A Body in the Bookshop

by Helen Cox

  ‘I didn’t know if you’d be open but thought I’d swing by just in case,’ said Kitt.

  ‘I tried sitting at home yesterday. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t manage another day like that. I’ll take some time off after the funeral but until then, I just can’t face sitting in that house all alone again. Knowing he isn’t coming home.’

  ‘Completely understandable.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Shereen,’ said Evie while Shereen nodded and half-smiled in response. She wondered about bringing up the death of her ex-boyfriend as a way of making a connection, the way she had with Cammie, but somehow it didn’t seem right. She had dated Owen for two years, which was a significant chunk of time, but Kitt said Shereen and Donald had been together for twenty-five, so there really didn’t seem any comparison.

  ‘Is there anything we can do to help?’ said Kitt, looking around the shop, her eyes settling on a small, half-height bookcase pushed up against the wall near the counter. Kitt seemed to be giving the bookcase a great deal of attention and Evie sighed inwardly. They were supposed to be focused on Shereen and Kitt was busy eyeing up the next addition to her reading pile. Evie resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  ‘If you’re really keen, you can help to find me a new shop assistant,’ said Shereen.

  ‘Oh, you’ve let Olivia go then?’ Kitt said, tilting her head.

  ‘I could barely bring myself to speak to her. But I did it. I phoned her up and told her not to bother coming back.’ Shereen’s voice became loud and shrill as she spoke and her face reddened. ‘If it wasn’t for her Donald would still be . . . still be . . . here.’

  Tears slid down Shereen’s cheeks as she apologized and grabbed a tissue from a box sitting behind the counter. ‘I expect your inspector has told you all about what she did.’

  Though Shereen’s voice was bitter, Kitt didn’t seem ruffled by it. ‘Actually, the police aren’t able to share information with civilians, not even their significant others.’

  Evie’s brain seized on Kitt’s choice of wording. If they were in any other situation she would have at once begun teasing her friend about the fact she saw herself as Halloran’s ‘significant other’. As it was, even Evie could see this wasn’t the time and the place, and besides, though she didn’t think it was possible, something more tantalizing than teasing Kitt had caught her attention. A hammer was sitting on the cash desk next to the till. Candice had said that the likely cause of Donald’s untimely death was blunt force trauma. A hammer would do that.

  ‘The highlights are that Olivia was having an affair with a married man and when someone blackmailed him over it she suggested he steal our most valuable items of stock to pay the money,’ said Shereen, her breath ragged as she spoke.

  Evie watched Kitt’s eyes widen as though she was hearing this information for the very first time. ‘That’s unbelievable!’ she said.

  Evie caught Kitt’s eye and gave the hammer a long, pointed look before glancing back up at her friend.

  Kitt subtly shook her head and gave a dismissive wave. So much for staying objective.

  ‘What a betrayal,’ Kitt said to Shereen, as though Evie hadn’t even directed her to the hammer. ‘But how did that lead to Donald’s death?’

  ‘I don’t know. But the police say it can’t be coincidence that this place was burgled and then just a couple of weeks later Donald is killed. And I don’t know anything about these kinds of things really but I’d have to agree with them. It must be the same person behind Donald’s death and that kid in the hospital.’

  ‘And nobody knows who that is? Who blackmailed ­Olivia’s . . . boyfriend?’ Evie tried not to look at the hammer as she spoke and in averting her eyes to another part of the desk, noticed a stack of papers. Was that an insurance document sitting on top of the pile? The insurance claims form for the burglary perhaps? Or for Donald’s life insurance . . .

  ‘The police tell me they’re pursuing several leads,’ said Shereen, drawing Evie’s attentions away from the paperwork. ‘Which sounds very much like they’ve no idea who it is.’

  Kitt pursed her lips.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, love. I keep forgetting about your inspector. I should watch what I’m saying.’

