The Bookshop Detective Read online

  “I’m surprised I’ve never heard about this before.” Eleanor was quiet for a moment, thinking about the shop. “Are there any books about this ghostly phenomenon?”

  “I suppose there must be lots of books about ghosts, but whether there are any on the Santa Ana in particular, I couldn’t say.”

  “I’d better find out and order some copies – they could be the focus of a great window display.”

  Daniel laughed. “Ghosts and ghouls? Isn’t April a bit early to be thinking about Halloween?”

  “It doesn’t have to be about ghosts – we could have something about pirates. They always go down well with the kids.”

  “And don’t forget smugglers – folk like to hear about people bending the rules.”

  “You’re right. What a shame there’s no smuggling going on around here any more.”

  “That’s what you think! Don’t you remember the ship that foundered a few years back?”

  Eleanor shook her head. “I guess it was before I moved to the area. What happened?”

  “The hold broke open and huge containers littered the entire beach. Of course, being a tidy community we had it all cleaned up in no time.”

  “What was in the containers?”

  “You name it: motor bikes, washing machines, footballs, bread machines…”

  “Bread machines?”

  “Yes, really good ones, too. And some rather smart trainers. Oops.” Dan made a show of crossing one battered shoe behind the other. “Nothing to see here!”

  “You’re joking, right? You wouldn’t take something that wasn’t yours?”

  “Salvaging an item or two from a beach isn’t the same as helping yourself to something that’s fallen off the back of a lorry in the high street. Things are different at the coast: it’s a question of tradition.” Daniel winked. “The first rule of the sea is: finders keepers. Second rule: ask me no questions and I’ll tell thee no lies.” He kissed his wife’s cheek. “You didn’t know you were married to a smuggler, did you?”

  “Every day I learn something new about you.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Daniel, with a smile.

  Chapter 3: No Place Like Home

  As Eleanor walked down the narrow staircase from the bedroom the next morning, she stopped and patted the rough white walls of her terraced cottage, the way you might the neck of a horse. It was a bit eccentric, perhaps, but no more eccentric than believing in ghost ships and she was convinced that houses absorbed traces of the people who had lived in them over the centuries.

  Daniel raised an eyebrow when he saw his wife stroke the wall as she entered the kitchen. “Is there something wrong, darling?”

  “Wrong? No, why should there be anything wrong?” Eleanor looked up smiling, her hand dropping down to her side as she stepped into the sunny room and poured herself a cup of tea from the pot Dan had prepared.

  “I could have sworn I heard you say good morning to the wall.”

  “Not to the wall, silly.” Eleanor grinned as she tipped muesli into a bowl. “I was saying good morning to the house. Don’t you ever do that?”

  Daniel shook his head slowly. “No, I honestly can’t say that I have ever had a conversation with the masonry.”

  “It’s not any old masonry – it’s rock and rubble and bits of horse hair and lime plaster. You should know that, Mr Architect.”

  “I’m fully aware of the vernacular building methods and materials, cheeky, but I have never felt moved to address a house, that’s all.”

  “Ah, but you should. It’s terribly rude not to.”

  “Sorry House.”

  Eleanor put her ear to the wall, listening. “House says you’re forgiven. What about plants? Surely you speak to them?”

  “Depends. I may speak to flowers but not veg.”

  “No wonder your carrots don’t thrive.”

  “I wondered where I’d been going wrong. I certainly won’t have anything worth entering in the summer festival yet again.”

  The social highlight of the year was the grandly named Combemouth Summer Festival and Country Fair, an event organised by the vicar and a committee of fierce ladies in stout skirts. Although Combemouth was technically a town, it was the size and had the atmosphere of an overgrown village. Part of this was down to its position squeezed around a quiet bay on the North Devon coast.

