Greengage Shelf
Part three in the Greengage Series
Emma Sterner-Radley
Contents
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Reviews
Acknowledgments
Note for Readers
1. Rhinos and Reluctant Detectives
2. Updating Rajesh
3. Shelving Romance and the Teddy Bear Technician
4. A Hotpot and Rachel in Hot Water
5. The Duke of Wellington Said What?!
6. Mustard Heathen and the Broom Closet Prisoner
7. Trimming the Veg Patch
8. Codswallop
9. Ants in Your Bra
10. Barbie Balloon
11. The Biggest Tosser
12. This One Has Sex in It
13. Snail Murderers and Spilling Tea
14. Who Killed the Glorious Badger?
15. Sexy as Fudge
16. Shit Lies About Manure
17. A Very Howard Birthday Bash
18. Skulking and How They Met
19. Sugared Candlesticks, an Heiress, and Skunks
20. Top Shelf and Other Disasters
21. Gossip and a Quivering Moustache
22. The Inevitable Chase Scene
23. Luckily, Bob/Kipp Tumbles In
24. Tapping Her
25. Don’t Die to Death!
26. Attack of the (Drunken) Mummy
27. Twisty Knickers and Twistier Confessions
28. At Least There Was Tea
29. No Tea, But At Least There’s Wine
30. Gay Squad Saves the Day
31. Badgers, Susan, and Other Treats
Epilogue - The Yearly Kitten Race
Notes
About the Author
Also by Emma Sterner-Radley
Life Pushes You Along | Preview
Copyright
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Dedication
For Amanda, the person who makes surprisingly brilliant vegetable tray bakes for someone who hates vegetables.
Acknowledgments
During the writing of this book I had eye strain, wrist pain, chronic acid reflux, crippling pain throughout the right side of my torso, AND cancer. (Ridiculous, I know! I just don’t know when to quit!) I still had to work and writing in the sweet, funny, warm universe of Greengage helped a lot.
The people who made that possible helped even more. They were: Amanda, who was patient and positive at all times. And in general was my rock, my comfort and at times even my nurse.
My editor Jessica Hatch and my proofreader Cheri Fuller, who both had to help me unravel the mess I created during months of recovery. You two gave me much needed encouragement and your invaluable writing advice.
My wonderful family for giving me both space and support. And of course, the friends who popped out from the most unexpected corners to check up on me.
This includes my faithful readers who kept interacting with me and remembering me even though I didn’t have any books out for a long time. I can’t name you all here but know that you held me up and kept me writing. My books are my legacy and you helped me by telling me that I (and my books) weren’t forgotten. That meant everything to me.
One last sad thing before we move on from this maudlin note from the author and into a silly and (hopefully) funny book.
In memory of
Malin Sterner
1973-2011
Jag saknar dig.
There! Now, let’s travel back to Greengage.
Note for Readers
This book includes footnotes, if you’re reading on an ebook then you can click the small number next to the text where displayed. If you’re reading a paperback, flip to the end of the book for a list of endnotes.
Chapter One
Rhinos and Reluctant Detectives
Kit frowned at a speck of mud on her jeans. It was in the exact shape of a rhino. She wiped at it, obviously just smearing the rhino into a huge blob. This was all her fault. Well, mostly her fault.
If she hadn’t agreed to sort out the matter of Widow Caine’s books, they wouldn’t be in a muddy ditch right now. Or rather, they wouldn’t be if she hadn’t made them leave the cottage in that ridiculous way. Kit was aware of that. She was also aware of Laura sighing, quietly but demonstratively.
Kit’s girlfriend, Laura, was a sweet soul who would never blame or harangue her for taking this little mystery on. Be that as it may, Laura clearly wasn’t happy about her expensive dress being muddy while her favourite heeled boots had switched from their original, stylish grey to mud brown.
Kit got up, adjusted her glasses, and held out a hand to her girlfriend. Laura took it and stood. Other than the look of annoyance, there were also flecks of mud on Laura’s face, almost blending in with her freckles. The difference being that the freckles were half-hidden by make-up while the mud stood tall and proud on those soft cheeks.
“You know, this isn’t only my fault,” Kit tried. “If you hadn’t asked for the recipe for the shortbread, we probably wouldn’t be here. We’d have gone home long before this all kicked off and left in a normal way no less.”
“That’s true, dearest.”
That was all her girlfriend said. The silence spoke the rest.
What had brought them to this damn ditch in the first place was a visit to Widow Caine’s cottage on Nettle Road to start off the investigation. Because Kit had solved a few tricky situations on the island of Greengage since she arrived a year ago, she’d been asked to look into a mystery regarding some books that had been moved around in the widow’s home—and one that had been stolen.
