‘It must have been an accident. Careless, though, very careless. But in the countryside… well, you know.’
‘No, I don’t. I thought crossbows were illegal.’
‘Not illegal to own, unless you’re under eighteen. Certainly illegal to hunt with. But like I said—’
‘Yes, I know, the countryside. And since I can’t identify who fired the bow, there’s nothing the police can do.’
‘Got it in one,’ the inspector said jovially.
‘Alan,’ Jack imbued his voice with urgency, ‘there’s something rotten going on below the surface in Abbeymead. Going unnoticed, like Anderson’s death. The police have decided that he died from natural causes, which is exactly what the murderer planned.’
‘You’re saying we’ve been duped?’ Jack could hear the man’s growing annoyance down the telephone. ‘There’s no motive for the chap’s death. There has to be motive, else why go to all that trouble to kill?’
‘I’m working on it.’
It sounded feeble, but he dared not mention buried treasure. He’d nearly said ‘we’re’ working on it, but thought it best he kept Flora’s name quiet. Something told him that Ridley would be even less sympathetic if he knew the girl whose bookshop had been broken into was involved. He’d suspect collusion, which wasn’t far from the truth.
‘Working on it? Have to do better than that, old chap.’
The ‘old chap’ was beginning to grate on Jack, but he tried to keep a neutral tone. ‘If your pathologist could take a quick look before the jacket goes to the dry cleaner’s…’ He tried as a last ditch attempt. ‘I could catch the bus, bring it over to Brighton today.’
‘No need for that. You’re pretty het up over this, I can tell, and I suppose I could squeeze expenses to cover an extra half hour with the pathologist. I’ll motor over to Abbeymead and pick up the jacket myself. Nothing much doing here this morning. But only if we can go to that great little pub. What was it called? The Cross Keys, that was it.’
Jack resigned himself to eating his second lunch of the day. He hoped that Flora would be suitably grateful.
Several days of waiting and wondering followed for Flora. She tried to put it to the back of her mind and get on with her life. It was difficult, though. The bookshop still attracted few customers, incoming orders were only a trickle now, and she had cleaned and polished the All’s Well until she was almost blinded by its shining perfection. Beneath this determined activity, she was fretting. Did the delay mean that something was happening, that Jack had persuaded the police to accept Cyril’s jacket as evidence, and were even now investigating? Or did it mean that Jack hadn’t managed to speak to the inspector or, even worse, he had and been refused, and felt too uncomfortable to call and tell her?
Today, once she’d put away the dusters, she cast around for distraction, eventually trundling Betty from her shelter. There was only one book to deliver, but Miss Lancaster had remained a faithful customer, and the journey meant fresh air and a steep hill to use some of Flora’s pent-up energy.
Energy or not, she was still forced to dismount as she reached the summit. With only three gears to her name, Betty was little help. As Flora wheeled the bicycle forward, a van came into view, parked awkwardly across the road. The van from Katie’s Nook and it was Bernie Mitchell changing a wheel. He looked up as Flora pushed her bike past, but made no attempt to greet her.
She walked on for several yards but then stopped abruptly and retraced her steps. Mitchell was on his own, there was no one to overhear their conversation, and she couldn’t walk past this horrible man without saying something.
‘Mr Mitchell, can I speak to you?’
‘Can’t stop you, can I?’ he said in a surly voice.
He looked unkempt, Flora noticed, his khaki overalls needing a good wash, and the straggle of hair emerging from his cloth cap in similar need.
‘It’s about Kate. Your wife.’
‘I know who my wife is.’ A pair of grimy hands continued to unscrew the vehicle’s wheel nuts.
‘You must know she’s desperately upset. Her father’s death has been a terrible blow and she needs sympathy. Kindness. Kindness from you, and I don’t think she is getting it.’
Mitchell got to his feet, a sturdy wrench in his hand. ‘And what’s it gotta do with you, ezackly?’
‘I’m Kate’s friend and I don’t like to see her so distressed. She’s floundering, Mr Mitchell.’
He grunted and bent down again to the job in hand.
‘She is being hurt, too. Physically injured.’
