A Valentine's Kill

by Mona Marple

  Bernice placed another plate to dry. “Are you still determined to get involved in it all?”

  “I have to, Bernice. DC Sullivan doesn’t care about this place, and these people, like I do. I know I can work out who the killer was.”

  “Who are your suspects then?” Bernice asked.

  “Well, I didn't think it was Isabelle Irons but her behaviour’s been very strange, so I don’t think I can rule her out now.”

  “Her behaviour’s always strange,” Bernice said, and Sandy remembered that Bernice worked for her, pulling shifts there when Books and Bakes was quiet.

  “How?”

  “I’m not going to gossip about her,” Bernice said.

  “I’m not asking you to. This isn’t gossip, it’s for my investigation. Tell me whatever you think’s relevant.”

  “I have no idea what’s relevant, Sandy. I’m happy hiding in here and keeping myself to myself. All I’m saying is, Isabelle has always been odd. Her behaviour’s unpredictable. I’ve heard rumours she’s on medication but she doesn’t take it all the time. You know how she owns so many businesses but doesn’t have two bob to rub together? And how the men come and go? People say she’s got some kind of personality thing, like a disorder, and when she has a bad spell she spends the money and kicks the men out. But I don’t know if any of that’s true.”

  “So what do you know about her?”

  Bernice shook her head. “That’s the thing, I know nothing about her. She’s never at the chip shop. She’s not a hands-on boss like you and you know what people are like; nobody likes to think they’re cleaning floors every night for a boss who can’t even show her face and say thank you as if the wages she pays aren’t enough. I have no idea what kind of person she is.”

  “There are so many mysterious people in this village,” Sandy muttered.

  “There are mysterious people everywhere,” Bernice said with a smile. “Who else is on your suspect list?”

  “I guess Gus Sanders should be… someone said Dick Jacobs was trying to shut his butchers down.”

  Bernice wrinkled her nose. “Nah, he’s tried for years and got nowhere with it. I think Gus thought that man was a joke.”

  “Who else could want him dead?” Sandy asked, at a loss for ideas.

  “If you’re struggling with who, move to a different question. Do you know how he died?”

  “Ah!” Sandy said, her mind returning to the night she had discovered Dick Jacobs’ body. “I’m not an expert but I think I’ve seen enough detective shows to say it was a blow to the head.”

  “Ok, well there’s your starting point,” Bernice said, and Sandy felt her attention return to the dirty dishes. She wondered if she was one of those bosses who didn’t get their hands dirty, like Isabelle not cleaning the floors of the chip shop, but she had a murder investigation to solve.

  “That’s brilliant, thank you, Bernice, you’re a star,” Sandy said. And then, feeling self-conscious about the fact she had stood around chatting for five minutes, added. “I think that’s my lunch break over, I’ll get back upstairs.”

  She left Bernice and walked across the length of the cafe, then climbed the staircase to the first floor. Derrick was at the counter, scrolling through images on his phone.

  “Go on, get your lunch, the cavalry’s here!” Sandy exclaimed, her presence beside him making him jump.

  “Thanks, lady.” He said with a coy smile.

  “What are you up to? You were concentrating hard on something.” Sandy teased.

  He held his phone up and she saw he had been looking through photos of the nearest college. An image of its old red-brick facade filled his screen.

  “Wow.” She said. “You thinking of applying?”

  He shrugged, shy. “I dunno, it’s just a mad idea. I’d still work here, if you’d have me, just thinking I should try and get some qualifications under my belt. Dad always said nobody can take your education away from ya. They do bricklayin’ and all sorts, I could learn a trade.”

  Sandy looked at him and beamed with pride. “I think it’s an excellent idea. Why don’t you see when the next open day is and have a look around?”

  “Yeah… yeah… I might do. Thanks, lady.” Derrick said, his cheeks flushing. He stood up from the chair and Sandy noticed that his movements were a little quicker, smoother, and his body didn’t contort into as much pain as it had a week earlier. She watched him walk across to the lift, then took his place on the seat and allowed her thoughts to unravel.

