A Body in the Bookshop

by Helen Cox

  ‘No, but sometimes they say little things that make me think they’re hinting at it. I’m not exactly the first-choice face for a beauty salon.’

  ‘Well, I disagree,’ said Kitt. ‘How many clients have you had over the years that have had low self-esteem and while chatting to you during the massage let it slip that they thought themselves far from beautiful?’

  Evie shrugged. ‘More than I can count.’

  ‘And what have you always said to me about people like that?’

  Evie didn’t reply.

  ‘You say they’re all beautiful, they just can’t see their own beauty; and it looks as though the same is now true for you. You are still beautiful. You’ve just forgotten how to see it in yourself.’

  Evie smiled but she knew it was too quick a smile to be believable. ‘I don’t know if I can go back to seeing myself that way.’

  ‘Well I’ll be happy to help you, any way I can. It might be best to give yourself some space to breathe before you make any rash decisions about your job. The healing qualities of time are a cliché for a reason,’ Kitt said with a smile. But then her phone buzzed in the pocket of her cardigan. Sighing, she whipped it out and held it to her ear.

  ‘Grace? Well, you are in my contacts but I also know you can’t really resist interrupting me when I’m trying to have a cup of tea.’

  Evie half-smiled as she cut into her scone and started lashing on the butter. Kitt was a fan of tough love when it came to dealing with her assistant, but given Grace’s penchant for winding Kitt up at every opportunity, this perhaps wasn’t a surprise.

  ‘That’s right,’ Kitt said, ‘I would search nationwide if I were you.’

  There was a pause then as Kitt listened to what Grace had to say next.

  ‘Yes, eBay too. OK. Let me know if anything turns up. Until soon.’

  Kitt hung up the phone.

  ‘Another library emergency?’ Evie joked before taking her first mouthful of scone.

  ‘Not quite.’ Kitt looked around, leant forward and lowered her voice. ‘Grace is doing her Saturday shift on the rota today. If there’s a few quiet minutes here and there I’ve asked her to look up auction sales of rare books. I still haven’t ruled out my theory that there’s something special about those books. Some greater interest the criminal element might have in them, but I can’t rule out the possibility that they were stolen for their monetary value alone.’

  Evie nodded along to Kitt’s explanation. ‘So, you’re expecting them to turn up at some kind of auction? Is that right? I don’t know. I’ve never had any rare books to sell, myself.’

  ‘Honestly, I think that might be a bit risky because those kinds of places do checks but it’s worth keeping an eye out anyway. eBay is another possibility, however. If they don’t turn up on any of the listings, if the thief is hanging on to them, it might suggest there really is something special about those editions.’

  Evie frowned. ‘Or that they’re hanging on to them until the fuss over the robbery has died down.’

  ‘If they do that, our chances of catching the culprits are much diminished so I’m very much hoping if it’s the money they’re after, they are too desperate to wait around for it.’

  ‘Isn’t there a chance that they’ve sold the books through some kind of dodgy back channel?’

  ‘Yes, I thought about that but I asked him and Halloran said that the books have been registered on the Stolen Arts Database due to their cultural value,’ said Kitt.

  ‘What will that do?’

  ‘Anybody acquiring articles of cultural value has certain due diligence checks to go through. One of them is checking databases of stolen cultural items. Even if initially the books are sold on through some dodgy back channel, the odds are that before long someone will try and sell them through a reputable method in order to make the most they can from the sale. Whichever way they go about it, we’ll know about it before long.’

  Evie sighed. ‘Of all the things to steal. There’s an art gallery full of expensive works just sitting right around the corner and these particular cultural thieves decide to nick three second-hand books.’

  ‘I agree, this isn’t making much sense to me as yet,’ said Kitt. ‘But I suppose breaking into an art gallery might be more intimidating than breaking into a bookshop. I’m not sure how high security is at the gallery but perhaps Bootham Bar Books was in part selected because it was deemed an easy target.’

  ‘Or . . . there is something to this rumour about the insurance scam?’ said Evie.

