“This is a Havahart trap. We don’t want to hurt them, we just want to catch them and release them out in the woods where they belong. I just wanted you to know how we’re dealing with this. Any questions?” He waited, glancing around the room.

“We want to make one thing very clear,” added George. “It is company policy to allow eating only in the break room. If any of you are discovered with food in your desks, I can assure you that you will be dealt with severely.” He turned and ushered the senior executive out of the room.

“Better clean out your desk, Karen.” Lucy giggled, watching as Karen pulled out wads of crumpled candy wrappers.

“It’s just that I get so hungry,” Karen confessed. “I’m hungry all the time.”

“I know. Being pregnant is the one time you can eat without feeling guilty,” Lucy reassured her. She continued thoughtfully, “I guess we can eliminate Tom Miller as a suspect.”

“I didn’t know he was,” observed Bev.

“I heard he was,” Ruthie agreed, giggling. “Who knows what evil lurks behind that mild-mannered exterior?”

“I don’t think a man who uses a Havahart trap to catch mice is going to murder his brother,” said Lucy. “Dave Davidson is probably right. Sam Miller must have been involved in something outside Tinker’s Cove, something illegal like drugs.”

“Smuggling cocaine in the Peruvian ski hats?” asked Ruthie.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lucy admitted. “It’s hard to believe Sam would be involved in anything like that.”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Karen. “They wanted him to smuggle in dope and when he refused they killed him.”

“I think you better answer your phone,” observed Bev.

“Oops! Country Cousins. May I help you?” Karen babbled automatically. When she finished taking the customer’s order, Lucy heard her muttering.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m out of order forms.”

“I’ll get ’em for you,” offered Lucy. “They’re kind of heavy.”

“Thanks,” said Karen. “I’ll cover on your computer.”

Lucy went over to the corner of the big phone room where the boxes of computer order forms were kept, but she discovered that the usual supply of boxes was gone. She would have to go to the storeroom.

She hesitated. The storeroom was down a long, dimly lit hallway. The furnace room was along there, and the maintenance department. But no one would be there now; the offices would be dark and empty.

Before Sam Miller’s death she’d never given her safety a thought at Country Cousins. But now she was reluctant to leave the brightly lit phone room and the safety of the group of chattering women.