Fresh Linen Fraud: A Cozy Murder Mystery (Claire's Candles Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Agatha Frost

  When the incessant stream of complaints dried up, Janet stacked their plates and carried them through to the kitchen. After showing her grandmother to the bathroom, Claire joined her mother at the kitchen sink, sensing her moment.

  “If you’re about to ask how I am,” Janet said as she scraped Moreen’s picked over leftovers into the bin, “I’m absolutely—”

  “Fine?”

  “As it happens, yes.”

  “And the fact that your boss was shot this morning?” Claire whispered, glancing back at the table. Alan sleepily watched the sunset through the small window directly in line with the clocktower in the square. “You saw him the night before he was killed.”

  “What are you doing, Claire?” Janet twisted on the taps. “Are you trying to upset me?”

  “Quite the opposite.” Claire rested a hand on her mother’s shoulder; Janet promptly shrugged it off. “I’m trying to figure out what has hurt you so much that you feel you need to put on a charade.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.” Claire reached across her mother and squirted washing up liquid into the filling sink. “Mum … did Eryk fire you last night?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She forced a breathy laugh between each word, not missing a beat. “Honestly, Claire! Yes, it’s a shame what happened to Eryk, but I won’t pretend like I enjoyed the man’s company just because he’s dead. Maybe now the post office will have some real leadership. That man’s been cutting corners all year to save a few pounds here and there. Knock-off alcohol and dodgy cigarettes from abroad, and food barely grazing the sell-buy dates. It’s been embarrassing. He’s been a dreadful boss.”

  “But what did Eryk say to you last night?”

  “Do I have to tell you everything?” Janet dunked the first plate into the water and scrubbed like her life depended on it. “It was a simple misunderstanding, okay?”

  “You cancelled your party.”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “You know you don’t actually have food poisoning, right?”

  “Claire, drop it.” Janet passed the plate for Claire to dry. “Why don’t you go—”

  “Appalling!” Moreen exclaimed as she walked back in. “Claire, you should be ashamed of yourself. Do your laundry, girl.”

  “Why don’t I what?” Claire asked, ignoring her grandmother.

  “Find some dessert from somewhere?” Janet pulled her handbag off the counter and thrust a ten-pound note at Claire. “You know how your—”

  “Janet?” Moreen cried as she returned to the table and sat primly. “Will there be a sweet after such an incredibly salty course?”

  Glad to escape her invaded flat, Claire left without discussion. Knowing nowhere would be open to get dessert quickly and not wanting to chance her grandmother’s vegan baking detection skills, Claire walked around the corner. Positioned in a short row of shops at the foot of steep Park Lane, the all-hours supermarket had become a dangerous place for Claire. No matter the time, no matter the craving, it was only ever a minute’s walk away.

  Scanning the limited selection of dessert options in the shop’s fridges, she heard ‘Janet’ on the next aisle over. Pulling away from the fridges, she leaned into the rows of chocolate bars, hearing her mother’s name again.

  “That’s what Karen said she saw,” a woman whispered. “A blazing row with Janet at the post office and now he’s dead!”

  “Funnily timed food poisoning then, don’t you think, Joan?” someone replied. “Saying that, Bridget texted me saying she just saw Janet at the pub. Looked like she’s had a swift recovery.”

  “You think she’d fake food poisoning to get out of the party?”

  “That, or to give her an alibi that keeps her out of the picture,” she whispered back. “You know what Janet is like. She can’t take people talking to her the way she talks to everyone else. I’ll put money on her having set this whole shooting up to get her own back on that poor man.”

  “Oh, Linda, you are naughty!”

  “It’s only what all the girls are saying.”

  The voices moved away, and Claire resumed scanning the aisles, though she couldn’t focus on the labels. The two women rounded the corner, and their whispering stopped when they spotted Claire. She didn’t know either of them personally, but she’d seen them enough times at her mother’s Women’s Institute functions to know they were part of her mother’s stuffy circle.

