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Angelica’s dog happened to find her while I was taking him for a walk.”
    Mary waved a hand in annoyance. “You know what I mean. It was very upsetting to have to talk to the police. The way they looked at all of us, as if one of us were responsible for her death. We were
invited
guests.”
    “As raffle winners, I wouldn’t exactly say we were invited. Tolerated. A means to an end—giving the innkeepers the opportunity to use us as guinea pigs for their shakedown before opening. But invited? No.”
    Mary sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I feel traumatized by this whole ordeal. I’ve never known anyone who was murdered. I barely knew Mrs. Comfort. We only chatted for a couple ofminutes after Luke and I arrived at the inn. No sooner had she shown us to our room when Chauncey Porter showed up and she excused herself.” She tilted her head to one side and looked thoughtful. “That was weird.”
    “What do you mean—weird?” Tricia asked.
    “I left our room to ask for more towels. As I rounded the landing, I heard Chauncey say something about her being out of uniform. I didn’t get it. Then Mrs. Comfort gave him quite a dressing-down.”
    “What for?”
    She shrugged. “But something about his remark distressed her. She stopped talking when I entered the room, asked me what I wanted, and then went to fetch me the towels.”
    Tricia considered her words. “Chauncey is such a sweetheart. I can’t imagine him saying anything to upset someone. Did you tell Chief Baker this?”
    “It completely slipped my mind until this morning when I started going over everything in my head. The more I thought about it, the more rattled I got. I even considered not opening my shop today—but then realized I’d probably just dwell on it all day, anyway. I need the distraction of customers coming and going or I’ll have a nervous breakdown.”
    “How is Luke doing?”
    “He’s upset, too, of course, but he got up and went to work this morning just like usual. Men just don’t feel things the same way as women.”
    That was an understatement.
    The coffeemaker began to sputter, letting Tricia know it had finished brewing. “Let me get you that coffee,” she said, and rose from her seat.
    Mary followed, patiently watching as Tricia poured coffee into one of the shop’s paper cups for her, and a china Haven’t Got a Clue store mug for herself. Mary added sweetener and creamer to her own, mixing it with a spoon, and then took a scorching gulp. “Just what I needed.”
    The door handle rattled, and Mr. Everett entered the shop. “Good morning, Ms. Miles. Mrs. Fairchild—how nice of you to visit.”
    “Good morning,” the women chorused.
    “You’re in early,” Tricia said, as Mr. Everett headed for the back of the shop to hang up his jacket.
    “I like to keep busy,” he said. Mr. Everett had won the Powerball Lottery just over nine months before. Recently his wife, Grace, had opened an office across the street from Tricia’s bookstore for the Everett Charitable Foundation. In fact, the foundation was located right above Angelica’s café, Booked for Lunch.
    Grace, who had never worked for a living and had only ever done volunteer work, had taken on the responsibility as though it were her life’s mission. And, in fact, that was just what the job had become. She’d even found it necessary to hire an assistant to help her sort through all the requests for handouts. This had not pleased her husband of eighteen months, who preferred not to be separated from his wife for so many hours in the day. It had worked out for Tricia, however, because despite her best efforts, she hadn’t yet found a suitable replacement for her former assistant, Ginny Wilson, who now managed the Happy Domestic shop across the street.
    Mr. Everett’s arrival had put a distinct end to Tricia and Mary’s conversation. “I’d better get going,” she said, and Tricia walked her to the door. “I hate to be a bother, but would you mind if I