by Lizzie Lewis
About the Book
When Janika Jones’ husband is found dead, his death is initially assumed to be suicide. Sam Jones was a detective with the local CID, and Janika is determined to prove he was murdered. Realising she has detective skills of her own, she trains to be a private investigator, and sets up an office above the Button Up coffee shop owned by Abi Wells, a girl she knew at school as Abi Button.
Calling her business the Button Up Detective Agency, Janika sets out to find her own cases to investigate, having been warned by the police not to investigate her husband’s murder. But that’s something she can’t resist when the opportunity arises. When things turn nasty, who can she trust?
Told by Janika Jones, this is a slightly darker cozy mystery spin-off from the series of six Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance books, also by Lizzie Lewis. Although mainly about Janika, she interacts with many of the main Abi Button story characters.
Clocks Locks and Danger
A Button Up Detective Agency Cozy Mystery #1
by
Lizzie Lewis ©2021
This eBook ISBN: 978-1-912529-86-5
Also available as a paperback
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-912529-85-8
Published by
White Tree Publishing
Bristol
UNITED KINGDOM
[email protected]
Full list of books and updates on
www.whitetreepublishing.com
Clocks Locks and Danger is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this abridged edition.
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
The Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance Series
About White Tree Publishing
Chapter 1
My name is Janika Jones. I’m sitting in my car looking at a coffee shop called Button Up. It wasn’t called Button Up when I was at school, but that’s not important. What is important is whether I’m about to make the stupidest mistake of my life. The office and living apartment above the café sounded ideal when I read the advertisement. A minimum one-year tenancy. If I take it, there can be no going back. I’ll be stuck here for twelve whole months. Is this really what I want?
It’s strange how memories come flooding back, taking you by surprise. I remember a girl at school called Button. Abi Button, or the Happy Button as she was known by her friends. I can picture her now ‒ blonde, popular, pretty and always laughing. I’ve not been back to this town since I was fifteen, which is when I went to live in Poland with my English mother and Polish father. And that certainly was a culture shock – for my mother as well as for me.
I’m wondering what has brought me back to this town after what must be ... yes, eighteen years. I don’t have the happiest memories of school in England, although I think I’m mostly to blame for that. I was too quiet. I can see myself now, a rather withdrawn girl who tended to get picked on.
I smile to myself. That has certainly changed since Sam died. The coroner was all primed up to announce a verdict of suicide ‒ before I stuck my oar in. Suicide? I knew differently. Sam, that’s my husband, might have been weighed down by our money problems, but he was never going to take his own life. Take his life for what? Our life insurance? Our policy had lapsed a few months earlier. We simply couldn’t pay the premiums, along with other necessities.
Shortly before his death, Sam insisted that we found the money somehow to take out a new policy, because he didn’t want to leave me penniless if anything happened to him. Was that some sort of premonition? Anyway, we started paying again, but the new policy stipulated that it wouldn’t pay out for suicide within the first twenty-four months. We didn’t see that as a problem at the time. Why would we?
Sam Jones was a detective with the CID in the huge town of Brevelstone where we first met, and where we got married just over three years ago. And now, after his sudden death, Brevelstone holds too many disturbing memories to stay there any longer. I’m not sure about the wisdom of coming back here, either. Lots of memories of school, and of my parents arguing constantly – my father not wanting to settle in England, and my mother and me not wanting to settle in Poland. It was all a bit of a mess, and unfortunately my father came out the winner.
Those school memories are troubling me now. If I hadn’t been such a mouse I would have stood up for myself. Coming back to England and leaving my parents and Bruno behind in Poland was the first properly brave thing I did in my life. The second properly brave thing was taking on the coroner and the police to get my husband’s death declared a murder. And I suppose the best thing was doing my own detective work to help bring in a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown.
And that brings me back to where I am now, outside Button Up coffee shop. I suppose this counts as another brave move, although if I get out of my car and accept the tenancy on the apartment above the café, that will surely be the most heroic thing I’ve ever done. I mean, what woman decides to open a private detective agency on her own? But I think Sam would be proud of me, following in his footsteps, but following in his footsteps privately, not with the police.
I go to open the door of my old car and tell the proprietor, Abi Wells, that I’ve come for the four o’clock appointment to view the apartment. But I can’t pull the handle. It’s like I’m paralysed. Do I really want to go ahead with this? I smile to myself, and say loudly, “Come on, Janika, see it through, girl. You don’t have to say yes, even if it’s the most charming living accommodation and office you’ve ever seen. And it won’t be, anyway.”
