by Mona Marple
A stage stood at the left-hand side of the long marquee, and as Sandy and Bernice reached Coral and Cass and joined their table, Penelope and Benedict Harlow took to the stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Benedict boomed into a microphone. “If we could have your attention for one moment, my wife and I would like to welcome you all to the first annual Waterfell Tweed Winter Ball.”
A round of applause spread through the room, and Sandy felt a rush of affection as she scanned the crowds and saw familiar faces dressed their best for the occasion.
She might have bought her favourite t-shirt to help raise money, but the words on it were true. She really loved Waterfell Tweed.
“We hope you will enjoy today. Please join us in a round of applause for Sandy and Bernice from Books and Bakes, who have made this delicious food.”
The crowd clapped and the people nearby raised their glasses to Sandy and Bernice and mouthed ‘thank you’ to them.
“The mini quiche is to die for!” A voice that sounded very much like Dorie Slaughter’s called across the room as the clapping stopped. Everyone laughed.
“A round of applause for our hard-working team serving you today,” Penelope said into the microphone. “And a round of applause for our fabulous DJ, who will be accepting requests to get you all up on the dancefloor this afternoon.”
“And finally,” Benedict said, sensing that the crowd was becoming restless. People were at the Ball to eat, drink and be merry, not listen to speeches. “May today remind us all that, despite recent events, there truly is no place like Waterfell Tweed. Happy Winter Ball!”
The crowd cheered for that point, clapping hands or stamping feet if their hands were full of food and drink. An impromptu round of ‘three cheers for Waterfell Tweed’ was started by someone, and Sandy felt her eyes water.
“Are you ok?” Cass asked her.
Sandy nodded. “It’s all making me emotional.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Cass said. “The Harlows know how to bring the community together, don’t they.”
Sandy felt a lump in her throat and nodded. “I’m just going to go to the toilet.”
She walked out of the marquee as quickly as she could, fighting through the throngs of people who were still cheering for the village in between bites of her food. She darted inside the manor and raced up the staircase, heading back to the room where she had got ready.
Sitting on the bed, she covered her face with her hands and tried to calm her breathing.
She wasn’t surprised when she heard the door open.
“Charlotte.” She said, without looking up.
“Are you ill?” The woman asked, closing the door behind her.
Sandy opened her eyes and stood up, trying to keep a distance between the two of them. “Why did you do it?”
Charlotte laughed. “Why did I do what?”
“Why did you kill Reginald? Why did you try to kill me?”
“Oh, Sandy… you think you’ve got it all figured out?” Charlotte asked. She stood with her back against the door, blocking Sandy’s exit.
“I know it’s the bookshops, but I don’t understand why.” Sandy said, forcing herself to wobble as she moved. Appearing ill was her only way of surviving this confrontation.
Charlotte noticed the wobble and smiled. “You should sit down, you look quite ill. I’ll fetch mother shortly. But not yet.”
“Charlotte…” Sandy said, stumbling to the bed.
“Sit down and I’ll tell you a story,” Charlotte said, moving away from the door. She sat down on the vanity desk stool. “The second bookshop should never have been Reginald’s. I gave him the idea. I thought - ha - I thought for a moment we were similar, and I told him my plan.”
“To move back here?”
“To move back here and put you out of business.” Charlotte spat.
“You could have done that easily, Charlotte. You've got money and connections. You didn’t need to hurt anyone.”
“I couldn’t let that fool open my business and have everyone imagine it had been his idea. What could I have done then? If I’d opened my business, people would have thought I’d copied Reginald Halfman! The insanity of it! I had to stop him.”
“And once you’d stopped him…”
“I might as well stop you too. Exactly.” Charlotte admitted. “Your friend messed that up, but it’s quite a nice twist that you’re under investigation. It didn’t matter to me whether you were dead or in prison, to be blunt.”
“So, you’ll let me take the blame for what you did?” Sandy asked.
Charlotte laughed. “I would have done, of course! But the police are no better than Reginald. I’m surrounded by fools. DC Sullivan should have charged you straight away. I can’t trust him to do the job properly. He hasn’t even found any CCTV.”
“You invited him today, didn’t you? You gave him a personal invitation - why?”
Charlotte’s face blanched. “Why would a murderer invite a police officer to the scene of her next crime? My inviting him here today means I can’t possibly be responsible for what will happen.”
“What will happen, Charlotte?” Sandy asked, although she already knew the answer. Her breathing was more laboured, her eyelids heavy.
“It’s already happened,” Charlotte said, standing up and walking back towards the door. “There’s been another poisoning. Awful business, really.”
“Charlotte, please…” Sandy whispered.
“I’d better get back to the Ball. I’m sure someone will miss you, soon. Sweet dreams, Sandy.” Charlotte said, opening the bedroom door. She turned to give Sandy one last glance, smirked, then left the room, leaving the door open.
