprised.

“Why not?”

Angelica shrugged. “Why not, indeed? What were you thinking?”

Tricia shrugged. “Someplace warm, but not too crowded.”

Angelica looked out the window onto the darkened street. “Right about now, that sounds like heaven. Of course, this is a terrible time for me, what with Betsy dying and the Chamber in chaos.” She was quiet for a while. “I do wish I could say yes and jump on a plane tomorrow, but I can’t. Are you terribly disappointed?”

Tricia shook her head. “It was just a pipe dream.”

Angelica stirred her soup, which didn’t need stirring at all. “I’m sorry, but I’m terribly touched that you would even think of me as your travel mate.”

“Maybe we could do something next winter.”

“Yes, why don’t we?”

The sisters looked at each other and smiled, but Angelica’s eyes also glistened with unshed tears. It was time to change the subject.

“I tried to track down Bob today. I wanted to ask him about Betsy—what kind of employee she was, what he thought of her—but apparently he’s still nowhere to be found,” Tricia said, and popped one of the oyster crackers in her mouth.

“That’s odd,” Angelica said and sampled the egg salad, found it lacking, grabbed one of the shakers, and added a little pepper to it.

“I thought so, too.” Tricia dipped her spoon into the soup, but blew on it several times before trying it. Just right. “Did you have a chance to talk to Grant about the Chamber files?”

“Damn. I completely forgot.” She glanced at the clock. “Too late today.”

“I’m sure he’d take the call, even if he is just tucking into his own dinner.”

Angelica sighed. “I really don’t want to get into it all with him. It would take hours and hours and, anyway, you were the one to actually come up with the blackmail angle. I think the news should come from you.”

“I disagree.”

“Then we can agree to disagree.” Angelica took a bite of her salad, chewed, and swallowed.

“All right. I’ll give him a call. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Fine with me.” Angelica changed the subject and opened a packet of crackers. “I’m looking forward to finding someone else to work with on Chamber business. Betsy was such an odd duck. She never let on what she was thinking or who she was as a person. And now she’s dead and won’t be missed. Isn’t that just the saddest thing—to have lived half a century on the planet and no one to grieve for you?”

“Joelle was pretty upset about her death,” Tricia said.

“Okay, then only one person to grieve for you.”

“It certainly is sad,” Tricia agreed. “I wonder how she lived when she wasn’t at work for the Chamber. Did she have a nice house or did she live in an apartment? Did she secretly collect plates with clowns on them—”

“I think I could believe that,” Angelica said, taking another bite of egg salad.

“—or did she grow orchids and cross-country ski? We’ll never know.”

Angelica’s eyes suddenly widened. Tricia knew that mischievous look. “What are you thinking?”

“We could visit Betsy’s house.”

“A drive-by? What are we going to see when it’s pitch-black out?”

“We could go in and take a peek,” Angelica said with a devious lilt to her voice.

“That’s breaking and entering. Not that that has stopped us before,” Tricia admitted.

Angelica got up, retrieved her purse from under the counter, and took something from it, waving it in the air. “I have her keys.”

“Where did you get them?” Tricia asked, aghast.

“The day she died, Betsy left them on my sales counter. I never had the chance to return them to her.”

“And you never gave them to Chief Baker.”

“Until just now, I’d almost forgotten I had them.”

Tricia felt a smile tug at her lips. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s finish eating and go!”

*   *   *

After taking Sarge for a short walk, the sisters jumped into Angelica’s car and headed into Milford. No full moon illuminated the inky black sky as Angelica drove slowly down Vintage Road, while Tricia rode shotgun, looking for number 77.

“Most of these houses don’t have visible house numbers,” she commented. “Say they need to call 911 to report a fire or order an ambulance—how do they expect the good guys to find them?”

“Clairvoyance?” Angelica suggested. They’d reached the end of the street, so Angelica drove partway up one of the driveways, backed out, and started up the road once more, driving at a crawl.

“Stop!” Tricia said. “It’s got to be this one.”

“You think?”

“Number 79 is on the right and 75 is on the left. Process of elimination says this is the right one.”

Angelica pressed the accelerator and drove on. “If we’re going in, I don’t want the neighbors to see my car and take down my license number.”