“I’m not used to having weekends off, although I’m sure enjoying my stint working at the Chamber. Do you ever miss it?”

“The Chamber? No. Why would I?” Frannie asked, sounding annoyed.

Tricia shrugged. “I don’t know. I should think it’s a lot more exciting now than when you were there. Probably more interesting, too.”

“That’s a given. From what Angelica tells me, there’s lots of fun stuff going on all the time.” She seemed to think it over for a moment. “Yeah, it sounds a whole lot better than when I worked there. Angelica is full of so many ideas, and the membership has sure changed, with lots of new people, new businesses. But I’m happy where I am now,” she asserted, and looked at her watch. “I need to finish my weeding before I have to show up at the Cookery an hour from now.”

“I don’t mean to keep you, but I know what you mean. I hope to be back to Haven’t Got a Clue soon, but in the meantime, it hasn’t been unpleasant working for the Chamber. I’ve learned a lot of new things—and a lot about Stoneham.”

“Any news from the insurance company?” Frannie asked.

Ah, the perfect opening. “No. But Bob Kelly has been pressuring me to buy the building.”

“So I heard,” Frannie said. No doubt Angelica had mentioned it.

“He doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer,” Tricia said.

“He can be a very stubborn man,” Frannie agreed.

“In what way?” Tricia asked, innocently.

“When he wants something, he gets it,” she said firmly.

“Unless he lowers the price, I’m not buying.”

“Then he’ll do what it takes to make you buy it.”

“You’re scaring me a little,” Tricia said with a mirthless laugh.

“You ought to be scared. I was lucky he didn’t retaliate against me more than he did after I took the job at the Cookery.”

“He retaliated against you? How?”

“First, he tried to sabotage my friendship with Angelica. He threatened that he would have me fired within a month of my working there, but then he’d never met anyone who could really stand up to him like she could—can,” Frannie corrected herself.

“What else did he do?”

“I could never prove it, of course,” she began, “but my credit rating took a huge hit just after I left the Chamber. Bob knows a lot more about computers than he ever lets on, and thanks to his real estate holdings, he has all kinds of ins with various financial institutions.”

“You can’t mean the Bank of Stoneham,” Tricia said, alarmed. She liked its manager, Billie Burke, and couldn’t imagine her tampering with files or doing anything illegal.

Frannie shook her head. “Bob deals with a lot of out-of-state banks. A couple of them listed liens against my house. That took a lot of juggling to straighten out. Thank goodness for Angelica. She has more friends in high places than Bob, and pulled some strings to help me set things right.”

“Did she believe Bob had anything to do with it?” Tricia asked.

“No. Usually she’s such a good judge of character. I don’t know what in God’s name she ever saw in that sorry excuse for a man.”

Neither do I, Tricia refrained from saying aloud.

“He’s not still bothering you, is he?” Tricia asked.

“Right now he’s got more on his mind than just annoying little people like me—and that’s just the way he sees me. Little. Insignificant. Unimportant. I’ll tell you the truth, I’m glad he’s forgotten about me. That man frightens me.”

Tricia had always thought Frannie was fearless; to find out she wasn’t startled her. But what had she really told Tricia but conjecture and innuendo—a gossip’s best friends. Still, Tricia believed every word Frannie had uttered.

She looked down at the marigolds and red zinnias that populated Frannie’s little garden. “They’re so pretty, unlike the hanging baskets along Main Street.”

Frannie nodded knowledgably. “Angelica has kept me informed. It’s a shame. They cost such a lot of money and brought such beauty to our little village.”

“Once again, we’re probably out of the running for prettiest village in New Hampshire.” Tricia shook her head sadly. “I might have seen who is responsible, but it was late and dark, and the person wore a hoodie and was carrying a large trash bag. I’ll just bet it was full of the silk flowers we put in those baskets.”

“Angelica doesn’t like me to gossip,” Frannie said, “but I’ll bet if you checked a certain Dumpster here in the village, you just might find those missing silk flowers.”

“You know who’s responsible?”

“As you know, I hear things,” Frannie said cryptically.

Tricia met Frannie’s penetrating gaze. “I’m listening.”

“Sometimes I take a walk in the early morning before it gets too hot. The other day I saw a man walking up Main Street with a big black trash bag in one hand and a—”

“Long-handled gripper in the other?” Tricia guessed.

“Yes.”

“I think I saw him, too. But I didn’t know who it was. I don’t suppose you saw what he did with the flowers he was plucking.”

“When he saw me, he stopped at the nearest trash barrel and shoved the bag in.”

“Do you remember exactly where?”

Frannie thought for a moment. “Must have been right in front of the Stoneham Weekly News.”

“Would you be willing to tell Chief Baker what you saw?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you so much. I’ll have him give you a call.”

“It took me a day or two to figure out who it was,” Frannie said with certainty.

“And?” Tricia asked.

•   •   •

Tricia and Sarge hurried back to the Cookery, but when they reached Angelica’s apartment, Tricia found a note taped to the door. Off to Booked for Lunch to get the salads going. I’ll be working with Pixie today. See you at the usual time. Tootles!

So much for having a Dumpster-diving buddy.

Tricia returned Sarge to the loft apartment, unhooked his leash, gave him a couple of biscuits, and left the building. Once outside, she noticed a truck parked in front of Haven’t Got a Clue. Jim Stark stood before the derelict store, staring at it.

Tricia put on a happy face. “Hi, Jim.”

Stark turned and nodded in her direction but said nothing. He turned back to the soot-stained façade. Tricia moved to stand beside him.

“The outside fixes are mostly cosmetic,” Stark said. “We’ll scrub the stucco, repair it, and replace the glass in the window.”

“It’s the damage inside that’s heartbreaking,” Tricia said.

Stark nodded.

They stared at the large piece of plywood that covered what had been Tricia’s large display window. Could Stark have killed Pete Renquist in a jealous rage? Should she bring up the subject?

She didn’t have to.

“I need to apologize for the way I spoke to you when we last talked,” he began.

Tricia said nothing, content to let him lead the conversation.

“The truth is, Renquist and my wife were friends—perhaps too close friends for comfort. I guess I was jealous.”

“Pete was known to have a glib tongue,” Tricia said.

“Toni tells me nothing ever went on between them. I trust my wife. I didn’t know Renquist enough to trust him.”

“Were you angry at him?”

Stark turned to face her. “You mean enough to kill him?”

“Someone killed him,” Tricia said, keeping her voice neutral.

Stark nodded. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete.”

“I know for a fact that Pete was murdered.”

“Yeah, well, I have an iron-clad alibi, if you’re thinking of pinning the blame on me.”

“Why would you think I’d do that?”

He held a hand up to take in the soot-stained sign over the plywood. “Because you’re Stoneham’s Queen of Mystery.”

Well, that title was certainly better than that of village jinx.

“Every one of my crew—not to mention my client—can vouch that I was on a job site last Monday. Thanks to the port-a-john, I didn’t have to leave the site for even a bathroom break from nearly dawn until almost dusk.”