  ‘No need to apologize,’ said Kitt. ‘Or censor yourself for that matter, given what you’ve been through. I’ve felt frustration with the police force myself once or twice in the past few months. It’s different when the case is personal. You feel like nothing anyone does is enough.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Shereen. ‘But I’ve been sat here today, thinking. And I’ve just come to realize that no matter what they do, they can’t bring my Don back. Nothing can.’

  ‘But we can get justice for him,’ said Kitt. ‘I know it might feel as though the police could do more but I promise you, from what I know of them, they are very committed to their work and will be doing everything in their power to find out who was behind your husband’s murder.’ Kitt patted ­Shereen’s hand and Evie noticed as she did so that the woman was finding it difficult to hold Kitt’s gaze.

  ‘Well, I hope so,’ Shereen said, looking down at the counter. ‘I should’ve known when he sent that text message to say he was going out with his friends. He never does that on a week night. He’s always too tired.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything inherently suspicious about going out for a drink after work, you can’t blame yourself,’ said Kitt.

  ‘But I knew,’ Shereen said. ‘I knew there was something wrong. The wording of the text, it sounded more formal than the words Donald usually used. I knew there was something wrong but I didn’t do anything. I should’ve called him . . . I should’ve—’

  ‘Shereen,’ Kitt said, cutting her off. ‘The only person to blame for your husband’s death is the person who killed him.’

  Shereen nodded but didn’t say anything else. She was too busy grabbing more tissues to dab her eyes and cheeks with.

  Again, Kitt looked over at the small bookcase pushed up against the wall at the side of the counter, a little more vaguely than she had the last time.

  Perhaps Kitt wasn’t eyeing up the books on the bookcase. Perhaps something about the bookcase itself was bothering her and she had been focused on the case all the time she was talking to Shereen. While Shereen finished drying her eyes, Evie meandered over to the bookcase for a closer look. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it. What was Kitt looking at? She picked up a book off the top shelf, looked the back cover with feigned interest and went to return it to its place. As she did so, however, she noticed something on the wall, behind where the book had been standing.

  She swung around, her breath short. ‘Kitt . . . I think you better come and look at this.’

  Kitt frowned and strode over and Evie couldn’t help but notice the unreadable look on Shereen’s face as she did so.

  ‘Look,’ Evie said, pointing at what was unmistakably a tiny speck of blood splashed against the yellow wall.

  ‘Shereen, this bookcase isn’t usually over here. I noticed it as soon as I walked in. Did you move it here?’ asked Kitt.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I assumed Donald moved it before . . . before . . . you know. And without a shop assistant I’ve not had a chance to move it back. It’s not a very good place for it. I don’t know what he was thinking. But he did have a little rearrange of things now and then.’

  Without another word Kitt manoeuvred herself to the far end of the bookcase and signalled Evie to grab the other end. Kitt shunted her end of the case outward with what seemed like minimal effort.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to—’ Shereen began, but was cut off.

  Evie managed to shuffle her side a few inches forward and Kitt exclaimed, ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What? What is it? Have you hurt yourself?’ said Shereen. ‘There’s some sharp edges on them damn things, I’ve had cuts and splinters
, the lot.’

  Kitt shook her head. ‘Behind this bookcase. There’s blood spatter.’

  Evie frowned and leant over the top of the bookcase to take a look at the wall behind. Sure enough, as Kitt said, there were red splashes of blood all up the wall.

  ‘Blood?’ Shereen said in a small voice. ‘It’s not my Don’s blood, is it?’

  ‘I can’t say for certain,’ said Kitt. ‘But if you were asking me to guess, I think Donald died here, in the bookshop before he was . . . taken down to the river. We need to call the police. This is now a crime scene.’

  Twenty-Nine

  As Evie, Grace and Kitt approached Ruby’s cottage, Kitt let out another sigh.