Mitchell straightened up and walked towards Flora, the wrench swinging from his hand. ‘And?’
She felt real fear. This was an isolated spot and the man’s figure was tense with anger. She swallowed hard.
‘Kate has bruises on her arms,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘There was a new one when I saw her on Saturday. If she’s hurt again, I won’t hesitate. I’ll report it. The police will be interested. Your boss, too, I imagine. Mr Elliot would take a dim view of employing a man who beats his wife.’
Mitchell advanced further and was now towering over her. He lifted the wrench and waved it in her face. ‘Listen, little girl, you’ve no idea what you’re talkin’ about. Keep your beak out of my business or you’ll be sorry, believe me.’
He turned back to the van, leaving Flora gripping Betty’s handlebars for support. Her intervention seemed to have done little good. She had now made an enemy for herself. And Mitchell was an ugly customer, there was no doubt of that.
As soon as she arrived back in Abbeymead, Flora went immediately to Katie’s Nook. She’d wanted to call on Kate yesterday, but the café had been shut and she hadn’t felt comfortable visiting her at home. This morning, as she’d ridden past the Nook, she’d noticed the restaurant had reopened. With Mitchell out of the way, this was an ideal time to call.
Kate was behind the counter and there were just two customers, sitting together by the window. Empty plates and teacups suggested they would be leaving very soon.
Kate looked up as the door chimed. ‘Flora!’ She managed a wobbly smile. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’
‘I would have come earlier, but I thought it best to wait until you reopened.’
‘I’m always very happy to see you whenever. And Alice, too. She came round to the cottage yesterday, bless her, and she’s calling in on her way back from work. Can I get you something to drink?’
‘Nothing for me. I really just wanted to see how you were doing.’
‘Come and sit down.’
Kate gestured to a table some distance from her customers. Flora noticed how straight she sat in the chair, and how tightly her hands were clasped, as though to allow them freedom might release a torrent of emotion.
‘I can still hardly believe what’s happened,’ Kate began. ‘I can’t get used to the idea that Dad is no longer around.’ Her eyes filled and Flora reached out to stroke her arm. There was so little she could offer in comfort.
Blinking back the tears, Kate said, ‘It was kind of you to go to Steyning for me.’
‘We’ve not actually been yet,’ Flora confessed. ‘Jack had work to finish – a deadline to meet,’ she improvised. A white lie was surely in order. ‘But we’ll be going tomorrow. Plenty of time for the suit to be ready.’ She had no idea if they would make Steyning tomorrow – it was down to Jack and the inspector – but she wanted to reassure Kate.
‘It must be wonderful to be a writer,’ Kate said wistfully, ‘and Mr Carrington seems a really nice man. Are you interested?’
‘It’s not like that,’ Flora said hurriedly. ‘We stock Jack’s novels and we order his reference books. That’s the only way I know him.’
‘Sorry, I probably spoke out of turn. But you seem to be spending a lot of time with him.’
Flora cast around for a reason that didn’t involve investigating a crime. ‘I’ve been trying to help with research for his new book. It’s proving a bit sticky. But are you
really OK?’
She needed the focus to be on Kate – it was why she had rushed here from Miss Lancaster’s – and her relationship with Jack Carrington was not something she wanted to think too deeply about.
Kate hadn’t answered her, and Flora said gently, ‘You see, I noticed…’ She reached out for Kate’s arms, turning both of them to face outwards. The bruises had mellowed, but were still clearly visible.
Kate snatched her arms back. ‘It was an accident,’ she said quickly.
‘Two accidents, I think. Does he hurt you often?’ she asked in a whisper.
Kate’s two customers had gathered their belongings together and were making for the door, smiling a thank you as they went. Kate waited until the door had clanged shut before she answered.
‘Not often,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but lately he’s not been himself.’
‘In what way?’
‘He seems frustrated, as though he’s under a lot of pressure. It makes him lose his temper, but he doesn’t mean it.’
Everyone became frustrated at times, Flora thought, without resorting to hurting a person you were supposed to love, but she bit back the retort she would liked to have made.
