Murder by the Book (Sophie Sayers Village Mysteries 4) Read online

  The splash had come from the courtyard. Perhaps while I hijacked the Gents’, one of the male diners had been caught short, forced to wee in the well out of desperation. He’d better not do that after the courtyard got its new look.

  Impatient to return to the bar without further distractions, I threw open the toilet door energetically, almost knocking Billy off his feet as he loitered by the side door, presumably heading to the courtyard for his habitual smoke. He was the last person I expected to find at a Valentine’s Dinner.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, nervous of him bumping into Bertie. When he looked blank, I said it again, louder.

  “Ah!” he said, catching it this time. He tapped behind his ear to indicate he’d forgotten his hearing aids. Then he pointed at the Gents’ sign. “I might say the same to you.”

  Before I could reply, the latch lifted on the courtyard door, and Carol came in at high speed, bumping into both of us.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Bill,” she said pleasantly. “Don’t you know it’s Valentine’s Day?”

  “I don’t care what day it is, but I do know it’s like Piccadilly Circus in here tonight. Can’t a fellow have a quiet drink without being harassed?” He stepped back to appraise Carol’s dress. “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, missus.”

  Carol giggled nervously. “Becky said I scrub up well.”

  Billy’s gaze lingered. “Yes, you always did,” he said, quietly by his standards. Then he coughed. “Anyway, I’m glad I seen you because I’ve got a message for you. That baker chap is in the pub somewhere looking for you. I expect he’ll be glad of the opportunity to eat someone else’s cooking rather than his own bloody awful cakes.” He pointed across to a table where Ted was sitting by himself, surreptitiously popping a breath mint into his mouth. “Now, if you ladies will stop accosting me, I’m going through to the public bar for a pint. There’s none of this lovey-dovey nonsense going on in there.”

  We stood back, allowing Billy to pass. Carol leaned closer to me.

  “I’ll let you into a secret, Sophie. Billy used to be a little sweet on me when I was younger. My mum told me after I’d returned to the village that Billy said if his brother ever crossed his path again, he’d duff him up. Sibling revelry, eh? It makes me glad to be an only child.”

  She looked across at Ted and took a deep breath. “My goodness, Sophie, I do believe Becky has set me up!” I wished I’d thought of doing that. Ted caught her eye and broke into a broad smile, before getting up to draw out the chair opposite, beckoning for her to come and join him. “It looks like someone else is expecting me. I suppose I’d better go and say hello.”

  I bit my lip. “I think it’s more than a hello that he’s after, Carol.”

  She lingered for a moment, as if struggling to digest her good fortune. I grinned. “Gosh, you’ve been bemoaning the lack of men for ages, and now you’ve got three of them fighting over you! But what happened with Bertie? Have you seen him yet?”

  She held up her hands. “Would you believe it? It looks as if after all that fuss, Bertie’s threats and promises have come to naught. I’ve just come in through the courtyard, and he was nowhere to be seen. It was all nothing but talk. Unreliable as ever. Still, I’m not complaining. When one door closes, another one locks.”

  Giggling, she gave Ted a coquettish wave.

  “Do you know, when Becky told me to dress up posh, I had no idea what she was up to. I’d make a terrible detective, wouldn’t I, Sophie?”

  19 The Girl with Forget-Me-Not Eyes

  As soon as I had finished dishing out the Mint Juleps and returned the empty tray to the bar, Donald said I was free to join Hector, leaving the teenagers he’d hired as waitresses for the night to serve the food.

  “All the guests are here now, apart from a couple of no-shows on the singles’ table,” said Donald.

  Arriving at our table, I was pleased to see Hector had ordered a bottle of champagne but hadn’t yet touched a drop. The only other couple to have an ice bucket on a stand beside their table was the vicar and his wife. Although I suspected Donald had only two ice buckets, that made me feel special.

  The Reverend Murray cut a dashing figure in a cream silk cravat and burgundy shirt. If I hadn’t known he was a vicar, I would never have guessed. Opposite him, Mrs Murray’s stiff gold cocktail dress reminded me of the foil on chocolate coins. She must have been glad to wrestle her husband away from his pastoral duties, even if they were surrounded by his parishioners.

