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after both her and José. It’s too bad—he was really good at food prep, and she was wonderful with the customers. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t for my new hire.”
    Tricia speared a piece of lettuce, more concerned with her lunch than the immediate conversation.
    “Jake”—the cook—“was in a tizzy,” Angelica continued rather theatrically. “Luckily my new hire ”—she stressed the words—“had done salad prep before. Breaking in a new person during the lunch hour would’ve been too much to take. Thank goodness I didn’t have to train her and handle the customers.”
    The tuna salad had chunks of celery mixed in, just the way Tricia liked it. She swallowed a mouthful. Angelica had seen herself in more of a hostess-cum-manager role, a raconteur more than a hands-on member of her kitchen or waitstaff. But honestly, did a café the size of Booked for Lunch need a manager and three employees? Still, Tricia didn’t want to get involved in that conversation.
    “Did you know there was a food pantry in Stoneham?” Tricia asked, thinking about her earlier conversation with Pammy.
    “But of course. They dedicated it earlier this morning.”
    “Yes, I know. I was there. Bob bullied me into going.”
    Angelica ignored the assault on her boyfriend’s character. “Libby Hirt is a wonder. And she can write a mean grant request, too.”
    Grant? “How do you know about all this?”
    “I’ve talked with her dozens of times at the Cookery. She’s one of the few locals who actually patronize my store. Like many of my customers, she’s a frustrated amateur chef. Besides, your boyfriend just ran a big story about her and the Food Shelf in the last issue of the Stoneham Weekly News. Don’t you ever read it?”
    Though she usually glanced at it, the local weekly rag wasn’t on the top of Tricia’s to-be-read pile. Not when there were hundreds of new mysteries published every year, and thousands of her old favorites to be read and reread again.
    “Stuart Paige himself was in town for the dedication,” Angelica went on, sounding just a little catty.
    “Everybody seems to know about this guy except me. Who is he?”
    “You don’t remember the scandal?”
    “Scandal?” Tricia echoed.
    “Yes. Senator Paige’s playboy son. The guy who crashed his Alfa Romeo into Portsmouth Harbor. He saved himself and let his father’s secretary drown.”
    Something about that did sound familiar. “When was that?”
    Angelica exhaled a long breath. “Oh, must be twenty or so years ago now. Rod and I were living in Boston at the time. You were still in college.”
    Rod had been Angelica’s husband number one.
    “Paige was so consumed with guilt, he practically became a monk,” Angelica continued. “And he’s spent the rest of his life doing good deeds.”
    “Good deeds?” Tricia asked skeptically, poking at the lettuce on her plate.
    “Oh, you know what I mean. He’s made giving away his family’s fortune into a lifestyle.”
    Tricia vaguely remembered the story, which hadn’t fazed her at the time and had obviously had no lasting impact on her, either. Although it was refreshing to know the former bad boy had had a personality turnaround.
    Thinking about Paige reminded Tricia about Pammy. “I may as well tell you; I asked Pammy to leave this morning. I mean, two weeks was way too long for a drop-in visit.”
    “And?” Angelica drew out the word.
    “She seemed okay with it. She also put in applications around the village listing me as her last employer.”
    “Really.” It wasn’t a question.
    “Pammy also showed up at the Food Shelf’s dedication.”
    “No!”
    “Yes. She was hauled off and asked to leave.”
    “Why?”
    Tricia shrugged. “I don’t know. The last I saw her, she was walking back to the village. She’d apparently been trying to talk to Mr. Paige.”
    “Is that so?” Angelica said thoughtfully. She glanced at the clock above her work space, then stretched her neck