‘What kind of pressure, Kate?’
‘Money mostly. The café doesn’t make much of a profit, you know. We’re always scrabbling to pay our bills.’
‘The job at the Priory, though – that pays well, doesn’t it?’
Kate looked uncertainly at her. ‘It does, but…’
‘But?’
‘I don’t know how much longer Bernie will be working there. He isn’t happy with the job. Something’s gone wrong, but he doesn’t tell me a lot.’
Was the something the death of Kevin Anderson? According to Cyril, they’d been planning mischief together, but whatever that was, Kevin’s death was a signal that it had gone badly wrong. Then Cyril himself had died. Bernie’s own father-in-law. Was it guilt over the deaths that was making Kate’s husband angry? Her recent encounter with the man filled Flora’s mind: the image of Mitchell, his arm raised, the heavy wrench in his hand, advancing towards her, made her stomach clench. Guilt seemed an unlikely emotion.
Kate stared gloomily down at the table top. ‘Even if Bernie stays on there, I don’t know how we’re to pay the fuel bill come next quarter.’
‘Is it that bad?’ Flora was astonished. She was used to fighting hardship herself, but had no idea that the Mitchells were so badly off.
Kate continued to stare at the table. ‘It’s the gambling, you see,’ she said in a half whisper.
Flora felt her eyebrows rising. Bernie Mitchell’s gambling? Of course it was his. She couldn’t imagine Kate had ever had a bet.
‘The dog track. Brighton stadium,’ the girl said miserably. ‘Bernie has been going to the dogs on Friday nights for years, but just recently he’s met up with some chap – through friends, I think – who seems to have pots of money and it’s encouraged Bernie to bet too high. He’s not a bad man,’ she insisted when Flora said nothing. ‘It’s just that he’s easily led. He’s been trying to keep up with this chap, but of course he can’t.’
‘Bernie loses?’
‘Almost always,’ Kate said sadly. ‘It’s put the café in a very precarious position. I’ve been so worried that I’d have to sell up and maybe lose all of Dad’s savings. That’s why I’ve been trying to do different things. Set up a baking business and deliver cakes house to house. But I haven’t managed to get it off the ground, and now with Dad dying like that… It’s all so dreadful.’
‘It has to get better,’ Flora said rousingly. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’
‘How?’ Kate looked surprised, as well she might, Flora thought. She had no idea what she could do to help this poor girl. But help she would.
‘I’ll think of something. You’re not on your own. Meanwhile, if that husband of yours loses his temper again and deliberately hurts you, you need to report it. Come and tell me and we’ll go to Constable Tring together.’
Her friend looked unconvinced but, at least today, she had sown the idea in Kate’s mind. And made Mitchell aware that other people knew of his misdoings.
Sixteen
It was on the fourth morning of waiting for Jack’s news, just as Flora was setting off from her cottage to cycle into the village, that she spied his familiar figure loping along the lane towards her. He was carrying a string bag and she could just make out Cyril’s suit, carefully folded in it. Her breath caught in her throat. Jack must have information, but what?
‘Going to the shop?’ he asked.
‘I was, but—’
‘Perhaps a detour to Steyning instead?’
‘What’s the news, Jack?’ she burst out. ‘Don’t keep me dancing on pins.’
‘An interesting image. Do you want to go inside? There’s quite a lot to relate.’
She fumbled with her key, saying as she did, ‘Inspector Ridley saw the jacket?’
Jack followed her into the kitchen. ‘Not only saw it, but took it to the pathologist – after some persuasion and as a special favour to me.’
He deserved her thanks, but Flora was too anxious to hear more. ‘And?’ She felt her face go rigid.
‘The pathologist was at a loss.’ Jack dumped the string bag onto the scrubbed wood table.
Her hopes dashed, Flora slumped into a kitchen chair.
