because she’d run out of money. You know she could never balance a checkbook. And she never worked much. She depended on the generosity of friends and relatives.”
“Which was about to end,” Angelica said.
“How do you know?”
“Pammy told me. She was expecting a windfall that would set her free for life.”
“Did you tell Captain Baker that?”
Angelica thought about it. “I don’t think so. I mean, cops aren’t always interested in witnesses volunteering information.”
“I agree, but that could be the reason Pammy was killed.”
“What are you thinking? That she was blackmailing someone?”
“It’s a classic motive for murder.”
Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. “You think about murder too much.”
“Well, I would, wouldn’t I? My job is selling mystery books.”
Angelica retrieved a bread knife from the wooden block on the counter, commandeered the cutting board, and sliced the baguette into half-inch pieces, but not cutting all the way through the loaf. Then she spread the butter-garlic mixture on both sides of each slice of bread. “Turn the oven on to three fifty, will you?”
Tricia got up, turned on the oven, and grabbed another wineglass from the cupboard. She made another stop by the refrigerator to grab the already opened bottle of chardonnay. “I hope that soup goes with white, because I’m flat out of merlot.”
“It’s chicken pastina, so it’ll go fine.” Angelica set the bread on the baking sheet, wrapped the loaf in foil, and popped it into the oven, before grabbing her glass. “What could Pammy possibly know about anybody that would warrant blackmail?”
“You said she was a Dumpster diver. I suppose she could’ve found financial statements or something of that order.”
“She was a freegan. Looking for financial papers is just not on their scavenging agenda.”
Tricia sipped her wine, and frowned. “I just don’t understand how anybody could eat food that’s been in a Dumpster. I mean—think about all the germs. Wouldn’t that kill you, or at least make you deathly ill?”
“What kills people these days is not enough germs in their systems. We’re all antibioticed to death, if you’ll pardon the pun. Between hand sanitizers and antibiotics in the food chain and water, we’re at the mercy of super staph germs and the like.”
“Let’s get back to Pammy.” Tricia bit her lip. “Do you think we ought to tell Captain Baker about our suspicions?”
“What suspicions? I don’t have any.”
“Well, I do.”
Angelica shook her head. “Look what trouble sharing your suspicions with the law has gotten you before.”
“Yes, but that was when I was dealing with Sheriff Adams. I think Captain Baker is a lot more”—she paused, trying to come up with an appropriate term—“sympathetic.”
“It’s those green eyes of his. You’re a sucker for them.”
“So are you,” Tricia countered. Bob Kelly had green eyes, too.
Angelica swirled the wine in her glass. “Maybe so. But it’s immaterial. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of Captain Baker—but unless he asks, keep your ideas to yourself. We’ll both be better off if you do.”
“Okay. But I still think I must know something that could be helpful to the investigation. I just wish I knew what it was.”
FIVE
Tricia found it hard to sleep that night. Maybe it was the quiet. Pammy’s snores had awakened her more than once during her lengthy stay. Staring at the ceiling for hours on end gave Tricia plenty of time to think about Pammy’s visit and her untimely death.
Why had she shown up at the Food Shelf just hours before she died? Why had she wanted to speak to Stuart Paige? Maybe if she could talk to Paige, she could find out what his connection to Pammy was. That is, if she could find someone to introduce her to him.
Bob Kelly probably knew the philanthropist.
Tricia winced at the thought. Because of Pammy’s death—and her link with Pammy—Bob wasn’t likely to
“Which was about to end,” Angelica said.
“How do you know?”
“Pammy told me. She was expecting a windfall that would set her free for life.”
“Did you tell Captain Baker that?”
Angelica thought about it. “I don’t think so. I mean, cops aren’t always interested in witnesses volunteering information.”
“I agree, but that could be the reason Pammy was killed.”
“What are you thinking? That she was blackmailing someone?”
“It’s a classic motive for murder.”
Angelica waved a hand in dismissal. “You think about murder too much.”
“Well, I would, wouldn’t I? My job is selling mystery books.”
Angelica retrieved a bread knife from the wooden block on the counter, commandeered the cutting board, and sliced the baguette into half-inch pieces, but not cutting all the way through the loaf. Then she spread the butter-garlic mixture on both sides of each slice of bread. “Turn the oven on to three fifty, will you?”
Tricia got up, turned on the oven, and grabbed another wineglass from the cupboard. She made another stop by the refrigerator to grab the already opened bottle of chardonnay. “I hope that soup goes with white, because I’m flat out of merlot.”
“It’s chicken pastina, so it’ll go fine.” Angelica set the bread on the baking sheet, wrapped the loaf in foil, and popped it into the oven, before grabbing her glass. “What could Pammy possibly know about anybody that would warrant blackmail?”
“You said she was a Dumpster diver. I suppose she could’ve found financial statements or something of that order.”
“She was a freegan. Looking for financial papers is just not on their scavenging agenda.”
Tricia sipped her wine, and frowned. “I just don’t understand how anybody could eat food that’s been in a Dumpster. I mean—think about all the germs. Wouldn’t that kill you, or at least make you deathly ill?”
“What kills people these days is not enough germs in their systems. We’re all antibioticed to death, if you’ll pardon the pun. Between hand sanitizers and antibiotics in the food chain and water, we’re at the mercy of super staph germs and the like.”
“Let’s get back to Pammy.” Tricia bit her lip. “Do you think we ought to tell Captain Baker about our suspicions?”
“What suspicions? I don’t have any.”
“Well, I do.”
Angelica shook her head. “Look what trouble sharing your suspicions with the law has gotten you before.”
“Yes, but that was when I was dealing with Sheriff Adams. I think Captain Baker is a lot more”—she paused, trying to come up with an appropriate term—“sympathetic.”
“It’s those green eyes of his. You’re a sucker for them.”
“So are you,” Tricia countered. Bob Kelly had green eyes, too.
Angelica swirled the wine in her glass. “Maybe so. But it’s immaterial. I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of Captain Baker—but unless he asks, keep your ideas to yourself. We’ll both be better off if you do.”
“Okay. But I still think I must know something that could be helpful to the investigation. I just wish I knew what it was.”
FIVE
Tricia found it hard to sleep that night. Maybe it was the quiet. Pammy’s snores had awakened her more than once during her lengthy stay. Staring at the ceiling for hours on end gave Tricia plenty of time to think about Pammy’s visit and her untimely death.
Why had she shown up at the Food Shelf just hours before she died? Why had she wanted to speak to Stuart Paige? Maybe if she could talk to Paige, she could find out what his connection to Pammy was. That is, if she could find someone to introduce her to him.
Bob Kelly probably knew the philanthropist.
Tricia winced at the thought. Because of Pammy’s death—and her link with Pammy—Bob wasn’t likely to
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