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for a second, didn’t it?”
    She wanted to be angry with him. Some part of her wanted to haul off and hit him.
    Instead, she kissed him. And again. And then again…

FIVE
    Despite their amicable parting, Tricia did not invite Chief Baker to accompany her inside her store. She really was too tired for that. Yet by the time she got upstairs, she found she was too restless to even contemplate sleep. Instead, Tricia dug through a box in the back of her closet to find an old photo album. Grabbing a glass of wine, she settled on her couch to study the pictures. After insisting on another helping of kitty snacks, Miss Marple deigned to join her.
    The pictures dated from the time of her college graduation until just before she’d met Christopher. Included among those featured were three or four photos of Harrison Tyler—whom, at the time, she’d thought of as her first love. After seeing him again that evening, her emotions weren’t quite that charitable.
    The first photo was taken on the night they’d met at a dustylittle bookshop in Soho. A small crowd had gathered to hear Harrison—“just call me Harry, darlin’”—speak about his phenomenal first novel,
Death Beckons
. The others had drifted away after a while, and the storekeeper was eager to close down for the night when Harry invited her out for a coffee. Giggling girlishly, she’d accepted.
    It seemed like such a long time ago.
    Tricia sipped her wine and thought about their last conversation. He’d made a phone call that, in retrospect, she should’ve realized had been his attempt at a last good-bye. And then of course she’d gone into mourning as soon as she’d heard about the boating accident.
    It had taken her a long time to get over Harrison Tyler, and suddenly here he was again—back in her life, however reluctantly. And he was a fool if he thought he could keep his real identity a secret now that Pippa was dead.
    Then again, he’d been a fool to fake his own death.
    Tricia sipped her wine. Was she destined to love only fools who would never completely commit to her? It was a sad, sobering thought.
    Miss Marple nudged her elbow, reminding her it was long past their bedtime. “Okay,” Tricia said, setting the album aside and getting up from her seat. Miss Marple hopped down, too, and trotted off toward the bedroom.
    Tricia reached for the lamp switch, giving the photo album one last look before she turned off the lights. She had a feeling she hadn’t heard the last of Harry Tyler.
    Sleep was hard to come by, but at last Tricia fell into a fitful slumber some time near dawn. She’d hit the snooze button three times by the time she was finally able to drag herself out of bed and start what might prove to be a very long day.
    Tricia waited to make coffee until she and Miss Marple arrived at Haven’t Got a Clue. She’d just hit the button on thecoffeemaker when she heard a knock at the door. A glance at her watch told her the store wasn’t due to open for another fifteen minutes, but there was also no reason not to let an eager customer in the door, either. But although the woman at the door had bought many books from Tricia, she wasn’t there as a customer on that morning.
    “Mary,” Tricia said, letting her fellow shopkeeper in. “Shouldn’t you be getting By Hook or By Book ready to open?”
    “I should, but…I just need to talk. Do you have a minute?” she asked, sounding weary.
    “Of course. I’ve just put the coffee on to brew. It’ll be ready in less than five minutes.”
    “I could sure use a cup,” Mary admitted, and headed for the reader’s nook.
    “What’s wrong?” Tricia asked.
    “Last night,” Mary said, succinctly.
    Tricia took the chair opposite her guest. “I know exactly how you feel.”
    “You’re used to being involved in all kinds of murders. People like me are not.”
    Tricia wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “I’m not involved in Mrs. Comfort’s murder. It’s just unfortunate that