‘But,’ Jack went on, ‘he was sufficiently intrigued to call in a botanist friend. An expert on plants. The chap didn’t have much to go on, just some pollen and juice, but caught in the lapel – we didn’t see it – was a small fragment of leaf. From that, and the colour of the pollen, he reckoned it could be one of two plants, one of which was extremely poisonous. Narrowing it down meant the pathologist could run tests to detect the presence of something called cicutoxin. And bingo, he struck lucky. Our plant is water hemlock. Here, I have a picture for you. The botanist supplied it, along with a description.’
Jack brought out a sheet of paper from his inside pocket.
She looked at it hard. The plant, when in bloom, threw out a profusion of small white daisy-shaped flowers, poised delicately on long green stems. ‘It looks pretty,’ she said.
‘Pretty and horribly poisonous. Within a few hours of ingesting the poison, a person can suffer seizures, their heart rate badly disturbed and their blood pressure zinging merrily up and down the scale. There are other cardiac effects, too, which I couldn’t follow – too technical. But it all adds up to a highly erratic heartbeat, resulting in blood not being pumped around the body. What that comes down to is severe wheezing, great difficulty in breathing and, in the end, respiratory failure.’
‘How awful.’
Jack took a seat opposite her. ‘Death usually occurs within a few hours of ingestion, the pathologist said, though it can be much quicker. Cyril already had heart problems so he probably died within minutes, whereas Kevin Anderson was young and fit, and the poison must have taken several hours to work.’
Flora was silent, absorbing all she had been told. To inflict such catastrophic harm on anyone, even your worst enemy, seemed to her an act of the greatest evil. If she’d ever been tempted to waver in her mission, to forget the whole business and go back to simply selling books, this new knowledge had put iron in her heart. It wasn’t just a case now of saving her shop. The person who had done such dreadful damage to fellow human beings had to be caught.
‘When Cyril walked round to his old yard, he must have peered over the fence into the enclosure,’ Jack went on, ‘though I wouldn’t have thought him tall enough. But he must have seen the patch of flowers and used his key to open the gate. By doing that, he unlocked the door to his death.’
‘The flowers would have looked pretty and he wanted so much to take a bunch to Kate that wasn’t chrysanthemums. I reckon that when he picked them, he got sap on his hands – no post-mortem was done so we can’t know – but it must have got into his system in some way and there was a smear of juice on his jacket.’
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‘Poor old chap,’ Jack said. ‘What a way to die. And to lie there all night before Alice Jenner found him. Someone else discovered him first, of course, but who?’
‘That’s the question, isn’t it? Whoever it was, dragged him out of the enclosure, did the business with the plant, locked the gate and left Cyril to be found.’
Jack gave a slight shake of the head. ‘It’s all speculation,’ he said.
‘But it rings true.’
‘What about Kevin Anderson? He didn’t go picking flowers.’
‘No, he didn’t, so we have to assume that someone tampered with the bouquet that was delivered to the Priory, before it reached his room.’
‘Adding one or two blooms of water hemlock to it.’ Jack grimaced. ‘It’s grotesque.’
‘Presumably wearing gloves and keeping the plant at a safe distance.’
Jack stretched in his chair. ‘I’m sure. Knowing what the plant was capable of, you wouldn’t want to get close to it.’
‘The flowers must have almost finished blooming,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘The description you gave me said the plant flowered into August, but early October?’
‘The climate is pretty mild here and the enclosure sheltered. But if they were on their last legs, it explains the dropping pollen. Kevin probably didn’t notice. As soon as he left his room to go on his drive or off on his visit to the All’s Well, whoever was responsible must have whisked away the flowers. They wouldn’t want anyone else coming into contact with the bouquet.’
‘But a whole cast of people could have tampered with them beforehand,’ Flora said despondently. ‘The bouquet would have been delivered to the reception desk, so Polly Dakers could be involved. But so could Miss Horrocks – she could have taken the flowers upstairs. And what about the chambermaids? One of them could have arranged the vase. Any one of them could be our villain.’
‘Motive, Flora. They had to have had a motive,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ve been thinking of where we go with this. Steyning will be most useful. We’ll buzz round the florists there on the off chance of finding the one that took the Priory’s order.’
The Bookshop Murder: An absolutely gripping cozy mystery (A Flora Steele Mystery Book 1) Page 12