The Bookshop Detective

by Jan Ellis

  “Okay.”

  Eleanor turned around and smiled at the packed room, her hand clamped to her hip in a jaunty pose. With any luck no one would even notice the teeny gap in her dress. She stood watching Bill sign books and chat to fans for what seemed like an age before Joe returned.

  “Got them.”

  “Well done, love,” said Eleanor. “Hand them over.”

  Joe dropped two tiny safety pins into his mother’s hand and shrugged. “That’s the best I could do.”

  They were minute, but beggars can’t be choosers so Eleanor smiled grimly and ducked back into the office where she placed one pin at the bottom of the zip and the other midway up for good measure. “It’s not going to hold,” she muttered to herself. “Damn it.” Looking desperately around, she spied the stapler on the desk. “That’s it!” She knew it was fairly dark in the shop and the dress could always be mended later. Grasping the fabric seam between her thumb and finger she stapled over the zip, effectively sealing herself into the dress. She had to laugh at the idea of it and was pleased with herself for thinking so creatively. She tried a tentative wiggle: the zip held. “I’m a genius,” she whispered to herself as she left the office and returned to the serious business of schmoozing rock stars and selling books.

  Over the heads of their guests, Daniel noticed Eleanor re-enter the shop and went over to see her. “Is everything okay, darling. You’re walking a little oddly.”

  “No, no. Everything’s fine. Oh, or it was,” she said, as Joyce waltzed into the shop in what could only be described as a kaftan. “Tell Malcolm he’s welcome to hide in the office if he wants to make himself scarce.”

  Daniel shook his head. “I’m not putting myself between Joyce and any man she has set her heart on, even if it is my father. That woman is scary.”

  “Coward. Meanwhile, where’s my mother got to?”

  “Last seen in Crime Fiction with Ivan Twang.”

  “I’d better go and rescue the poor man.”

  “It looked as though he was having fun, so I wouldn’t worry. And here they come.”

  Eleanor turned to see Connie arm in arm with Ivan. As they approached, Ivan gave Connie a peck on the cheek and went off to speak to some other old rockers.

  “Are you making new friends, Mum? It’s a good job Harold isn’t here to see you flirting with older men.” Harold had graciously declined Eleanor’s invitation to the launch saying his musical tastes tended more towards the classical.

  “What an interesting man Mr Twang is,” said Connie, her cheeks slightly flushed. “He’s been telling me about his three wives and his years on the road. Now he’s given up the high life and farms in a lovely Somerset village. He says it’s wonderfully quiet and calm except in June when there’s a big music festival in the fields next to his. He has a herd of Dexter cattle and they don’t like the racket one bit, apparently.”

  “You must have had him trapped for ages, Mum, he’s given you his entire life story.”

  “Not all of it, just the last dozen years or so. Anyway, I said I would recommend his autobiography to my bookclub. The girls enjoy something spicy every once in a while.”

  “When you’ve finished mingling with the stars, could you check what Aunty Joyce is up to? Daniel hasn’t seen his father for a while and I’m afraid she might have him in a headlock somewhere.”

  “Oh, Malcolm’s made his escape,” said Connie. “Joyce is chatting to Vince now. It turns out they bump into each other regularly in their local Gigante supermarket. She didn’t recognise him at the festival the other day because she’s used to seeing Bill’s minder in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, not dressed as a hit man.”

  “It’s nice she’s found somebody to talk to.” Eleanor gazed tipsily at the throng of people. Apart from the minor hiccup with the dress, everything was going swimmingly.

  Bill Widget was enjoying himself chatting to customers who remembered his glory days and to younger fans who had recently discovered Tryll Spigot’s music. Eleanor was feeling relaxed and happy because books were being sold and the end of the party was in sight. She had found her glass and was enjoying another sip of wine when Ivan Twang sidled up to her.

  “Very nice do,” he said, raising his glass of mineral water to her in greeting. “If I ever write volume two of my life story, I’ll follow Bill’s lead and insist we have the launch here.”

  “Thanks, Ivan. It’s kind of you to say so.” Eleanor smiled. “We do make an effort.”

