Kit wished they’d stop asking her when he would arrive and if their newly blue-rinsed hair looked nice.
Rajesh appeared at her side, patting his big belly to the tune of “Rule, Britannia.” “So. Next Sunday, my money will be on Honoria Shaw. I took her out to dinner last night, and she said her Pekingese, Mewly, is in heat and needs loads of walking.”
“Why is Mrs Shaw’s dog called Mewly?”
Kit instantly regretted asking the man who’d named his bulldog mix Phyllis a question like that.
“Dunno. Perhaps it mewls? It’s always locked in the kitchen when I call on Honoria.”
Oh, so it’s Honoria now, huh? It used to be Mrs Shaw. Looks like Romeo here has a new favourite.
She squeezed her lips together to not smirk at him. “Either way, your bet is on Mewly and Mrs Shaw, then? I’ll jot down how much you’re betting when I have my break.”
“Good stuff. I’ll get back to tidying the shelves.”
He wandered off, and Kit wondered what old-lady-dog combo she was going to be betting on come next Friday. Perhaps Mrs Morney and her sausage dog, since they clearly had two walks yesterday and might spring for three walks on a Friday. Especially if the weather was nice.
He and Kit had started a betting pool on which of the old dears walked their dogs the most. The ladies all ended up in the town’s square at some point, which happened to be Greengage’s gossip central and where a drinking fountain for dogs was placed. So, Kit, Rajesh, and Phyllis would saunter down there every Friday when the library was closed. They’d find a bench, place their bets, and then mark down the ladies strutting past with their adorable dogs. Phyllis might give them all a friendly bark, if she was awake and not snoring her wonky-toothed head off.
The trio would take walks around the square and buy teas and coffees during lulls, always keeping an eye on the dog walkers and the score sheet. The person with the losing bet had to bring a posh lunch for two to the library the next day. It wasn’t scientifically laid out or a very sensible pastime, but then that was in the Greengage spirit. Besides, it gave the inactive Rajesh some more exercise and Kit something to do while Laura was working.
Suddenly, Rajesh waddled back toward her.
“Ah, forgot to ask how things went with the pretty Widow Caine? Had someone moved her books about, or was it all a load of old tosh?”
Kit slapped his arm lightly. “Don’t say that. Of course it wasn’t tosh!” She didn’t mention that she herself had voiced doubts to Laura. After all, Laura had been right. Alice Caine was to be trusted until proven otherwise. Being friends with Rajesh had taught Kit not to count someone out due to them being over sixty.
“All right, Katherine. Keep your hair on!” Rajesh replied, as usual ignoring that no one else used Kit’s full name.1
Kit stared into space. “Someone moved the books. Took one by Jules Verne, too. No clue why. I have my list of suspects, though.”
“All right, let’s hear it.” Rajesh crossed his arms over his chest. “I can tell you the things about the suspects that Laura and Widow Caine will have been too polite to say.”
“Okay. Widow—I mean, Alice said that she worried it might be her oldest, Phillip.”
“Ah, yes. The man who gives the brave Royal Air Force a bad name. Stuck-up, strict, rude git. Why does she reckon it was him?”
“Firstly, he’s often at her house borrowing books, especially lately. Laura hinted that he might be wanting to spend time away from his wife.”
“I should think so. He and Jacqueline fight like cats and dogs.”
“Secondly, Phillip is also the one who keeps protesting against investigating this bookshelf mystery, which is why Alice worries he has something to hide. She says all her family think she’s making it up and that she shouldn’t tell anyone, but Phillip is apparently the most adamant.”
“I bet he’s the loudest about his opinions,” Rajesh said with a grimace. “Greengage’s proud RAF officer with a chip on his shoulder always thinks he’s right and that everyone should listen to him, even if he has no clue what he’s talking about. That might be why he keeps pushing this, because for once his mother won’t obey him.”
Kit pursed her lips and hummed. “Maybe. Laura hinted, in her polite way, that Phillip wasn’t a pleasant bloke. Is that because of the constant back pain?”