  The town never felt more rural than during the festival, which ran for a week in June. Most of the activity took place at the sea front, but the event kicked off with a country fair in the grounds of St Cuthbert’s Church where delights included ferret racing, falconry displays and fruit- and vegetable-growing contests. The “Best in Show” categories for these were earnestly fought over by dedicated gardeners. Anyone was free to enter their produce, but the prizes tended to be won by the same few highflyers every year.

  “Having lived here all your life, I’d have thought you’d be used to the disappointment of constant rejection by now,” said Eleanor. “The allotment crowd are impossible to beat.”

  “A man can dream.” Daniel smiled. “Seriously though, we do need to make a decision soon.”

  “We do?” Eleanor wandered over to the window to look out at the pretty courtyard garden that ran along the back of the house. It was too early in the year for anything much to be growing, though she had managed to fill pots with multicoloured tulips. Down by the end wall was a patch of lawn dotted with crocus and grape hyacinth, and pale pink hellebores were starting to bloom in a shady corner. “The strawberry plants are in and maybe I’ll try courgettes in the raised bed again this year.”

  “I’m not talking about fruit and veg.” Dan came up behind his wife, resting his chin on her shoulder as they watched blue tits and sparrows dart between the bird feeders. They had married in the autumn. Christmas had come and gone, it was now spring and they continued to live in their own, separate houses. “I mean coming to a decision about where we’re going to live, Mrs Pearce.”

  Do we have to decide, thought Eleanor? Couldn’t they stay the way they were? But she couldn’t say what she thought. She knew she had to get her head around moving sooner rather than later. “Yes, of course. Absolutely. I couldn’t agree more.”

  Daniel allowed himself to feel a flicker of hope. This was what he wanted to hear. “Seriously? Good, because I’ve lined up a couple more places for us to see.”

  “Great,” said Eleanor, turning to kiss him on the cheek. “Can’t wait.”

  Daniel watched as his wife opened the kitchen door and stepped out into the cool spring day, causing the birds to scatter in alarm. Dan couldn’t help noticing that Eleanor hadn’t bothered to ask him anything about the houses he’d found for them and his heart sank at the thought of another fruitless afternoon of house-hunting ahead.

  Chapter 4: Mind the Gap

  The summer festival was one of the most popular events of the year and brought in people from all the surrounding villages as well as tourists in search of some seaside fun. All the shops along the high street did their best to make a splash and seduce potential customers. For her part, Eleanor liked to lay on special events, including readings and book signings.

  “You’re looking serious, boss.”

  “I’m not serious, Erika, I’m furious.” It was late morning and Eleanor was in the bookshop with her assistant manager. After six years, Erika was still Eleanor’s only full-time employee and they managed pretty well together with occasional help from her mother Connie and son Joe. “I thought we’d finalised all our events for the festival week.”

  “So did I – what’s happened?”

  Eleanor spun the shop diary around for her colleague to see. “I opened my emails to discover that the author I had lined up as our star turn has pulled out leaving me well and truly in the custard.” She closed the diary with a bang.

  “Oh dear, that is bad timing.” Erika grimaced. “I suppose there’s always Lavinia Threlfall if we get desperate.”

  “True – her Gothic roma
nces might not be to everyone’s taste, but she certainly has plenty of devoted fans.”

  “Who – as we know – are guaranteed to turn up and buy books, which is brilliant, although the shop does smell of patchouli for days afterwards.”

  “Her readers are a loyal and interesting bunch, but I feel we’ve ‘done’ Lavinia. Do you remember the book launch a couple of years ago when we turned off the lights and draped the place in velvet?” Eleanor laughed. “The shop looked like something between a souk and a bordello.”

  “That’s not an evening I’ll forget in a hurry. It was one of our most lucrative events ever.” Erika had been Eleanor’s good friend and right-hand woman for five years and shared the responsibility for entering the shop’s figures into their accounting system.

  “It was also the night young Georgie came into our lives or Joe’s, to be more precise.”

  “They make a sweet couple.”

