When Kit got back to the counter, there was a pink Post-It note stuck to a pen. It hadn’t been there when she went off to shelve the books. It read: Caitlin Caine been arrest for shoplifting. Wasn’t charged cos of dad’s money. Not first time she’s stolen shit. Bet she took that book.
She had to read it twice because the handwriting was sloppy. A little too sloppy, enough for it to look as much of an act as the bad grammar. Was this left by a rubbish writer or by someone covering their identity? Furthermore, who was invested enough in a missing book to sneak into the library and leave her a weird note? Further-furthermore, why did the library’s Post-It notes always smell of cabbage?
“Excuse me,” a voice piped up on the other side of the counter. “I’m looking for a book. I saw it here last week and rifled through it. All I remember is that it was bluish and had dead people in it.”
Kit arranged her features into an expression that didn’t show how often this sort of question led to a wild goose chase. In all fairness, though, she did like a mystery. “All right, sir. Let’s see if we can find it.”
She tucked the note into her pocket and led the man to the crime section, hoping he was talking about a fiction book. If not, she knew what she’d be doing for the rest of the day. The only books with more death were in the history section.1
It was after lunch, and Kit was helping a twentysomething woman with her job search. When she stepped away to let the jobseeker type in her personal information, Rajesh swung by with the book trolley.
“Katherine, everything all right? Hang on,” He gave her a pitying look, “You’re thinking about the fox, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
“You better say ‘pardon’ or ‘excuse me.’ If not, you know Mabel will tell you off.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t go ratting me out to Mabel Baxter. Anyway, what were you on about?”
“I heard through the gossip mill that Maximillian Howard gave you one of his stuffed corpses.”
Kit didn’t even roll her eyes at how fast word travelled here on Greengage anymore. “Oh, the taxidermy fox, right. I nearly got stuck with a squirrel last night, too. Poor little creatures. Anyway, the fox is horrible. I don’t know what to do with the damn thing.”
Rajesh peered down at the book trolley as he considered it for a few seconds. “You know, if I were you, I’d send it to your friend on the mainland. Aimee, isn’t it? She likes peculiar things.”
Someone was struggling to use the self-service machine behind them, making it beep like a fire alarm when you burn even the slightest crumb of toast. Rajesh abandoned Kit to go help out.
Kit considered the idea of sending the stuffed fox to her sarcastic, fun-loving, childhood friend. She realised with a grin that, if the roles had been reversed, Aimee would’ve already posted the barmy thing to her.
Right. She’d ring Aimee tonight and, because she was the considerate one in their friendship, actually ask if she wanted the fox. Then, she’d either send the fox off to Aimee or bury the animal, which is what should’ve happened in the first place. Kit shivered as she considered that the animal was probably killed simply to be stuffed. As horrible as it was, if the poor thing amused Aimee or her toddler, George, then at least its death had served some small purpose. If she threw it away, the fox would’ve died for nothing. Besides, after Aimee had an incredulous chuckle at Greengagers’ habits, she’d no doubt bury it. It would give her a chance to teach young George about death, the circle of life, and the cruelty of humans.
That was that sorted. Now, Kit’s mind could return to that note.
The jobseeker coughed. “Excuse me? I’ve filled out my personal information now but need some help with this one where it says: ‘Name your best traits as an employee.’ It only gives the options Yes or No.”
Kit blew out a breath. They never covered stuff like this when she got her qualifications.
That evening, Kit was about five minutes into a phone conversation with Aimee. Thus far, they’d greeted each other with loving insults, checked how the other was doing, and discussed George’s sinus infection, including where Kit’s godson liked to place his boogers.
She put a hand over her eyes. “Yuck. Can we stop talking about this now?”
“I suppose,” Aimee said. “So, what else is new out there in the rural parts of the land? Is it mowing the fields season?”
“Mowing? Aimes, even you know that’s the wrong terminology.”