“No, he’s been boorish since he was a little nipper. Phyllis hates him.”
Kit nodded gravely. Rajesh’s lazy bulldog might not be good for much, but she did have a good sense for which people to avoid. “I see. Anyway, his wife is a suspect, too. Maybe he’s covering for her? She had access to the key and knew about those few times Alice wouldn’t be in.”
“Jacqueline Caine? Ha! Good-looking woman, of course, and a flirt to boot. It caused quite a stir when Phillip married a woman nine years his younger.” He gazed up at the paint flaking off the library ceiling. “They met when he was stationed in Scotland, I think. He brought her here and left her alone while he went back to the mainland and his Air Force duties. He came back once in a while to scold her for flirting with all the blokes. Oh, and to knock her up.”
“Rajesh!”
He tore his gaze away from the ceiling and his reminiscences. “Fine, fine. ‘To have children.’ There, suit your sensitive ears better?”
“Yes. You should show some respect.”
“Why? They don’t respect anyone unless they’re bloody aristocracy. Both Phillip and Jacqueline are middle class but like to pretend they’re posh. Jacqueline once lectured me for half an hour for pronouncing Shostakovich wrong.”
“Jackie,” Kit said, using the nickname even though Rajesh wouldn’t, “has seemed a bit guilt-ridden lately, Alice claims. But who knows if that has to do with the books.”
“More likely to be about her array of lovers,” Rajesh replied with an eye roll. “One of them being her brother-in-law, if rumours are to be believed.”
“To be fair, Greengage has crazy rumours for everything. I mean, someone even spread a rumour that I was a witch because of my ‘weirdly’ blue eyes.”
Rajesh grinned. “Ha! I fanned that rumour as much as I could. Said you won Laura over by putting a spell on her. Ruddy funny! The rumour about Anthony sleeping with Jacqueline probably has merit, though.”
“How so?”
His gaze went back to the ceiling, as if that was where he stored memories these days. “Anthony Caine. Twitchy and tetchy bloke. Gossip says he lost his job as an architect because his ideas lacked imagination.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Sure, Anthony is more ambitious than clever. He always wants more, he’s never content. He was the same as a nipper. He got in trouble for stealing his brother’s things and solved it by crying until everyone pitied him instead. That little weasel.”
Kit clicked her tongue. “He’s forty-nine and quite tall now, so he might be a weasel, but he isn’t a little one. Well, no matter whom he sleeps with, he’s got a key to Alice’s house and knows her schedule.”
“Right. So, who else could’ve gotten in to mess with the books?”
“Well, Alice thinks there’s two other people with the opportunity.”
“Let’s be having ‘em.”
“The first is Liam Soames, the young bloke who lives next door and helps mow her lawn and do other odd jobs. He’s apparently got a key to the back door so he can put tools and such away in the utility room when he’s done,” Kit said as she leaned against the library counter. “Alice says her family seems convinced he’s only helping her so he can rob her one day.”
“Yes, they would think that of a working-class lad who was thrown out of school,” Rajesh grunted. “I remember the likes of them disapproved of my lower-class background almost as much as that I was an immigrant back in the day. Snobby bastards!”
“Mm. The prejudice towards Liam seems to have escalated now, since he’s been out of work for quite a while and is openly struggling for cash.” Kit tapped her lip, trying to rememb
er who the remaining suspect was. “Oh, and of course there’s Caitlin Caine, the granddaughter.”
Rajesh shrugged. “Don’t know much about her other than that she’s Phillip and Jacqueline’s smallest brat and rumoured to be as spoiled as her older brothers. I assume the others aren’t suspects, since neither of them could stand to live in the same country as their parents?”
“No. They haven’t been back to Britain for years. This business with the books has been in the works for about eleven months. It was at the kitten races last summer that Alice asked me if there was something strange about someone’s books being moved about, remember?”
“Ah, yes. Why did she wait this long to ask you to look in to it?”
“Her sons kept telling her not to involve people. That it was probably Liam rooting around while looking for money, some friend borrowing books when she wasn’t watching, or that she imagined it all.”