  Dick Jacobs had been killed by a blow to the head.

  She’d bet her life on it if that wasn’t a little insensitive.

  That meant that the assailant had been very close to him when he was attacked.

  Sandy searched her memory and wished she had been brave enough to have inspected his lifeless body that night. She could picture the shape of him, his hands sprawled out at either side of his body as if he had toppled down as he stood.

  “Oh no.” She murmured.

  He had toppled down as he stood. His hands had been unmarked.

  He hadn’t had the chance to protect himself.

  He hadn’t seen it coming.

  6

  Sandy spent the rest of the afternoon upstairs in the bookshop. She had boxes of new stock to check, price and add to the shop’s new inventory catalogue. When the books had taken over only a small portion of the downstairs area, she hadn’t bothered using any system to track which books she had. The time and cost to set a system like that up weren’t worthwhile for such a small selection. Instead, customers had to rifle through the stock and grab whatever took their fancy.

  When she had taken over the upstairs, setting up an inventory catalogue had been on her list of jobs to do. It would allow her to check instantly whether they had a particular book, and would boost sales.

  She had been spending some time each day adding the existing stock to the system, and it had been an enjoyable job. She got to walk around each aisle, in turn, selecting each book and scanning it on the hand-held device she had bought. It was the kind of job she had dreamed of doing when owning a bookshop was her biggest wish.

  “Sandy?” Derrick’s voice called from the end of the aisle, where she was adding military books to their shelf after scanning them. The distraction from her thoughts made her jump. The bookshop’s lights were on and the sky outside had grown a deep blue as it approached pitch black.

  “Ooh! Sorry, Derrick, everything ok?” She asked.

  “Yeah, I just didn’t want to leave you on your own.” He said. “It’s after 6.”

  Sandy laughed. “Really?! Oops! I guess downstairs has gone a bit quiet… have they all closed up?”

  “Yeah, I told Bernice I’d stay with you but that was at quarter past five. I wouldn’t mind but I’ve got to meet Olivia, I don’t want to let her down.”

  “Oh, Derrick, you go, honestly. I’ve nearly done here, the time must have got away from me. Just lock me in on your way out?”

  “Yeah, if you’re sure.”

  She nodded and he held up his hand in farewell.

  Sandy had four books left to add to the military section, a popular area of stock that she was always ready to extend with good quality books. She stood back when she had finished and admired her handiwork. There was something rewarding about seeing the books lined up so neat, in size and subject order. She gave a nod and returned to the small room used for holding new stock.

  The room was bare, with three boxes waiting to be added to the inventory and the shelves, and a small table and chair against the wall. As Sandy was about to close the door, she noticed books on the table and wondered if she had forgotten them from the military books she’d just been working with.

  A closer look revealed them to be the watercolour books that she had bought from the elderly man. She had hoped that Rob Fields would have been in the shop so she could offer them to him, but she hadn’t seen him.

  With nothing better to do with her evening, she walked the books
across to the church to see if Rob was there.

  She picked up the books, went downstairs and put on her coat and scarf, and then turned off the lights and locked up. It was a cool evening but there was no wind, which was rare for Waterfell Tweed in the winter, and the village green was empty apart from a woman walking a large dog. The woman waved and Sandy waved back, thinking it was probably Elaine Peters and her Dalmatian Scamp, but not being sure.

  Sandy walked across the green instead of the pavement, averting her eyes from the spot where she could remember Dick Jacobs lying. The church was just off the main square itself, next to Gus Sanders’ butchers. She could see that lights were on as she approached, and let herself in the grand wooden door at the front.

  “Rob?” She called as she entered and saw that it was empty inside. Sandy was not a religious woman but standing in a church, even a small church like this one, was a humbling experience for her. She also found it slightly unsettling and didn‘t want to stay too long.

