Murder on the Half Shelf

Murder on the Half Shelf by Lorna Barrett Page A

Book: Murder on the Half Shelf by Lorna Barrett Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lorna Barrett
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Angelica held up a hand to stop her. “I can see myself out—and lock up and reset the security system downstairs. See you tomorrow.”
    “Good night.”
    Angelica closed the door and, frowning, Tricia locked it behind her.
    She absolutely hated it when Angelica was right.

TEN
    Tricia’s morning started as most mornings did. A run on the treadmill, a shower, getting dressed, feeding the cat, and drinking half a pot of coffee with a breakfast of black cherry yogurt. Only this morning Tricia extracted most of the candy Angelica had made the night before, put it on a plate, and took it down to the shop with her. It was too tempting to keep it all in the apartment. And as Angelica said, Mr. Everett and her customers would probably enjoy it.
    Down in the shop, Miss Marple settled herself on a chair in the reader’s nook while Tricia checked voice mail and found a message from the employment agency. They were sending over a new candidate at ten thirty and awaited a confirmation. She quickly returned the call. Would this person be the one to finally replace Ginny? All she could do was hope.
    Tricia had just hit the button on the coffeemaker when Mr. Everett arrived for work several minutes early, still looking assad as he had the day before. “Good morning,” he greeted Tricia, but there was no heartiness in his voice.
    Tricia waited until he’d donned his Haven’t Got a Clue apron to approach him on what might be a sensitive subject. Mr. Everett wasn’t usually one to wear his heart on his sleeve. That he was visibly unhappy meant something was definitely out of kilter. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
    “It’s hard to keep anything from you, Ms. Miles. Like the protagonists in many of your favorite mysteries, you would have made a fine detective.”
    “It doesn’t take great sleuthing skill to see that you haven’t been your usual chipper self of late. Is there something I can do to help?”
    He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps you can. A man my age has outlived most of his friends,” Mr. Everett admitted. “Except for Grace, I have no one else to confide in.”
    Oh dear. It didn’t sound like an announcement of good news was on the way. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” Tricia said in all sincerity.
    His cheeks colored, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “It’s…my marriage to Grace.”
    Oh no! Trouble in paradise. They were the one couple she thought would never experience marital strife.
    “You see, Grace is so preoccupied with running the charitable foundation, she has very little time for me any more.”
    Hmm. “Have you spoken to her about it?”
    “On several occasions. She laughed it off.”
    “Oh, dear.”
    “I hate to put you in the middle of our marital discord, but…is there a possibility you could speak with Grace? She values your opinion.”
    “Oh, Mr. Everett. If it were on any other subject…” But then the old man’s bottom lip began to tremble, and if there was one thing Tricia didn’t think she could handle, it was Mr. Everett’s tears. She sighed. “I’d be glad to.”
    His eyes widened but were still watery. “Thank you, Ms. Miles. She’s in her office right now,” he said, looking hopeful.
    “Now?” she asked, her voice rising. That didn’t give her much time to prepare something to say.
    “If you wouldn’t mind,” he encouraged.
    She sighed again. “Of course.”
    “I’ll get your jacket,” Mr. Everett volunteered, and headed for the back of the shop.
    If she had to go out anyway, Tricia decided she’d combine the visit with a trip to the bank to deposit the previous day’s receipts. Stuffing her blue bank pouch into her purse, she was ready to go after Mr. Everett helped her on with her jacket.
    “Thank you, Ms. Miles. I really appreciate this.”
    “While I’m gone, help yourself to a piece of chocolate toffee. It’s homemade.” She indicated the plate sitting on the counter of the beverage station.
    A look of panic came over Mr.

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