They’d gone to Nettle Road right after Laura finished up at the office of her family fruit farm1 and picked Kit up from her job at the library. When they arrived, they were told the whole tale of how the books had been neatly arranged one day, then moved about, and then moved about again. Finally, one had gone missing. A copy of Journey to the Centre of the Earth by Jules Verne, to be exact.
Kit remembered reading it as a teenager but had no clue if she had liked it. That was back in the day when she tried to wow the other girls with her speed reading. The result was that none of them were impressed and that Kit had read loads of books she didn’t remember anything about. Had there been a moose in this one? Or was that some other book?
Telling them the whole mysterious tale over shortbread and weak tea was the owner of the books and the cottage, Widow Caine herself.
Kit clicked her tongue as she inwardly scolded herself. I have to remember to call her Alice. Not “Widow Caine” like people do on this island, which is still stuck in the forties. No wait. The twenties. Or maybe it’s in completely its own time period. Possibly a parallel universe.
After Alice told them the story, she divulged that the only suspects, meaning those who had visited the cottage around the time that the Verne book was stolen, were:
Phillip Caine. Alice Caine’s oldest son at fifty-four years of age. A former Wing Commander in the Royal Air Force. He was retired now due to a back injury, which left him in chronic pain.
Jacqueline “Jackie” Caine. Alice Caine’s daughter-in-law. Aged forty-five. She’d been a theatre co
stume designer back in her native Edinburgh. She quit her job and moved to Greengage when she married Phillip in the late nineties.
Anthony Caine. Alice Caine’s youngest son at forty-nine years old. Formerly living in Devon but returned to Greengage two months ago, after losing his job as an architect.
Caitlin Caine. Alice Caine’s youngest grandchild. Aged thirteen. The only of a sibling group of three to not only still live with her parents, Phillip and Jackie, but to remain in Britain. Her older brothers both live abroad. According to her grandmother, Caitlin “needs a spot of attention.”
Liam Soames. Alice Caine’s neighbour. Twenty years old. Known to the police but has lately been “improving his ways.” Liam, while not a family member, did odd jobs like mowing the lawn and, recently, mending the fence. He had a spare key, just like Alice’s two sons. Jackie and Caitlin would have been able to access those keys as well, of course. Liam’s key, however, was to the backdoor.
All that information had been great. So had the shortbread. Their exit, on the other hand, was decidedly not. They had needed to leave in a rush, out through the window. This was due to a knock and a booming voice saying, “Mother? Let me in. Jackie has my key,” which indicated that suspect number one—Phillip, who Alice regretfully admitted was her main suspect due to his refusal to let her investigate the bookshelf mystery—was at the door.
It had been Kit’s idea to jump out the window. That way, Wing Commander Caine wouldn’t know his mother had asked someone to look into the missing book affair. At the time, diving through the window had seemed like a fun way to add a little action to the venture. Except, outside of that particular window was a steep slope, which led to a muddy, roadside ditch. The one which she and Laura were now wearing as a crusting shell over their clothes. Kit knew that Laura would’ve suggested they tell Phillip that they’d only popped in for tea or something, if Kit hadn’t jumped out that window with the Mission Impossible theme playing in her head first.
At least Widow Caine had been happy that they left with such stealth, whispering out the window that it made her happy to see them taking it so seriously.
Alice. Her name is Alice, you numpty.
Kit looked back at the cottage. “Isn’t it weird that even Rajesh calls Alice ‘Widow Caine?’ I mean, they’re the same age, and he even dates her on and off, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not sure ‘date’ is the correct term, dearest.”
Kit snorted. That was how a posh, well-brought-up person like Laura would say that Rajesh, Kit’s boss at the library and her former landlord, slept with every eligible woman over sixty on Greengage.
Laura picked up again. “But yes, it is odd that no one uses her first name. Another one of those old-fashioned habits Greengage clings to that you always laugh about, I suppose.”
Kit winced. There’s the offended voice. How do I smooth this over?
“Babe, if I ever laugh at Greengage and Greengagers, it’s the way you can giggle at your family members. You still love and respect them even if they’re acting silly.”
Laura was dragging her fingers through her bouncy curls, trying to get some mud flecks out. “Family members? Does that mean you finally feel at home here?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’ll always be a Londoner. That’s the way I was raised.” Kit scanned the quiet, leafy street. “Still, this sort of feels like home. Like… a new home.”
“New? You’ve lived here for more than a year.”
“I don’t mean ‘new home’ as in that I’ve recently moved here.” Kit adjusted her glasses while thinking of how to explain what she meant. “It’s more like if you’ve grown up in a house and moved to a flat. It takes a long time to get your subconscious used to it. Everything is different, but with time, it starts to become your natural base.”
