Page 51 of Christmas at the Little Bookshop by the Sea

‘Uh-huh. I’m deadly serious. There’s no way I’m gonna let that brute Dodgy Duck, or whatever the plonker’s called?—’

Florrie snorted, almost choking on her tea. ‘It’s Dodgy Dick, but I like Dodgy Duck. It has a wonderfully comedic ring to it, that somehow suits him so much better.’ She and Jenna dissolved into a fit of the giggles, Jenna’s cackle filling the room.

When their hilarity had finally subsided, Jenna elaborated on her suggestion, saying how she was planning regular visits to Micklewick Bay and that she’d be staying with Jack.

Interesting!

‘We could use the opportunity to do a further book signing session. In fact, if it works for you, I could probably squeeze one in just after Christmas, if you fancy? I’ll let you know the dates I think I’ll be here, and we can take it from there,’ Jenna said with a wide smile.

‘That would be brilliant, thank you!’ Florrie’s mind set to work straight away. It wouldn’t matter if the book signing was organised at short notice, Jenna was so popular, she was sure it would be a success.

‘Now, this is strictly confidential, cos it’s just very early stages – though you can tell Ed, of course,’ Jenna said, conspiratorially, her hazel eyes twinkling, ‘but Jack and me were actually talking about organising some sort of book festival for the town in the summer, like.’

Florrie gave a gasp of delight. ‘Oh, wow!’ she whispered. ‘That would be fantastic!’

Jenna beamed at Florrie’s reaction. ‘I’m chuffed to bits you like the idea. We thought we could get a few authors together, do some talks, Q&As, workshops, that sort of thing. We could maybe even hold some of the events here, if you fancy? Really showcase this gorgeous gem of a bookshop.’

A wave of excitement rushed through Florrie. ‘This is like a dream. It would be awesome to hold some of the events here. In fact – keep this to yourself, though it’s okay for Jack to know – but Ed and I have plans to extend the bookshop and create a tearoom here. Like your book festival idea, it’s very early days but we’re currently having plans drawn up that involve converting the flat upstairs.’

Jenna’s eyes grew wide. ‘A tearoom in a bookshop? Could there be anything more perfect?’

TWENTY-EIGHT

FRIDAY 15TH DECEMBER

Leah was helping local taxi driver, Joe Taylor, choose a book for his wife, Ceri, whose birthday it was that day. He’d been the first customer through the door just as the bookshop opened, apologising for rushing in and explaining how he’d forgotten all about the significance of the day until their four-year-old daughter had run into their bedroom bright and early, wishing her mummy a happy birthday. With his wife being an avid reader of cosy mystery books, and a regular at The Happy Hartes Bookshop, he thought he’d be able to redeem himself by stocking up on a few novels by her favourite authors, though he was struggling to remember what books she’d read. After pulling an “oops!” face, Leah had volunteered to help and had accompanied him to the relevant aisle.

Florrie was holding out the card reader to a customer when PC Nixon’s square-shouldered frame stepped through the doorway of the bookshop. Her stomach clenched as anxiety took a hold of her. She knew the reason he was here and the reminder wasn’t at all welcome, especially when she’d been distracted by what Jenna had told her yesterday.Talk about life being like a roller coaster!

The police officer hung back until Florrie’s customer had gone, the bell above the door chiming noisily. ‘Good morning.’ He stepped forward, giving her a friendly smile.

‘Good morning, PC Nixon. I’m guessing you’re not here to buy a book?’ She gave a small laugh, attempting to make light of the situation while the turmoil inside her was escalating.

‘Not today.’ He smiled kindly.

‘Can you just keep an eye on things for a few minutes?’ Florrie asked quietly as she passed Leah on the way to the reading room with the police officer.

Leah nodded, throwing Florrie a concerned smile.

Florrie closed the door softly behind them. ‘Is there any news?’ she asked, her stomach in knots. She wished Ed were here with her, he’d remember everything that was said. She was feeling so nervous, she was sure her brain would struggle to hang on to a single word of what PC Nixon was about to share with her. ‘Ed’s just had to pop back home for a minute. He shouldn’t be too long.’Actually, he’s been more than a minute, he must’ve been gone well over an hour.He’d made some excuse about heading back home before the bookshop had opened which she’d thought odd at the time, setting a fresh flurry of worries rushing around her stomach. His lack of communication was frustrating at times. She swallowed the ball of nerves that was clogging her throat.Park that for now, Florrie, you can wonder what he’s been up to after you’ve heard what PC Nixon has to say.

‘That’s okay, if you don’t mind me telling you on your own?’

‘No, that’s fine. Please, have a seat.’ She pulled out the wooden chair opposite and dropped into it, hoping her jitteriness wasn’t obvious to the police officer, willing the news he was about to deliver to be nothing horrendous.

He sat down, removing his hat and placing it on the table in front of him, smoothing his closely cropped dark hair withhis hand. ‘Right, well, I can tell you that the couple you pointed out in the video footage and the photos were Dillon Swales and his mother, Patricia. She’s sister-in-law to none other than Micklewick Bay’s very own Dick Swales, probably better known as Dodgy Dick.’

‘Oh, right.’ Florrie’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. ‘Unfortunately, the woman who gave my dad and Jack the run-around wasn’t called Patricia Swales. She told them her name was Sylvia Hicksworthy.’

‘Ah, well, interestingly, Patricia was a Hicksworthy before she married Dick’s brother, Ron, thirty odd years ago. I expect she was using Sylvia instead of her real name, because she knew her little cherub of a son was planning on getting up to no good here. And I suspect she fabricated the story about having her name on a waiting list.’

‘That’s what we thought.’

‘But there’s no doubting it’s her in the photograph and video footage, my colleagues back at the station have confirmed that. And as for that daft lad of hers, I knew he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you’d think if he was planning on getting up to no good, he’d at least have the sense to hide his face.’

‘Lucky for us he didn’t, though,’ said Florrie. ‘Or his mum, come to think of it.’

‘Aye, he obviously gets his lack of sense from her. Anyroad, useful as it was in pointing us in the right direction, it turns out we didn’t actually need the video proof of Dillon Swales’s presence in your shop since his fingerprints were found in the kitchen here, on the jug as well as on the handles of the back door and yard door. Thankfully for us – but a fundamental mistake for him – he didn’t think to wear gloves.’

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