“Of course. Miss Marple and I can hold down the fort while you work up in the storeroom.”

“Great. Come on, Mr. E, we could get a lot done before the end of the day.”

“Would you mind hanging up my coat?” Tricia asked.

“Sure thing,” Pixie said, taking it from her, and then she and Mr. Everett headed for the back of the store, where Pixie hung up the coat, and then she and Mr. Everett headed up the stairs to the storeroom above.

With nothing better to do, Tricia bent down to retrieve Betsy’s heavy Bible from under the cash desk, where she’d stashed it hours before. It made a distinct thump as it hit the top of the glass display case. Tricia turned the leather-clad cover so that the title page was visible. It was a King James Version that had seen a lot of hard use over the years. Tricia flipped through the pages to the center of the book. Based on the family tree, it was well over a hundred years old. For its age, it wasn’t in such terrible condition, but it wouldn’t be worth much. Too bad Betsy’s relatives weren’t famous—or infamous—which would have considerably increased its value.

Someone dressed in a camouflage jacket passed by the big display window, walking at a fast clip. It could only be Bob. For someone who claimed he didn’t want to be caught, what was he doing walking down Stoneham’s main drag in broad daylight? Or, after their conversation earlier that day, had he changed his mind and now wanted to be caught?

Tricia looked back down at the Bible. Pack rat that she was, Betsy had stuffed an inordinate amount of papers, news clippings, and recipes into the book. As she flipped more of the pages, Tricia set the loose pieces of paper aside. The Bible did have nice illustrations, but the binding was in poor condition. She could repair it, but it would take quite a bit of effort and she felt no particular urge to do so, especially since Betsy had probably broken quite a few of the commandments listed within it. That, of course, wasn’t the Bible’s fault.

The camo-clad figure passed by, going in the opposite direction, walking at a fast clip.

Tricia assembled the papers into a neat pile, set them on the top page, and closed the book, putting it out of harm’s way on the shelf below the sales counter. She walked over to the door, taking a look outside. Sure enough, Bob walked by once again, and she stuck her head out to stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Are you alone?” he asked, furtively glancing around.

“Yes. You look frozen stiff. For heaven’s sake come inside and have a cup of coffee and warm up.”

Bob wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing vigorously. “Thanks, Tricia. I was hoping you’d say that.”

Tricia ushered Bob in and closed the door behind him. He pulled off his gloves, rubbing his hands together for warmth, and stamped his feet on the bristle welcome mat. Tricia wrinkled her nose as she passed him. How long had it been since he’d had a shower?

By the time she’d poured a cup of coffee, Bob joined her at the beverage station. She set the cup down before him and pushed the tray with creamer and sugar forward. Bob doctored his coffee and Tricia set a plate of cookies in front of him.

“When was the last time you had a decent meal?” she asked.

“About a week ago. Nikki Brimfield tosses out a lot of good stuff every night, but after a while even cookies and cake get boring. I’ve been dreaming about a burger and fries.”

“You can’t go on like this, Bob. You need to face up to whatever it is you’re running from.”

“I will, I will. I’ve done a lot of thinking since we talked earlier. I just need to figure out what I’m going to say to Chief Baker.”

“Come on, Bob, level with me. What did you do in your past life that is so god-awful that you’d risk your health, and your business, to hide?”

Bob looked away and took a deep gulp of coffee, as though it might give him the strength to keep talking. “It was a stupid high school prank. When you’re a kid, you do stupid things. You don’t think about the consequences or realize that one idiotic move could follow you the rest of your life. I didn’t have a father figure to warn me about such things. I thought I knew better than anybody else. I thought I knew it all.”

It seemed to Tricia that he hadn’t changed much in that regard. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll go to Stella Craft.” Stella was one of Stoneham High School’s retired English teachers who, until her retirement some ten or twelve years before, at one time or another seemed to have taught just about every student who walked through that school’s hallowed doors. “She’s got a mind like a steel trap. And if she’s reminded of whatever it was you’ve done—after years of not thinking about it—it’s sure to get out.”

Bob seemed to squirm. “Okay, but please don’t tell anyone else about it. You have to swear.”

Tricia sighed, bored. But she dutifully raised her hand and said, “I swear.”

Bob seemed to wrestle with his conscience. He looked like he was going to speak, then frowned, fidgeted a bit, then opened his mouth to speak again—and didn’t. The man was positively maddening.

“Come on, Bob, I haven’t got all day,” Tricia chided.

“Oh, all right. I had a nickname back in high school.”

“What’s so shameful about a nickname?” she asked.

“The shame is how I acquired it. They called me”—his face grew beet red—“the mooner.”

Tricia blinked, and tried to stifle a smile. “The mooner?”

“Yeah. I was in my senior year and a bunch of buddies and I would ride around Stoneham and Milford in George Stewart’s Chevy Caprice and moon people.”

Tricia struggled to keep a straight face. “And I take it you got caught?”

“Yeah, I got caught,” he emphasized. “We all did it, but I was the only one who was actually apprehended with my pants down around my ankles. I was arrested for lewd behavior. Got hauled up in front of a judge and everything. My mother wanted to disown me. I’ve never been so ashamed in all my life.”

“What was your sentence?”

“A hundred hours of community service.”

“And did you complete your punishment?” Tricia asked.

“No. After graduation, I skipped town. I didn’t come back for almost twenty years. By then everybody seemed to have forgotten about it. But I knew if I was ever arrested that the truth would come out and I might get tossed in jail—and have my reputation ruined.”

“How much of your sentence did you complete?”

“About ten hours. I was supposed to pick up trash, dig holes, and other kinds of manual labor. It was hard work. Really hard work.”

“That’s why they call it punishment,” Tricia said, but Bob had no comment. “Where have you been hiding for the past week?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no, I’m not telling you so that you can get me and another person in trouble.”

“I’ve already promised I wouldn’t talk about your problem to anyone. I assume you’ve been hiding at one of your properties.”

“Yeah, and after a week my welcome has worn pretty thin.”

“Look, Bob, why don’t you just turn yourself in? You might have to complete your community service, but I doubt they’re going to toss you in jail for this or for vandalizing Stan Berry’s house.”

“Fat lot you know,” he said, sounding forlorn.

“Have you consulted a lawyer?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then you have no clue what is liable to happen to you.”

“With my string of bad luck, they’ll likely toss me straight in jail and throw away the key.”

“I think you’re overreacting. But would doing a few days’ jail time be preferable to losing your business? I’ll bet your clients are getting pretty annoyed at not being able to reach you. You’re playing right into NRA Realty’s hands. If you don’t show your clients some tender loving care, NRA will swoop down and sign them up.”

Bob’s entire body seemed to sag. “I guess you’re right.” He looked up, turning his sad green eyes on her. “Would you broker a deal for me with Chief Baker?”