For a split second, he looked away and Flora, every fibre of her body tensed with new strength, hurled herself forward in an attempt to push him aside and throw herself into safety. She hit him flat in the chest and, for an instant, he staggered back, seeming to lose his balance. But, in another instant, he had regained his feet and was thrusting her backwards with such force that she stumbled and fell. From her prone position, she saw his hand reach up, her ears catching the click of a lever. The bookshelf swung back into place and she was plunged into total darkness.
Twenty-Seven
Jack left the train at Worthing station a contented man. It had been a good meeting with his agent – a slap-up lunch at the Ritz, the usual fulsome praise for his work which Jack discounted as no more than encouragement, but far better news of the new project. Arthur was hugely enthusiastic. These days, an increasing number of people were taking holidays, he said, and there were several English counties eager to persuade visitors to come to them. An exciting story based in that county – crime was seen as the very best option – would work wonders. Each authority would appoint someone to oversee the scheme and arrange publicity, leaving Jack free to write whatever he chose. A trio of places had been suggested – not the entire country, Jack thought gratefully – ones that would lend themselves most readily to the kind of crime he wrote. Cornwall was the first name to emerge.
The county held happy memories, some of the few Jack possessed from his childhood. A business contact of his father’s had owned a cottage in a small fishing village near Padstow and, for two summers running, the three of them had spent several weeks enjoying what in retrospect seemed endlessly long days of sunshine. The village itself was little more than a hamlet, lacking any kind of shop or even a church, but there were several farms to buy from and a pub just a mile or so along the Padstow road. His father had spent a lot of time there, Jack recalled, while he and his mother enjoyed days on the beach, a delight of rocks and seaweed and saltwater pools.
He would have to reacquaint himself with the county, Arthur told him, research the area in some depth, but his expenses would be paid and he could choose where to base himself. Early summer had been suggested as a date for his arrival.
All in all, the offer was sounding better than he’d first thought, particularly as, despite a few hopeful days, he was still struggling with the current novel, not much closer to completing it than when he’d first met Flora. He wondered how she’d fared at Polly’s party and whether she’d learned anything new. In a burst of financial madness, he ignored the bus stop outside the station and hailed a taxi, and was on his way to Abbeymead before the train had left for Chichester.
Jack had missed her today, missed seeing her slim figure walking towards him, the mischievous smile when she teased, her caustic comments that demolished any pretension. After spending the afternoon with Polly, she was bound to have plenty in reserve.
He looked at his watch – seven o’clock. She would be back from the Priory by now. He couldn’t see Vernon Elliot allowing the party to go on for too long. Leaning forward, he tapped on the cabbie’s screen and asked the driver to drop him at Flora’s cottage.
The last of the Michaelmas daisies provided a guard of honour, as he walked up the cottage pathway to beat a tattoo on the front door. When there was no answer, he knocked again. Walking across the grass to the sitting room window, he shaded his eyes and peered in, hoping to see Flora dozing in a chair. The room, though, was quite empty. He walked around the house to the kitchen door and knocked again.
He was puzzled. It was plain that Flora was away from home, but where? Out delivering books? From the corner of his eye, he spied Betty standing proudly beneath her shelter – Flora was definitely not on a delivery round. For a moment, Jack felt deflated, but rallying his spirits decided she must have gone to the bookshop after the party, and for some reason was still there. He was tired and thirsty from a day spent in the bustle of London, but the beer he’d been looking forward to would have to wait.
Ten minutes later, he was outside the All’s Well, looking blankly at window blinds that were firmly closed. The shop was clearly shut. Could Flora be at the back of the building, he wondered, in the yard that she found so annoying? It was a fleeting hope and one that was soon dashed. Walking back to the high street, he tried to think sensibly. She had to be in the village somewhere. She had been at the Priory most of the afternoon and, with the evening drawing in, she would hardly have ventured far afterwards.
