by Cathy Ace
Bryn’s eyes lit up. ‘Exactly; Your Grace is very perceptive. Pilferage is something a person might expect. But this? Well, it’s the exact opposite, you see.’
‘The opposite?’
Bryn looked over his shoulder, as though to make sure the pair couldn’t be overheard, and leaned in. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘It’s a real puzzle.’
‘Oh, I do so love a puzzle,’ said Althea brightly as she took the man’s arm and steered him toward the empty dining room. ‘Now why don’t you tell me all about it?’
TWO
‘Annie’s late, again,’ noted Mavis MacDonald, consulting the watch pinned to her chest. ‘Does that girl have no idea at all of time? It was only last night we agreed on meeting here at the office at ten o’clock.’
‘I think you’re stretching the use of the word “girl”, Mavis. In fact, given that Annie’s fifty-six, I think you’ve snapped it,’ said Carol Hill wiping the mouth of her infant son, who was perched on her lap. Her head popped up as she heard excited yapping outside the open windows of the converted barn; the WISE Enquiries Agency had been using it as their office base for about six months. ‘That’ll be her now. And it sounds like she’s brought Gertie with her.’ She held up her son so she could look into his cherubic face. ‘You like Annie’s puppy Gertie, don’t you, Albert? Yes, you do. And Gertie likes licking your feet, doesn’t she? Yes, she does. Gertie’s a very cute little thing – just like you. She’s still a baby, just like you.’
‘The wee bairn’ll grow up sounding like an idiot if you keep speaking to him like that, Carol,’ chided Mavis with a kind glint in her eye. ‘Children don’t need to be cooed at. Just treat him like a small human being. Use your normal tone. It’s what I did with my two boys, and they turned out to be fine young men.’
Carol sighed quietly, and forced a smile. She was discovering that being a new mother meant anyone and everyone felt they had the right to dole out parenting advice – whether she wanted it or not – and she was beginning to find it rather wearing.
The door flew open and a scrambling puppy dragged a skidding human into the room. ‘Hold on there!’ cried Annie at Gertie, to no effect. Spotting the wriggling, squealing baby, the young black Labrador began to strain in her harness, all four of her gangly legs sprawling in different directions, and both of Annie’s doing the same thing. Annie struggled to shut the door behind her and released her grip on the dog’s lead at the same time. ‘Look out, Car, incoming. Gertie’ll be after Bertie’s feet!’
Carol stood, lifting her wriggling son’s legs out of the dog’s frantic reach. ‘He’s not Bertie, he’s Albert, Annie. Please don’t call him that.’
‘Alright, doll,’ said Annie, collapsing onto the sofa in a heap. Gertie decided to give up on trying to reach Albert’s tasty toes and launched herself at Annie’s lap instead.
‘Ach, a babe and a pup – we’ll never get anything done today,’ snapped Mavis, retiring to the cubbyhole beneath the stairs to pour herself a cup of tea.
‘Where’s Chrissy?’ called Annie, wrangling her puppy’s eager pink tongue away from her face.
‘Driving down from Nottingham where she’s been doing some work for a pig farmer who suspected his estate manager was fiddling the books,’ said Carol, burping Albert on her shoulder. ‘She had to slum it in an eighteenth-century farmhouse with only six bedrooms for a few days.’ She winked at Annie. ‘Won’t be back until tonight. I’m to email her the minutes of the meeting.’
With Gertie finally settled at her feet, Annie thanked Mavis with her eyes as she took a mug of coffee from her friend and colleague. ‘Is Chrissy being escorted by the enigmatic Mr Alexander Bright?’
‘Not this past week, though they’re usually joined at the hip,’ replied Carol, knowingly.
‘I bet they are,’ replied Annie with a wicked grin, but too quietly for Mavis to hear. ‘And Althea?’ she added more loudly.
‘On her way,’ replied Mavis. ‘She had a meeting up at the hall and will be delivered here in her car by Ian Cottesloe.’
‘Oh, the perks of being a dowager duchess.’ Annie snorted out tea as Gertie pawed her leg, squeaking with excitement. Even at the tender age of six months she’d learned the connection between the scent of coffee and the likelihood of biscuit crumbs to come.
