Her eyes darted between Ellie and Willow, neither of them reacting. Ellie glanced at Willow, and Willow glanced back, and was it Ellie’s imagination or was Willow checking to see Ellie’s reaction, which was exactly what Ellie was doing. They both said nothing and turned back to Sylvia, catching each other’s eyes with one last quick corner glance.
“Someone overheard PC Finn Walsh talking about some riddle that sounded like it pointed at the church.” She fixed her gaze on Ellie. “That’s where you were last night, Eleanor. Has this got something to do with that blasted manuscript?”
Ellie’s stomach tightened, caught off guard by Sylvia’s keen observation. She struggled to keep her expression neutral, unsure how to respond without revealing too much.
“Ellie,” she corrected again. “And I’m not sure. Emma, what about you? Do you know anything about these riddles?”
Emma squirmed in her chair, reaching out to wrap her fingertips around her Isaac Asimov book. Ellie hated to put her on the spot like that, but there was something Emma wasn’t sharing. Anne Collins had been quite specific that Edmund’s favourite books to read were sci-fi, and hadn’t Emma said a friend gave her the book ‘a while ago’?
“I just remembered I have a delivery coming in,” Willow said as she gathered her things, her movements jerky and uncertain.
Before anyone could respond, she was out the door, leaving behind a faint scent of lavender and an air of unease. Ellie frowned, finding Willow’s abrupt departure strange, but when she glanced at Sylvia, the older woman seemed unfazed. Ellie wondered if she was reading too much into it, or if Sylvia was simply used to Willow’s quirks.
As soon as they were alone, Sylvia leaned in closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, let’s get down to business,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you single?”
Ellie felt heat rush to her cheeks, caught off guard by the direct question. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out.
“Oh, you don’t need to be shy, dear. I felt those sparks last night with that handsome teacher. Daniel, wasn’t it?”
Before Ellie could formulate a response, the café door flung open with a bang. Amber stormed in, her face flushed with anger, a laptop clutched tightly under her arm. Her eyes darted around the room until they landed on Ellie and Sylvia. Without hesitation, she marched over and planted herself in the chair Willow had vacated moments ago.
“It’s official!” Amber announced through almost gritted teeth, her hands visibly shaking as she set the laptop on the table. “I’ve just had to fire my first employee.”
“I did tell you not to hire a—”
“Sylvia! Please! Not now!” Amber’s hands shook as she opened the laptop, her eyes wild with frustration. “I just had to wrestle this from Emma, and I’m sure she scratched me.” She turned her arm, revealing an angry red scratch.
Sylvia gasped. “Good lord! You’ll want to get a tetanus jab, just to be sure.”
Amber barely seemed to hear her, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I thought she was cool. She seemed cool at her interview. Such an interest in antiques and seemed to know her stuff, but she just became obsessed with doing the least amount of work for the most money possible, and that’s not how I run my...”
Her voice trailed off as she squinted at the screen, scrolling through something. Sylvia hurried around the table to peer at the screen, but Ellie remained in her seat, curiosity warring with her desire to stay out of village drama.
“Heaven’s bells!” Sylvia exclaimed, her eyes wide. “That’s a lot of emails.”
Ellie watched as Amber’s eyes darted across the laptop screen, her face contorting with a mix of shock and disbelief. Suddenly, Amber’s breath hitched, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“She’s been emailing hundreds and hundreds of auction houses...” Amber’s voice trailed off, her lower lip quivering. “In my name.”
Sylvia clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “She’s trying to use your good name and reputation. You come from a long line of antique dealers, and she comes from a long line of spoiled brats!”
Curiosity gnawed at Ellie. Unable to take the suspense any longer, she cleared her throat. “What exactly was Emma emailing about?”
Amber sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. She shook out her pink hair and resumed reading, her brow furrowing once more. As she looked up at Ellie, her eyes darted towards the door. Ellie turned, following Amber’s gaze, to see DS Angela Cookson stepping into the café, her expression unreadable.
Sylvia, oblivious to the police officer’s arrival, continued muttering to herself as she speed-read through the emails. “She uses the same phrase in every email,” Sylvia said, her eyes still glued to the screen. “She’s putting out feelers to see if there are any private collectors who want to own ‘the final and only manuscript of a deceased prolific mystery writer.’ She’s been trying to hawk Edmund Blackwood’s book!”
Amber’s face turned as pale as her hair’s blonde roots. “Does that mean she has this book that people are dying for?”
“No,” Ellie replied, some more of the pieces falling into place. “But it means she wants it. And thinks she can get it.”
From the corner of her eye, Ellie felt DS Angela Cookson approaching their table. She cleared her throat, her face set in a grim expression.
“Amber Matthews?” Angela asked, waiting for Amber to nod. “You’re under arrest for suspicion of causing grievous bodily harm to Emma Blackwood.”
“Harm?” Sylvia cried, her eyes widening in disbelief. “That wild child scratched her!”
Angela glanced at the angry red mark on Amber’s arm, her eyebrow raised. “But did you punch Emma in the nose?”
Amber hesitated, her eyes darting around the café. “She... she looked like she was about to bite me.”
“Bite her?” Sylvia exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch. “That girl needs locking up!”
“That may be so,” Angela replied, her tone measured, “but unfortunately, Emma Blackwood called the police first, and I have a job to do. On your feet, Amber.”
Ellie watched in stunned silence as Angela led Amber out of the café. Sylvia hurried after them, her voice echoing through the doorway. “You’ve got the wrong person! You must see these emails. Emma has a clear motive...”
As Sylvia’s cries faded, Ellie dragged the laptop across the table, replacing the untouched cherry and lemon loaf slice. Her eyes widened as she scrolled through the emails—Emma was trying to sell her grandfather’s book—a clear motive indeed.
Frustrated, Ellie slapped the laptop shut and handed it to Oliver. “Can you keep this safe for when Amber gets out?”
Oliver took the laptop. “What’s going on around here lately?”
“Edmund Blackwood’s final game,” Ellie replied grimly, already moving towards the door.
“You didn’t try the loaf!”
“Next time!” she called. “I promise.”