  Grace had been in high spirits on the drive to the outlying village of Orpington. Even after several hours she was still caught up in the revelation that Evie and Kitt had discovered blood at Bootham Bar Books earlier that afternoon. In sharp contrast, Kitt had been almost monosyllabic and Evie didn’t have to ask her friend why. She knew, given the breakthrough, that Kitt wanted to debate theories with Halloran about how far the fact that Donald had likely been killed in his own bookshop further incriminated Shereen Oakes. Being torn away to listen to Ruby read tarot cards wasn’t at the top of Kitt’s to-do list and she had put an admirable amount of effort into trying to wriggle out of it. In the end Evie had convinced her that, left to their own devices, she, Grace and Ruby might actually end up summoning some kind of malevolent spirit, or worse, and it was safer for mankind if she joined them.

  Evie also knew there were probably better things they could be doing than indulging an old lady’s ‘psychic’ tendencies, but admitted to herself that she was a little bit curious about what might come up in the card reading. Not just about the case, but about other areas of her life.

  Ruby had given Evie her address when she agreed to come around that evening but even if she hadn’t, the trio agreed that they would have been able to guess which residence in the small line of cottages belonged to the old woman.

  Smoke snaked its way out of the fat-necked chimney and somewhere the faint jingling of wind chimes struck a melody into the sharp December breeze. In the yellow glow of the street lamps, Evie could see every other house on the street boasted trim hedgerows and manicured lawns but Ruby’s garden looked more like a jungle. Ivy climbed the fence and the walls, the ground seemed mossy rather than grassy and long bamboo leaves spiked out in every direction, obscuring the path to the house. Ruby had arranged various weird and wonderful garden ornaments in unexpected places, or at least that was the way it felt in the dark. A large toadstool here. A weeping fairy there.

  ‘Agh!’ Kitt called out.

  ‘What? What is it?’ Evie asked, a little bit on edge in Ruby’s jungle-like garden. If York was home to any abnormally large spiders they would more than likely live here.

  ‘Stubbed my toe on that bloody weeping fairy ornament,’ said Kitt, sucking air through her teeth and limping towards the threshold where an intimidating bull-headed figure carved of stone awaited. She was about to knock when the door swung open and Ruby appeared, clad in a long black satin gown.

  ‘I sensed you were near.’

  ‘You saw us from the window,’ Kitt said, a little more curtly than Evie thought was polite. She shot Kitt a look dark enough to shame her into offering their host a frail smile.

  ‘It’s nice to see you, Ruby,’ said Kitt, her tone softer than it had been before. ‘Shall we come in?’

  ‘Yes, enter, enter,’ said Ruby who seemed unruffled by Kitt’s earlier rudeness. The pair had known each other for years through the library so perhaps she was used to Kitt’s scepticism.

  Evie took a deep breath as she stepped inside and Kitt and Grace followed her. Ruby shut the door to keep out the bleak chill, while Evie stared around the room in quiet astonishment. It was one of the most curious places she had ever seen and given what her own living room looked like she didn’t reach that conclusion lightly. The walls looked as though they had been whitewashed hundreds of years ago and not redecorated since. They had turned a strange mustard colour and the paint was crumbling away in the corners. Large orbs of crystal sat by the window, there was a shelf filled with odd-shaped bottles and jars, and bird feathers were piled up on a small desk in the corner. Evie, being Evie, wanted to touch each and every one of them to get a better sense of what they were and what they might be used for. Despite how near it was to Christmas there was not a shred of tinsel to be seen but there were some wicker stars hanging by the window and a garland of ivy draped over the mantelpiece with acorns, pine cones and holly sprigs strategically spaced along its boughs. A plump ginger cat sprawled out in front of a blazing fire. Despite the strangeness of her surroundings Evie felt herself drawn in to the warmth after the empty cold of the December night.

  ‘Sit down, sit down,’ Ruby said, gesturing to the sofa and a couple of armchairs. ‘I’ve poured us some of my home-made dandelion wine.’