“Fine. Are you picking buttercups? Harvesting granola bars? Trimming the veg patch? Sitting with your binoculars and checking out a great pair of tits?”
“Aimes, what the hell?!”
“What! Tits are birds, aren’t they? They just happen to be funnier ones than wrens, sparrows, and, I don’t know, pheasants.”
“Can we find an actual topic of conversation before I lose the plot here?”
“But I’m having fun,” Aimee whinged.
“Change the topic or I’ll start talking about your disastrous love life,” Kit said.
“My disastrous love life?” Aimee spluttered. “What about yours? Don’t think I’ve forgotten that email you sent me after you met Laura’s uncle. He sounded like a real… what’s a nice word… original!”
Kit groaned. “Can we please not talk about that whole weird situation?”
“Fine.” There was a slurp on the line, and Kit grimaced. Aimee was a monster with her tea-slurping. “What about your amateur sleuthing? Found any juicy clues about the missing book?”
Kit took the crumpled, cabbage-smelling note out of her pocket. “Yes,” she said, lost in thought for a moment.
“Great. Wanna share? Or should I start guessing? My bet’s always been on a cypher.”
Kit dragged her focus off the note. “Huh?”
“A cypher. Like a code.”
“I know what a cypher is, Aimes. I just don’t get what you’re on about.”
“I think the reason the book was nicked was that it was used as a guide to decipher secret messages. Either between criminal partners or between secret lovers.”
“What?”
Another slurp of tea. “Yeah. Why not? Didn’t you say one of the suspects might be sleeping with his brother’s wife? Tony, was it? Maybe they use the Jules Verne book as a code-breaker for secret love notes.”
Kit furrowed her brow. “Firstly, it’s always Anthony and Phillip, not Tony and Phil. Apparently the only one allowed a nickname is Jackie, Phillip’s wife. Secondly, a cypher is a bit advanced for your run-of-the-mill middle-aged, middle-class cheaters, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but it’s a more fun theory than that someone borrowed the book and forgot to tell the old dear about it.”
“Yes, and more fun than the idea that the granddaughter might have a kleptomaniac streak,” Kit said, smoothing the crumpled note. “Besides, it’s not all about the missing book. It’s the fact that someone repeatedly rifled through the books before anything was stolen. Like they were looking for something.”
“Hang on, babes. What’s that about the grandkid?”
“Caitlin Caine. I got an anonymous note about her at the library today.”
“Saying what?”
“That she was caught shoplifting but was bailed out by her father’s money.”
“He’s that rich?”
Kit puffed out a breath. “First of all, let’s not assume that the note wasn’t a complete and utter lie from start to finish. Secondly, yes, he is. He’s got not only the money he made in the army but also an inheritance from a long-dead uncle. Both he and his brother are rolling in dosh.”
“That scarpers the money motive then.”
“Not necessarily. Even rich people want more money.”
“True,” Aimee said after another slurp. “I still think it makes cheating or the ‘possibly thieving child’ motive more likely.”
“Teenager,” Kit corrected. “I don’t think we should call Caitlin a child at thirteen going on fourteen.”
Aimee scoffed.
“That depends on the fourteen-year-old in question, mate.”
“True. I really need to meet her and the rest of her family.”
“Yes, you do. Also, scope out that neighbour people say is up to no good. I’ve read enough old detective novels to know that it’s often the rough neighbour.”
“Uh-huh, and how many of those were told by middle- or upper-class writers who criticised the working class?”
She could hear the smile in Aimee’s voice. “Ah, there’s my social justice warrior.”
“Aimes, I’m only trying to be sensible here.”
“Fair enough. You still have to meet and question the bloke, though, right?”
“Of course. Although, ‘question’ sounds a bit serious for a missing book. No one’s been murdered or anything.”
“No, if they had, the police would be dealing with it. In this case, you get to play detective, Kit. So, go full hog and question people left, right, and centre, including the bad-boy neighbour!”