“I see. What changed?”
“Last week I ran into Alice—”
Rajesh’s bushy eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Surely you’ve seen her around during the past year?”
“Yes, but it was only last week, when I stood behind her in a really slow queue at the post office, that we got to talking and I got a chance to ask about whatever happened with the shuffled books.”
“And?”
“She told me that nothing had changed since Journey to the Centre of the Earth disappeared, no more mysterious events but also no explanations. Despite this, her kids wouldn’t let her ask around about it.”
“So, she’d buried her head in the sand?”
“Well, as the books stopped being moved, she simply let the subject go and waited for the Jules Verne to pop up somewhere. Still, it seemed to really weigh on her when we spoke, so I convinced her to let me check into it.”
Rajesh scratched his badly shaved chin. “Do you have any clue to why the book was taken? It’s not even Verne’s best work.”
“Says you,” Kit said while gently elbowing him. “And no, I don’t know why.”
“Hm. Was it a first edition or valuable in some other way?”
“Apparently not, no. I even asked Alice if there could’ve been anything important scribbled in the margins of the book or if it might have contained a note for someone. Anything out of the ordinary, really.”
“And?”
“No, she says it was a common, unmarked, empty book as far as she knows.”
Rajesh hummed. “And there were no signs of a break-in?”
“Nope. No one had been seen sneaking around either. There’d been no contractors with access to the house and no unusual guests. Laura was with me and asked about that twice. Still a negative.”
“Does Widow Caine tend to leave her doors or windows open? Does she ever forget to lock the back door?”
Kit lifted an eyebrow. “I should ask you. You’ve dated her.”
“Yes, but I was let in through the front door, Katherine,” he admonished. “I don’t tend to enter through ladies’ back doors.”
Kit suppressed the dirty double entendre which she couldn’t allow her gutter mind to entertain. Smutty jokes didn’t always go down so well on Greengage. She saved them for her best friend, Aimee. Sadly, that would have to be shared via phone as Aimee lived a ferry ride away, in Southampton on mainland Britain.
Rajesh sucked his teeth. “You know, there is another person who would’ve had a key to that cottage last summer.”
“Really? Who?”
“Rachel.”
This got Kit’s attention. “What? Our Rachel?”
“If by ‘our Rachel’ you mean the lively, ginger pub owner who is best friends with your girlfriend, then yes.”
Friends. Laura and Rachel had been a little more than friends back in the day. It was only due to their teenage flirtation that Laura even suspected she might not be straight. It had taken falling in love with Kit last spring to cement that the well-known, well-loved heir to Gage Farm was a women-preferring bisexual—a series of events that had also been helped along by Rachel. The pub owner was a chatty, funny, extroverted sweetheart who was loved by everyone on Greengage. Surely she couldn’t be a suspect?
“What does Rach have to do with this?” Kit asked.
“She’s related to the Caines in some roundabout way. It’s a small island, everyone is someone’s second cousin or seventh aunt. Unless you’re one of the rare people who were born somewhere else, like you or me.”
“Okay, how does that make Rach a suspect?”
“I was getting to that, Katherine! She’s not only related to Widow Caine, she also helps her out a bit. For example, Rachel cobbled together those big bookshelves that hold all of Widow Caine’s books, with some advice over the phone from that hutch ladylove of hers.”
“Butch, not hutch,” Kit amended mechanically. She took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
So, Rachel built the bookshelves. This meant she had probably handled the books more than any of the suspects. That was a coincidence which was hard to ignore.
“The shelf building must’ve been a little before you moved here,” Rajesh continued. “Rachel whinged for weeks about how hard it was to put the shelves up and how she knackered her back putting all the books in place.”
“Hm. Well, I mean she wouldn’t have a key to the cottage for that,” Kit argued. “She would do it when Alice was home. Besides, she could smuggle out the book then and there, no need to mess with the books later on, right?”
“No, I suppose not. She did have a key, though. Back then, Alice was helping Anthony the Weasel fetch some things from where he used to live. Stuff that had been with some ex, I think? She was with him as moral support for a day or two, so Rachel borrowed Liam’s key.”