He slapped a hand against his forehead. Of course, she would be with Kate Mitchell. It was only yesterday that Kate’s father had been buried and Flora would naturally want to lend her support. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? He had no idea where Kate lived, or Alice Jenner for that matter, but Katie’s Nook was just over the road and he’d try there first.
He turned to go and found Charlie Teague at his elbow.
‘I’m back,’ Charlie announced.
‘So I see. And feeling better, I hope.’
‘I wasn’t really ill, but my mum wouldn’t let me out. She said I was infecshus.’
‘Your mum was right.’
The boy beamed up at him. ‘I can do your orders now, Mr Carrington. For this place.’ He jerked a thumb towards the bookshop.
‘That’s good to know, Charlie. The thing is that I’ve met Miss Steele now and I may as well collect my books for myself, but if I can’t for any reason, I’ll certainly let you know.’
Charlie’s face dropped, causing Jack to say rousingly, ‘I’m sure there are plenty of other errands you can do for me. Finding Miss Steele for one,’ he joked.
‘She went to the party,’ Charlie offered.
‘I’m aware, but she should be back by now. When did you last see her?’
‘Walkin’ up to the Priory. She looked nice.’
‘But not since then?’
Charlie shook his head.
‘Well, if you do see her, can you tell her that I’m looking for her?’
‘OK.’ Charlie kicked a loose stone along the pavement. ‘You could try the caff. She could be with Mrs Mitchell. There’s a lotta trouble goin’ on there.’
Jack didn’t ask what kind of trouble – he would learn soon enough. ‘I was just about to call,’ he said.
At the Nook, there was no sign of Flora. Through the glass door, he could see Kate Mitchell sitting at one of the small, round tables, nursing an empty mug, and Alice Jenner sitting opposite. It was Alice who jumped up when he rang the bell.
‘Mr Carr… Jack. The Nook’s closed, my love.’
‘I’m not looking to eat. I’m looking for Flora.’
‘Come on in. We’ve been waitin’ for her to turn up. She said she’d come by after the party.’
‘You saw her at the Priory?’ He took a seat at the table, noticing how pale Kate looked.
‘She was there all right,’ Alice said. ‘We were talkin’ together when…’ She trailed off. ‘When Charlie arrived with the message.’
Jack frowned. ‘The boy mentioned to me that there’d been trouble. What’s happened?’
‘Bernie…’ Kate began, but then stuttered to a close.
‘The police have found a pile of clothes on Littlehampton beach,’ Alice continued for her. ‘Constable Tring got a telephone call and came round to tell Kate while I was at the party. They think the clothes belong to Bernie. Kate’s been asked to go to the police station tomorrow to identify them.’
Jack took a while to absorb the information, then reached out and grasped Kate’s hand. ‘I am so sorry.’ There was little more he could say.
‘Anyways,’ Alice went on, ‘Charlie Teague brought me Kate’s message and I left the Priory straight away to come here. Flora was quite definite she’d call in afterwards. “I’ll come by shortly,” she said. Perhaps, in the end, she was too tired and went home.’
Jack shook his head. ‘She’s not at her cottage and she’s not over the road. The bookshop is shut up.’
‘Then she must sti
ll be at the Priory. I must say I’m surprised. Mr Elliot isn’t one for a party, but perhaps Polly twisted his arm to let it go on later.’
‘Can I offer you a cup of tea?’ Kate asked suddenly, as though only just realising that Jack was there.
‘No, but thank you.’ He got up hastily. ‘I think I’ll walk up to the Priory. I’ll probably meet Flora on her way home.’
‘Give her our love,’ Alice said. ‘Tell her to forget the café this evening. I’m going to walk Kate back to my cottage now. She’s staying with me for the night.’
Jack nodded and let himself out of the door. A traipse to the Priory was not what he’d had in mind, but his need to see Flora had grown rather than lessened, and there was the beginnings of a worry that had always been in the back of his mind. He’d warned her to go to the party and simply enjoy it, but what if she’d gone in search of that blessed typewriter, or worse, ransacked the library, and was now in some kind of trouble?