  As I sat down opposite Hector, he filled our glasses, and we raised them to each other in a toast.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day,” we said, simultaneously. Then Hector added, “Everything OK, Sophie?”

  I must have seemed distracted, because the little scene with Bertie was still running through my head. Supposing Billy discovered him while he was having a cigarette? I hoped Donald’s special romantic evening wouldn’t be spoiled by a bar-room brawl, nor Carol’s evening, nor Ted’s.

  From time to time, I glanced nervously at the side door, yet all seemed still out there. It was quiet in the public bar, too, without the usual noisy banter ping-ponging around. Jukebox music had been supplanted by a classical CD featuring a delicate string quartet. Even the jangling of the fruit machine had been silenced in the interests of the ambience.

  I gave a little shiver of satisfaction at the part I’d played in bringing this whole evening together. It was giving so much happiness and satisfaction to so many people – to Donald as publican, to Carol and Ted, to the Reverend and Mrs Murray, to Kate and her husband, to Ella and her fitness instructor, and all the other happy couples seated ready to enjoy an intimate evening together. Not least, to me and Hector.

  Tonight was no time to be thinking of family feuds. Tonight was the night for love and reconciliation, for healing old wounds and generating new memories. It would soon be spring, a time to look forward to new beginnings, not stir up old quarrels.

  I glanced across at Ted and Carol, in time to see him tentatively reach his hands, so strong and muscular from all that kneading, across the tablecloth. She moved hers closer to allow him to clasp them. I hoped this new romance might bring Carol the happy ending she’d craved for so long, and which she so richly deserved.

  A clatter from the side door heralded the arrival of Tommy.

  “What were you doing out there?” asked Hector as Tommy passed our table. “Taking the scenic route home?”

  “I wanted one last look at the well before it gets filled in. I just chucked my last ever things down there for old times’ sake.”

  “Can someone your age have old times?” asked Hector wryly.

  “That well’s been there all my life, and tomorrow it’ll be gone. That’s a big thing for me, Hector.”

  “It won’t be entirely gone, Tommy, just changed. It’ll still look the same from the outside.”

  “Same difference,” said Tommy briskly. “I feel a bit sad.”

  I squeezed Hector’s hand as a warning not to tease Tommy any further. The boy had had enough loss in his young life, and if it helped him to say goodbye to the well in his own way, that was harmless enough.

  Donald called over from behind the bar, where he was busy uncorking wine bottles.

  “Have you got a date, Tom?” He winked at me conspiratorially. “I didn’t see your name on the list of bookings. Does your mum know you’re here? Because you shouldn’t be, not unless you’re with an adult eating a meal. It’s against the law. I’m sorry, son, but I’ll have to ask you to leave, or I’ll get into trouble.”

  Tommy wandered listlessly over to the bar.

  “I hope you don’t want me to arrest myself. I’ve only come in to see whether I’ve won the raffle.”

  Donald put down his corkscrew. “Look, I’ve told you once, Tommy, I can’t sell you a raffle ticket, because the prize contains alcohol. You’ll have the law after me if I do.”

  Tommy pulled a tiny scrap of rose-pink paper out of his poc
ket and held it up to show Donald. “You don’t have to sell me one. I’ve got one already.”

  Donald took the ticket from him to scrutinise. “It’s definitely one of my tickets. But how did you get hold of it? I’ve only been selling them to customers in the pub.”

  He returned the ticket to Tommy, who held on to it with both hands.

  “Billy gave it to me. I did him a favour, and he gave it to me as my reward.”

  Donald considered for a moment. “OK, we’ll do the draw in a minute, then you must go home.”

  He produced a small plastic tub of folded raffle tickets from under the counter, then raised the flap on the bar to step out into the room. Tommy settled down to watch the proceedings from a bar stool while Donald marched over to Carol and Ted’s table and offered her the plastic tub.