  “You should be careful what you say when you think no one is listening,” Claire muttered as they sauntered past. “Narrow aisles.”

  Leaving the slack-jawed women to scramble for their comebacks, she picked out three boxes of cream cakes and took them to the self-checkout. On her way out of the shop, she gave Linda and Joan another glance, but they were deep in their whispering again as they examined bottles of wine.

  Back at her flat, she was surprised, though relieved, to see her mother pulling up in her car. Moreen strode through the front door and climbed into the passenger seat, ignoring Claire like she wasn’t there – just how Claire preferred it.

  “Your grandmother is having one of her migraines,” Alan explained. “Claims all your lit candles caused it.”

  “Do you think I should start advertising their mean-grandmother-repelling properties?” Claire glanced into the car as her mother checked her reflection in the pull-down mirror. To her father, she whispered, “Listen, did Mum get back from her walk before or after Eryk was shot?”

  “After,” he replied. “Little one, I don’t think your mother—”

  “Neither do I,” she interjected, “but I just overheard two of her WI pals in the shop. Apparently, Karen overhead Mum and Eryk arguing at the post office. Let’s just say the gossips’ imaginations are already running wild.”

  He sighed. “As I feared.”

  “You know Mum won’t be able to handle that right now,” she said, gulping, “no matter how wide she pushes that smile.”

  “Are you suggesting we try to clear her name before the rumours stick?”

  “I think I am.”

  “Then I’ll try to get some answers out of her.” He leaned in and kissed Claire on the cheek. “Let’s hope she doesn’t lock herself away again.”

  After waving them off, Claire went up to her flat and slumped in the middle of the sofa. She flicked on the telly and scanned the various films and TV shows on offer. Nothing called to her.

  Just as her day had begun, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mother. If Eryk hadn’t fired her, what could he have said to make her go to such lengths to disguise the truth?

  Claire didn’t know – and she planned to find out – but in the meantime, at least she had cream cakes.

  Chapter Four

  Claire spent Sunday alone in her shop, working on her fresh linen scent. As enjoyable as she always found the experimenting phase, her mother was never far from her mind.

  On Monday morning, she awoke with a plan. The first move of a plan, at least. And as soon as she clarified one detail, she felt certain the rest would fall into place.

  After everything was set up for the day, she left Damon to look after the shop and visited the post office two doors down.

  Even though the sign still advertised the place as Northash Post Office, it had been a long time since that was the sole aim of the business. Now, it was more of a corner shop selling newspapers, cigarettes, alcohol, and confectionary, and the post office half of the business was limited to a single booth.

  Janet wasn’t in her usual spot behind the booth’s clear plastic window, and Leo wasn’t behind the shop counter. Instead, a man she only vaguely recognised stood behind the counter, flicking through a ring binder.

  Scanning the chocolate bars, Claire glanced at him. Suited men in their mid-to-late forties didn’t frequent her shop often, which made them even more memorable when they showed up.

  This one had rushed in right before closing last Friday. She’d never learned his name, but she remembered the candle. He’d
picked his purchase based on the label without bothering to smell anything and made a joke about it being a last-minute gift. He’d gone for last month’s rose petal star candle, the most romantic of her offerings.

  “Just these, please,” she said, putting a selection of chocolate bars on the counter as she looked past the man to the back room’s open door. “Is Janet about?”

  “Janet?” he asked, standing in front of the till, his finger on his chin. “Is that the post office woman?”

  “And my mother, amongst other things.”

  “Oh, then she’s not turned up.”

  He stabbed a button on the till and the drawer shot out. He didn’t bother checking the amount of money she handed over, though luckily, she’d given him the exact change. After closing it with his hip, he flipped to the front of the ring binder. Eyes scanned the page until his finger found what he was looking for.

  “Looks like her Monday shifts have been crossed out.”