“Why his key? Does she know Liam?”
“Oh, dear me, yes. Poor lad, everyone knows he has a bit of a crush on Rachel.” He clicked his tongue. “Anyway, Rachel still pops by the cottage to help out once in a while, I believe. Changing light bulbs and such. The small stuff that Widow Caine wouldn’t want to bother young Liam with.”
Kit was itching to go talk to Rach about all of this. Never mind the other suspects, Kit’s first stop would have to be Pub 42, the modern gourmet pub that Rachel and her long-term partner, Shannon, owned with the other gay couple of the island, Josh and Matt.
The third couple, Kit reminded herself. She and Laura were the first and foremost rainbow couple on the island as far as she was concerned, even if they were the newest.
Kit’s thoughts were interrupted by a screechy, older voice saying, “Excuse me, miss. I am so sorry to bother you.”
Detective work and workplace chitchat would have to wait. Kit slipped back into full librarian mode while Rajesh slunk away, probably to flirt with some of the ladies present.
Kit adjusted her glasses and smiled at the woman, whom she recognised as the grandmother of Laura’s assistant. It was a small island, indeed.
“You’re certainly not bothering me, madam. I’m here to help.”
There was real relief on the woman’s face. “Thank you. I have been searching for a book, using those clever computers of yours like Rajesh taught me, but they keep saying the title is on the shelf.” She gave a grave shake of the head. “I’m afraid it’s not, however. I’ve checked three times!”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Sometimes books do get misplaced. Or someone in the library might currently be reading it. I’ll try to help you find it. What’s the title?”
The lady leaned close to Kit, bringing a waft of herbal throat pastilles. “A Guide to Better Orgasms for the Elderly.”
Kit fought with every ounce of her librarian strength to not let any surprise be displayed on her face.
Control yourself. Better orgasms are a good thing to be searching for at any age. Besides, you have to be unfazed and professional!
Kit amped up her smile. “I see. That will be in the non-fiction part of the library then. Come—hrm, I mean, follow me, and we’ll h
ave a look together.”
Chapter Three
Shelving Romance and the Teddy Bear Technician
It would be a lie to say that Kit enjoyed her evening run. She missed the high-tech gyms back in London where she could be on a cross-trainer with her e-reader in front of her. Everyone around her would be wearing the same ridiculous breathable outfits and be equally sweaty. Instead, she was now out in public, pounding the uneven pavements while listening to an audiobook, which wasn’t the same thing at all. Especially not as the narrator had just gotten to a tear-jerking scene where the main character’s dog died. How was anyone meant to get in some good cardio while listening to that?
Kit stopped the audiobook and instead searched her phone for some music with a good beat. She nearly fell backwards, though, when she looked up and saw a big mass of auburn curls come hurtling toward her. Or, well, a person with said locks. Laura brushed the curls away from her face and tamed them into a ponytail. Her breath was shallow, and she had the wild-eyed look of someone who had forgotten their anniversary, left the oven on, and promised to give a presentation at work on a subject they knew nothing about.
“Dearest! Thank goodness I found you. I’ve been trying to ring you, but I know you miss calls when you’re jogging.”
Kit drew in a long breath so she wouldn’t pant at her girlfriend. “Running, not jogging.”
Laura waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, whatever. I need to talk to you about my uncle.”
“The recluse who lives with his equally reclusive adult kids in some sort of hut on the other side of the island?”
“The very same,” she said, catching her breath. “Although, his recluse ways have faltered a bit. He has to go to London a couple of times a year, to check up on a business in which he is a silent partner. It seems last time he was there, he became involved with a teddy bear repair technician.”
“He became involved with a what?”
“Do keep up, dearest. A teddy bear repair technician. Which isn’t important right now,” Laura announced, to Kit’s disappointment. “What is important is that he dated this woman for about a week, at which time he found out that she was not only married, but that her husband was a former heavyweight boxer. A jealous one.”
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