Twenty-Eight
Jack gave himself a shake – he was being unnecessarily dramatic – but he still set off at a spanking pace. It began to drizzle before he’d walked even halfway, the wet seeping deep into what was his best pair of trousers, and he arrived at the front entrance of the hotel damp and uncomfortable. The bunting decorating the stone arch, that had once looked so cheerful, was now in a sad droop. Stepping into the main hall, Jack saw wilting flowers and a mass of balloons, most of them slowly deflating. Several women in maids’ uniforms were wielding brooms, while a lone waiter danced between them, collecting the empty glasses abandoned by Polly’s guests. The party was plainly over, but where was Flora?
‘Can I help you, sir?’ The smart young waiter had stopped his dance, a loaded tray balanced precariously on his shoulder.
‘I’m looking for Flora Steele. I believe she came to Miss Dakers’ party.’
‘I’m new here,’ the boy confessed. ‘I don’t know many of the villagers yet.’
‘She was here,’ one of the maids chipped in, overhearing their conversation.
‘Did you see when she left?’ Jack asked eagerly.
The maid shook her head. ‘I was busy handin’ round plates, tryin’ to get people to eat up the buffet, so we didn’t have too much food to clear.’ She pointed to the now empty trestle table. ‘I saw her earlier on. She was with Alice Jenner. She’s the cook here.’
‘Alice left early, I believe.’
‘That’s right,’ the second maid chimed in. ‘It was when the message came – that Mr Mitchell had drowned. That caused a right stir.’
‘But Flora, Miss Steele, stayed on after that?’ he persisted.
‘As far as I know.’
‘Then she must still be here.’
Surprise was written across all three faces, and he said quickly, ‘Miss Steele isn’t at home and she isn’t at her shop. Mrs Jenner was expecting her at Katie’s Nook, but she never arrived. Something must have happened to her. We need to search the hotel.’
‘What could have happened to her here?’ The waiter sounded mystified.
‘I don’t know,’ Jack said a little desperately. ‘She might have got locked in somewhere. A bathroom perhaps?’
One of the maids stifled a giggle. ‘Locked in the lav!’
Jack looked at her. ‘You could come with me. Help me look for her,’ he said.
‘Anythin’ to stop clearin’ up this mess.’ She looked down with disgust at the pile of crumpled serviettes, cigarette ends and cake crumbs that littered the polished wood floor.
‘Upstairs first?’ he suggested.
It was a swift search. They checked every bathroom on the first floor and looked briefly into every bedroom that wasn’t occupied.
‘There’s a public lavatory downstairs,’ the maid said. ‘Mebbe we should have tried that first.’
Why didn’t we, Jack thought, feeling flustered and irritated, but he said nothing. He would need the girl to check the toilet cubicles for him.
When she did, though, it was to draw another blank. Jack stood in the corridor, thinking hard. Was he making a fool of himself? Had Flora gone for a walk after the party, maybe to get some fresh air, clear her head, and he’d missed her when he’d called at her cottage? But then, why would she go for a walk when she’d promised Alice she would call at the café? And knowing what devastating news Charlie Teague had brought, she surely would have called if she’d been able.
‘The library,’ he said suddenly. ‘I bet she’s in the library.’ Of course she was. He should have realised – it was so obvious. She’d gone to the library, looking for the Malleus Maleficarum. He’d told her not to, but when did she do anything he told her? She’d slipped away to the library and was still there, still searching, and risking discovery at every moment.
‘It’s at the end of this corridor,’ the maid said. ‘I’ll leave you to look for yourself, sir. I best get back to the rubbish.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ Jack said over his shoulder, hurrying along the corridor to where the maid had indicated.
The library, that was it. And wasn’t Elliot’s office nearby? He had a vague recollection that Alice Jenner had mentioned it. When he saw Flora… he was getting the words ready to tell her how stupid she’d been, exposing herself to goodness knows what danger, but reaching the open library doors, the words died on his lips. It was immediately obvious that this stunning room was deserted. He did a brief walk around the space, taking note of the empty window seat, the empty occasional table. Not a book lay open. He glanced across at the run of bookcases. Not a shelf disturbed, every volume standing to attention. Flora could never have been here.