  “They do. My son is a very lucky chap to have such a sparky young woman take him on. I’m sure a lot of girls would find his chilled-out, ‘surfer dude’ approach to life annoying, but Georgie loves him. I guess being an Aussie she understands Joe’s obsession with throwing himself into the sea at every opportunity. It’s a shame Georgie is hard at work in London and Joe’s still dossing in my spare room.” Eleanor frowned. Although Joe was now in his late twenties, he showed no sign of wanting to fly the nest. In that, he was quite different from his twin Phoebe, who was working near her father’s new home in Canada. “Anyway, back to the matter in hand – this gap in the schedule. I need to find an author with a high profile locally, but whose books we can sell to both men and women – which definitely rules out Lavinia.”

  “Yes, there aren’t many men who’ll confess to enjoying her passionate tales about lords of the manor and buxom wenches with an unhealthy interest in fresh blood.”

  “No, sexy vampires are not easy to sell to our male customers. They are more likely to go for biography or history.”

  Erika chewed her pen, thoughtfully. “What about inviting the local history chap to talk about the lighthouse? Or the old farmer who was in the Secret Service? They always guarantee a healthy audience.”

  “They’re both great, but neither of them has a new book out and everybody in Combemouth has already bought their stuff or heard their talks.” Eleanor drummed her fingers on the diary and sighed.

  “Never mind,” said Erika, trying to sound encouraging. “The festival isn’t for two months yet – there’s plenty of time to come up with a plan.”

  “Two months is no time at all.” Eleanor scanned the wall calendar anxiously. “I need a whole lot of luck if I’m going to find someone thrilling at such short notice. It would be good to come up with whizzy ideas for more window displays, as well.”

  “You mean after you’ve done the red and black ones?”

  “I think you’ll agree the blue window is one of my best ever.” Eleanor smiled. “I’ll have a chat with Dan later. He often has good suggestions.”

  “Aren’t you house-hunting again this lunchtime?”

  “Drat. Yes, I’d forgotten. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “You’re really not enjoying it, are you?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I like a bit of property porn as much as the next woman and it’s fascinating poking around other people’s homes and gardens. We’ve seen some lovely places – I can’t imagine living in any of them, that’s the problem.” Eleanor looked at the clock. “Lordy, I’d better go or I’ll be late. I’m sorry to duck out early, Erika – could you shut up the shop tonight?”

  “Sure, no problem. Let’s hope you find somewhere that’s right for you both soon.”

  Eleanor chewed her lip. “I’m sure my long-suffering husband hopes so too.”

  Chapter 5: Making Plans

  Daniel knew that to persuade his wife to move, he would have to find somewhere pretty special, but there was a problem: he was keen on modern buildings whereas Eleanor’s tastes tended towards the old and crumbly.

  “So, where are we off to today?” asked Eleanor brightly, as she climbed into the passenger seat of Daniel’s car. “Ancient or modern?”

  “I thought we could compromise and go for something late twentieth century. There’s a 1960s estate on the edge of Waterborough I fancy taking a look at. It’s quite a landmark. What do you reckon?”

  “If you’d like to,” said Eleanor, doing her best to sound upbeat. The town was twenty miles away, which was a problem in itself as far as she was concerned. One of the many joys of living next to the shop was that she had zero commuting to do. After a lifetime in London, this was something she really appreciated. Now the longest drives she had were trips up to the cliff top or around to the next beach to walk the dogs with Daniel. These were journeys she loved even on winter’s days when the wind howled and waves crashed onto the sand.

  Daniel gritted his teeth, determined not to be defeated. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by how light and airy new properties are in comparison to our ancient houses.”

  “Sure,” said Eleanor, trying to sound positive when the voice inside her head was screaming “No!”

  It turned out to be another unsuccessful session. Eleanor hated the houses and, although she did her best to be noncommittal, Daniel figured it out. Nothing was said, but a dark mood came over him that didn’t lift until they were walking along the beach with the dogs. It’s not easy to stay gloomy when you’re in the centre of a whirl of canine noses, paws and tails, but still the couple walked back to Daniel’s sea-front house in silence.

