The Bookshop Murder: An absolutely gripping cozy mystery (A Flora Steele Mystery Book 1)

by Merryn Allingham

  ‘It won’t be crossbow man,’ she said, moving towards the door. ‘Or crossbow woman, for that matter. Neither of them would shoot us here.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Jack called after her.

  Flora was already at the front door, peering through the small square of glass set high in the wooden frame.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she called back. ‘I can see who it is. Michael. He’s been mending the window at the bookshop. I promised to meet him there and didn’t.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to have messed you around, Michael,’ she said to the man standing on her doormat, a rough canvas satchel slung across his shoulder. ‘Something unexpected happened and it’s stopped me getting to the shop.’

  ‘’S’all right, Miss Steele. All done and dusted. A nice job, though I say it myself. I took the old blackout blind down at the same time. Hope that was all right?’

  ‘Brilliant. I’ve been meaning to do that for years. Let’s hope we’ll never need them again. Wait a second and I’ll fetch my purse.’

  ‘No worries about the money. I’ll call by tomorrow. Just thought I’d let you know I’d mended the window, so you’d sleep easier tonight.’

  ‘That was a kind thought. It’s one problem off my mind, certainly.’ She glanced over his head at the road beyond. ‘You’re in your van, I see. I wonder, could I ask you for a little more help?’

  ‘Anything, Miss Steele, you know that.’

  ‘I have my friend, Mr Carrington, in the kitchen. He’s had… a slight accident, and isn’t really up to walking home. It’s a fair way back to his house. Do you think you could give him a lift?’

  ‘Nothing easier. I’ll wait for the gent in the van.’

  Flora retraced her steps to the kitchen. ‘Your carriage awaits, sir. Michael will give you a lift.’

  Jack got awkwardly to his feet. ‘Is Hove still on tomorrow?’

  ‘Only if you’re well enough.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at the shop,’ he said stoutly. ‘Say ten o’clock?’

  Flora sat for a long time that evening, gazing blindly into the fire. She felt overwhelmed, worries coming at her, one after another. Cowering in that wood, she had been truly terrified, certain they were both facing death. Jack almost had – he’d been amazingly lucky to escape with nothing worse than a gashed arm. Once she’d realised their assailant had disappeared, she’d dealt with Jack’s injury as practically as she could, but now with time to think, she was filled with fear. The attack signalled a decisive shift in the investigation. Until now, neither of them had made any secret of asking questions, had been almost cavalier in whom they’d spoken to. There had seemed no need to mask their intent. Now they must think again, be a great deal more careful in how they went about things. A crossbow attack! Flora shuddered at the image of that lethal weapon splitting the trunk of the tree. It could have split Jack just as easily.

  To distract herself, she made plans. Tomorrow she would go to the shop early, spend an hour or so cleaning before Jack arrived, and if he felt too unwell to make the journey, she’d open her doors to whatever business was going. A strong sense of guilt niggled at her. For the past week, she had given the All’s Well virtually no attention and the bookshop was beginning to look uncared for. When her aunt had been alive, a regular routine of dusting, polishing and floor sweeping had been in place. The shop had sparkled, and in its newly dull state, Flora felt acutely that she was letting Violet down.

  Deep within, she recognised that at the bottom of her malaise was her reluctance to continue with the way things had been. The escape that had never materialised was the problem, the disappointment that there was no longer a chance to take that precious year off, to travel, to explore. Uncomfortable to admit, the feeling that she was forever trapped.

  Thirteen

  Betty was particularly grumpy the next morning, her pedals groaning and, as they came to a halt at the crossroads, her brakes emitting an annoyed squawk, Flora was relieved to reach the high street at last and glimpse the All’s Well in the distance. Pulling up a little short of the shop, she realised there was a figure already waiting outside her door. An agitated figure, by the look of it. Alice Jenner. Shouldn’t she be at the Priory, or at least making her way there? She’d said nothing of calling on Flora today.

  ‘Alice, good morning,’ she greeted her. ‘What brings you here so early?’

  Alice turned at the sound of Flora’s voice. Her face seemed to have aged twenty years and tears were in her eyes. Flora took one look and threw the bike against the wall, rushing over to the motherly figure and putting her arms around her.