  “Carol, as one of the generous donors of the raffle prizes, will you please do the honours and draw the winning ticket?”

  With a little squeal of excitement, Carol let go of Ted’s hand. Closing her eyes so that she couldn’t be accused of choosing a particular ticket, she stuffed her hand deep into the tub and pulled one out from the very bottom. She smiled, opened her eyes, and passed the ticket triumphantly to Donald, who unfolded it, hesitated for a moment, glanced around the room at the expectant faces, then read the number aloud.

  “Three hundred and seventy-two.”

  A rumble went around the room as everyone commented on however close their own number was to the winner. Then Tommy sprang from the bar stool and waved his ticket aloft.

  “That’s me, that’s me, that’s me!”

  Everyone cheered.

  Donald’s face was the picture of surprise. “Really, Tommy, are you sure? Let’s see your ticket again.”

  Solemnly, Tommy held it out to him, Donald taking an age to reread the little black figures.

  “Yep, you’ve won fair and square,” he said at last. “Well done, lad.”

  Everybody clapped and cheered again, either genuinely pleased at the boy’s excitement, or not wanting to look like sore losers in front of their dates. Tommy made to seize the prize hamper from where it was displayed at the end of the bar, but Donald put a restraining hand on his arm.

  “I can’t let you take it away without your mum present.” He indicated the bottle of pink champagne. “But if you give your mum a ring, she can come and collect it now.”

  Tommy frowned. “She can’t. She’s at home with Sina. She can’t leave Sina on her own. It’s against the law.”

  Funny how well acquainted he was with the laws that suited him. He shot an anxious look at the hamper, as if worried someone might snatch it from him.

  “OK, then tell her to bring Sina with her. Look—” Donald pointed to the singles table “—we’ve had a couple of no-shows, so why not ask your mum if all three of you can stay and eat dinner with us, as an extra bit of prize? My wife always overcaters, so we’ve plenty to go round. It’ll only go to waste otherwise.”

  Touched by Donald’s kind gesture, I resolved to eat in The Bluebird more often in future, as a show of support. Auntie May would have called it karma.

  Then the waitresses started to bring out the first course, colourful melon balls steeped in Crème de Menthe, and everyone returned their attention to their dates.

  “Hector, did you see that?” I leaned forward to speak confidentially. “I think Donald just rigged the raffle. He made Tommy win. He memorised the number when Tommy showed him his ticket the first time. When Carol gave him the winning ticket, I think he only pretended to read it. Did you notice how quickly he folded it up and put it back in the tub before anybody could check it? It could have been anyone’s ticket.”

  Hector grinned. “Of course he rigged it. Didn’t you see him and Carol wink at each other? They were about as subtle as a pair of pantomime villains. Why do you think Carol didn’t read the number off the ticket herself, but handed it straight back to Donald?”

  I laughed. “Like a game of wink-wink murder, only the prize was the hamper instead of death! Do you think anyone else guessed?”

  “If so, they didn’t seem to mind. Though I bet Billy will when he finds out, as he bought the ticket. Still, it’s not like winning the Lottery. And it’ll teach Billy to take advantage of Tommy.”

  “Whatever favour it was that he did to earn Billy’s ticket, I’m sure Tommy will think he got a good deal.”

  I grinned. Billy was always getting Tommy to do his dirty work for him.

  But Hector wanted to move on.

  “Speaking of rewards, Sophie, I’ve got a little surprise for you, too.” He fixed me warily with his green eyes. For one moment, I feared he might be about to propose. I glanced into my champagne glass to check he hadn’t concealed an engagement ring in it.

  He reached under the table and pulled out a flat rectangular package neatly wrapped in turquoise tissue paper. He pushed it across the table to me, slaloming around our brimming glasses. Just a book, then. Relief coursed through me, as well as slight disappointment at his lack of imagination. After all, he was constantly giving me books he thought I ought to read. It was starting to get a bit annoying.

  “Thank you,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by seeming ungrateful.