  “I can tell,” said Ivan, looking her up and down. “And I’m impressed you dressed for the occasion. Very nice – definitely my era.”

  “Oh, I like vintage style.” Eleanor was pleased – if a little surprised – by the reaction her 1950s dress was getting. She had received a couple of winks from the old guys during the evening and even an approving nod from the town’s two young Goths who’d left their usual hanging-out spot in the shopping precinct to see their guitar heroes.

  “Bold,” said Ivan, thoughtfully, as he walked away. “Very bold.”

  Bold? Whatever did he mean? It seemed to Eleanor that a little black dress was about as uncontroversial as you could get and she was relieved it had grown more comfortable over the evening.

  Which was a bit odd… That’s when she glanced down and saw a row of silver sparkles on either side of the black fabric where the staples had come adrift. Worse still, the zip had split and peeled open to reveal several inches of pale flesh. As if that wasn’t enough, the safety pins were still in place.

  At that moment, Bill came over to say goodbye. “It’s been a grand night, duck. Thank you for organising everything.”

  In horror, Eleanor clasped a hand to her waist and hoped against hope that Bill wouldn’t notice her wardrobe malfunction. “You’re welcome – it’s been fun,” she said, between gritted teeth.

  “Wearing Versace tonight, I see,” he said, cheerily. “It looks a lot better on you than it did on Liz Hurley. Where did you leave Hugh Grant?” At this Bill laughed, clearly pleased with his joke.

  “If you’ll excuse me one moment,” said Eleanor, turning on her heels and fleeing from the shop and to the cottage.

  * * *

  “Stupid dress,” she said, throwing herself on the bed. She was crying with frustration now. “I looked bloody ridiculous.” She pulled at the safety pins and stray staples, one of which caught her finger, releasing a pinprick of blood. “Ow!”

  Daniel, who had followed her to the cottage, strode over to where she sat on the bed and took her hand gently in his. She gazed up at him through eyes streaming with tears. “I made such a fool of myself.”

  “No one would ever think you were foolish.” Daniel kissed his wife’s injured finger then smoothed her hair back from her damp cheek. “The evening was a huge success. Bill was delighted with it, the guests had fun,” he kissed her again, “and you looked gorgeous and sexy and I love you.”

  Eleanor wailed. “I don’t believe you.”

  Daniel kissed her gently on the lips. “Let’s extract you from this dangerous garment and I’ll do my best to convince you.”

  Chapter 36: Secrets Revealed

  The next morning everyone at the bookshop was feeling a tad groggy, although the general consensus was that the launch had been a triumph. What’s more, Daniel had almost managed to convince Eleanor to see the funny side of her exploding dress.

  Mid-morning, Georgie came in to help tidy up, although most of the work had been done after Eleanor fled to the cottage. “I’m sorry for leaving you and Erika to do the clearing up last night,” she said, guiltily.

  “It’s part of the job,” said Georgie, cheerfully. “And there wasn’t much to do, anyway. The books were all sold, the snacks were eaten and Joe helped Erika to sort out the empty bottles and put the sofa back.”

  “Well, I appreciate it,” said Eleanor. “I see ‘Bill’ has gone.” The large poster Georgie had put behind the signing table had disappeared.

  “Yes, I hope you don’t mind but Anton be
gged and pleaded to have it. Joe was a little disappointed, but I said you might let him have the cut-out ‘Bill’ from outside the shop.”

  “Fine, though I’m not sure it will fit in the back bedroom.”

  Georgie screwed up her face. “And I’m not sure I want to share a room with that thing either. I guess we’ll have to turn him to face the wall when I’m staying over.”

  “Good plan. Now I’d better carry on with the paperwork. There’s nothing I enjoy more than totting up the takings from a successful event.” Eleanor rubbed her hands together and headed over to the counter.

  Soon, the shop was busy with customers. Some had been attracted by the cut-out and the window display, others by the news on social media about Bill’s party. As it was Saturday, there was also the habitual mixture of walkers and tourists enjoying a sunny day at the seaside as well as people in town for the Combemouth Festival.

  Erika and Joe were doing most of the serving, leaving Eleanor free to use the computer. She was immersed in the figures and didn’t look up immediately when a man approached.