  As Eleanor fed the dogs, Bella and Crumpet, her husband crashed around the kitchen, grumpily gathering ingredients for their evening meal. Daniel’s place was fairly unexceptional, but he didn’t care – he’d bought it after his divorce as somewhere to lay his head. Eleanor had done her best to make it homely and it was certainly less like a storage space thanks to her influence. The one thing Dan did love about it was the office right at the top of the building where he had dawn-to-dusk views of the sea. Other than that, he had no particular affection for it and had been looking forward to starting afresh with the woman he loved.

  So far it hadn’t happened and Daniel still spent far too much time trudging up and down the high street with bags of clothes, feeling annoyed when the shirt he needed for a meeting was at the bottom of the laundry basket at Eleanor’s house and not in the wardrobe in his house where he had expected it to be.

  He seemed to be in perpetual limbo, which was not a nice place to be. Sometimes he wondered if he was being unreasonable. Why should Eleanor give up her home for him? Did full-time cohabitation have to be the only way? Perhaps not, but it was what he wanted most in the world.

  Eleanor was keen to lift her husband’s spirits so decided to distract him from the subject of houses as soon as they were ensconced in the garden with a drink. The garden was on a rise behind the house and from the top there were clear views of the bay. It was a perfect spring evening, the sea was calm and inviting and there was a hint of warmth in the air that seemed to hold the promise of summer.

  “Dan, I’ve been thinking about the events we’re running to tie in with the summer festival. I’ve suddenly got a gap and I wondered whether you had any brilliant suggestions for who I might convince to come along. I’m also in need of inspiration for a special Combemouth-themed window display while you’re thinking about it.”

  Daniel shrugged. “Bookselling isn’t my area, is it? You’d be better off talking to Erika.”

  “We talked about it this morning, but I wanted your thoughts.” Noticing her husband’s sombre expression, Eleanor frowned. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No. Why should there be anything wrong?”

  “You look ever so glum, that’s all. I know you were disappointed about today’s houses – we both were – but has something else upset you? Are the clients being difficult again?”

  “My clients are no trouble.” Daniel turned to his wife and sighed.
“If you must know, I’m growing really tired of our way of living. I’ve tried my best to be patient and give you time, but I want to get on – to find a house and start married life properly. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “No, of course not.” Eleanor twirled her glass, chastened by Dan’s tone. “I know you’re keen to move and I’m sure we will find somewhere eventually.”

  Daniel laughed harshly. “What precisely does ‘eventually’ mean? How much longer is this going to take? Months? Years? It’s sometimes difficult to drag you out of the shop even to look at the places that I’ve spent a lot of time and effort finding for us.”

  “That’s not fair – we’ve seen loads of houses.” Startled, Eleanor tried to take Daniel’s hand, but he pulled away. “And I’ve been really busy – we’ve both been busy – since the wedding.”

  “The wedding was last year, El! At this rate, we’ll still be living in separate houses when our anniversary comes around in the autumn.”

  “You’re right, I know.” Eleanor nodded vigorously. “We have to keep looking until we find the right place.”

  “I wish I knew what the ‘right place’ was in your opinion: I’ve searched online and showed you every available house here in town and in all the surrounding villages. We’ve looked at old houses and modern houses, terraced houses and semis, but nothing’s ever right. I’m beginning to think perhaps you don’t want to live with me. Is that it?”

  “Of course I want to live with you, darling.” Eleanor moved closer to Daniel on the bench, managing this time to catch his hand in hers. “I love cuddling up together at the end of the day and seeing you when I open my eyes in the morning, you know I do.”

  “But not every morning, is that it?”

  Eleanor opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out as she tried to put into words her complex emotions. How could she explain, without hurting her husband’s feelings, that she did enjoy the luxury of having the whole house to herself once in a while?