  Having only visited Rob Fields at the church a few times, usually to drop off leftover foods for his regular soup kitchen, Sandy knew that the church offices used by him and Cherry Gentry, who was his assistant, were down a corridor to the left of the main chapel.

  Keeping an eye on the life-size Jesus on the cross that hung on the wall behind the pulpit, she followed the small corridor. She could see the door to Cherry‘s room and knew that from that room, there was a door to the vicar‘s private area, which then had a separate door back into the main chapel. The building was small but the space was used so well, once inside it felt almost cavernous.

  “Got to get the salmon, sweetheart.” Cherry Gentry‘s voice sang out from behind the half-open door, making Sandy stop in her tracks. Cherry Gentry had been single for as long as Sandy had known her. She‘d always believed that the woman‘s love was only focused on the hoards of cats she owned. Sandy didn‘t want to intrude on a personal conversation, and found herself with no choice instead but to loiter around in the corridor until enough time had passed.

  “I‘ll get it,” Cherry muttered after a few seconds of silence. A phone call, Sandy thought, a domestic about who picked up dinner. The thought made her mind return to Tom and his silence, and how easily she had allowed herself to picture the possibilities for their future.

  She sighed and pushed open the door with a false confidence, as though she had no idea that someone was in there.

  Cherry was sitting at a small computer desk, the type that people had years ago, with the built-in lower shelf for a printer and side shelf for the tower, with a keyboard shelf underneath the desk counter. There was no computer or printer in sight. Instead, Cherry had an A4 page-a-day diary spread open to a page where the white of the paper was barely visible beneath the scrawled notes in at least five colours, and next to it, a dog-eared mystery novel with an old receipt sticking out of a page to mark her place.

  She was sitting gazing at the diary and turned to look at Sandy with a level of disinterest that would suggest she was always popping in and disturbing her work - although what work that was, Sandy had no idea. She was definitely not on the phone with anyone.

  “Cherry, hi, good to see you. Is Rob about?” Sandy asked.

  Cherry shook her head. “Home visit. I‘m finished now too, got to get the salmon, so you‘ll have to go”

  “Oh,“ Sandy said, holding up the books she had brought over. “Rob asked me to keep my eyes out for watercolour books, I wanted to show him these.”

  “I‘ve told her he‘s not here,“ Cherry said to herself and then as if she hadn‘t just spoken out loud, repeated for Sandy‘s benefit. “I‘ve told you he‘s not here.”

  “Ok. Maybe you could ask him to pop over to the bookshop?”

  “Maybe.“ Cherry shrugged and stood up from her computerless computer desk. She was already in her coat and scarf and Sandy wondered if she wore them all day - it was cold enough to need to inside the church. “See if I remember.”

  “Shall we walk out together?" Sandy suggested as they were both stood up and ready to leave. The request made Cherry flush crimson.

  “I‘m only going to the butcher‘s,“ Cherry said with the panic of a deer in the headlights. “Got to get my salmon.”

  “Of course,“ Sandy said. “You mentioned. Is it a special dinner?”

  “Eh?‘ Cherry asked, screwing her nose up in confusion. “No, I always get salmon for my babies.”

  “Lucky them!“ Sandy exclaimed, backing out of the room. “I‘ll see myself out.”

  Cherry offered no farewell, and Sandy retreated down the corridor, almost colliding with Rob Fields as he walked back into the chapel.

  “Sandy!” He said, with a smile, noticing the books tucked into her side. “You look like Cherry, walking around with a book! Every time I poke my nose through to ask her something, she’s reading.”

  “Busy job, then?” Sandy quipped.

  “Ha! Well, no… not busy at all. She likes it though, I think. Gives her time to herself. Are you here for time to yourself?”

  “Oh no, I came to see you, actually,” Sandy said.

  “Got to get the salmon, in a rush!” Cherry muttered as she walked past the two of them and out of the chapel door.

  Rob looked at Sandy and shrugged. “She spoils those cats.”

  “It’s for the cats?”