Badly worried, he walked out of the library, passing another open door to his right. Elliot’s office. He stopped and, retracing his steps, walked in. What a dreary place it was. Not a vestige of light, other than the desk lamp. He switched it on and looked around. A desk, a couple of chairs, two bookcases – one old, one modern – but… He paused. No typewriter. There had been a typewriter, it was clear from the indentations on the rubber mat, now sitting bare on the desk. What had happened to it? Had Flora been right to think the florist’s order had been typed here? If so, the machine that had typed it was missing. Along with Flora. Jack needed to call the police.
Galvanised into action, he rushed back along the corridor and into the hall, dashing behind the reception desk to grab the hotel’s telephone. It felt oddly light in his hand and, with a churning stomach, he realised that the line had been cut, the cable dangling uselessly in the air. Slamming the receiver back onto its rest, he sped past the maids still at work and out into a drizzle that had now become heavy rain. Jack hardly felt it as he ran at full tilt down the Priory drive, through the black iron gates and along the lane to the village. There was a telephone box on the corner between Katie’s Nook and the baker’s. He would call from there.
He had Inspector Ridley’s home number in his pocket diary and was lucky to get through almost immediately.
‘Hello there, Jack.’ A cheery voice crackled down the line. ‘Any more poisoned jackets to offer me? Or have you suffered a shotgun pellet in an unmentionable place?’
‘Neither,’ Jack said curtly. ‘Flora Steele is missing, Alan. She went to a party at the Priory Hotel this afternoon and hasn’t returned home or gone back to her shop. No one saw her leave the hotel. I’ve searched it as best I can but I need the police to do it thoroughly, and to search further afield. The Priory has extensive grounds and she could be anywhere. She might have slipped out of a side entrance, or been forcibly taken from the building.’ His heart gave a sharp kick at the thought.
‘You want me to send chaps up to the Priory? All the way from Brighton? I can’t do that, old chap. Wasting police resources again. You’re a devil at it.’
‘She is a missing person.’
‘Not yet she isn’t. Wait twenty-four hours and if she’s still not back this time tomorrow, give me another bell. I’m sure you’ll find she’s trotted off to see a friend or gone shop
ping. You know what women are.’
Jack didn’t, but he did know when the shops shut. ‘There are no shops open,’ he said sharply, ‘and Flora doesn’t have any friends except the two I’ve just spoken to, women she was supposed to meet.’ He realised as he said the words, how true they were. He’d always assumed he was the loner but Flora, for all her bubbly nature, was just as solitary.
‘Please, Alan. I have a very bad feeling. Flora was intent on finding Kevin Anderson’s killer. You won’t accept the man’s death was murder but, believe me, it was. Whoever killed Anderson could have kidnapped Flora – or worse – if she’s got close to exposing him. The chap who owns the Priory appears to be missing, too, and the hotel’s phone line has been deliberately cut. Like I say, I’ve a very bad feeling. Surely, you could send a couple of constables?’
Ridley sighed deeply. ‘It sounds a pretty rum do, but for you, Jack, I’ll ask Tring to send a couple of the new recruits he’s training. We’d have to have a warrant to search the house, but they can look around the parkland as long as they’re discreet. They need some exercise and, if the grounds are as extensive as you say, they’ll get it.’
‘Thank you. I’m grateful.’ And he was, profoundly.
Emerging from the telephone box, he found Charlie Teague once more kicking stones down the street.
‘You again,’ he said.
‘Have you found her?’ Charlie looked up at him, a cheeky smile on his face.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Jack said shortly.
‘Who were you phonin’ then?’
‘That’s none of your business, Master Teague.’
The Bookshop Murder: An absolutely gripping cozy mystery (A Flora Steele Mystery Book 1) Page 21