I look up at the two windows above the coffee shop. One of them has an old blind hanging crookedly, and the other has a sign saying, “Jennings Accountancy Services.”
To my tidy mind, I realise there’s an apostrophe missing at the end of Jennings, but that doesn’t matter. I’m not exactly going to tell him. Anyway, I gather Mr Jennings retired a few weeks ago. The handle of the car door isn’t really jammed. So why am I sitting here hesitating?
I check the rear view mirror and get briskly out of the car. As I approach Button Up I catch sight of myself in the large café window. Inside, I can see tables and chairs, and three or four customers. Reflected in the glass I see myself. There is nothing remarkable about my appearance. I’m nearly five foot four, with short mousy brown hair and the sort of face and figure that doesn’t attract attention. If I want to be critical about myself, the kindest thing I can say is that I fall into the gap between being good-looking and being downright plain.
In fact, I’m average altogether in my looks, which is probably perfect if you want to be a private investigator. Unlike the glamorous actresses who play private investigators in daytime television programmes, nobody notice
s you if you’re average looking. With several outfits, two or three wigs and different glasses, and several shades of makeup, I’ll just blend in. Anyway, that’s what I’m hoping.
I open the café door and a young man wearing a black and cream striped jacket smiles and offers to show me to a table. I explain I’ve come to meet Mrs Wells. To my amazement, it’s not Mrs Wells who comes from behind the service counter, smiling.
It’s Abi Button. I’ve not seen her for eighteen years, but I’d recognise her anywhere. And she’s certainly not lost her looks. She’s managed to stay slim, apart from round the hips. These memories give me quite a jolt.
“I’ve got an appointment with Mrs Wells,” I say. “It’s to view the apartment and office.”
Abi Button says she is Mrs Wells, and she seems to recognise me too, because she calls me Janika Bartol. Then we look at each other and laugh. I’ve already noticed the wedding ring, so the Wells bit makes sense.
“I didn’t realise it would be you,” Mrs Wells says. “I didn’t connect the name. And please call me Abi. I’m sure you remember me as Abi Button. When I got married, we didn’t want to change the name of the coffee shop.”
I’m wondering where the Up bit comes from, and no doubt I’ll learn that later – if I decide to stay. I point to the ceiling, hoping we’re not going to stand here reminiscing about school, cooking up bad memories. “If I could just have a look, please. It sounds ideal.”
Abi looks closely at me for a moment and smiles. “We must have been about fifteen years old last time we saw each other, and we both still look so young.”
Do we? I need to agree with Abi and I return the smile. “Well, we are young.”
Abi winks at me. “Correct answer. I’m glad you said that.”
She introduces me to the young man who I think has just rolled his eyes, but I can’t be sure. He’s called Pete Wilders. He’s a student doing an evening course at the local college. He frowns slightly, and I guess he’s going to ask Abi how we know each other. But hopefully when I’ve gone.
Abi gets a key from behind the counter and ushers me out through the door. “I’m all ready for you.”
On the right hand side of the café entrance there’s a white front door set back enough from the pavement to give shelter to anyone waiting to enter. In a city centre, this place would probably be used by men who had been drinking too much at night, but there’s no smell of urine here, which is certainly good news.
I can see a small intercom system, but Abi puts the key in the lock and opens the door to reveal a shabby staircase. This doesn’t look promising. However, I’ve got more than enough money to start the detective agency, and I can manage some decorating if Abi isn’t planning to sort it. I think it’s important for customers, clients, call them what you will, to get a good first impression. And I certainly haven’t got one yet.
Abi is leading the way up the steep wooden stairs, and she pauses for a moment. “We’ve not had time to clear the place after Mr Jennings retired,” she explains apologetically. “So don’t judge it by what you see now. We’ll be decorating throughout, including the stairs. We honestly didn’t expect anyone to respond to our advertisement so quickly.”
At the top of the staircase a substantial door opens into a large office at the front of the building. It’s as large as the coffee shop downstairs. I gasp in surprise. This office is going to be perfect. Clearly the walls have the same footprint as the coffee shop, which means the living accommodation is going to be small.
“We’ve been rather busy,” Abi says. “Rest assured, it will be properly furnished with brand-new office equipment when you take it. ... If you take it,” she adds.
Abi Button, Abi Wells, has clearly mistaken my gasp for one of horror. The only horror would be if this old but impressive office furniture got replaced with something modern. I can picture myself sitting behind the desk, wearing a tight black skirt and matching jacket with a white blouse, looking extremely professional. Then when I go out on surveillance, I can wear one of my many different casual outfits and wigs, and no one will recognise me.
