The Bookshop Detective

by Jan Ellis

  Eleanor was thrown momentarily by the vision of “Fingers” Widget sitting cross-legged in an ashram with his spiritual healer. “Is your guru here in Combemouth?”

  “No duck, not yet. He says he won’t come over until the meditation centre is finished so I pop over and see him in Taunton when I’m in need of spiritual enlightenment and a break from the missus. Which reminds me, I must ask Freda to give the foreman a kick up the backside over at the new house.”

  “Freda? Do you mean Freya?” Eleanor tried her best to keep a straight face despite knowing how much Daniel’s ex hated the fact that Bill always got her name wrong.

  “That’s the lass. Brenda can’t stand her, but she seems to be doing a good job and the builders certainly jump to attention when she’s around.” He scratched his head. “Anyway, what was I saying?”

  “You were telling me the exciting news about your book.”

  “That was it – the book.”

  “It’s bound to be very popular locally, so I’ll do a nice window display and make sure we have plenty of copies in. But you said there was something you wanted to ask me.”

  “Ah, yes. The launch. The publishers want me to have a launch party in some swanky London bookshop full of tosspots and I can’t face it. They’ve been doing their best to bully me into it, but I’ve told them I’ll only agree to a ‘do’ if we can invite my mates and have it at your shop. You are my local bookshop after all and I want to support you. So what do you say? Can we do it here?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know Bill. It’s a kind thought but we don’t have a lot of space.”

  “The smaller the better from my point of view. I don’t want hundreds of people turning up.”

  Eleanor scanned the café and the children’s area behind. “We can move the tables and chairs out of the way to open up this space and there’s the upstairs room if it gets too crowded.”

  “That sounds grand.”

  She calculated the number of bodies they could fit in, thought about hiring posh glasses and wondered what snacks celebrity guests would need. “When’s the book coming out?” she asked, going to fetch the diary.

  “Can’t remember – you’ll have to ask the Boss. But it’s not for a month or so yet.”

  “A month? Is that all?”

  “Maybe a bit longer, duck. It’s a week or so after the summer knees-up I’m opening for the vicar. There’s no rest for me!” He grinned. “As I say, you’ll have to speak to the keeper of the diary. But can I take that as a ‘yes’?”

  The chance to launch Bill’s book in her shop was not something Eleanor could afford to pass over. He was a national treasure and the event would be great publicity for the shop, attracting new customers as well as locals who were rather proud of their very own rock star. She’d wanted a big name to fill the empty slot and she couldn’t get much bigger than Bill. Okay, his launch wasn’t going to be bang in the middle of the festival, but it was close enough. She nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a definite ‘yes’.”

  “Ah, that’s excellent. I’ll tell my manager to give the publishing folk a call so you can get everything set up.” He stood up from the sofa, ready to leave. “I suppose I might as well buy a couple of books while I’m here.”

  “Is there anything in particular you fancy? Fiction, non-fiction?”

  “I’m not well read, duck. You pick me out a nice fat thriller or two and something racy for the wife.”

  Eleanor smiled. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

  When Bill had gone, Erika came over to join her colleague. “He looks like a happy customer.”

  “He is and I’m a happy bookseller. I was beginning to worry that I wouldn’t find anyone. Worst case scenario, I was planning to drag in Daniel and Maureen to perform a double act on the theme of the Combemouth Ghost Ship.”

  “Sounds like a winner to me!”

  “In my head it was perfect, but standing up and addressing a crowd is Dan’s idea of hell. Maureen would have loved it, mind you.”

  “While we’re on the subject of ancient history, I’ve been meaning to ask if you got any further with the Victorian case you were following.”

  “I did,” said Eleanor, pleased to share the fruits of her investigations with a former copper. “I discovered that John Able was sentenced to one month’s hard labour then sent to a reformatory school for a year. I’m all for kids behaving properly, but to be put away for twelve months for a minor theft – especially as no one could prove the boy had actually stolen anything – seems excessive. But after his punishment, I don’t know what happened.”