‘So let’s begin,’ said Mavis, calling the meeting to order in a quieter-than-usual voice. ‘We missed our Monday meeting this week because you were working on that case in Cardiff, Annie; you had a hospital appointment, Carol; and Christine was in Nottingham. We’ve all had a copy of Christine’s report on her case, so let’s consolidate yours, Annie.’
Annie placed her mug on the table, and dropped a tiny piece of a Rich Tea biscuit onto the floor for Gertie, who lunged forward, inhaled it, and wagged her tail furiously.
‘I can tell you that The Case of the Cheapskate Chip Shop Manager has been successfully concluded.’ Annie beamed, proud she’d coined another alliterative title for her endeavors in the field. Mavis tutted. ‘I learned a thing or two about battering and deep fat frying, I can tell you, and I used my unfailing abilities as an investigative superstar to gain entry to the office at the back of the chip shop, and take photos of the orders and receipts. Turns out the halibut wasn’t halibut and the so-called “vegetarian” frying oil wasn’t vegetarian at all. The manager was cutting corners all over the place and charging for stuff he wasn’t providing. I’ve sent all the paperwork on to the owner.’ She swelled with pride.
‘Everything copied to Carol so she can send the invoice?’ asked Mavis.
‘Yes, and I sent it first thing this morning,’ replied Carol.
‘Well done, ladies,’ praised Mavis. Annie reached down to pet the wriggling Gertie. ‘I’ll follow up with the client. If she’s happy with your undercover work in Cardiff, Annie, it could be very good for us; she owns a chain of seventeen chip shops across South Wales. Who knows where this might lead.’
Annie sat back in the sofa and sighed. ‘Probably to another placement where a woman in her fifties with dark, St Lucian skin and an accent straight out of the East End of London won’t stick out like a sore thumb. So something low paid, working class and ’orrible, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Annie noticed Mavis’s eyes soften. ‘Ach, come along with you. You know we value your efforts; this was a case where Carol couldn’t do it because of Albert, Christine’s plummy accent – or even her natural Irish brogue – would have made her unlikely to blend into the workforce of a chip shop in Cardiff, and me?’ Mavis hooked her gray bobbed hair behind her ears. ‘They’d take one look at me and think I was too old for the job, even though I could jump over the heads of most youngsters. You were the ideal choice; you’re a real asset to this firm, and don’t you forget it.’
Annie took the compliments and smiled. She looked proud when she said, ‘Ta, Mave.’
At that moment, Althea Twyst and her trusty Jack Russell, McFli, arrived at the office. It took a good five minutes before the dogs had finished greeting each other. Finally Gertie and McFli were paw to paw on the floor, contemplating their next moves.
Mavis began, ‘I have a case for you in Swansea, Annie, which means you’ll have to stay there for a couple of nights at least, or maybe up to a week. That’s as far as the client’s budget will extend. It begins on Sunday, when Carol will start a leave of absence from the office.’
Annie was confused. ‘What’s wrong with Car? Car? Is somethin’ up with Bertie?’
Carol shook her head. ‘Carol is just fine, thank you, as is A.L.B.E.R.T. It’s David. His mam’s suffered a mini-stroke and he’s off to see her for a few days now that she’s out of hospital. He won’t be able to look after Albert at all, so I’ll be working from home. Thanks Mavis, I’ll take you up on your offer. You OK with that, Annie?’
‘’Course, doll,’ said Annie with a grin. ‘What’s the job for me, Mave? Frying fish again, back working behind a bar – or something more exotic?’
‘A manufacturer of sweets �
�� sour lemon gobstoppers, that sort of thing – on an industrial estate just outside Swansea. Night shift,’ said Mavis.
Annie couldn’t resist. ‘What, they reckon someone’s got sticky fingers? Ha!’ She laughed at her own joke, and the three other women joined in, Albert smiling and burping along with them.
Althea raised her hand. ‘I think I might have a new client for us too.’
All eyes turned toward the compact little woman who was sitting very upright on the sofa, sporting an early-summer outfit that, surprisingly, combined pale blue, vivid green and puce.
Mavis straightened her shoulders. ‘Aye? Go on then. Tell us about it.’