  ‘Whatever’s wrong?’ she asked gently.

  Alice was crying in earnest now but, between the sobs, Flora heard the name Cyril.

  ‘Cyril? Cyril Knight?’

  Alice nodded and pulled a large handkerchief from the wicker basket she carried, blowing her nose noisily.

  Deeply puzzled, Flora opened the door of the bookshop. ‘You must come and sit down and tell me what’s happened.’

  Once Alice was perched somewhat precariously on the counter stool, Flora asked, ‘What’s happened to Cyril to upset you so much?’

  Alice raised a tear-drenched face. ‘He’s dead,’ she stammered.

  ‘He can’t be.’ Flora looked at her visitor with incomprehension. ‘I saw him yesterday. He was fine.’

  Alice blew her nose again. ‘I saw him yesterday as well. I didn’t think there was anythin’ wrong with him.’

  Flora reached out and took the cook’s hands in hers. ‘Now. Tell me what you know.’

  Alice took a deep breath. ‘Cyril came to see me yesterday afternoon,’ she began. ‘We were havin’ tea together. I’d finished cookin’ for the day so had plenty of time. I made him his favourite eclairs.’

  The thought seemed likely to set Alice crying again and Flora stepped in. ‘I saw Cyril just before he came to you. When I left his cottage, he was about to change into his suit. He was looking forward to his tea.’

  ‘He loved his teas,’ Alice said fondly. ‘Always dressed in his suit. It was the only one he had, but he said I deserved that he looked as smart as he could.’

  ‘Cyril did arrive?’ Flora asked cautiously, aware that at any moment Alice could collapse into tears.

  ‘He did. We had tea straight away – he had a cuppa with a couple of eclairs.’

  ‘He seemed well?’

  ‘He were talkin’ fit to bust. Laughin’. Enjoyin’ his food.’ Alice twisted her hands together so tightly the wrinkles in her skin melted one into another. ‘I’m that upset, Flora, I can’t work. Poor, poor man. He was treated so bad when Lord Templeton died, and now look…’

  Flora felt desperately sad – she had very much liked Cyril – but suspicions were gathering in her mind and she needed to know exactly what had happened.

  ‘After Cyril finished his tea, what did he do?’

  Alice thought for a while. ‘He didn’t stay too long,’ she said at last. ‘Said he’d best be off. He was calling on Kate on his way home. She’d have shut the café by then.’

  ‘Do you know if he got to the Nook?’

  ‘That’s the point. Kate was expecting him but he didn’t turn up. She was on my doorstep at six this mornin’. She’d been up all night. Yesterday, after she’d shut the café, she waited for him and when he didn’t come, she thought he must have decided to go home instead. She wasn’t that worried, but after supper she went round to his house to see him. When she got there, he wasn’t home. At least, no one answered the door. She thought mebbe he’d gone for a walk – it was a beautiful evening – and she let herself in with the spare key she keeps and waited. But Cyril didn’t come back. That’s when she started lookin’ for him. All night she’s been wanderin’ round the village, and walkin’ way out, too, even as far as Chidworth.’

  ‘Then she came to you?’ Flora prompted.

  ‘She was desperate. She knew he was comin’ to tea with me yesterday and had I seen him since? I told her, last time I
saw Cyril, he was on his way to her.’

  ‘Where was Mr Knight found?’ Flora asked carefully, feeling the eggshells beneath her feet.

  ‘At the Priory.’

  ‘The Priory?’ Flora sounded as incredulous as she felt.

  ‘He never could have left the place, poor man.’

  ‘Where was he found? And why didn’t he leave?’ Flora was bewildered.

  ‘He was in the yard and it was me that found him.’ Alice gave a muffled sob, then cleared her throat to say, ‘I began work early. I’d been up and about ever since Kate called, so thought I’d get a good start, then call on Kate later to see if her dad had come home. I’d gone to dump some rubbish in the bins – and there he was. It was terrible. I thought I was goin’ to have a heart attack, too. I went straight to Mr Elliot and told him he needed to call a doctor, but I had to leave right there and then and find Katie.’