“I didn’t drink the champagne.” Sandy whispered after she had gone, then sat up and stopped her phone recording. She sent the recording to Jim Slaughter and DC Sullivan and watched from the bedroom window a few minutes later as DC Sullivan approached Charlotte, who was standing in the doorway of the marquee downing a glass of champagne.
She watched as Charlotte attempted to laugh at whatever DC Sullivan said, then as her face grew red and finally paled of all colour as DC Sullivan presented handcuffs from his pocket and placed them on her.
Sandy moved away from the window as Charlotte was lead away.
“Sandy, are you ok?” Jim Slaughter called, running into the room. He was off duty and clearly quite tipsy. “We need to get you to hospital.”
“I’m fine, Jim, I didn’t drink any… I just pretended I had. I knew she’d only admit what she’d done if she thought I was dying.”
“But how were you so sure she had added something to your drink?”
“That woman has been horrible to me for as long as I’ve known her, Jim. There’s only one reason she would bring me a glass of champagne as I got ready alone. And when I mentioned to Bernice how generous she had been bringing us a drink each, and Bernice told me she hadn’t had one, I knew beyond doubt.”
“I can’t believe it.” Jim said.
“I can believe it.” Sandy said. “The woman has no remorse at all. But I can’t understand it.”
"I don't think we ever will." Jim said.
18
Sandy had debated whether to close Books and Bakes the day after Charlotte Harlow’s arrest but had decided that the woman had caused enough destruction in the village already and shouldn’t stop normal life for a moment longer.
As soon as the doors opened, she knew she had made the right decision. It felt like the whole village appeared at some point or another throughout the day.
To her surprise, Coral had appeared in the morning and offered to help.
“I felt like being close to you today.” She had said, and while it was lovely to have her sister in the shop with her, Sandy thought there was more to it than that.
“If my son had been left in charge, this would have been sorted much earlier.” Dorie Slaughter announced at frequent intervals throughout the day as she held court from her regular seat
.
“I didn’t realise your Jim had ever been in charge.” Cass teased as she picked up a bacon sandwich each for herself and Olivia.
“Are you going to, you know, now?” Sandy asked discreetly.
“We’re hoping this gives us some courage,” Cass admitted. “I just hope they let her stay here. She’s safe and warm and looked after.”
“I’m sure they will,” Sandy said. “There are plenty of kids in the system; surely if one of them can find a permanent home with a relative, that’s best for everyone?”
“I hope so. Keep your fingers crossed for me!” She called. Sandy crossed her fingers and held her hand up to show it, as Cass left the shop and walked back across the village square. The idea of flighty, glamorous Cass with a sister to be responsible for would take some getting used to, but Sandy would do everything she could to help them both.
The door opened then and DC Sullivan walked in, causing the shop to fall silent.
“Hello, Detective Constable. I’ve got something for you.” Sandy said, retreating into the kitchen. She reappeared with a cake box. She had made a chocolate fudge cake that morning and had planned to walk it over to the police station, where she was sure all of the officers would be busy with all of the work that catching a murderer required. “Chocolate fudge cake, fresh this morning.”
To her surprise, the officer held his hands out and accepted the box. “Thank you, Sandy. I came to give you an apology. I was perhaps a little too, too aggressive in my focus on you. I’m sorry.”
Sandy shrugged. “You were doing your job, I’m sure it was nothing personal.”
“Trust me.” DC Sullivan said with a laugh that revealed a dimple in his cheek. “I’d much rather have been in here eating cake with you than interviewing you at the station.”
Sandy felt her cheeks flush. “Yes, yes, me too. And you’re welcome anytime.”
“I’ll be back to city tomorrow, once the loose ends are tidied up. I’ll need you to come and give a statement, but you can finish up here. Your recording paints a clear picture for us.”
“I thought it might,” Sandy said, feeling shame that the idea of recording a confrontation had first come to her when she believed that Elaine Peters had been the killer. How wrong she had been.
She bid farewell to DC Sullivan, and returned her attention to the shop. The customers were all sitting silently, listening to her conversation. She smiled. It was good to get back to normal village life, even if that included more gossiping than she’d like.
“Are you ok here?” Sandy asked Coral, who was doing a brilliant job of upgrading every order and making every customer spend more than they usually would have.
“Absolutely,” Coral said, giving her sister a thumbs up.
Sandy went into the kitchen and dialled the familiar number. She held up the latest letter she’d received addressed to ‘Sandy Shore’. She had been considering its offer for weeks and had realised that life was too short to have regrets.
“Mr Potter?” She asked as the old man answered with a barking cough.
“Who is this?” He managed, his breath rasping.
“It’s Sandy Shaw.” She said. “I’ve considered your offer and I’d like to accept; I would be very interested in extending and taking on the upstairs premises as well.”
**
“Everything ok?” Coral asked as Sandy returned to the counter.
“Everything’s better than okay. I’ve just extended the business. As from next week, I’ll have the upstairs as well.”
“That’s amazing!” Coral said, giving her a warm hug.