“Sure, but I’ll start with the family. Rajesh, Laura, and even poor Alice seem to think that it’s more likely it was one of them.” Kit chewed her lower lip as she remembered her boss’s theory. “Speaking of Rajesh, he mentioned that Rachel also had access to the books. And, it seems Liam has a crush on her.”
“Okay. How is any of that relevant?”
Kit scratched her ear. “Don’t know yet. It’s probably not. Rach wouldn’t mess with anyone’s belongings and certainly never steal.”
“Of course not. Even I know that anyone saying she would is talking bollocks.”
“True.” Kit snapped her fingers as her memory kicked in. “Hey, speaking of bollocks, would you like a weird present?”
“Like Greengage weird?” Aimee squealed.
“Yep.”
“Always! Half of my social life at work is telling stories about Greengage craziness and showing Ethel Rosenthal’s2 weird knitted animals and itineraries for kitten races, all to prove I didn’t make the stories up.”
“Brilliant. Then I’m posting you a stuffed fox. You can keep it for laughs. Or bury it, which is what I was planning to do.”
There was a long, heartfelt wail on the line, and Aimee swore under her breath. “Sounds like my offspring has woken up and remembered how ill he is. I have to check on him. I’ll call you back later, babes.”
“Sure. Tell him Auntie Kit loves him and hopes he feels better soon.”
There was no telling if Aimee heard the last bit or if she’d already hung up. Kit looked down at the pink Post-It note. Who had dropped that off? Was the bad grammar and rubbish spelling intended to get her thinking it was Liam, assuming he was as uneducated as Rajesh said? She shook her head. That was far too obvious. She needed to meet the other suspects. Not because she thought she could convince them to leave handwriting samples for her to compare. Or that they’d even used their actual handwriting while writing this. But maybe she could tell if see if any of them would be the type likely to leave anonymous notes. Was there a way of telling that with people?
That would have to wait. Right now, she needed a cup of tea and some sneaky, flirtatious texting with Laura. Unless Maximillian was reading over her shoulder, like he had been the last couple of times.
He’s such a rude, old git.
As if her phone knew she was thinking about texts, one came in with its usual ping. Kit quickly checked it, hoping it would be from Laura. Instead, it turned out to be Rachel asking if she’d spoken with Sharon yet.
Kit winced. She had forgotten about that. She texted back a sincere apology and promised to get to it soon. Trying to figure out how to broach a sensitive subject like two lovers fighting, she headed for the kitchen and that much-needed cup of tea.
Chapter Eight
Codswallop
Kit was running again. Her feet were pounding the pavement with a steady beat while she mentally went through the books on her “to be read” list. She was considering bumping a fantasy book up the list, as lately she’d been going through a lot of contemporary romance novels. Still, if she had to be separated from Laura more than usual, she might need all those extra doses of romance.
She walked past Steve Hallard’s corner shop and remembered that she was out of yoghurt.
You’re scratching around to find a reason to stop running because you hate it. Just go home and do some squats or something. Screw this bloody cardio and getting fresh air.
She turned and ran toward the hill leading up to her cottage and the weights that awaited her there. Her phone buzzed. She slowed her pace and checked the screen. It was a call from an unknown number, one of the few things Kit liked less than running. She allowed herself half a second to grumble and then answered it.
“Good evening, this is Wing Commander Phillip Caine. I believe we should have a quick chat about my mother. Is now a convenient time?”
Kit stopped dead, her brain recalibrating to this unexpected call. “Hello, Wing Commander. Nice to meet you, uh, I mean talk to you.”
“Yes, yes, likewise I’m sure. I asked if this is a convenient time for you?”
“Oh, right. No, not really. I’m out for a run at the moment. Can I call you when I’m back home?”
“Yes. I have a previous engagement in about an hour. If you can ring before then, we should have plenty of time for a fast conversation about this ridiculous book affair.”