  Erika shrugged. “It probably sorted out any criminal tendencies he might have had. Children were expected to behave properly in those days. I’d bring back flogging for shoplifters, personally.”

  Eleanor was shocked. “You’re not serious?”

  “Okay, I might draw the line at actual flogging, but a few hours in the stocks being pelted with rotten fruit might make some of the pests we get in the bookshop think twice before nicking the novelty pencils.” Erika smiled. “A good clip around the ear never did anyone any harm.”

  “You’re a hard woman.”

  “Me?” Erika pursed her lips. “Nah – I’m a pussycat. Anyway, given your new interest in Victorian crime I think you should set yourself up as ‘The Bookshop Detective’. We could have a sign on the door in swirly Victorian script: ‘Enquire Within Upon Everything. No Problem Too Large to Solve.’”

  Eleanor laughed. “That’s a interesting idea. And I’m sure your experience with the constabulary would come in very useful.”

  “Oh, my detecting days are a long time in the past, as you know.”

  “It might be some years since you put the cuffs on anyone, but you do have a nose like a bloodhound when it comes to crime. I’ve seen you identify a potential shoplifter a mile off.” Eleanor knew that Erika had come into the world as Eric and for years had fought the feelings of being born in the wrong skin. As Eric Wilmott he’d entered the macho world of inner-city policing in a bid to suppress his feminine side, eventually working his way up to the rank of Chief Superintendent before retiring on a pension large enough that he didn’t really need to work again.

  With the money and the freedom from full-time employment came the freedom to change, and it was as Erika Wilmott that she now lived and worked in a peaceful corner of Devon where no one cared about her previous life.

  “And my instincts are never wrong,” said Erika, with a wink.

  “True. Anyway,” said Eleanor, “my investigations into the John Able case are on ice for the time being. My most urgent challenge now is to finalise arrangements for Bill Widget’s launch party.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, Eleanor received a very detailed email from Bill’s publishers about the book with details of the launch, including posters, a press release and a guest list.

  Looking at the names, Eleanor laughed. “Good grief. Even I’ve heard of this one. Wasn’t he in the Rolling Stones?”

  “Yup,” said Erika, looking at the name, “and he still is as far as I know.”

  “I can’t believe these people will take the time to visit our little shop.”

  Erika shrugged. “They might. You never know who’s going to turn up at these celebrity bashes.” She tapped on the calendar they had hanging on the wall behind the cash desk. “There are several big music festivals in the area next month, so some of the performers might come along to see their old friend Bill.”

  Eleanor ran a finger down the list and frowned. “I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve done the right thing agreeing to have it here. We are going to be pushed for space.”

  At that moment her son Joe wandered through. “Does anyone fancy a cup of tea?”

  Two hands shot up.

  “Thanks, love,” said Eleanor. “And when you’ve finished on tea duty, could you give Georgie a call? This is an emergency.”

  Chapter 16: Joyce is Coming

  Daniel had a tricky design prob
lem to solve in preparation for a meeting with a client the next morning, so he told Eleanor and Joe to go ahead and eat supper without him.

  Joe was an enthusiastic, if untidy, cook and once in a while he enjoyed rustling up a chicken curry with all the trimmings for his mother. It made Eleanor feel guilty for complaining about him not leaving home, which she guessed was part of his plan.

  She sat at the kitchen table with a cold beer, contentedly watching Joe slice onions and chop coriander. She didn’t have a favourite twin – how could she? – but Joe was the child who resembled her the most. Whereas Phoebe was blonde like her father, Joe shared her own auburn hair and hazel eyes. Both kids were taller than either of their parents, which seemed to be the way with youngsters these days.

  “Have you had chance to speak to Georgie yet about helping me with Bill’s launch?” she asked.

  “Yes, and she said she’d be happy to come if you need her to.”

  “Great. I’ll have to clear it with Bill’s team first, but it would be a huge relief to have a friendly publicist here.”

  They were tucking into their meal when there was a knock on the kitchen door and Connie came in looking a tad flushed.