  “Good morning, missus. I hear your frock was quite a hit last evening.”

  It took Eleanor’s brain several seconds to put together the familiar voice and unfamiliar vision and to make sense of what she saw. “Joshua! You look so, so…” What was the word she was looking for? She groped in her mind for the perfect description, but there was only one word that would do. “So clean!”

  Joshua smiled, smoothing a hand over the lapel of his sky-blue suit. “Seersucker. I haven’t worn it for a while and it’s a bit tight around the midriff, but it’s my favourite.”

  Eleanor was aware that her mouth was hanging open as she gaped at the apparition standing in front of her. “And you’ve had a shave.” Gone was the grey stubble and Joshua’s hair was newly trimmed and slicked back in neat waves.

  “Been to the barber’s,” said Joshua, running a hand over his chin, which was now as smooth and pink as a baby’s bottom. “They did my eyebrows, my nose, my ears and everything,” he added proudly. “And a young lass did my nails, too, see?” He clearly hadn’t been to the dentist yet, but it was still a remarkable transformation.

  “That’s marvellous,” stuttered Eleanor. “I’m…” What was she? She was pleased, amazed and taken aback, not least by the citrus scent that now wafted towards her. Joshua was wearing cologne. “I’m speechless.”

  Joshua chuckled. “If we’ve managed to rob her of words for a few minutes, I’d say that was money well spent, wouldn’t you Clarence?”

  Eleanor peeked over the counter to the floor where the dog sat wagging his tiny tail and looking happy for the first time she could remember. He, too, had clearly had a much-needed wash and was naked apart from a new blue collar and lead.

  Eleanor came out from behind the counter. “May I give you a hug?”

  “You may,” said Joshua. “But mind the suit.”

  “I think we need tea.”

  “You’d best make three cups – I’ve told the vicar to meet us here.”

  Eleanor sat Joshua down in the café area and went to fetch the drinks. By the time she had made the tea and come back to sit opposite him, Philip had arrived. He had clearly run all the way from St Cuthbert’s and the shock on his face was a picture to behold. By now, Eleanor’s amazement at Joshua’s transformation was beginning to fade, but not so her curiosity.

  Joshua leant back in his chair, ready to address his audience. “I expect you’d like to know why I brought you here today.”

  “Yes please. If that’s all right,” said Eleanor. Philip, who was still speechless with surprise, simply nodded.

  And so Joshua explained. “When I was a boy, there was a lot of bad talk about the Pinkhams – that we were Cornish and notorious wreckers. It was a taint that lay over the family for years.” Joshua frowned. “My mother and father never discussed or denied it, so I grew up believing I was descended from rogues and murderers.”

  Eleanor’s heart sank as she listened, distressed at the thought that perhaps the rumours Harold had shared with her were true. Then she watched as Joshua’s expression changed into one of happiness.

  “You’ve done me a favour, missus,” he said, patting Eleanor’s hand. “If you’d not come busy-bodying around, I’d never have opened the briefcase and would have gone to my grave thinking I came from a family of cut-throats.”

  Eleanor and Philip looked at each other. “What was in the case, Joshua? When we originally found it, you said you knew what it contained.”

  The old man swallowed a mouthful of tea and delicately patted his lips. “I knew I’d find my grandfather’s papers and I did. Lots of them. What I didn’t expect to find was his journal and letters from Violet Makepeace.”

  Eleanor gasped. “So there was a connection.”

  “There was. Alfred loved Violet and she loved him back, but not until it was too late.”

  “Oh no,” said Eleanor. “Did one of them die?”

  “It was a little more complicated than that.”

  “Let me guess: Alfred Pinkham loved Violet but she married Reginald Makepeace, is that it?” Eleanor frowned. “But where does John Able fit in? If he does.”

  Joshua looked at her. “Now I’ve read the journal I can tell you that John Able was my grandfather but he changed his name to Alfred Pinkham. Violet was the girl he tried to help by selling that damned earring. As it said in the newspapers – and in Violet’s story – Alfred was arrested and sent to prison, and the only person who knew he was innocent and could have saved him from almost two years of hell was Violet.” Joshua’s expression darkened with anger. “That girl knew Alfred – or John as he was back then – had found the ring at the beach and never stolen nothing in his life.”

