She rushed outside, her mind racing with the new information as she took in South Street. Zara was just emerging from the shadow of the bend, oblivious to the commotion further up the street where the police were ushering Amber into a patrol car near the bookshop.
Ellie’s gaze shifted to the tree near the pond, where Emma stood with paramedics tending to her nose. Another injury to add to her list, Ellie thought, still puzzled by what had happened to Emma’s shoulder.
Ellie’s eyes widened as Zara approached her, waving a piece of paper excitedly. The shopkeeper’s enthusiasm was palpable, but Ellie felt a knot forming in her stomach.
“There you are Ellie! Look at what I found,” Zara exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. “I could not stop thinking about this Penny of Offa, so I did some digging alone. Would you believe an identical coin sold at an auction house not three miles down the road for £895? I could not believe my eyes when I saw it. Do you have the coin on you?”
Ellie patted her pockets, a sinking feeling growing as she realised the coin wasn’t there. She frowned, trying to retrace her steps. Had she left it at Maggie’s? No, she distinctly remembered picking it up before heading to the museum. But she hadn’t taken it out there, not in front of Charles, who’d just been bumped down to her second suspect thanks to Emma’s emails. No wonder Emma hadn’t wanted anyone to read them.
Zara’s voice cut through her thoughts. “There is more,” she continued, her eyes sparkling. “The coin sold just two days before it turned up in the alley by the bins. If the killer dropped the coin, what if they bought it at the auction? They might be able to identify the killer.” She handed Ellie the printout, adding, “I gave the same information to the police an hour ago.”
Ellie froze, her heart sinking. She still hadn’t got around to telling the police about the coin, and now she’d lost it. A wave of guilt and frustration washed over her as she realised the magnitude of her mistake. This was a big one, and she knew it.
“Thank you,” Ellie managed. “Zara, this is great research. It didn’t cross my mind to check. I’m sure the police will visit this place.”
Ellie watched as Zara’s excitement faded, replaced by a flicker of disappointment. The shopkeeper’s shoulders slumped as she turned back towards her store, leaving Ellie with a twinge of guilt. But there were bigger issues at hand than a missing Roman coin.
Glancing over her shoulder, Ellie scanned the street for any sign of the police. Her heart raced at the thought of them returning to arrest her for tampering with evidence. The guilt of losing the coin weighed heavily on her conscience.
Just then, Maggie rounded the corner, a cheerful bounce in her step and a wide-brimmed sun hat perched atop her head. If one good thing was happening,
“Ready to turn the tide on this shop, Ellie?” she called out, her voice brimming with enthusiasm.
Ellie fumbled in her pocket, relief washing over her as her fingers closed around the cool metal of the shop keys. At least she hadn’t lost those. They met outside the shop’s peeling green door.
“Did you manage to get to the museum?” Maggie asked.
“I did, and I spoke with Charles.”
Maggie’s expression shifted, a hint of wariness creeping into her eyes. Ellie took a deep breath, steeling herself. Trust only went so far, and as much as she did trust Maggie, there was only so much Ellie was willing to stay in the dark.
“Time for the truth about him,” Ellie said as she fished for the right key. “If you think he’s innocent of murdering Thomas, I need to know why you’re so sure.”
“Okay,” Maggie conceded, but then a sly smile played at the corners of her mouth. “But don’t you want to read some of this Last Draft first?”
Ellie narrowed her eyes, seeing her grandmother’s attempt to stall. But she had to admit, it was a good stall. Her curiosity about Edmund’s manuscript was undeniable. She slotted the key into the rusty lock and twisted.
“Fine,” she relented.
As they stepped inside Meadowfield Books, they were greeted by the overwhelming mess left behind by the police’s search for evidence. The place was in an even worse state than when she’d first arrived after the burglary—it looked like someone had thrown each book in the shop from one side of the room to the other, and back again. Books lay scattered across the floor with crushed and folded pages making Ellie’s toes curl, while dusty shelves stood empty, and a strong smell of disinfectant hung in the air, mixing with the familiar scent of old paper mingled, creating an odd contrast that turned her stomach.
Ellie squatted down, her fingers brushing dust off the fallen books as she began gathering them. Dune by Frank Herbert. Another sci-fi book. Was there a connection between Willow’s choice of book at breakfast being one of Edmund’s favourite genres? Even if that was a coincidence, the way Willow had reacted to the question about the riddles spoke volumes. Ellie wondered where Willow’s shop was in the village so she could pay her a visit.
“I suppose this is what crime scenes smell like,” Maggie commented, bending down slowly to place a fallen wooden chair the right way up. Leaning on it, she placed her other hand on her hip as she took in the mountainous task threatening to swallow them up. “I’m happy to fall into line and follow your lead if you have a plan? You know how distracted I get whenever books are involved.”
“One at a time,” Ellie said, her voice steady despite the overwhelming task before them. She could feel the weight of each book in her hands, each one a small piece of the chaos they needed to set right. “We organise, we clean, and then we put it all back together just as I remember it. I’ll make a start in here. You go and see if the police found your other hiding place.”
“If they did,” Maggie exclaimed as she manoeuvred the minefield of strewn books, “I’ll eat hay with a donkey.”
Chapter 18Tommy Takes a Tumble
Rip.
Rip.
Rip.
And all Ellie wanted to do was cry with each page she tore from the damaged books, the tearing echoing through the shop like a death knell. Scrunching them into balls to stuff in between the logs in the hearth, she glanced over at her gran, who was meticulously sorting through the largest pile of books—those that could be returned to the shelves. The sight of her grandmother working brought a small smile to Ellie’s face, and despite the grim task at hand, it was easy to pretend she was watching Granny Maggie do just another restock.
Still, they had made considerable progress. Three distinct piles now dominated the shop floor. The second largest stack consisted of books marred by police and forensic officers—spines split, pages torn, and covers stained. These would need repair or, at the very least, be sold for a pittance. And then there was the collection of books so damaged they were beyond saving. The smallest pile but still the most heartbreaking. At least they could be used to get the fire going, but it didn’t completely ease the sting of loss.
“Books are precious,” Maggie had said to her when she’d been young enough that her feet didn’t touch the floor in the armchair. She’d caught Ellie red-handed folding a corner of a page and instead jiggled a bookmark snug between the pages, tugging out just enough so she could find her place. “Treat them as such, and their stories will always live on.”
After half a packet of matches and fires burning quick before snuffing themselves out, she struck one last match and held it to the sacrificial book page poking out between the wood. It briefly flared before sputtering out.
“Come on,” she urged.
When this attempt also failed, Ellie sat back on her heels, frowning at the stubbornly unlit fireplace. She reached for her phone, switching on its flash, and craned her neck as far up the chimney as she could. The beam of light revealed only darkness and the faint outline of soot-covered bricks, along with a little daylight. Not enough for the time of day.
“I think I can see twigs,” she called, her voice echoing back to her. “There might be a bird’s nest in the chimney.”
Ellie unfolded herself from the fireplace as Maggie’s head popped around the aisle, a book in each hand, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“That’ll explain the cooing,” she replied matter-of-factly.
With a laugh, Ellie reached for her notepad and the scratchy fountain pen. She added ‘Find and hire a chimney sweep’ to her growing to-do list, which already included sorting the shop, fixing the cracks in the windowpanes, repainting, and sanding and staining the floors.
Wiping sweat from her neck, Ellie slid the matches back into their box and said, “It’s too warm anyway.”