“I’ll be able to have a full floor for books,” Sandy said. “I can specialise, I can really get the word out and attract people from further afield. I think it will be just what the shop needs.”
She noticed Coral’s eyes water and followed her hunch.
“You know, sis,” Sandy said. “You’re so good on the tills, you’re a natural salesperson. Would you be interested in working here, properly?”
Coral began to cry. “Are you psychic?”
“I don’t think so…” Sandy said, trying her best to feign ignorance.
“I just lost my job,” Coral admitted. “The national company doesn’t want us to carry on as we were at all, they just want to add the name to their list and run everything from London. The whole team has been made redundant.”
“Oh, sis that’s awful,” Sandy said. “Perfect timing for Books and Bakes, though, hey?”
Coral eyed her sister and laughed.
“To the future?” Sandy suggested as Jim Slaughter and Elaine Peters walked in the shop hand-in-hand.
“To the future!” Coral agreed, giving her sister’s hand a squeeze.
THE END
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A Tale of Two Bodies:
“You’ve outdone yourself!” Sandy said, after a few moments of making appreciative noises as she sampled Bernice’s latest cake creation.
“Do you think?” Bernice asked.
“It’s far too nice.” Coral agreed, taking another bite of her own sample slice. “This won’t be any good for my hips.”
The three of them were standing in the kitchen of Books and Bakes, Sandy’s bookshop and cafe, hiding out from the crowds for a few seconds on a busy day.
The upstairs bookshop had been open for six weeks and, as Sandy had hoped, it had transformed the business. While her cafe remained a popular haven for the villagers themselves, people flocked from far and wide to see her lovely books.
“Hello? Is anyone serving?” Someone called from the counter. The three glanced at each other and laughed and Sandy and Coral returned out front, leaving Bernice to finish decorating her new cake.
“Sorry Dorie.” Sandy said, not surprised to see her most regular customer standing at the till. Dorie was small and round with hair like candyfloss.
“Don’t let this success go to your head, you still need to look after your best customers.”
“You’re right,” Sandy said. The best way to handle Dorie was to agree with her. “What do you fancy? Do you want to sit down and I’ll bring it over?”
Dorie looked around her from side to side, as if scared her cake order would be overheard. “I actually need a book, could you help me find the right one?”
Sandy laughed. She had dreamed of her days being full of requests like that ever since she opened the shop. “Of course I can. Coral, mind the till while I go upstairs with Dorie.”
She lead Dorie to the back of the coffee shop, through the small section of downstairs books. She’d extended the cafe area a little when she extended into the upstairs space but had kept some of the most popular books on the ground floor too. Things like children’s books and local interest stood with pride to catch the cafe visitors’ eyes.
The upstairs was larger than the downstairs. Sandy had thought it was a trick of the mind when she first saw the space, but her landlord Ignatius Potter confirmed her suspicions.
It was a beautiful space, renovated with a careful hand to keep the original wooden beams. The windows had been replaced throughout the years but kept as similar in character to the original sash windows as they could. While he was an eccentric man, it had to be said that her landlord cared about the appearance of the village. All of the properties he owned - and there were plenty of them - were managed in a similarly sympathetic way.
“Here you go, Dorie. Are you after something in particular?”
Dorie had visited the cafe almost daily since it had opened
, and usually alone. She’d never bought a book in all of that time.
“It’s a present.” Dorie said, glancing at the bookshelves as Sandy paced the length of the upper floor with her.
“Who for?” Sandy asked.
“That’s a personal question.” Dorie scolded.
“It will help me suggest ideas if I know who we’re looking for,” Sandy said, surprised by the woman’s secrecy. Dorie was the biggest gossip in Waterfell Tweed.
“It’s a gentleman,” Dorie admitted.
“Ok,” Sandy said. It would be Dorie’s son, Jim. The two of them were very close. “How about a nice leather journal?”
“Oh no, no, I don’t think so.” Dorie said.
Sandy continued walking through the aisles, wondering what Jim would appreciate as a gift. It was a momentous occasion, a local wanting to buy a gift from her bookshop, and she needed to get it right. Dorie trailed behind her, appearing uncomfortable around so many books.
“What about this history of the police force?” Sandy asked. Jim was a local police constable. According to Dorie, he ran the whole of the local police force.
“Don’t you have anything more exotic?” Dorie asked. “Travel? Something like that?”
Sandy returned the police book to the shelf and turned on her heels towards the travel section. She had a large collection of coffee table books with beautiful photography inside. “They’re all here, anywhere in particular?”
Dorie examined the titles without standing too close to the bookcase. The woman’s awkwardness around books made Sandy have to stifle a laugh.
“Africa.” Dorie said, after a few moments.
Sandy pulled out a large hardback and held it open for Dorie, flicking through the pages to show her the photographs contained within. “This is a really nice one.”
“Hmm.” Dorie murmured. “Would a man like it?”
“I think so,” Sandy said. “Well, I mean, the right man would. An intelligent, stylish man.”