  “Good evening, Mother. You’re out late.”

  Connie kissed her daughter and grandson then sat herself down at the table. “I was on my way home from Tai Chi and thought I’d pop in.” Her gaze wandered over to the stove.

  “Have you eaten?” asked Eleanor, following the direction of her mother’s eyes.

  “I had a bit of quiche at five – I can’t eat too much before a class or it throws off my balance and my ‘white crane standing’ goes wobbly and I turn into a dying swan.” She chuckled, pleased with her witticism. “I wouldn’t say no to a teeny bowl of curry.”

  Joe went to the stove and heaped food on a warm plate while Eleanor fetched some cutlery. “So what’s up? You don’t normally drop by of an evening.”

  Connie silently indicated that she needed a napkin. “That’s delicious, Joe,” she said, dabbing sauce from her lips. “I was going to tell you tomorrow, but I might as well tell you now – I’ve had a message from Joyce to say she’s coming to visit.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Well, that’s a surprise. I didn’t think you spoke to each other often, apart from exchanging Christmas and birthday cards. How long is it since you two last saw each other?”

  “It must be at least seven or eight years.” Connie thought for a moment. “I remember she came to stay with us when she was visiting her daughter, but the last time I had the pleasure of Joyce’s company was when she invited me to her villa in Spain after your father died. I’ve still got the scars.”

  Joe, who had been busy with his phone, looked up. “Scars? What happened, Gran? You didn’t have an accident, did you?”

  Connie smiled and gently patted her grandson’s hand. “I was speaking metaphysically, dear.”

  “I don’t remember you telling me about any injuries at the time,” said Eleanor, wrinkling her brow. “What happened?”

  “They were invisible scars, if you must know. And I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Feel free to worry me now.”

  “If you’re sure.” Connie folded her napkin and leant towards her daughter. “Don’t tell Harold, but I met a rather handsome gentleman at the yacht club while I was there – I was staying for six weeks you see.” She turned to Joe, “I don’t do one-night stands, dear. Once you’re over seventy it becomes undignified.” She continued, ignoring the look of horror on her grandson’s face. “Well, this Reg clearly took a bit of a shine to me but as soon as I was home and safely out of the way, Joyce nabbed him.”

  “That’s not very sisterly,” said Eleanor.

  “It certainly wasn’t, but I can’t be too cross because after a couple of years of wedded bliss Reg upped and died.”

  “What a shame. However did Joyce manage?”

  “She managed very nicely, thank you. Reg didn’t have children so Joyce inherited his money and his villa, sold her own place and is still living in the lap of luxury on the proceeds.” Silence descended as mother and daughter mulled over the vagaries of fate and Joe fantasised about having a Spanish villa, a yacht and loads of spare cash. “Anyway, since I discovered the internet, we’ve been corresponding on Facebook.”

  “Have you seen photos of her?” asked Eleanor. “Is she looking well?”

  “It depends what you consider ‘well’. She’s put on weight – it’s all that rich food and sangria.” Connie chuckled as she popped a final piece of poppadom into her mouth.

  “If that’s what you say about your friends, Gran, I’d hate to hear what you say about your enemies.”

  “Joyce is fine to be friends with at a distance, Joe. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of mentioning that Bill Widget was opening our summer festival and she said she’d fly right over to join us.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have had Joyce down as a Tryll Spigot groupie,” Eleanor laughed.

  “No, she’s more of a Barry Manilow fan as it happens.”

  Joe winced. “I suppose someone has to be.”

  Connie slapped her grandson playfully. “She’s interested in Bill’s house, not his music, Joe. Apparently Mr and Mrs Widget have a villa along the coast from Joyce’s place and she’s been stalking them for months without success. She read about them in ¡Hola! magazine and is mad keen for an invitation to their house so she can compare soft furnishings. She seems to think that if they can meet, she and Brenda will become bosom buddies and spend happy afternoons knocking back pina coladas together at the pool side.”

  “Well, whatever her reason for visiting, it’ll be nice for you to see her again, won’t it?”

