wouldn’t let her enter their office with the dog. Then she’d have to come back another day to sign her statement. Or maybe Baker would be forced to come to Haven’t Got a Clue and take her statement in person after all.
She carried Sarge through the Cookery and was stopped by several customers who wanted to admire the dog. Luckily Frannie was busy at the register—no time for an interrogation after all. “Sorry, ladies, but I’m afraid Sarge has a date with a fire hydrant. If you’ll excuse us.”
They gave Sarge one last pat on the head, and Tricia exited the store.
Once outside, Tricia set Sarge on the pavement, and he took off like a shot. Obviously he knew exactly where he was heading and even paused and sat at the curb to wait for the command to cross the street. “You really are a clever little boy,” she told him, and Sarge wagged his tail as if to say,
Of course!
Tricia guided Sarge across the street, and they headed for the village square. The granite gazebo with its copper roof, which had stood in ruins behind a rickety construction fence since August, was finally undergoing renovation. The business owners had sponsored a campaign to rebuild the structure, with the Board of Selectmen matching funds. It had taken a lot less time than anyone had imagined. Once it was rebuilt, maybe the sad incident that had caused its destruction could be forgotten—although certainly not the people who’d diedas a result. Members of the Chamber of Commerce had already pledged to erect a plaque to be mounted on the gazebo itself.
Sarge moseyed up to his favorite hydrant, and Tricia looked the other way. After giving him a moment of privacy, she started off, intending to make a circuit of the park, and Sarge happily trotted along beside her.
As Tricia and Sarge neared the corner, Tricia saw a familiar figure heading toward Kelly Realty: Clayton Ellington. What could he possibly want with Bob Kelly?
Perhaps to discuss the fate of the Sheer Comfort Inn? Could Harry have put it up for sale already? What if it was Ellington who actually owned it? After a murder had taken place, he (or whoever owned it) might want to promptly dump the property. And honestly, would Jon/Harry want to live there after Pippa’s death? And if Ellington didn’t own the property, maybe this was the opportunity he’d been looking for to obtain it.
It was something to consider.
A gust of chilly wind ruffled Tricia’s hair, and she decided not to include a trip to the police station on this errand after all. Instead, she and Sarge headed back toward the Cookery. She had just enough time to get the dog home before Mr. Everett’s appointed lunch hour.
As she neared her store, she saw Amy Schram from Milford Nursery and Flowers pull up in her family’s delivery van and park outside of the Have a Heart romance bookstore. Amy got out of the van and waved before she headed for the back of the vehicle and opened the door.
“Hi, Amy,” Tricia called, and paused, watching as Amy withdrew a large plastic urn from the back of the van.
“Hey, Tricia. That doesn’t look like Miss Marple,” she said, and stooped to offer her hand for Sarge to sniff.
“Miss Marple doesn’t like the cold. And she wouldn’t stand still for a collar, let alone being walked on a leash.” Sarge barked in agreement, and the women shared a laugh. “What’s going on?”
Amy nodded at the gray planter with its faux patina of age, filled with fresh dirt. “New from the Chamber of Commerce and the Board of Selectmen. They thought it would be nice if every storefront had an urn filled with spring flowers.”
“Shouldn’t they have been planted last fall?” Tricia asked.
“We had a bunch of bulbs ready for just such an order behind our greenhouses. Once I’ve got all the urns in place, I’ll dig them up and put them in the planters. They’ll be very pretty in a couple of weeks—just in time for the tourists to return. Then after they’re finished, I’ll
She carried Sarge through the Cookery and was stopped by several customers who wanted to admire the dog. Luckily Frannie was busy at the register—no time for an interrogation after all. “Sorry, ladies, but I’m afraid Sarge has a date with a fire hydrant. If you’ll excuse us.”
They gave Sarge one last pat on the head, and Tricia exited the store.
Once outside, Tricia set Sarge on the pavement, and he took off like a shot. Obviously he knew exactly where he was heading and even paused and sat at the curb to wait for the command to cross the street. “You really are a clever little boy,” she told him, and Sarge wagged his tail as if to say,
Of course!
Tricia guided Sarge across the street, and they headed for the village square. The granite gazebo with its copper roof, which had stood in ruins behind a rickety construction fence since August, was finally undergoing renovation. The business owners had sponsored a campaign to rebuild the structure, with the Board of Selectmen matching funds. It had taken a lot less time than anyone had imagined. Once it was rebuilt, maybe the sad incident that had caused its destruction could be forgotten—although certainly not the people who’d diedas a result. Members of the Chamber of Commerce had already pledged to erect a plaque to be mounted on the gazebo itself.
Sarge moseyed up to his favorite hydrant, and Tricia looked the other way. After giving him a moment of privacy, she started off, intending to make a circuit of the park, and Sarge happily trotted along beside her.
As Tricia and Sarge neared the corner, Tricia saw a familiar figure heading toward Kelly Realty: Clayton Ellington. What could he possibly want with Bob Kelly?
Perhaps to discuss the fate of the Sheer Comfort Inn? Could Harry have put it up for sale already? What if it was Ellington who actually owned it? After a murder had taken place, he (or whoever owned it) might want to promptly dump the property. And honestly, would Jon/Harry want to live there after Pippa’s death? And if Ellington didn’t own the property, maybe this was the opportunity he’d been looking for to obtain it.
It was something to consider.
A gust of chilly wind ruffled Tricia’s hair, and she decided not to include a trip to the police station on this errand after all. Instead, she and Sarge headed back toward the Cookery. She had just enough time to get the dog home before Mr. Everett’s appointed lunch hour.
As she neared her store, she saw Amy Schram from Milford Nursery and Flowers pull up in her family’s delivery van and park outside of the Have a Heart romance bookstore. Amy got out of the van and waved before she headed for the back of the vehicle and opened the door.
“Hi, Amy,” Tricia called, and paused, watching as Amy withdrew a large plastic urn from the back of the van.
“Hey, Tricia. That doesn’t look like Miss Marple,” she said, and stooped to offer her hand for Sarge to sniff.
“Miss Marple doesn’t like the cold. And she wouldn’t stand still for a collar, let alone being walked on a leash.” Sarge barked in agreement, and the women shared a laugh. “What’s going on?”
Amy nodded at the gray planter with its faux patina of age, filled with fresh dirt. “New from the Chamber of Commerce and the Board of Selectmen. They thought it would be nice if every storefront had an urn filled with spring flowers.”
“Shouldn’t they have been planted last fall?” Tricia asked.
“We had a bunch of bulbs ready for just such an order behind our greenhouses. Once I’ve got all the urns in place, I’ll dig them up and put them in the planters. They’ll be very pretty in a couple of weeks—just in time for the tourists to return. Then after they’re finished, I’ll
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