  “Exactly like Jack in the story,” said Eleanor.

  “Yes,” Joshua nodded. “And I didn’t know about it until I opened the briefcase.”

  “What happened when your grandfather came out of the reformatory school?” asked Philip, who had now regained the power speech.

  “He was fortunate indeed and was taken on as an apprentice by an engineer in Bristol where he lived for seven years.” Joshua shook his head sadly. “He could have travelled the world afterwards, but he missed his home and his family so he came back to Combemouth.” He laughed. “By then the foolish boy was going under his mother’s maiden name, which was Pinkham. Ironical really, wouldn’t you say?”

  Philip frowned. “So you’re saying that your grandfather, John Able, didn’t steal the ring but chose a name associated with Cornish wreckers?”

  “Precisely. He was not yet fourteen when he left the reformatory school and hadn’t had any education to speak of.” Joshua shrugged. “I suppose he picked out a name he was familiar with and liked.”

  “Where does the locket fit in?” asked Eleanor.

  “When Alfred turned up in Combemouth aged twenty-one, Violet recognised him as John Able and sent him letters apologising for what she’d done and saying she loved him – all nonsense, of course, as she’d not seen him since he was a child. It seems that Grandfather didn’t respond, which is when she sent him the locket.”

  “With the apology – ‘I did you a great harm, for which I am truly sorry’.” Eleanor remembered the words very clearly. “But John – Alfred – must still have felt something for her if he kept it?”

  “I daresay he did.” Joshua scratched his chin, seeming surprised to find the stubble was gone. “In her letters, Violet urges John to tell people who he is and to clear his name, but he refuses.” Joshua turned to Philip. “He worked hard and become a prosperous man, Vicar. And he was devout, too. He kept his promise to help poor sailors, but he never wanted thanks for it because he never forgave himself for lying to his mother and hiding the ring.”

  “Which is why his name isn’t recorded at St Cuthbert’s.” Philip nodded. “And can you tell us anything about the verse?”

  “I can. Any chance of another tea first, missus?”

/>   “Sure,” said Eleanor, pouring him another cup.

  Joshua sipped the tea thoughtfully. “Now, where had I got to?”

  “You were going to tell us about the verse,” said Philip, helpfully.

  “Ah, yes. Well, according to John’s journal it was Violet who wrote the poem and sent it to him. He had founded the St Brendan Hostel by then, you see, and I think it was another nudge from Violet to encourage him to tell people about his good deeds. John must have liked the poem because he later had it inscribed on your wall under the window.”

  “Perhaps he also wanted to show to Violet that he forgave her for what she had done as a girl. And the ring in the Bible,” asked Eleanor, “is that the one John found in the rock pool when he was a lad?”

  Joshua shivered. “You gave me a terrible shock when you showed me that. Who but a wrecker would keep a dead man’s earring hidden in a Bible?” He sighed. “But now I know different. I read in Grandfather’s journal that the original ring was confiscated when he was arrested, but as soon as he’d saved enough money he bought another pair of earrings. Then, when he returned to Combemouth, he did what he told his mother he’d done all those years before – he climbed up onto the Top and threw one ring into the sea. The other he kept in his Bible to remind him of the fishermen who had perished.”

  Philip smiled gently. “So all those years you thought your ancestors were wreckers, your grandfather was in fact an angel.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but it seems like he did his bit. There wasn’t only the hostel, you see. He also put money into building the new lighthouse and starting a school for poor boys.” Joshua looked down at his hands, clearly moved by the secrets he’d uncovered. “I only wish my dear father could have known the truth.”

  “I feel sure he did.” Philip leant over and squeezed Joshua’s arm warmly. “And now is perhaps the time to tell everyone that your grandfather’s money saved the lives of countless seamen, gave poor sailors a roof over their heads and educated hundreds of lads. We might wish John Able had shared his good deeds so your family could revel in them, but he was humble and modest. I think we must forgive him that.”