A murder leads to a string of shocking revelations for bookstore owner Tricia Miles in the latest entry to Lorna Barrett's New York Times bestselling Booktown series.  Tricia Miles has just received a second marriage proposal within fifteen minutes. The first was from her friend with benefits, Marshall Chambers, and the second from her ex-lover, police chief Grant Baker. Tricia's got some serious thinking to do. She's still weighing her options when she hears the sound of an engine roaring down Main Street. It's a big white pickup truck that aims for and hits Marshall as he's walking back to his apartment. Tragically, he's killed, leaving Tricia feeling bereft and guilty. She retreats to her sister, Angelica's, apartment to wait for Baker to update her on what happened. While there, Tricia takes Angelica's dog out for a comfort call behind the building, and the same white pickup roars up the alley and just misses hitting Tricia. Still shaken by that news, Tricia returns to Haven't Got a Clue and is met by federal marshal Kirby, who tells her that Marshall had been in the Federal Witness Protection Program. Everything Marshall told Tricia was a lie—in particular, that he was a widower. Was his death an act of revenge? Tricia's on the hunt for a killer, and it seems like she might be next on the list. Lorna Barrett is the New York Times bestselling author of the Booktown Mysteries, including Poisoned Pages and A Just Clause . ONE   ¥ "Are you out of your mind?" Tricia Miles said, raising her voice. She had good reason to do so, too.   Stoneham Police Chief Grant Baker stood before her in stunned silence. His marriage proposal had been the second Tricia had received within fifteen minutes-and she hadn't expected either of them.   Tricia's relationship with Marshall Cambridge had pretty much been "friends with benefits." She enjoyed his company, he encouraged her independence, but there had been a distinct lack of passion. She hadn't given him an answer, but she had an answer for Chief Baker.   "Absolutely not!"   "Why won't you marry me?" he asked, sounding like a petulant child.   Tricia kept her jaw from dropping in shock, but only just. "You couldn't commit to me when we were together, and now you've jilted your fiancŽe weeks before that wedding to ask me to marry you. What are the odds you'll have cold feet again?"   "Zero," he asserted.   "Yeah, and I've got a bridge for sale in Brooklyn," she said sarcastically. She pointed toward the door. "Go."   "Tricia, can't we talk this over?"   "There's nothing to talk about. Go!" she repeated. When he didn't move, she stalked off in the direction of the door, threw it open, and gestured for him to leave.   Just as Baker reached the threshold, the roar of a powerful engine thundered somewhere on Main Street. At first, Tricia wasn't sure which direction it was coming from, but as it grew louder, she realized it was heading north. Baker pushed her aside and darted onto the sidewalk outside Tricia's store, Haven't Got a Clue, just as a big white pickup truck-with lights out-veered toward the sidewalk and Baker. Tricia grabbed him by the back of the shirt, pulling him into her store as the truck swerved into the street. Before either of them could react, they heard someone yell and the terrible sound of a thud before the truck disappeared down the darkened street.   Baker was the first to recover and dashed up the sidewalk with Tricia in hot pursuit.   Up ahead in the middle of the street lay a crumpled form. As Tricia approached, she recognized just who it was.   "Marshall!" she cried.   Baker fell to his knees in front of the supine figure, searching for a pulse, first at the man's wrist, and then reached for his throat.   "Do something!" Tricia cried as tears welled in her eyes.   Baker rose to his feet, his expression one of shock.   "I'm sorry, Tricia. He's dead."     The blue-and-red emergency lights still flashed out on Main Street more than an hour after the accident.   But was it an accident?   Of course it was. It had to be.   "Did you say something, Tricia, dear?" Tricia's sister, Angelica, asked, sounding worried.   The rotating colors from the flashing light bars on the police SUVs below came through the second-floor windows, looking gaudy against the living room's pastel green walls.   Tricia held a glass filled with whiskey, ice, and soda-her second. For some reason, she found the cold condensation beneath her clenched fingers to be of comfort. Well, not comfort, but it proved to her that she could feel something besides the terrible numbness that had encircled her soul.   Marshall. Dead.   "I can't believe it. I . . . I just can't believe it," she murmured.   "I'm here to listen," Angelica said softly from the adjacent chair. "That is, if you're up to talking."   Tricia looked up to take in her sister's worried gaze.   "He asked me to marry him." The echo of that proposal kept rattling around in her brain.   "And you were going to say no."