Frannie had retrieved the Havahart trap, with its howling occupant, and her coat, and practically flew out the Cookery's door the moment Tricia arrived. "Be right back," she a.s.sured Tricia, and took off at a trot.

No sooner had the door closed on her than it was opened again, and several customers entered. One hundred and fifty-six dollars later, they departed, and a familiar face crossed the threshold. Pete Marbello hefted a box and frowned at Tricia. "What are you doing here? This isn't your shop."

"No, it belongs to my sister."

He looked around the store. "Where's Frannie?"

"She had an errand to run. Can I help you?"

He stepped up to the register, letting the heavy box bang onto the gla.s.s-topped counter.

"Hey," Tricia protested.

"It's just books," he said. "Frannie's been buying them from me for the last few months. I don't suppose you know anything about cookbooks?"

"Not really."

"d.a.m.n." He pursed his lips, staring at the carton. "Can I leave them here for Frannie? Could you ask her to call me?"

"Sure." But she wasn't about to let him leave before she asked him a few questions of her own. "I understand your father owns the convenience store up by the highway."

"Yeah. The greenest store in the county," he said with pride. "You noticed the different trash cans out front, didn't you? For paper, gla.s.s, and plastic."

"I can't say as I have. But I'll be sure to look next time I'm there."

"That was my idea. I sort all the trash that goes into the Dumpster, too. We recycle more than the rest of the retailers around here. We only use recycled plastic bags in the store, too. If I had my way, we wouldn't use plastic or paper, but people are conditioned to expect them."

"What would you put their purchases in?"

"Customers should bring their own reusable bags. We sell them, but not enough people buy or use them."

"You're really serious about all this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, and you should be, too," he said, the weight of the chip on his shoulder coloring his voice.

"I have tried the cornstarch bags, but they aren't strong enough to hold books. The bags I use are made from recycled plastic, and for big orders, I have paper bags with handles."

"That's better than most of the other booksellers," he grudgingly admitted.

Tricia indicated the box of books. "Have you become a picker?"

"Sort of. I'm trying to get enough money together to start a recycling plant."

"That's pretty ambitious."

"You'd be surprised what can be recycled. My plan is to buy a flatbed truck, put an ad in the local papers, and offer a free service to pick up old appliances, like refrigerators, old cars, then sc.r.a.p 'em. If I can hook up with the county, I should be able to clean up the environment--and financially, too."

"Tell me more," Tricia said, and leaned forward on the counter, trying to appear more interested than she was. How on earth was she going to get Pammy into the conversation?

He droned on and on. At last he mentioned the freegans, and she jumped at the opportunity to interrupt. "I understand you met my friend Pammy Fredericks digging through the convenience store's trash, and that you invited her along on several of your Dumpster-diving expeditions."

"Yeah," he admitted with a snarl. "I thought she was a kindred spirit, but it turned out she had a one-track mind. Always b.i.t.c.hing about coming into money--or not coming into it. At least not fast enough."

"Yes, that's what Joe Hirt said, too. Pammy didn't tell me what her big plans were. Do you know?"

He shrugged. "Something about someone paying her big bucks for what she knew. She had some kind of proof."

"A diary?" Tricia suggested.

He frowned. "I dunno. Maybe. I didn't pay much attention to her. She wasn't really one of us. All she cared about was getting something for nothing. The world is better off without people like her. Takers. What did she ever give back to anyone?"

It was Tricia's turn to frown. His plan to scoop up sc.r.a.p metal and resell it didn't sound all that altruistic, either, especially given the freegans' goal of living a less material existence.

"Pammy didn't deserve to die the way she did--suffocating in garbage."

He shrugged. "One less moocher sucking up our air and using our resources."

Tricia straightened. She'd had enough of him. "I'll tell Frannie to give you a call about these books," she said, letting him know he was being dismissed.

"She's got my number," he said, a sneer entering his voice.

Tricia watched as he left the shop. She glanced inside the carton of books. They looked to be in pretty good shape. Where had he gotten them? There weren't many yard sales at this time of year. She bent lower and sniffed. A bit musty, perhaps, but they didn't reek of the soup found at the bottom of a Dumpster or trash bin.

Pammy had spoken a little too freely about her diary and what she hoped to gain from it. Despite Pete Marbello's a.s.sessment of her, she did not deserve to be killed. More and more it sounded as though she was blackmailing--or attempting to blackmail--someone. But who? There was only one logical choice: Stuart Paige.

But Tricia had nothing but suspicions. She didn't even have the diary. Without it, there was no reason to talk to, let alone confront, the man.

Whoever killed Pammy might just get away with murder, after all.

Frannie was gone much longer than Tricia had antic.i.p.ated--almost two hours. "I'm sorry I'm late," she apologized as she wiggled out of the sleeves of her coat. "When I got Penny home, I called the vet to make an appointment for her. They said they had an opening, and to bring her right in."

"I wish you'd called," Tricia said, looking at her watch. It was past Ginny's lunch break, and Mr. Everett would be holding down Haven't Got a Clue by himself.

"I'm sorry, Tricia. I should have. But the only day I have off is Sunday, and the vet isn't open then."

True enough. "I forgive you. But I'd better get back to my own store in case Mr. Everett needs to leave. He and Grace have a lot of plans to make before Sunday."

"Isn't it exciting--getting married at their age? Maybe there's still hope for me," Frannie added wistfully.

Tricia scooted around the sales desk, letting Frannie take her place. "Talk to you later."

Frannie waved. "Thanks again!"

Haven't Got a Clue was mobbed with customers, and despite its being late, Ginny had not taken her lunch break. Mr. Everett stood by one of the back shelves, helping a customer, while Miss Marple observed the chaos from her perch on the shelf behind the register.