Images of her little cottage popped into her head, and sure enough, that feeling in her chest was the safety and comfort of home. And the knowledge that she’d filled the place with books and posh teas. No more sticking to one bookshelf due to cramped London apartments; no more sticking to regular tea due to high London prices.
Meanwhile, Laura had retrieved a pack of tissues from her pocket and was using one to wipe at her dress. She scowled at the mud and put the filthy tissue back in her pocket. “Never mind. I’ll get it dry-cleaned next time I’m on the mainland,” she said with a brave smile.
“I promised Dad I’d go to London to see him soon,” Kit said. “We can have it dry-cleaned then.”
Laura gave her a quick kiss. “I’m sure that will be fine. Let’s head back to the car.”
Her little Volkswagen Beetle had been parked at the bottom of Nettle Road. That was one thing which was the same in London as here on this island. Never enough parking.
“Anyway, what do you make of your little case, Miss Marple?” Laura teased as they walked.
“I’m hardly a Miss Marple, or any other kind of detective, for that matter.” Kit paused to groan. “This is really not my thing. I’m a librarian. Sure, I help friends figure out if their boyfriends are cheating on them and solve people’s money issues, but I don’t unearth missing things. Not even books.”
“Missing book,” Laura corrected gently. “Only Journey to the Centre of the Earth has been taken, remember?”
“Mm. If we’re taking Alice Caine’s word for that it’s actually gone.”
Laura furrowed her brow. “Why shouldn’t we?”
“Well, I mean, she’s not young. She might be getting confused or forgetful. Or maybe her loneliness has her making up stories to get company and attention?”
“Widow Caine is sharp as a whip and certainly not lonely. Yes, she misses her late husband, but she still has friends. Not to mention her children and grandchildren.”
Kit shoved her hands into the pockets of her leatherjacket. “Mm. True.”
Laura shot her a glance. “Are you sure you want to wear that?”
“What? I always wear this jacket. Unless its freeze-your-bum-off winter.”
“Yes, but darling, it’s summer.”
Kit noticed she was picking up the walking pace. “It’s a cold day. And only June.”
“Cold? Dearest, it’s 22 degrees.”
She stopped to make eye contact with her girlfriend. “Hey! This jacket with my vintage blue Converse is… my signature outfit.”
Laura watched her from under those long, mascara-clad eyelashes. “Do you need a signature outfit, my love? Is it part of your detective lark, now? Like Sherlock Holmes’ deerstalker or Hercule Poirot’s moustache?”
Kit wanted to play along with the banter, but she didn’t have a proper comeback. She didn’t want to be the island’s famous detective. She did, however, want to wear her jacket. Even if she was beginning to sweat a little.
Laura almost managed to hide a smile. “Still, it does make you stunningly sexy. Now, get in the car so we can have a shower and something cool to drink before dinner.”
“Great idea! Remind me to wash my Converse first.”
“Sure. You’re lucky that your shoes can go in the washing machine. My boots look ruined.”
While Laura mumbled something about having the car’s interior cleaned later, they got in and drove up the hill up to Gage Farm and the adjacent Howard Hall, Laura’s family home. On its grounds was the old workman’s cottage Kit was renting from her. Home.
The smell of mud made Kit open the car window. Somewhere in the trees a bird sang as if it were really trying to tell them something. Or trying to woo a partner, perhaps? Animals were still a bit of a mystery for a Londoner like Kit. Unless the animal in question was a pigeon or a rat. They mostly just wanted to not get run over. Or a chance to steal your chips.
Kit spotted Mrs Morney, who lives about five houses down the road. She was walking her sausage dog at a pace not much faster than a hungover snail. She and the dachshund turned and began walking home again. Kit heard the old lady say, “That’s enough, Bronwyn. You’ve had your long walk today already. We won’t go all the
way to the square this time.”
Kit made a mental note of that as she considered whether or not to inform Rajesh. After all, she had to protect her investments in their new hobby of dog walking bets.
She leaned back and thought about borrowing some clean clothes after the shower with her girlfriend. And about what might drive someone to steal a book.
Chapter Two
Updating Rajesh
The next day, Kit peered out at the crowded library. It was nice to see the place so packed, even if most of the people weren’t there for the books but to hear a famous naval hero called Admiral Warshaw speak about his brave adventures at sea. That talk was scheduled for 3:30 p.m. It was 11:00 a.m. now and the library was full of elderly Greengagers, all with a glint in their eye. The men, who were in the minority, were buzzing about hearing Warshaw’s thrilling tales of combat and survival at sea. The ladies were all buzzing about handsome sailors and the fact that they had never seen an actual admiral before.
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