  Decades of regularity in Janet’s shifts at the post office had made it easy for Claire to forget all about the recent slashing of her mother’s Monday shift. Like last night, she’d bemoaned Eryk’s penny-pinching business tactics when he’d made the decision earlier in the year.

  “My mistake,” Claire said. “Are you new here?”

  “Technically, no,” he said, closing the binder. “Although, this is my first day working here. Trying to figure out the ropes. Eryk was my business partner.”

  “Then I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” He offered a smile. “You never expect to get a phone call like that. So senseless. So random. He was a good man, like a brother to me.”

  “I never knew Eryk only part-owned this place.”

  Through the open door to the stock room, Claire noticed movement. Was that Leo? She’d hoped to speak with him too.

  “He was the majority owner,” he explained, checking a chunky gold wristwatch. “He was thirty percent short when this place went on the market five years back. The man had only been in the country a month at that point. Had ambition I’d only seen in myself, so I covered the shortfall for a small slice. He said he was going to own this village, and I believed him.” He chuckled, his down-turned brows souring the happiness as he stared at nothing. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Before Claire could offer her condolences once again, the door to the back swung inwards, and Tomek emerged, carrying a stack of boxes. Two days ago, when she hadn’t known his name, he’d been screaming for help over his father’s body. Now, he seemed to be working.

  DI Ramsbottom’s comment about Eryk ‘showing him the ropes’ the morning of the shooting popped into her mind.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your father,” she offered on her way out.

  “Do I know you?” he asked bluntly, his eyes as pale as his father’s.

  “I-I own the candle shop two doors down,” she said, nodding through the wall. “I was here on Saturday when everything happened.”

  “Oh.” He returned his attention to the shelves. “Thanks. I’ll miss him. He was like a best friend.”

  “Not all the time,” the man behind the counter called out. “You two had your moments, let’s not forget.”

  “So what, Duncan?” said Tomek. “He was on better speaking terms with me than Berna when he died.”

  The electronic buzzer above the door rang and Leo pushed his way in, gaze already on the floor. The black eye he’d sported on Saturday had begun to yellow around the edges.

  “Hi, Claire,” he said in a small voice as he rushed past.

  “Hi, Leo.”

  “There you are!” Duncan slapped the counter before checking his watch again. “I said you could have an extra hour’s lie-in, not half the morning off.”

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “You’re here now.” He swapped places with Leo. “I need to get to the lawyers to see how things are going to work without Eryk here. I honestly have no idea where I stand or what I’m supposed to be doing. Will you two be alright on your own?”

  “We’ll manage,” Tomek said, joining Leo behind the counter. “Won’t we, Leo?”

  Leo jumped as Tomek’s hand slapped down on his shoulder. He nodded, which was apparently enough for Duncan to make his way to the door.

  “I thought I recognised you,” Duncan said as he passed Claire. “Would have given you a discount if you’d said we were neighbours.”

  Another buzz announced Duncan’s departure. As soon as he was gone, Tomek whispered something to Leo before giving him another pat and slinking into the back room.

  Instead of leaving with her chocolate, Claire approached the counter again.

  “Your eye looks sore.”

  “Oh.” His fingers touched the edge as though he’d forgotten it was there. “Fell over walking down the stairs. Hit my face on the bannister.”

  Claire nodded her understanding, though she’d expected him to say the gunman had taken a swing at him. If he had, she might not have thought more of it – but how many people gave themselves black eyes as purple and yellow as Leo’s with a little trip down the stairs?

  “I’m sorry about what you went through on Friday,” she said, resting her hand on his. “From what I’ve heard, it was a real ordeal.”

  Leo jerked his hands away and tucked them into his armpits. Stepping back, Claire wondered what she’d done wrong. Her mother had always joked that, based on how flustered he got whenever Claire came in, Leo seemed to be nursing a crush despite the age gap between them. She’d seen it too; the young man’s nervous disposition made him easy to read.

  Today, he couldn’t even look Claire in the eye.

  “I didn’t know your dad part-owned this place.”