  ‘Oh, I really don’t want to give that theory any credence,’ said Kitt. ‘But if we’re to get to the truth of the matter, I suppose I have to keep an open mind about Donald and Shereen’s involvement. Certainly, I’ll be watching their movements very closely. The insurance story might be the most logical solution but I’d much rather discover some outlandish plot than see the pair of them go to prison.’

  ‘If it’s outlandish you’re looking for, I’d say you’re in luck. This whole case is a bit weird.’

  ‘Which is why we’re just the right people to solve it, don’t you agree?’

  Evie giggled and took another mouthful of scone.

  ‘Right,’ said Kitt, ‘now for the serious business of getting this tea down us. No time to waste. The next one is the big one: Bootham Bar Books.’

  Ten

  Daylight was already fading by the time Evie and Kitt were strolling the curve of St Leonard’s Place, past the city art gallery, towards Bootham Bar Books. Evie smiled as Bootham Bar came into view. It was one of the four entry points built into the city walls that once led into a Roman fortress. She had always thought they had majestic lines about them but, at this time of year, they looked especially enchanting come nightfall as the council draped them in tiny blue lights. Passing through the structure in the winter months felt like passing into a magical land.

  As the pair walked towards the gateway, Evie noticed Kitt looking around in more directions than was necessary to cross the road. Before she got a chance to ask her about it, however, the pair were interrupted.

  ‘’Ello, loves,’ said a familiar voice. Kitt and Evie turned to see Ruby, an elderly lady who frequented the library and, much to Kitt’s eye-rolling scorn, believed herself to be psychic.

  ‘Hello, Ruby,’ Kitt said. ‘Bit late in the day for you to be out and about, isn’t it? I thought you’d be at home by the fire by now. As all sensible people should be.’

  ‘On me way to do a tarot reading for one of me regulars,’ Ruby said, her short curly hair, dyed the colour of Irn-Bru, bristling in the low wind. ‘The offer still stands for me to read your cards if you want to know how to hold on to that policeman friend of yours.’

  Evie tried to hold back a chuckle. Though Kitt was more than happy to suspend disbelief for any kind of story caught between the pages of a book, once the book was put down she was a woman wedded to logic and practicality. The idea of having her tarot cards read, especially by Ruby, was a surreal image to say the least.

  ‘I deal my own cards, thank you,’ said Kitt with a little snap to her voice. ‘I doubt those cards will tell me anything about myself I don’t already know.’

  ‘Yes, but sometimes we need reminding that we know what we know,’ said Ruby.

  Despite her, at times, zany clothing choices and left-field conversational topics, Ruby was not so green as she was cabbage-looking, and Evie wondered if, on occasion, Ruby deliberately said silly things to tease Kitt. Which, in fairness, was pretty much standard among Kitt’s circle of friends.

  Kitt raised her eyebrows at Ruby, a signal of infuriation that Evie wagered the old woman was well acquainted with.

  ‘Oooh, eyup. I’m getting a feeling . . .’ said Ruby, grabbing Evie’s arm.

  Kitt brought a hand to her temple. ‘Oh good grief, here we go.’

  ‘An ending, there’s an ending
coming. And . . . fear. So much fear. I can feel it.’ Ruby’s eyes were closed, her face contorted and she held her head at an angle as though it were an antenna trying to pick up some kind of signal.

  Evie wanted to ask Ruby exactly what she could see but before she had a chance the old woman released her grip on Evie’s arm and opened her eyes again.

  ‘No, that’s it, I’m afraid. Something scary and final. That’s all I can tell you.’

  Evie looked at Kitt with wide eyes but the librarian just shook her head.

  ‘I think we’d best be getting along the road, Ruby,’ Kitt said, her tone a bit gentler than it had been before. ‘We’ve got a few jobs to do before the shops shut.’

  ‘Oh, aye, all right,’ said Ruby, casually, as though a moment ago she hadn’t been gripped by some psychic presence, and perhaps she hadn’t. ‘But mind my words and think about the cards eh, love? I’ll be in at the library next week.’