  “Yes, I suppose it will, Eleanor,” said Connie, rearranging her chest. “But if she lays a finger on my Harold, I’ll break her arm.”

  “Woah! Steady on, Granny. I thought you disapproved of violence?”

  “I do, Joe. In principle. But that woman had better watch her step. She has rather a lot of what I believe is referred to in the vernacular as ‘previous’ when it comes to running off with other people’s chaps.”

  Connie had picked up quite a lot of police slang, partly from watching crime dramas on the TV and partly from spending jolly times with Erika who loved to regale her with stories from her previous life in the police force.

  Joe nodded. “Once a bad ’un, always a bad ’un.”

  “While we’re swapping clichés, I think you should let bygones be bygones and simply enjoy having your old friend come to stay,” said Eleanor. “How long will she be here for?”

  “I wish I knew – Joyce never gives out details like that. She says she prefers to be ‘spontaneous’, which is another term for completely disorganised. It’s most provoking not to have proper notice of when she’s arriving. My spare room is in dire need of redecorating and she’s bound to comment if everything isn’t just so.”

  “If she’s a good mate, she’ll take you as you are,” said Joe.

  Connie laughed. “You clearly haven’t met Joyce, sweetheart.”

  Eleanor smiled at her son. “He has, actually, but he was too little to remember. Anyway, I think it’s nice you two are going to see each other again.”

  Grumbling, Connie ignored her. “And she’s as spoilt as ever. I mean, she’s already told me she expects to be met at the airport – she couldn’t simply catch a bus to town like everyone else.”

  “I don’t think that’s unreasonable, Mother. I wouldn’t expect you to take a bus all the way either.”

  Connie harrumphed, unwilling to accept defeat. “Anyway, I’d best go home,” she said, looking at her watch. “I need to call Maureen and see if I can borrow Anton for a few hours to sort out my Anaglypta.”

  Eleanor rose and kissed her. “I’m sure Anton will have your house shipshape in no time.”

  “I hope so. I don’t want the state of my spare room to be the talk of Torremolinos. Joyce was never known for her discretion.”

/>   After Connie had left, Joe joined his mother in the living room. “I was really surprised by Gran’s reaction.”

  “How do you mean, love?”

  “You’d think she’d be happy to see Aunty Joyce. I remember meeting her when we were little and she was fun.”

  “Gosh, fancy you remembering that. You and Phoebe must only have been about seven or eight when you met her.”

  “The bright pink hair made quite an impression on us.”

  Eleanor laughed. “I remember now – Phoebe tried to pull off a bit and eat it when Joyce bent down to kiss her because you’d told your sister it was made out of candyfloss. Joyce was very gracious about it.”

  “I know she’s known in the family as Aunty Joyce, but whose aunt is she? I’ve never figured that out. Is she Gran’s sister?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “She and Gran aren’t actually blood relations, but they’ve known each other their whole lives. They have a love-hate relationship as you may have gathered. They love each other to bits, but something went on between the two of them when they were young. Gran won’t say what it was. I did ask Dad once, but he said Mum would skin him alive if he told me so that was the end of the conversation.”

  “I still miss Granddad.”

  “So do I,” said Eleanor, giving her son a hug. “And I know Gran misses him, too.”

  “Even though she has Harold now?”

  “Oh yes. And I’m sure Harold misses his late wife just as much. That’s the way it goes.” She yawned. “Well, I’m off to bed. What are you doing?”

  “I said I’d kip over at Greg’s tonight.” Joe frowned. “What time will Dan be back?”

  “I’m not sure, love,” said Eleanor. “But don’t worry about me.”

  “If you say so, Ma.” Joe grabbed his jacket, gave his mother a quick kiss and left.

  In fact, it was nearly midnight when Daniel came home, quietly slipped out of his clothes and curled himself around Eleanor. She pulled his arm around her and clasped his hand against her stomach. “I’m glad you came home. I didn’t know if you would,” she murmured, sleepily.

  “How could I not, when everything I love is here?” Dan gently kissed the tip of her shoulder.