  ‘Great,’ said Kitt, her tone dripping with irony. Evie didn’t particularly welcome the prospect of accepting anything digestible off the woman either, in light of what strange liquids were bottled in her living room. And hadn’t Kitt once mentioned that Ruby home-brewed drinks in her bath tub? That didn’t sound very sanitary.

  The three of them sat and Evie’s eyes were at once riveted on the deck of cards sitting on the coffee table. They had been placed on a length of dark purple fabric and were stacked face down so it was not yet possible to see all of the beautiful images Evie knew were drawn on the other side.

  ‘With time ticking on a bit, laying out a Celtic cross might be a bit involved. It’s probably best just to do a three-card spread,’ said Kitt.

  Everyone in the room looked at her.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ asked Evie.

  ‘Ee, I ’ad no idea you practised the cards, love,’ Ruby said with a knowing grin that Evie was sure would rile Kitt right up. She wasn’t wrong.

  ‘I have read some books about their history and philosophy,’ Kitt sniffed, sitting up a little straighter in her armchair. ‘Doesn’t mean I believe a word of it.’

  ‘Well, we can start with a three card spread and take it from there, but it’s not going to be an in-depth reading if we stick with that alone.’

  Evie smiled to herself; brevity was exactly what Kitt was hoping for.

  ‘Now, who is the enquirer?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Evie.

  ‘Who is asking the question?’ Ruby said. ‘Who wants to take a journey through the ancient wisdom? Who wants—’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Ruby,’ Kitt interrupted. ‘We get the picture. I think as Evie was the person to arrange this meeting that it makes sense for her to ask the question.’

  Grace, who had opened her mouth but not managed to speak before Kitt, let her posture slump in disappointment. ‘Evie can go first,’ she said, ‘but I think it’s only fair we all get a turn.’

  ‘What do I do, then?’ said Evie. ‘I’ve never done this before.’

  Ruby stared at Evie, her eyes piercing. ‘First thing to do is you think of a question.’ Evie looked over at Kitt and Grace, then back at the cards. She felt herself swallow hard. What question could she ask that would help with the case? And maybe help her sort out the tangle of thoughts she had been trying to unravel ever since she had spent the night with Charley? It seemed impossible to think of a question that would straddle those two issues, and it wasn’t like she could ask about the other night specifically without both Ruby and Grace finding out what had happened between her and DS Banks.

  Tempting as it was to ask something self-motivated, Evie decided she could probably work out what on earth was happening on a personal level after the culprit behind the terrible events surrounding Bootham Bar Books had been apprehended. The right thing to do now was to focus on the case.

  ‘Who is behind the crimes committed
in the Bootham Bar Books case?’ Evie said, and then looked at Ruby. ‘Will that work?’

  ‘That’ll do,’ said Ruby. ‘Now, pick up the cards and shuffle them. You’ll need to stay focused while you do. Keep that question, and that question alone, in your mind and in your heart as you shuffle.’

  Frowning, Evie picked up the pack of cards and followed Ruby’s instructions. Focusing on one thing had never really been her speciality. But she did her best and then completed the remaining steps as instructed by Ruby, separating the cards into three piles before shuffling them back into one pile with all the cards facing down.

  One by one Ruby turned over three cards. They had the most ornate pictures on them and the colouring was intense. Bright yellows and dark charcoal shades.

  Grace let out a little gasp as she looked at the cards. ‘The Devil?’ she said, looking at the first card that Ruby had laid out. ‘That can’t be good.’

  Ruby smiled. ‘The cards themselves are not bad or good. They’re just suggestions on how to manage life’s lessons.’

  ‘So what does it mean then, the Devil?’ Evie asked. Kitt was sitting in silence, unwilling to engage even though Evie would have bet her entire collection of vintage tablecloths that she knew exactly what the card meant.

  ‘This first card represents the recent past,’ said Ruby, ‘and the Devil represents temptation. Someone had the opportunity to take a quick, easy path to success. One that would hurt others. And they took it.’