I finished sorting through the rest of the box, then left a message for Barry letting him know I’d be out to his place tomorrow to pick up the books he was holding for me. Maggie was in New York on a buying trip, so I’d have to wait until she got back to pick up the books from her.

It was a slow day, but between inventorying the new stock and putting the books on the shelf, I’d made a few sales, one of which was a book on US Presidents. I wondered how the buyer would feel if he knew Franklin Pierce was standing behind him nodding his approval as I rang up the sale.

I was taking a break in one of the purple chairs when the bells over the door jangled and Pepper came in, holding a tray of tea and finger sandwiches.

“It’s slow over at the tea shop, so I left Camilla in charge and brought you some lunch.” She set the tray on the table and sat beside me.

My stomach growled at the sight of the tiny sandwiches—thin white bread, cut into triangles with the crusts removed.

“Is that ham salad?” I asked as I reached for a sandwich.

“Yes, with pickles.”

I loaded my plate with three of them, and poured some tea into the dainty china cup. Pepper had a collection of antique teacups that she used in her shop and this one had a thick gold lining inside and big yellow roses on the outside.

I poured some cream into the cup, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. “You didn’t put anything special in here, did you?”

Pepper laughed. “Nope. No special herbs in there, don’t worry.”

I bit into the sandwich, reveling in the burst of sweet ham and tangy pickle. “Nummy,” I mumbled with my mouth full.

“So, did you find out any more about Lavinia’s killer? I heard it’s an official murder investigation now.” Pepper settled back on the sofa, taking a teensy nibble from one of the molasses cookies stacked up on the tray.

I told her about the incident behind the library.

“Augusta must think this is serious if she called in Eddie Striker,” Pepper said.

“You know him?”

“Of course.” Pepper looked at me quizzically. “He grew up here. Don’t you remember him from grade school?”

“Grade school?” I dug around in my memory, which to tell the truth wasn’t that great anymore. I didn’t remember any extra-large second grader named Eddie. “I don’t remember.”

“Anyway, he moved away to Dixford Pass when were about ten, I think. He went on to work for the CIA—super secret spy stuff, from what I hear. Then something happened and he came back to Dixford Pass to be the sheriff.”