  Kitt and Evie watched Ruby amble off in the direction of Clifton, waving at the odd passer-by.

  ‘Mad as a snake,’ Kitt said with a sigh.

  ‘Don’t you think what she said was a bit ominous?’ said Evie.

  Kitt snorted as they set off again towards the bookshop. ‘Something final and scary? That kind of prediction could be applied to tonight’s episode of Coronation Street.’ And then her attentions were returned to the environment directly around them. Just as before she looked in all directions, examining the crowds and stopping on occasion for a second look.

  ‘Everything all right?’ asked Evie.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Kitt, but still her eyes narrowed at someone or something she was staring at off to her right. Evie followed her friend’s stare but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual pre-Christmas shoppers and tourists who were trying to get their cameras to take night shots in the looming dusk.

  Evie looked back at her friend. ‘What are you up to?’

  Kitt, still looking into the surrounding crowds, spoke in a low voice. ‘This morning, Halloran told me to be vigilant about anyone following us on our approach to Bootham Bar Books. He’s still worried about Ricci tracking us and said we should only risk going into the shop if the coast was definitely clear.’

  ‘This morning?’ Evie said, with a smirk. ‘So Halloran is staying over then?’

  ‘Oh, must you pick up on every detail of my personal life?’ said Kitt. ‘Yes, he slept over but it’s not what you think. I told you, we’re taking it slow.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Evie said, crossing the street and trying to keep stride with Kitt even though her shoes were still pinching a bit. ‘But how will we know if someone’s following us?

  ‘If it’s an officer, they’ll probably be in plain clothes and probably know how to stay under the radar. But of course after your escapades at the hospital yesterday there’s also a chance Mrs Buruk has got people watching the shop too.’

  Evie’s shoulders tensed. ‘You don’t think so, do you? That woman gives me the heebie-jeebies.’

  ‘It depends how involved she really is and how worried she is that the truth might come out. Halloran said to look behind us when we set off from our point of origin – in this case the tea room.’

  ‘I didn’t notice you do that,’ Evie said with a frown.

  ‘That’s because you were too busy cooing over that Labrador puppy that was walking into Tower Gardens.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Evie. ‘He was so cute, did you see the little bandana he was wearing? It had pawprints all over it.’

  ‘Yes, adorable,’ Kitt said, quickly and without any feeling. ‘Halloran then advised that I check again five minutes later, which I did whilst we walked along Coney Street. Halloran then told me to wait ten minutes and check again for any familiar faces. That’s why we’ve come the long way round, avoiding the cut through High Petergate.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Evie, her eyes widening in realization. ‘I just thought you wanted to take the scenic route to burn off some of the scone we just ate.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kitt, her voice Martini-dry. ‘That’s me, always so concerned about building a workout into my day.’

  ‘Mmm. OK, point taken. I must have been projecting,’ said Evie, already wondering about how she was going to manage her festive eating and still fit into the vintage Chanel coat dress she liked to wear once a year on Christmas Day. It was the most luxurious shade of red but the cut didn’t allow for the extravagance of scones or mince pies which made pre-Christmas social functions a bit of a minefield. ‘So, is the coast clear? Do you recognize anyone?’

  Kitt took one last look into the crowds. ‘Halloran said that if I saw the same face twice that might be a coincidence, but if I noticed them three times, we should abort the mission and not go into Bootham Bar Books.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I saw one group of people twice but they were a family and if there are people following us they are likely to be on their own, according to what Halloran said anyway. Even if there is someone following us though, they’d have to prove that we were there purely to talk about the burglary which, given the fact we’ve visited almost all of the bookshops in town today, and that we’ve still a couple left to visit after this, would be hard to prove.’

  ‘We’re going to more bookshops after this?’ Evie half-wailed.

  ‘We haven’t been to Fossgate Books or The Little Apple Bookshop yet,’ said Kitt. ‘We have to keep up our cover.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Evie as the oval sign for Bootham Bar Books swung into view. ‘The last thing Charley needs is us creating any more trouble for her than she’s already in.’