Althea looked coy. ‘I don’t know if it will come to anything, but I met a very nice man at the hall who mentioned he has a bit of a problem at his bookshop, so I took the opportunity to press him on the matter. I think he’s got something that could be right up our street. He’ll be here in five minutes.’
Annie’s tummy turned. Althea’s ideas about the sort of matter a professional firm of enquiry agents should look into sometimes didn’t quite tally with those of the other four members of the company. Mavis had often suggested Althea didn’t seem to be able to differentiate between amateur sleuthing and professional investigating.
‘Go on,’ urged Mavis.
‘He’s the man working on the bibles and so forth that were damaged by the water that leaked into the lower library from Henry and Stephanie’s bathroom. He also has a bookshop in Hay-on-Wye, and mentioned some “strange shenanigans” going on there. I said we might be able to help and he seemed interested.’ Althea smiled, her bright eyes twinkling with delight.
Mavis started pacing. Annie reckoned she was working out how to let the dowager down gently. Finally Mavis said, ‘If it’s shoplifting, he should get in touch with the local police. They have all sorts of free services to help retailers come up with the type of surveillance they need to utilize to be able to protect their merchandise. Of course we could advise on the same topic too, but we’d have to charge for our services, and that might be beyond the wallet of a bookshop owner.’
‘Oh no, that’s not it at all,’ said Althea. ‘No one’s stealing his books, it’s quite the opposite. He’s already been to the police, and they’ve said they can’t help, so I said we could.’
Three pairs of puzzled eyes stared at Althea. It was Mavis who spoke. ‘I’m sorry, dear, what exactly do you mean?’
The dowager looked excited. ‘He’s got more books at the end of the month than at the beginning. They just seem to materialize. Out of thin air. And they aren’t even the type of books he sells. He reckons someone’s sneaking into his shop and depositing books there without his knowledge. He has no idea why anyone would do such a thing. He’s completely baffled.’ Althea had the same look about her as a cat that’s dropped a mouse at the feet of its human. ‘He said he’d be happy to hear how we can help him out. This could be the first paying client I’ve brought to the business. Isn’t it thrilling?’
‘The Case of the Baffled Bookseller? Brilliant!’ said Annie with a chuckle.
Mavis tutted. ‘You mean he sells books, but he ends up with more than he started with?’ Althea nodded. ‘And this has been going on for a while?’ More nodding.
‘Cor, that sounds a lot more interesting than working the night shift in a sweet factory,’ said Annie, her eyes glowing.
Mavis shot Annie a warning glance. ‘The sweet factory is a real case. With a paying client. That’s our priority.’
A polite cough drew everyone’s attention. ‘Hello there. I’m Bryn Jenkins. Am I in the right place for the detectives?’
‘Mr Jenkins, there you are. Do come in. Mavis, shall we take tea while Mr Jenkins tells us about his curious case?’ asked Althea.
It was Mavis’s turn to clear her throat. ‘Aye, tea’s a good idea while we all listen and try to decide if there’s anything our firm of enquiry agents can do to help Mr Jenkins.’
‘Please, it’s Bryn,’ said the bookseller as he somewhat cautiously took the seat the dowager duchess was patting, a welcoming smile on her face.
By the time he’d told his tale, everyone had finished their tea, and all eyes turned toward Mavis.
‘And you have no idea where these books come from?’ Mavis was trying to work out if Bryn Jenkins was imagining things, or if there really was a puzzling case to be investigated.
Bryn Jenkins removed his spectacles and cleaned them absent-mindedly. ‘It’s as I’ve told you. I have a specific way of marking the books I have for sale. Color-coded stickers allow me to price them easily and I know every volume I have on offer. Each one has passed through my hands; I know my stock inside and out. Besides, some of the books that have shown up aren’t anything to do with crime. Nor are they cook books. The only “crime” is that they are on my shelves and tables, and have no business being there at all.’
Mavis silently admitted the man seemed quite sure of himself. Sensible, too. She’d listened as he’d explained his well-organized systems for shelving, stocktaking, and promoting. She’d learned a good deal about the strange things people had tried to sell him, and was still grappling with the list of bizarre items he’d told them he’d found inside second-hand books over the years. He was all business, this Bryn Jenkins. Mavis warmed to him.
‘I cannae agree it’s a crime that books arrive in your shop, unheralded, but I accept it’s curious,’ said Mavis thoughtfully.
