Some divorced women move to New Hampshire and open bookstores. Tricia is a picky, possessive, mulish melancholic who stumbles into murder and mayhem in the most pastoral and unexciting of New England towns, re-invented as “Booktown” for its a sweet new row of shops, including the Haven’t Got a Clue Bookstore, the Happy Domestic, the By Hook or By Book, and other simulacra of quaintness. It is not surprising that a population of displaced, overeducated crybabies inhabiting an imitation of a old English village should have its criminals. Or that its criminals should have the same tired motives, the same drab archive of excuses, the same greedy and disingenuine personalities as their urban derivation. Or that its murders should be solved by the overcurious spinsterish busybody that runs the vintage mystery bookstore.