  Slowly I untied the ribbon and peeled back the little gold seal that was holding the edges of the tissue paper together. I’d had the parcel upside down, so the first thing I saw was the back cover. I recognised the familiar pastel illustrations in the style that appeared upon every Minty novel, but I hadn’t seen this one before. In all the mayhem, I’d forgotten her latest book was due out the following day.

  I flipped it the right way up and discovered the best Valentine’s present ever: The Girl with Forget-Me-Not Eyes.

  “You’ve got the wrong colour eyes for Virginia Woolf,” Hector had said to me at the village show back in the summer. “Hers were grey. Yours are forget-me-not blue.”

  “Go on, open it,” he said now, gently touching my hand. “There’s a personal inscription inside.

  I smiled at Hermione’s extravagant signature on the dedication page. Nancy’s imitation of Hector’s original was excellent.

  “To my number one fan,” he’d added, with a giant kiss. But what meant far more was the dedication above, printed by Hector in every copy, for all the world to see: “For Sophie, with all my love”.

  I reached across the table to take both Hector’s hands in mine.

  “I love you too,” I said. Then we sat for a long time saying nothing, our fingers intertwined, with the champagne bubbles rising and rising, unsipped, to burst at the top of our glasses.

  20 February Sale

  The crowd outside Hector’s House next day was so large that the pavement couldn’t contain it. A police car was parked on the road outside, and two policemen, arms outstretched, were trying to keep the crowd on the pavement, safe from passing cars, horses and tractors.

  My heart began to race as I put two and two together. Had someone been murdered? Perhaps someone was about to be arrested, and a mob had gathered to watch. I started to run, desperate to know Hector was safe, but Bob had already spotted me.

  “Late for work, Sophie?” he called out cheerfully.

  I forced a smile. “Not quite. But what on earth are all these people doing here? What’s going on? Have you come to arrest someone?”

  I looked about for “Crime Scene – Do Not Enter” tape, but found none.

  Bob grinned. “Funnily enough, I’m here to buy a book. My sergeant sent me down to get a signed copy of the new Hermione Minty book as a belated Valentine’s present for his wife. Apparently, he’s in the doghouse for working late last night. When he saw on the local breakfast news this morning that Hermione Minty would be launching her new book in Wendlebury, he thought that would be just the thing to make it up to her.”

  I put my hands over my mouth in shock. “Hermione Minty’s going to be signing books here today?”

  A lady in the crowd leaned over to me. �
��Did you think she was dead too? I know, we all did for a bit, but apparently it was just a rumour.”

  A woman I recognised from behind the counter at Slate Green Library backed her up. “That’s Twitter for you. Always saying people are dead when they’re not.”

  As they stepped back into line, not wanting to lose their place in the queue, I turned back to Bob in hope of a further explanation.

  “When me and my mate got here and saw the crush,” he said, “we thought we’d kill time waiting for Hector to open up by practising our crowd control techniques. We don’t often get the chance to control crowds round here. I don’t think we’ve ever had a riot, not even in Slate Green. Still, I suppose you’ll be wanting to get into work.”

  To create a passage through to the front door for me, he edged across the pavement, arms stretched out in front of the crowds, and his colleague did the same opposite.

  “Go on through, love, and get Hector to save me a book for my sarge, will you?”

  I took a deep breath, and strode assertively to the door, which was still locked. Tommy, unaccountably already inside the shop, released the catch just long enough for me to slip inside. As soon as I’d entered, he slammed the door shut, put the chain back on, and headed for the stock room.

  “If they’ve all come to bring you Valentine’s cards, they’re a day late,” said Hector cheerfully from behind an improvised signing table in the far corner of the shop. He was just setting up a cardboard sign saying in big letters “MEET HERMIONE MINTY”.

  “Who are all those people?” I asked, slipping my coat off and hanging it on its usual hook. “Half of them aren’t even from the village.”

  “Seems like they’ve rumbled that I was launching Hermione Minty’s new book here this morning. A Hector’s House exclusive, no less! Now they all want a piece of her. Apparently it’s been all over social media this morning, with pictures of the shopfront and maps of how to get here. Goodness knows how they found out.”