“But I love it,” I protest. “It’s absolutely my ideal office. I’m sure my clients, assuming I get any, will be set at ease by the comforting look. I mean, look at those two small leather armchairs by the window. And the antique mahogany desk and matching filing cabinet. Well, nearly matching. And the impressive office chair behind it. It even swivels. It’s wonderful, Abi. A lovely dream come true.”
Then I have another thought. “I take it there’s wi-fi here.” I mean it as a sort of joke, and Abi catches on immediately.
“Sorry, only morse code and semaphore,” she says, laughing. “Seriously, there’s high speed fibre-optic. Mr Jennings insisted on it. He was elderly, but he understood technology.”
There’s a long pause. I think Abi is wondering what to make of me. Eventually she smiles, and says, “Let me show you the living accommodation. I know you’re going to want some changes there. Mr Jennings was almost as old as the furniture. When my co-owner of Button Up and I bought the business, this apartment was already furnished, complete with Mr Jennings as a sitting tenant. He was happy with everything, so there was no point in buying new furniture.”
Abi opens a dark brown wooden door leading directly into a small sitting room. I can see immediately why she has reservations about the furniture. Actually, it’s not just a sitting room. It’s what’s called a bedsit. There’s an old bed frame in the corner. Just the frame, no mattress or bedding.
“We got rid of the mattress,” Abi says. “Mr Jennings had been using it for many years.” She laughs, but looks embarrassed. “Old men and mattresses aren’t exactly one of my favourite things.”
I suspect there’s more to it than that, but I certainly don’t want any details. “Flatpack will be fine,” I say. “And I prefer a firm mattress to a soft one. Other than that, the place is exactly what I’m looking for.”
Mrs Wells seems surprised. No, I must get into the habit of calling her Abi, even though she’s no longer Abi Button. Mrs Wells sounds much too formal for an old school ... not exactly friend. There must be a word for someone you were at school with but not especially friends with, but I can’t think of it at the moment.
“You sound as though you’re going to take it,” Abi says.
It’s my turn to look surprised. “Of course I am. It’s perfect. I assume there’s no objection to me putting my own business sign in the window. No planning restrictions or anything?”
I can see the cogs turning in Abi’s head. This is a young woman with a sharp mind, mixed up with a dry sense of humour of the ridiculous. Since the private investigators’ course, I’ve become very aware of people’s expressions and body language. She’s about to ask me what the business will be.
Chapter 2
I’m wrong. Instead of asking me about my business, Abi asks me if there will be two of us. She must have seen my wedding ring. I’ve no intention of taking it off. I’m proud of Sam and what he did for the police force in Brevelstone. I can see Abi is an inquisitive person, but I’m sure it’s with the best of intentions. So I won’t go as far as to call it nosiness. Not yet, at any rate.
“Just me,” I explain, without actually giving any explanation. “You remembered I was Janika Bartol. Everybody, including you, deliberately pronounced Janika with a J, although it should really have been pronounced Yanika. I’m not pointing the finger at you in particular, Abi, but I think it was done to annoy me. When we went to Poland, everybody knew how to pronounce the name. But when I came back to England, I gave up. So I guess you all got it right at school. Yes, please call me Janika.”
I can see the cogs still turning in Abi’s head. I decide it is some form of nosiness, but probably nosiness in the best possible taste. “And now you’re a Jones,” she says.
She doesn’t need to say anything more. It’s time to explain how my name became Jones. We go back into the old-fashioned but professional looking office, and sit next to ea
ch other in the small leather armchairs by the window.
Abi jumps up and tries to raise the crooked blind to let more light in, but it crashes to the ground. She shrugs, and sits down again.
Opposite, I can see living accommodation above a shoe shop. No, it’s not living accommodation. It’s their stockroom. I wonder how many people actually live in this street.
Abi clearly wants to know why I’m wearing a wedding ring. I’ll have to tell her that my husband is dead. What took months flies through my mind in seconds. But I can’t explain it in seconds. I wonder how to condense it, because Abi is probably needed down below in the coffee shop. But I would like to share something of my background while we’re sitting here.
<><><><>
My mind takes me back almost exactly six months. The doorbell rings. I’ve been expecting Sam home from work. He’s a Detective Constable with Brevelstone CID. I know he’s been working this evening, but he’s later than I expected. He has his own key, so who’s ringing the bell at eleven o’clock?