  ‘You said a heart attack, too. Is that what Mr Knight died of?’

  ‘Mr Elliot telephoned Kate when I was with her to tell her what Dr Hanson had said. The poor man had been dead for hours, apparently. Cyril must have gone to the yard after he left me and died there.’

  ‘It was definitely a heart attack?’

  ‘That’s what the doctor said and I s’pose he should know. Cyril was on pills for it, you know. It could have happened any time, mebbe, but I feel so guilty. I keep thinkin’ it could have been those rich cakes.’

  ‘That can’t be true, Alice. He only ate a couple and cake has never affected him badly before, has it?’

  Alice shook her head, the deep lines on her face seeming carved as though in wood.

  ‘Heart attacks are funny things.’ It was the only comfort Flora could think to offer.

  Very funny, she thought to herself, and particularly prevalent if you were unlucky enough to be associated with the Priory. ‘Why would Cyril have gone to the yard, do you think?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘I dunno. Old times’ sake, perhaps. That’s where he kept all his tools and gardenin’ stuff. He had a little garden there – he used to plant unusual flowers, experimenting, you know, every now and then. Something a bit exotic.’

  ‘It still seems strange of him to visit the place.’

  They fell silent, each absorbed in their own thoughts, until Alice said mournfully, ‘The lass is in pieces. Her father was some dear to her. I must go to the Nook, see what I can do. I wanted to tell you first, though.’

  ‘I’ll go and see Kate,’ Flora promised. ‘You must go home and rest. You’ve had the most awful shock and Mr Elliot can’t expect you in today.’

  Alice looked uncertain. ‘He’s a bit of a taskmaster—’ she began.

  ‘You’re not to worry. I’ll go up to the Priory myself, tell Mr Elliot that you’re unwell and can’t work. Come on.’ She helped the older woman off the stool. ‘I’d lend you Betty to get home, but she’s not in a good mood today.’

  That brought the inkling of a smile to Alice’s face. She had walked to the shop entrance when the door opened and a man wearing a battered fedora appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Mr… Carrington?’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘The very same, but don’t forget, the name is Jack.’

  Alice turned to face Flora. ‘You’ll go and see Kate?’

  ‘Of course, I will. And I’ll call by later and let you know how she is.’

  The pain in his arm meant that Jack had slept badly. It was still throbbing when he stumbled to the bathroom early the next morning, ensuring that shaving, dressing and toasting bread for his breakfast took much longer than usual. Before he put on his shirt, he peeled back the bandage Flora had fixed, and could see the wound was still clean and tidy and already beginning to heal. He was unlikely to need further treatment. All to the good. The incident, though, had left him worried. At the time, he’d said little to Flora, but he was fearful the attack marked a new chapter in what she insisted was their investigation.

  The crossbow could have been an accident, he supposed, and the perpetrator too frightened to make himself known, particularly if he believed he’d done serious damage. In his heart, though, Jack had dismissed the idea of an accident almost as soon as he’d floated it. The stakes had suddenly grown higher, the project escalating into dangerous territory, and he doubted it would be wise to continue. Yet he felt considerable anger that he could have died at the hands of whatever villain was hiding in plain sight. It would be some payback to expose them. There was a less praiseworthy reason, too – his writer’s brain was enjoying the puzzle.

  With no idea of how frequently the local buses ran, he’d suggested meeting at ten o’clock and, as Flora had agreed, he’d presumed they would get to Hove that morning. Walking along the high street towards the All’s Well, he noticed her sturdy bicycle propped against the wall. He smiled to himself. Was she thinking of cycling to Hove with him riding pillion? The smile disappeared, though, as he opened the shop door. The plump figure of Mrs Jenner met his gaze and she looked very much as though she’d been crying, and crying badly.

  He had time only for a brief greeting before Alice slipped past him, disappearing down the main road and out of sight.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Flora, who seemed to be almost as tearful. ‘Mrs Jenner looked really upset, and why have you to call on Kate Mitchell?’

  ‘Come in.’ She didn’t give him time to protest, pulling him by his good arm into the shop. ‘Something awful has happened.’

