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flour? Self-rising? Would wheat flour make a healthier cookie? And Angelica's list said brown sugar, but even that came in two choices. Should she buy the dark or the light?
       Carts and people pushed past her as she contemplated the myriad choices. Should she take a wild guess, or break down and call Angelica? But if she did, she was likely to get a lecture for taking so long on her errand, and get the same again when she returned to the Cookery. It would be far better to get that dressing-down only once rather than twice.
       "Tricia?"
       She looked up at the sound of her name, instantly recognizing the voice. "Russ, what are you doing here?"
       "Looking for you." Russ pushed his cart forward, pausing when he reached Tricia's. He nudged his gold-tone glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Angelica said I'd find you here. I've been waiting for almost an hour. Do you know how boring a grocery store can be when you have an hour to kill?"
       "Sorry," she said, but wasn't sure it was true. And judging by the nearly full grocery cart Russ pushed, it looked like he'd found plenty to occupy his time.
       "No, I'm sorry," he said, and sighed. "I didn't mean to blow you off last night and run to the paper. I didn't realize the sheriff would toss you out of your home. Why didn't you call? Why don't you come stay with me?"
       "I want to be near my store—my home. It's more convenient for me and my cat to stay with Angelica."
       "But Angelica doesn't even like Miss Marple."
       "Everybody likes Miss Marple," said a voice behind them. An elderly woman bundled up in a parka and wearing a plastic rain bonnet stood behind a grocery cart. "Can I get through please? I need to get a cake mix."
       Tricia and Russ moved aside. "I tried calling you for over three hours this morning. There was no answer," Tricia said.
       "Sorry. Every news outlet in the state has been calling me for an interview."
       "Yes, and I see you talked with someone at the N ashua Telegraph last night," she said, her tone cool.
       "It was too late to stop my press run. I figured I may as well cut my losses and get some exposure for the pictures I took last night."
       "Did they pay well?"
       "No, I gave them to a buddy of mine on staff. I owe him, and this was a way to pay him back. Now I can feel free to call upon him some other time I need a favor."
       That still didn't make it right in Tricia's eyes, but at least she felt better knowing he hadn't made money from Zoë's death. It was time to turn the tables. "Russ, what do you know about Zoë Carter's part in the downfall of Trident Homes?"
       He blinked at her. "Nothing. Why?"
       "A little bird told me that Zoë was prosecuted for embezzlement."
       "That's interesting. When did all this happen?"
       "Before she became a best-selling author."
       "Maybe that's a reason she never wanted publicity."
       "Indeed. Would the Stoneham Weekly News have covered this?" she asked.
       He exhaled a long breath. "Possibly. But Ted Moser, the former owner, wasn't known for printing anything that reeked of scandal. He was a real cheerleader for the village."
        Not unlike Bob Kelly , Tricia thought.
       "I'll have a look at the archives, see what I can come up with."
       "Thanks. Meanwhile, I have to get this stuff for Angelica," Tricia said, waving the grocery list in the air. "She's going to have a fit because I've already been gone so long."
       "Come back to Stoneham and have lunch with me."
       She shook her head. "I'm having lunch with Deborah today."
       "Then have dinner with me tonight."
       "Where?"
       "My dining room."
       "You're going to cook?" she asked.
       He shrugged. "Let's face it, I'm better at it than you."
       She nodded in reluctant agreement. "Deal." She thought about her encounter with News Team Ten. "It just so happens I may need some . . . professional advice."
       He leaned, as far as he