Chapter TwentyOne hundred eighty-four books had been dusted off and recorded in the Frigate’s database. Two rolls of paper towels, filthy and crumpled, overflowed the Frigate’s wastebasket. Only crumbs remained of the morning’s pastries. Coffee had been fetched (again); Gromit had been walked (twice). The webcams had been checked, admired, adjusted. Fourteen customers had been helped; six books and five postcards had been sold. Now, at last, Sue and Wally sat at the picnic table behind the shop eating sandwiches, while Rosey (who’d provided them) manned the front desk.
“I’m not saying she did it,” said Sue. “All I’m saying is, is nobody ever got murdered around here before she showed up.”
Three hours ago, Wally reflected, I couldn’t keep my hands off her. Now I’m hoping her filthy finger