“Okay, Wing Commander.”
“Good. I suppose you may call me Phillip,” he said and rang off.
“What an honour. Oh, and bye,” Kit grumbled at her blank phone screen.
She thought about the quick exchange. Why would he encourage her to call him Phillip when he loved his fancy title? Was this his bad attempt at being polite and charming so that he could win her over? Or convince her of something? There was only one way to find out; she’d have to talk to him some more. She picked up the pace towards her cottage. At least now she had a valid excuse to stop running.
Back home, with a glass of water at hand and her breath back, Kit pressed the latest number in her phone’s call list.
“Wing Commander Caine,” a stern voice barked after one beep.
“Hi. This is Kit Sorel calling you back. You wanted to talk about your mum?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, voice less like rocks against concrete now. “Thank you for returning my call. I trust you enjoyed your exercise?”
Kit scratched her hair, wishing she had showered before calling. “I’m glad to have it done, let’s put it that way.”
“Of course. Physical exercise is important. A strong, healthy body leads to a strong, healthy mind. I’m glad to see you are aware of that.”
“Sure,” Kit said. Her brain was working overtime trying to figure out what this was all leading to.
“As I have my prior engagement coming up soon, I shall get straight to the point: Mother and this codswallop about a missing book.”
“Do you think it’s codswallop?” Kit asked, sipping at her water.
“Of course. There’s nothing mysterious here. Only an elderly lady with too much time on her hands. I keep telling her she should do useful things with her remaining days. Perhaps bake or sew. Something appropriate for a woman. Of her age, I mean.”
Kit clamped her lips shut to keep from saying something she couldn’t take back. Don’t judge until you know him better, she reminded herself, although that ship had pretty much sailed. He seemed like what Aimee would call a TWHUA.1
She took a swig of water, making him wait. “Well, if there’s nothing mysterious to it, I suppose it can’t hurt for me to have look into it? After all, I’m a librarian. Finding books is what I do.”
“What?” he snapped, sounding as if he had already finished with this conversation. “Oh, yes. Very droll. Nevertheless, you should save your… talents for your work.”
With that tone of voice, his words sounded more like an order than a suggestion.
Kit shoved her glasses up her nose. “Your mum wants me to try find the boo
k and figure out why someone moved all her books around. Twice.” She took another drink of water, slurping almost as much as Aimee to wind this bloke up. “It leaves one with questions, Phillip. Were they looking for this particular Jules Verne book? If so, why? Or were the two actions not even connected? So yeah, I think I’ll help her, as I promised her I would.”
“What?” he blustered. “Why would you carry on with such a pointless farce? You’re young, or rather young at least. Don’t you have something better to do?”
Kit nearly choked on her water. “I—”
He carried on speaking over her. “You have a job, albeit an insignificant one. You also have the fortune to be romantically involved with a woman who, for all her faults, comes from one of the oldest and most prominent families on the island. A Howard, meaning she is far above your station. Surely all this is enough for you?”
“Phillip,” Kit said through gritted teeth to keep from biting his head off. “I’m not doing this because I’m bored. I’m looking into this because your mother is worried and wanted my help.”
“You were looking into this. You’ll stop now. Your digging around and following us, like some amateur sleuth from an old movie, will be a bother. None of us have time for it. We are an important family, heavily involved in the administration of this island. I am even considering running for MP next year.”
Kit thought of a hundred responses. At least fifty of them included how Laura, who this twit had been rude about before, did more for this island in a week than he had done in his entire life. She pushed them all away. She couldn’t afford to alienate him this early if she was going to keep digging into this case. Which she was, no matter what this pillock said.
“Okay. How does that relate to me seeing if anyone has broken into your mother’s house and nicked one of her books?”
“I told you, we don’t want you asking us questions and cluttering up our social life. Now, I have important things to tend to. Don’t make an enemy of me over the follies of an old woman and an even older book. Goodbye, Ms Sorel.”
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