Tricia grabbed the stack of books Ginny had already rung up, and bagged them. "Here you go," she told the customer. "I'm so sorry I'm late," she whispered to Ginny.

"If you were helping anyone but Frannie, I wouldn't be so accommodating," Ginny said. To the customer she said, "That'll be forty-three eighty-five." The woman handed over her gold card and Ginny swiped it through the credit card machine.

"Anything happen while I was gone?"

"We've been very busy. Grace called to thank you. So we're holding a wedding here on Sunday?"

"Uh-huh." She hadn't offered to let Ginny get married at the store; would she feel slighted? "Does that upset you?"

"Of course not. It was nice of you to offer. But it's a good thing they're planning a small affair."

Definitely no hurt feelings there.

The credit card machine spit out a piece of paper, the customer signed it, and was on her way.

Tricia picked up the conversation where they'd left it. "I'm not sure of the logistics on this wedding. I may need your help getting things set up. I wonder if I should rent chairs, or if the caterer will handle that. If you could come in early Sunday morning, to help set things up, I'd be glad to pay you for your time."

"You'll do no such thing. Mr. Everett and Grace are my friends, too, you know. I'll do whatever I can to help make their day a happy one."

Tricia smiled. "I knew I could count on you."

Ginny glanced at her watch. "Yikes! It's twenty minutes past my lunch break."

Tricia flushed with guilt. She hadn't yet made any headway on putting together a break room for Ginny and Mr. Everett in her storeroom. Another task undone. Luckily, the day was bright and sunny. No doubt Ginny's car would be warm enough for her to endure another lunch break, but the weather wouldn't hold much longer.

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Ginny retrieved her coat and grabbed a book from the store's paperback bargain shelf. As she opened the door to leave, Grace stepped into Haven't Got a Clue. "h.e.l.lo, Ginny!"

"Hi, Grace. Bye, Grace!" Ginny said with a smile, and exited.

Grace hurried to the sales counter. "h.e.l.lo, Tricia. I can't thank you enough for letting William and me get married here on Sunday. And I promise we'll be out of your hair in time for you to open at precisely noon."

"Don't worry about it, Grace. If we have to open later, we'll open later. I want you two to have a nice send-off. Besides, Milford's Pumpkin Festival is this weekend. We'll be lucky to have any customers at all on Sunday. How are your plans coming along?"

Grace beamed. "I've engaged a caterer, a photographer, and a florist. I've got my dress, and I'm on my way to the Stoneham Patisserie to order the wedding cake."

"Nikki's going to make your cake?"

Grace nodded. "I hope so."

Angelica had mentioned she might like to do it. Oh, well. Tricia made a mental note to mention it to her sister before she started pulling out pans and recipes.

"How about the guest list? Do you know how many people you'll be inviting?"

"I've narrowed it down to twenty. Do you think the store can accommodate that many people?"

"Oh, sure. I've hosted book signings with more than that." But not by much. "We don't have a photographer here in Stoneham. Did you have to go to Milford or Nashua to find one?"

"But of course we have a photographer here in the village. Oh, I admit he doesn't do it professionally anymore, but he accepted the moment I asked. And he refuses to take any money for it. I shall have to figure out a nice gift to give him when we return from our honeymoon."

"Who is this mystery man?" Tricia asked, intrigued. Could Bob Kelly have once owned a photography business? He seemed to have his fingers in every other pie in town.

"It's Russ Smith."

"Russ?" Tricia echoed, a bit more loudly than she would've liked. The one man in Stoneham she had no desire to see, and now he was an integral part of Mr. Everett and Grace's wedding. Could her luck get any worse?

She struggled to get her voice under control. "How nice."

Grace's smile widened. "Have you two thought about tying the knot?"

Tricia clenched her fists, and hoped to keep the anger out of her tone. "No. Sadly, Russ and I are no longer together."

Grace's face fell. "Oh, dear. I hope his being at the wedding won't be too upsetting."

"Of course not," Tricia lied. "We're adults. And we parted amicably."

Ha!

Grace brightened. "Thank goodness. It could have been very awkward."

Tricia ground her teeth together, but managed a reasonable facsimile of a smile.

Grace looked up to see Mr. Everett across the room. She caught his eye and waved.

His fingers fluttered a shy wave in return.

Grace looked back to Tricia. "Aren't I terrible--distracting William while he's at work?"

"I think it's very sweet. You both are."

Tricia suddenly remembered the peck on the cheek Stuart Paige had given Grace at the Food Shelf's dedication. "Not to change the subject--but I will. How well do you know Stuart Paige?"

"Oh," she said, taken off guard. "Casually. My late husband was a good friend of Stuart's father. Of course, I saw Stuart many times over the years, but it wasn't until he started his charity work that we really became acquainted."

"I've heard about his more rebellious days. And, of course, about the accident."

The joy left Grace's eyes. "It was very unfortunate. Though the good he's done can never erase what happened, there's no doubt he's dedicated his life to trying to make amends for past indiscretions."

Should she push Grace even further?

Tricia took the chance. "So you believe he's a good man?"

Grace answered without hesitation. "Yes."

Good now. But what if what Pammy knew about the man had happened years before? Would he want to keep another incident from his past quiet--and would he do anything, including murder, to make sure of it?

"I'd best let William know that things are shaping up for our big day, and then I'll be on my way," Grace said. "If you'll excuse me, Tricia."

"Of course."

Tricia turned away, disappointed. She hadn't learned anything new--except for Russ being at the wedding ceremony, and she didn't want Grace to know how she really felt about it. But after all, they were adults, and she could be with him in the same room for two or three hours without exploding--or falling apart.