  “It’s how I got the job.”

  “Explains why you put up with my mum,” she said with a smile. “I don’t suppose you know if she’ll be in tomorrow?”

  “She should be,” he said with a shrug. “Don’t see why not.”

  “Are you talking about that post office witch?” Tomek called from the back room before walking into the shop, his phone pressed to his ear. “Because she won’t be in any time. One of the last things my dad did was fire her, and I’m not going to let that go undone just because he’s dead.”

  “I suspected as much,” Claire said. “Do you know why?”

  “How long have you got?” Tomek scoffed. “Dad was always complaining about her. Rude, stuck-up, difficult to work with. Before Duncan offered up Leo, we couldn’t keep anyone on the books past their trial period … and do you know why? Because your mother scared them off.”

  “Alright, Tom,” Leo whispered, glancing at Claire. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “It’s her mum. She worked here for forty years.”

  “I don’t care.” Tomek’s pale eyes gave Claire a once-over. “Her mother committed fraud.”

  “Fraud?”

  “That’s what I said,” he snapped, slapping both hands on the counter. “Your mum doesn’t work here anymore, okay? I’m in charge now. So, unless you’re going to buy anything else, you can stick your questions and condolences and get back to selling your stinking candles.”

  Claire stifled a laugh, more amused by the young man’s arrogance than anything. Twenty, DI Ramsbottom had said, and yet he spoke with the confidence of a seasoned professional. Eryk had been the same way. Considering the freshness of Tomek’s grief, she swallowed the urge to give him a piece of her mind.

  “How about a drink over lunch?” Claire asked Leo. “My treat?”

  Tomek’s fingers wrapped around Leo’s shoulder again.

  “Another time?” he replied with a waxen half-smile. “Not really in the mood today.”

  “Completely understand,” she said, smiling at him and ignoring Tomek’s glare. “You know where I am, okay? If you ever want that drink … or a friendly chat. I’ll let you get back to work.”

  Reluctantly, Claire left the young men alone. Her instincts had been right about her mother’
s firing. After only a brief interaction, she felt certain the gut feeling she’d had in The Park Inn would also be correct.

  Something didn’t quite line up.

  “Claire?”

  Dressed head to toe in her usual vibrant clothes, Em, a yoga instructor at the gym Ryan managed, jogged over. Despite her tattoo-drenched skin, she’d taken on a golden tan since Claire had seen her the week before.

  “What’s going on around here?” Em asked as she looked around the square. “Took the narrowboat down to Lancaster after your mother’s party was cancelled. As soon as I moored up, I sensed the energy was all off-kilter.”

  “Then you won’t know what happened.”

  “It’s something terrible, isn’t it?” Em rested her fingers against her lips. “I can feel it. It’s not your mother’s food poisoning—”

  “No, she’s fine,” Claire insisted, knowing her mother would be pleased by her choice of descriptor. “Eryk Kowalski. Someone shot him at the post office. He didn’t make it.”

  “Kowalski?” Em gasped. “I think his wife and daughter are in my yoga class. They’re from Poland, aren’t they?”

  “That’s them,” she said. “I just had the dubious pleasure of meeting Eryk’s son, Tomek.”

  “That’s a name I do know,” she said. “His mother, Anna, talks of him often when she’s seeking spiritual counsel from me. The poor family. How did it happen?”

  “Random burglary, apparently.”

  “Only apparently?”

  “I-I’m not convinced,” she admitted. “The night before he died, Eryk fired my mother. She’s been lying about it, but Tomek just confirmed it. He said … he said she committed fraud.”

  “Oh, dear.” Em shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like something your mother would do.”

  “Neither does having Eryk shot over an alleged argument,” Claire whispered, looking around the quiet square, “but that theory has already whizzed around the place. I’m trying to clear Mum’s name.” She paused and looked back at the post office. “I don’t know if I’m way off, but Leo seems scared of Tomek.”