  ‘More awful than being shot by a crossbow?’

  He was half-joking, trying to lighten the atmosphere, but Flora’s face remained set.

  ‘Cyril Knight is dead,’ she said baldly.

  Jack blinked. ‘The chap we saw yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, the chap we saw yesterday. Alice found his body in the Priory yard this morning.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’ It seemed an incongruous place to die, then Jack recalled how Cyril was planning to put on his suit. ‘He was going to tea with Alice, wasn’t he?’

  Flora nodded. ‘He went to tea and seemed perfectly fine, but then after he left Alice, he must have walked round to the yard and died. He never left the Priory, in fact. When she went to dump rubbish this morning, poor Alice saw him. According to Dr Hanson, Cyril must have lain there all night.’

  Flora’s voice, as she’d recounted the news, had been without expression, but when Jack looked into her face, he saw a deep sadness. He wanted to put his arms around her and hug her tight, but common sense told him that would be stupid and common sense triumphed.

  ‘Did the doctor give any idea of the cause of death?’

  ‘A heart attack, he said. Another heart attack. Just a little too convenient after we’d talked to the old man.’

  He gave a low whistle. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and I agree that it sounds suspicious. But Cyril mentioned several scares in the past, and he took pills, didn’t he?’

  ‘Jack,’ she said urgently, ‘he was fine when we saw him yesterday. Fine when Alice gave him tea and cakes. Then he goes round to the yard and he isn’t fine.’

  ‘Why go? What would interest him there?’

  ‘I asked Alice that, and she had no idea, except that it was where he spent a lot of his time when he was head gardener.’

  Jack passed the brim of his fedora through his hands, his mind grappling to find a clear path in what was becoming an increasingly hazy landscape.

  ‘Our trip to Hove is off, but what are you thinking of doing?’

  ‘I must visit Kate some time today. Alice said she is distraught. I suppose her husband will be with her – Bernie Mitchell should be good for that at least – but she’ll need friends, too. I’ll call on her later, tell her how sorry I am and offer any help I can.’ She paused, then said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I haven’t asked you how you’re feeling.’

  ‘A little battered, but still standing. I don’t mind that we’re cancelling Hove, though. I wasn’t looking forward to the bus journey.’

  F
lora fell silent, then seeming to brighten a little, she said, ‘We might not be able to go to Hove, but we could go to the Priory.’

  Fourteen

  ‘Where are we actually heading?’ Jack asked, as once more they walked together through the Priory gates. He’d agreed to Flora’s suggestion on the spur of the moment, but was doubtful this visit would prove as useful as she expected.

  ‘The yard, of course, at the rear of the building. It’s where Cyril died. There might be a clue as to what happened.’

  He tried to temper her enthusiasm. ‘The doctor believes Cyril died late yesterday, doesn’t he? If the old chap was murdered, the killer would have removed any clues hours ago.’

  ‘You never know. We might find something and it’s certainly worth looking.’ Flora’s voice was determined. ‘It has to have been murder. There have been two unexpected deaths in just over a week, and both were connected to the Priory.’

  Jack admired her stubbornness, but had to remind her that Cyril could easily have died from natural causes. ‘He was an old man with a heart problem,’ he said, and before she could protest, went on, ‘There’s something else to consider. If he was murdered, he’s no longer a suspect. Kate Mitchell comes off our list, too. I can’t imagine she would kill her own father.’

  ‘Of course she wouldn’t. She loved him dearly and Cyril adored her.’

  There was a long silence as they trod up the gravel driveway. ‘You know what else changes, if Cyril’s death was a murder?’ Jack asked, an unwelcome thought forcing its way into his mind. ‘The idea of cake as a deadly weapon. Both men ate cake, true, but Kevin’s was his birthday treat and Cyril’s?’

  ‘Chocolate eclairs.’

  ‘Made by Alice Jenner, who had absolutely no motive for killing either Cyril or Anderson.’

  ‘They could have been killed by the same person, but with different methods.’

  He took some time to respond. ‘From my research, I’d say that if a murderer is successful with the first killing, most often he or she will use the same method for any others they plan.’