  Rob laughed. “A whole salmon every day. She buys a frozen one every night on her way home, lets it defrost overnight and then leaves it for the cats while she’s at work. Gus orders them specially.”

  “Wow,” Sandy said. “Sounds like they eat better than me.”

  “And me!” Rob admitted. “I’m on the beans-on-toast-diet most nights. Not that I’m moaning, I can’t get enough of it.”

  “I came to show you these,” Sandy said, holding out the watercolour books. “They’re new in the shop, I wanted you to have the first offer of them.”

  Rob took the books from her and flicked through each one. “How much?”

  “I was thinking a fiver each, how does that sound?”

  “It sounds reasonable, but I don’t have a penny change on me. Can I collect them tomorrow? I should be able to squeeze a lunch break in, fingers crossed.”

  “Well, take the books now and bring the money across whenever,” Sandy said, happy to have found a new home for the books at a handsome profit for her and a reasonable price for Rob.

  “Very kind. I’ll get stuck into these tonight while I have my beans on toast!” Rob said, then glanced around the empty chapel. “I was going to head off shortly but if you wanted any time alone in here, I can stay.”

  “Oh no, no,” Sandy blurted, glancing at the large Jesus again. “I’m all done. Thanks, Rob.”

  He held the door open for her and she emerged into the cool, dark village as if returning from an otherworldly experience. She remembered the day of her mother’s funeral, how she had sat in the front row of the chapel, with Coral on one side of her and their father on the other side. She had focused so much on the patent black shoes she had worn that day, already scuffed despite being just days old, that she could still picture every detail of them to this day. The vicar, a large, hairy man, had spoken for what seemed like hours about some woman, some woman who had done things Sandy had been unaware of. Hearing strangers discuss her mother was something she had to get used to in the years that followed.

  Everyone had an opinion about the tragic death.

  Easier to focus on the shoes.

  Black patent, silver buckle, grey tights peeping through.

  The memory made Sandy shudder and the night feel darker, and caused her to turn left out of the church, towards her sister, instead of right, towards home.

  7

  Right in the middle of the lunch rush, Dorie Slaughter barged into Books and Bakes, dressed in an orange kagool and wearing lipstick of the same shade.

  “Good for her!” She said as she joined Jim and Elaine at a table for two.

  “Good for who?” Cora
l asked, from the counter. “And a pot of tea?”

  “Oh, go on. I wasn’t going to come back in today, but I want to see what happens. She’s got guts, that one, but they won’t let her get away with it.”

  “Get away with what?”

  “She’s reopened the chip shop!” Dorie announced, loud enough for everyone in the cafe to hear, whether they wanted to or not. “Now my son here must have a duty to investigate it, it must be a criminal offence.”

  Jim blushed. It was his day off and Elaine had persuaded him to have a sit-down lunch with her instead of going to the burger van as he usually did. “I can’t comment.”

  “Of course not, son,” Dorie said. “You can tell me later.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes and opened the cafe’s front door. While she had no interest in village gossip, this could be an important development in her murder investigation. To her horror, as she opened the door, Tom Nelson walked by.

  He glanced at her, gave a little wave, but continued walking without saying a single word.

  Sandy felt the heat rise through her body and was unsure whether she was more angry or embarrassed. She glanced left and right, to check if anyone had seen her be snubbed, but the street was empty. Taking a deep breath, she strode out of the cafe and turned left towards The Village Fryer.

  The lights inside were on and, to her surprise, when she pushed on the door, it opened.

  “We’re not open yet, give us half an hour.” Isabelle Irons called from behind the counter, where she was wearing an apron over a jumper that looked to be cashmere.

  “It’s ok, I don’t want any food. I heard you were open again and thought I’d see if it was true. I’m pleased for you.” Sandy said, hoping her smile looked genuine.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Isabelle said. “Still playing cops and robbers?”

  “I’m still…”

  “I’m not interested. I’ve got enough on working out how to get this place set up for a shift.” Isabelle said.

  “Can’t you ring one of the staff?” Sandy asked.