Free Murder on the Half Shelf by Lorna Barrett

me?”
    “Now whose ego is bruised?” Harry asked, sounding not the least contrite.
    Tricia said nothing. She wasn’t sure she could trust her voice not to give away how hurt she still was after all these years.
    “So what did you do? Get lost in New York or L.A.?”
    “I went to Idaho.”
    “Idaho? What for?”
    “To think. To figure out what I wanted to do next. I found a guy who sold fake IDs. I became Jonathan Comfort. I worked on a farm for a while.”
    “Somehow I can’t picture you hoeing potatoes,” Tricia said.
    He ignored her sarcastic remark and continued. “Eventually I made my way back east and got lost in Maine for a couple of years.”
    “You wanted to stay close to the sea?”
    “Yeah, I worked a lobster boat for a couple of seasons and then ended up in Bretton Woods where I met Pippa. She worked in the bar at the big hotel there. I got a job as a groundskeeper. We got married a couple of years later.” He looked up at her. “I take it you never married.”
    “Why, because my name is still Miles?” He nodded. “I was married for ten wonderful years, and then he dumped me.”
    “Why would anyone want to do that to you?”
    “You could ask yourself that same question.”
    He shook his head. “I guess in my roundabout way I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”
    “You’re about twenty years too late for that,” Tricia said. And then, just as suddenly, she didn’t care about the past. It was over. They’d both gone on with their lives, and, despite a few lows here and there, she wasn’t too dissatisfied.
    Most days.
    “What will you do now—run away again?” she asked.
    “I’ve thought about it. But…I’ve also thought about publishing more of my work.”
    “You mean online?”
    His eyes narrowed. “You don’t think I’ve still got what it takes to get published by a big New York house?”
    “I was just asking. Because…I know a literary agent. He might be persuaded to take a look at your work.”
    Harry’s eyes lit up. “You’d do that for me…after what I did all those years ago?”
    “I would hope you’re a different person now. And you’re going to need income when the law catches up with you.”
    He looked downcast. “There is that, too. But I’m not totally without income. I’ve been teaching a writing course evenings at the Milford high school. I took the job so we’d have some money coming in while we got ready to open the inn.”
    “Are you published under the name Jon Comfort?”
    “A few short stories,” he admitted. “I’ve got a couple of novels in a trunk that are in pretty good shape, too. I just wasn’t sure I could hack writing on a deadline ever again.”
    “The bane of the published author, at least those who want to stay that way,” Tricia said offhandedly.
    Harry scowled.
    “The agent I’m thinking of doesn’t normally handle mysteries—just the estate of Zoë Carter. But he’s good. He’s my sister’s agent.”
    “Angelica is an author?”
    She gave him points for remembering Angelica’s name, not that he’d ever met her before. They’d been close but hadn’t gotten to the point of meeting each other’s families. “She writes cookbooks.”
    His smile was forced. “Pippa was the one who cooked in our house. I can only handle the barbecue.”
    “And I can barely boil water,” Tricia admitted, and they both laughed. “I’ll talk to Angelica about it and get back to you.”
    “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” Harry looked at the clock. “I’d better get going. Chief Baker awaits.”
    Tricia didn’t envy him the upcoming conversation.
    “Could you do me a favor, though?” He nodded over his shoulder. “Take down that picture. I don’t deserve to be up there with all those real authors.”
    “You
are
a real author. You just lost sight of it.”
    He shrugged. “I guess I’ll see you around, Tricia.”
    “I guess,” she agreed.
    He kind of hovered in front of her for a moment, and she thought he might lean forward