  And at the thought that they might be helping out the officer, Evie forgot about how much her feet were hurting.

  ‘We’ll be careful. Let me lead and we should get by OK,’ said Kitt, pushing open the door to Bootham Bar Books.

  Evie looked back along High Petergate and caught another glimpse of Bootham Bar. She remembered something she had learned at school: the bar hadn’t always been adorned with such pretty trinkets as twinkling Christmas lights. In the sixteen hundreds, it was used to display the decapitated heads of traitors. A symmetry between this image and the drama surrounding this little bookshop formed in Evie’s mind. Between the burglary and potential insurance fraud, there was plenty of treacherous behaviour going on and Evie could only hope that this dark situation wasn’t going to result in more bloodshed.

  Eleven

  The second they were inside, Evie was overwhelmed by the sheer number of books before her. The other bookshops they had visited were modest, almost poky venues but Bootham Bar Books was something else. It was no surprise that Kitt was such a good customer here. The walls were floor to ceiling with volumes on every imaginable genre and the shop extended way back in a seemingly never-ending corridor of books. The bookcases were fitted with several of those ladders on rails that enabled you to reach the upper shelves or move from one side of the shop to the other with ease.

  Though it was approaching teatime on a Saturday and it was almost closing time, there were still a couple of punters at the back of the shop, running their fingers along the spines of books and picking the odd volume off the shelf to take a look at the first few pages.

  The air was filled with the homely smell of second-hand books. A sort of mustiness with hints of vanilla. A soothing fragrance, even if Evie’s muscles were tensing at the thought of what they might find out from Donald and Shereen Oakes about the recent burglary.

  ‘Hi, Olivia,’ said Kitt, greeting a girl who couldn’t have been much over the age of twenty given her flawless caramel skin. Her long, chestnut hair flowed down her back like a shampoo advert. Evie betted herself that she didn’t buy off the shelf in Superdrug but spent all of her money earned at the bookshop on products only sold by professional hair salons. Olivia’s tight, white
T-shirt was thin enough to show a black bra underneath and to Evie’s mind was totally out of sync with the current weather, especially given it stopped just above the waistband of her skinny jeans, showing off a taut tummy.

  ‘Oh, hi, Kitt,’ said Olivia, who was standing behind a small counter stacked with bookmarks, badges, pocket city guides and other tourist-driven paraphernalia. The girl offered Evie a genial nod. They had never met but, it seemed, any friend of a book-lover like Kitt was a friend of hers.

  Kitt rested her trilby on a nearby bookshelf, pulled off her gloves finger by finger and shoved them in the pockets of her coat. ‘I was just passing with Evie here and, well, you know I can’t really walk past without coming in for a bit of a browse.’

  Olivia let out a squeaky giggle that, to Evie’s ears, sounded somewhat forced. ‘I’d be the same if I didn’t work here.’

  ‘Yes . . .’ Kitt emitted a fluttery laugh that sounded just as forced as Olivia’s. ‘Being a librarian you’d have thought the novelty would have worn off. But I’ll still take any excuse to talk to bookish people. Speaking of which, Donald and Shereen not in today?’

  Olivia looked away and she started fiddling with a Snoopy figurine in one of the sale baskets. ‘Not today. They . . . had some jobs to do and left me in charge until closing.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kitt said, glancing at Evie out of the corner of her eye. ‘I’m a little surprised at that.’

  Olivia frowned. ‘Why? I’ve worked here for more than a year now. It’s not like I can’t look after the shop on my own.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Kitt soothed. ‘I was just thinking one of them might have stayed with you for safety reasons. To look after you.’

  ‘Safety?’ said Olivia. The hard note had left her voice but her frown remained.

  Kitt’s face was at once a picture of concern. ‘Well, they still haven’t caught whoever it was that broke in here. What if the burglars came back for round two? And you’d be on your own, young girl like you. I hate to think of it.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen,’ Olivia said, with a small, tight smile.