Page 57 of A Village Theatre Murder

Julia was overcome with a feeling of generosity and love for poor Nicky, who had had a scary day. ‘Nothing. I’m going to buy it for you. It’s my treat.’

‘Oh, now Julia, you can’t do that…’

‘I can and I will. It’s always best to have a little nice thing after a horrible thing. To cancel it out.’

Nicky hugged Julia again, carefully put the bowl in her carrier bag, and went off with a spring in her step.

‘I’ll pop the money in the till when we cash up,’ Julia said to Wilma.

‘That’s kind of you, Julia. I’ll give you the staff discount, of course. And a bit extra.’

For the rest of the afternoon, Julia felt the warm flush that comes with doing a small good deed that makes someone else happy. Wilma and Diane seemed likewise infused with goodwill, and the rest of the day passed happily. They sorted the newest donations. Dusted the window display. Sold a nice set of crystal glasses to Mrs Glenn who lived in the manor, and a stupendously ugly china corgi dog to a woman who lived in Wisconsin. Found a pretty silk shift dress for a cash-strapped young woman to wear to a better-off friend’s wedding, and gave her a discount just to be nice. The day passed pleasantly, and in the quiet of the mid-afternoon, Wilma suggested that if Julia had things to do, it would be fine for her to leave.

‘I think I will, if you’re sure you can manage,’ Julia said, glancing over at the shop’s one customer – an old fellow reading a gardening book, seemingly from cover to cover. He’d been there an hour. ‘Oh, let me pay you for the bowl, before I go.’

‘Six pounds,’ said Wilma. ‘Five with the discount.’

Julia handed over the cash.

‘I must say, it’s been a good day,’ Wilma said. ‘The highest turnover we’ve done in a while, even with the discounts.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, more sales than usual, and some expensive items. Those glasses were quite a price, and the china dog, too. We even sold an expensive book. Five pounds.’

‘What second-hand book was worth such a princely sum?’ Julia asked, as she packed up her bag. The shop was the recipient of a great number of books, many boxes of them from clear-outs and downsizing, and death. Supply outstripped demand and the majority sold for a pound at most.

‘Nothing less than the bard himself!’ said Diane, with a laugh. ‘It was a lovely big old edition ofThe Complete Works of Shakespeare. Someone’s got their work cut out for them if they’re planning to read the whole thing. It’s a whopper, I tell you, and the print is tiny.’

Wilma snorted dismissively. ‘I suspect no one reads those books. Apart from anything else, it weighs a tonne. Can you imagine holding that up when you’re reading in bed?’

‘Or in the bath,’ Diane chimed in. ‘Imagine that.’

‘I reckon the chap that bought it is going to use it as decoration, or perhaps as a doorstop.’

Julia’s brain whirred around the strange coincidence of this book coming into her life twice in a week. It couldn’t be chance.

‘So, who bought it?’ she asked, hoping she sounded casual. Perhaps it was some tourist, she thought suddenly. They did tend to buy strange and pricey souvenirs. They might have got Berrywick confused with Stratford-upon-Avon.

But the answer, when Wilma gave it, was not a misdirected tourist.

The answer was far, far closer to the murder than that.

Hector.

29

Julia was thoroughly discombobulated by what she’d heard at Second Chances. She had hardly had time to think through what it might mean that it was Hector who had purchasedThe Complete Works of Shakespearefrom the second-hand shop. This was not a case of someone unconnected to the deaths randomly buying a copy of the very book that was the murder weapon. This was someone who was very, very close to the case.

She had to put aside one set of uncomfortable feelings and thoughts for another as she stopped off at the vet, knowing that the long-time receptionist, Olga Gilbert, was no longer going to be at the counter. She was no longer anywhere, the poor thing. She was dead. Both her and one of the vets, Dr Eve. Julia may have had a hand in solving their murders, but she still felt peculiar every time she walked into the vet’s reception. It felt particularly strange now, as her brain grappled with another murder.

‘Oh, hello.’ It was the new receptionist. She sounded surprised, as if she hadn’t been expecting visitors. She looked about fifteen years old, an impression not in any way countered by the rhythmic movement of her jaw engaged with a piece of gum, and the presence of an iPhone in front of her face. Shelowered the phone, popped a little bubble between her back teeth, and asked Julia: ‘Can I help you?’

Julia asked for a bag of Jake’s preferred dog food, Pheasant Flavour Doggy Chum.

‘Oh, gosh, I don’t see any here,’ the receptionist said, putting the phone down on the desk reluctantly and glancing over at the shelves of pet food. ‘I think they might have the Pheasant Flavour, but it’s in the storeroom.’ She gave Julia an apologetic look, as if she was sorry they’d come to this dead end, but there was nothing to be done.

‘Well, could we get it out of the storeroom, perhaps?’ Julia asked. ‘Or isn’t there a key?’

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