‘Can’t you pass them to someone else in Hay-on-Wye who owns the sort of shop that sells that particular type of book and be done with it? I know the town has dozens of bookshops, and I can only imagine someone, somewhere, would be happy to take them off your hands and sell them on,’ said Carol.
Bryn rose from his seat and re-polished his already gleaming spectacles, something he didn’t seem to know he was doing. ‘I see what you mean, but that’s not the point. Yes, I could divvie them up and dole them out around my fellow booksellers, but I want to know where they come from. What if they’re stolen? I’d be acting as a fence for crooks if I sold them, and I can’t be doing that. And even if they aren’t stolen, I still don’t like it. I know it’s not as bad as someone removing books from my shelves and running off with them but …’ The man paused, flapping his elbows as he ground the corner of his handkerchief around the lenses of his glasses, ‘I realize it sounds a bit odd. Indeed, my daughter Val, who runs our cookery-themed area, has told me I’m being a stupid old so-and-so on more than one occasion. But, you see, I can’t help it. I feel like I’ve been violated in some way. They might as well have taken books instead of bringing them; I feel the same way about it. Something’s going on in my shop, and I don’t know what it is. It’s been months now, and I don’t like it. It’s affecting the way I look at everyone who comes in to browse. It’s sucking all the pleasure out of being in the shop for me. So, yes, it is something I would be prepared to invest in. What could you do for me, and how much would it cost?’
Carol and Mavis exchanged a glance. Carol spoke. ‘I believe what you need is a good, old-fashioned surveillance job. We’d be looking for people who deposit books rather than removing them, but the principle remains the same. It could take some time, so I’d suggest an installation of cameras.’
‘I thought I’d already mentioned I’ve got one of those, and mirrors too.’ Bryn Jenkins sounded a little exasperated as he pushed his spectacles onto his nose.
‘Yes, you said you have a camera, signs announcing its presence, and some mirrors so you can watch people in hidden corners,’ said Carol. ‘We could ascertain the best positions for viewing points, possibly install some extra equipment, and we could also review recordings of comings and goings, saving you the time and effort of doing so. We’d study the recordings on a daily basis, reporting back to you on our findings. That’s not something you’ve been able to do, as I understand it.’
‘You’re right there,’ said Bryn with a sigh. ‘With the shop, the sort of work I’m doing up at the hal
l and my responsibilities as the Chair of the Hay Booksellers’ Association this year, it’s all a bit much for me, I must admit. I had no idea that latter post would involve so much work – especially organizing the book tent for the Chellingworth Summer Fete. In previous years I’ve merely turned up with stock on the morning of the event; I didn’t have an inkling about how much went on behind the scenes by way of preparation. The meetings are frequent now. The duchess is very … detailed in her approach.’ He peered over his wire rims at Althea.
‘The young duchess is taking her new responsibilities seriously,’ replied the dowager cautiously, ‘as is quite proper. I haven’t overseen the fete for some years, the task falling to a self-governing committee.’
Bryn’s shoulders relaxed. ‘I was at one of the meetings yesterday. There’s a bloke called Tudor Evans – he runs the Lamb and Flag pub in Anwen-by-Wye, I understand, and some woman named Marjorie Pritchard – who’s got quite a voice on her. They both seemed to be vying for control all the time. But the duchess? Well, I know she’s only in her early thirties, and, of course, wasn’t born with a title, but my word, she’s giving them a run for their money. She looks like such a meek little thing, you’d never expect her to have so much gumption.’
Annie smiled at the mental picture she was conjuring. ‘I bet Tudor gives as good as he gets,’ she noted.
‘That he does. Some of the meetings run for hours and hours. The duchess doesn’t leave anyone in any doubt about who’s in charge,’ added Bryn growing in confidence by the minute. ‘Does it quietly, too. And, can you imagine, she used to come to my shop? Said she knew my daughter when I met her earlier. I mentioned it when I phoned Val to let her know I was coming here and she said, yes, she used to come in to the shop all the time. Before she was the duchess – when she was just Stephanie Timbers. Quite pally they were, says Val. Never thought my girl would be friends with a duchess.’ His cheeks flushed when he noticed Althea giggling.