Tricia studied his face. Now, why would he ask that? Russ had said Pete’s death was suspicious. Could Bob have been responsible?

Bob was a lot of things, but Tricia had never considered murderer to be among them.

“No,” she lied. “What brings you to the Chamber this morning? Looking for Angelica?” she asked.

The dig made him bristle. “Of course not. I’ve come with a fantastic offer you can’t afford to turn down.”

So far he’d cornered her at the Bookshelf Diner, the convenience store, and even on her way to the ladies room at the Brookview Inn, and none of his offers to sell the building that housed her store had been in the ballpark of what she was willing to pay.

“Bob, we’ve talked about this before.”

“Yes, and I’ve taken your comments to heart. I’m willing to lower the price to a more comfortable level.”

He handed her a slip of paper with a number written on it. It certainly wasn’t a number she felt comfortable with. She handed the paper back. “Sorry, there are a few too many zeroes here for me.”

Bob picked up a pen from the desk and crossed out that number, wrote another, and handed the slip back to her.

Tricia frowned and shook her head. “Still too high.”

“That’s the lowest I’m willing to go.”

“Then we won’t be making a deal.” Again she handed the paper back. “If you let me out of my lease, you could put a for-sale sign on the property today.”

“Not a chance. According to the lease, it’s your responsibility to repair the building.”

“And you know I can’t do that until the insurance comes through.”

“Well, how soon is that going to be?”

“I have no idea. It could be tomorrow—it could be six months from now. If you’re strapped for cash, why don’t you put another of your buildings up for sale?”

“Who says I’m strapped?” Bob asked sharply.

“No one,” she lied again. “But you seem to be in a hurry to round up some cash.”

“I am not. The way the real estate market has recovered, I’m just looking to score big.”

Well, he wasn’t going to score big with Tricia. Her lease still had over a year to go, and if they couldn’t come to an agreement, she was prepared to move. She’d hate to lose a prime Main Street storefront, but the way the village was expanding, she was sure she could still make a go of the business in a less desirable location.

“Nigela Ricita Associates is primed to develop the north end of the village. Perhaps I’ll wait until they do and lease space from them. Or, I could just buy a property and develop it myself.”

Bob looked horrified. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I can. And then I’d have exactly what I want and wouldn’t have to worry about a landlord who constantly raised my rent. And, as you pointed out, with the real estate market’s recovery it would be a win-win situation.” Tricia looked thoughtful. “I think I’ll call Karen Johnson over at NRA Realty and see if she has a property I could look at.”

“There’s nothing else on Main Street for sale,” Bob practically growled.

“Perhaps nothing with Kelly Realty, but who knows what Karen has lined up? She’s only been here in the village six months and already has quite an inventory—and made plenty of sales.” Karen had done quite well signing Bob’s former clients, who seemed pleased with the deals she’d made for them.

Bob stuffed the paper into his Kelly green sports jacket. “If you aren’t prepared to deal, then I’ll just find someone who is.”

He’d just said he wouldn’t be able to sell the building in its present condition. Who did he figure would buy it?

“It was lovely to see you, Bob. Did you know you’d let your Chamber membership lapse? I’d be glad to reinstate you right now if you’d like to write us a check.”

“I don’t have my checkbook with me,” he said tersely.

“Shall I send you a bill?”

Bob’s mouth dropped open in indignation, but then he shut it. “Why not?”

Tricia schooled her features so she wouldn’t laugh.

“I’m a very busy man. I have to go,” Bob said, turned and left the office without a good-bye. Tricia was surprised when he didn’t slam the door behind him. Shrugging, she got up, went to the kitchen, and made what was sure to be the first of many pots of coffee that day.

Tricia heard the side door open and was surprised to find Mariana coming through it. “You’re here bright and early.”

“I’ve got a dental appointment this afternoon. Angelica said it would be okay if I came in early I could leave early, too.”

“That’s fine with me,” Tricia said, and stood to one side, waiting for the coffee to brew.

Mariana got the carton of milk from the fridge, grabbed a cup from the drain board, and poured. “There’re more dishes than usual this morning. You must have had company last night.”

“A friend dropped by,” Tricia admitted, unwilling to say just who it had been, and made a mental note not to leave evidence on the counter again. Mariana handed Tricia the carton, knowing she’d be doctoring her own cup.

“I heard Pete Renquist died. It’s such a shame. He was so nice.”

“Yes, he was.”

Mariana shook her head, poured herself a cup of coffee, then left the kitchen. She settled at her desk, turned on her radio, and jumped into her workday.

Tricia lingered at the kitchen counter, putting away the dishes before pouring herself a cup of coffee and heading down the hall for the office.

The front door handle rattled, and Chief Baker entered the office. “Good morning, ladies,” he called.

Thanks to her being the last person to speak to Pete Renquist, Tricia wasn’t at all surprised to see the chief. “Good morning, Grant.”

“You can probably guess why I’m here.”

“Oh, yes. But I don’t think this is the appropriate place to talk,” she said, eyeing Mariana.

“How about your quarters? I understand you’ve got a cozy living room upstairs.”

“And how would you know about that?”

He shrugged. “I heard it . . . somewhere.”

“I don’t think that’s the appropriate place to talk, either.”

“Would you like to go down to the station?” he asked, his voice much harder than it had been.

“Why don’t we go to the park?”

Baker let out a breath. “To the scene of the crime? That would be satisfactory.”

“Mariana!” Tricia called. “I should only be gone for ten or fifteen minutes.”

“I can hold the fort,” she said.

Tricia took her coffee with her and led Baker to the front door. They exited the building. Tricia was the first to speak. “I’m surprised you didn’t call me last night,” she said as they headed south on Main Street.

“I was on my way over, but then I saw you had company. I thought you and Christopher weren’t dating.”

“We’re not.”

“It looked like you were having dinner.”

Tricia stopped dead. “Were you spying on me?”

“No, I . . . well, I will admit that I was on my way over and saw him enter the Chamber building. I came to the door, intending to knock, but then . . . I don’t know what came over me. I walked around the side of the house and just happened to glance through the kitchen window.”

Tricia hadn’t served Christopher for some ten or more minutes after his arrival. How long had Baker stood there, watching them? And why hadn’t they seen him?

Tricia wondered if Nigela Ricita Associates—rats! Angelica—would spring for a set of new blinds for the kitchen.

“I don’t suppose it would do me any good to report to the police that I’ve got a Peeping Tom when you’re the Tom.”

“It was wrong of me. I apologize.”

“Grant, you have to get over this jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous. Just a little envious.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t,” he insisted. “I envy the fact Christopher and you are still friends.”

“We’re still friends—or I thought we were until about a minute ago. And I thought we’d set those boundaries quite some time ago.”