About once a month, Erika was asked to serve customers on her own while Eleanor got down on her hands and knees and rummaged through the shelves to check whether it was time for any of the second-hand books to go to the charity shop.
To Eleanor it made perfect sense in a proper, traditional bookshop to sell second-hand titles as well as the publishers’ shiny new stock. To begin with, she’d kept the new and old books in different places. Then she’d tried putting them together and discovered that customers liked the combination of old and new. She now had regulars who preferred to buy a 1960s Penguin paperback with a moody line drawing on the cover rather than a modern edition with a lurid image from the TV tie-in. It was a fairly eccentric arrangement and it made stocktaking hell, but it added to the quirkiness of the shop and her customers loved it.
Eleanor was completely absorbed in her task when Erika put her head around the bookcase and whispered, “There’s someone here to see you, boss.”
Looking up, Eleanor was surprised to see a pale figure in a long black coat and dark glasses walking across the floor. It was their local celebrity himself.
“Mr Widget, what a surprise,” she said, scrambling to her feet and brushing dust from her hands.
“Call me Bill, please.” He removed the shades, his eyes crinkling into a smile.
“What can I do for you? Sorry – stupid question!” Eleanor laughed. She didn’t know why Bill made her feel flustered. He had been around town for nearly a year and they knew each other reasonably well, but there was something about having a famous person in the shop that still made her nervous. “Are you looking for something special?” Since Bill had been spending more time in Combemouth, Eleanor had beefed up her selection of music titles and was quite proud of it. “I have copies of Twang if you’re looking for biographies of fellow musicians.”
“I’m not sure I would ever call Ivan Twang a musician,” Bill rubbed his chin, thoughtfully, “though I might have borrowed one of his riffs in 1972. And I seem to recall he copped off with my lady after the Spigot’s first Melbourne gig.” He looked at Eleanor and shrugged. “Forgive and forget, eh? Actually, I’m not here to buy a book, duck.” Bill took Eleanor’s arm and drew her to one side. “I’ve popped in to ask you something.”
“Ask away,” she said, nervously, wondering what on earth it could be. She sat down on the comfy sofa she had set up at the front of the shop and Bill took the place next to her.
“You might have heard that I’ve written my autobiography. I didn’t want to, but this chap from London made me an offer the manager couldn’t refuse.”
“Yes, I read about your book in the trade press. Well done you!” Eleanor was too polite to add that she’d read it in an article criticising publishers for paying millions for memoirs by “celebrities” barely out of their teens. Happily, Bill Widget did not fall into that category.
He looked sheepish. “Well, when I say I’ve written it, I talked into a machine for weeks on end and a grand young lass wrote it down. She asked me lots of probing questions about my dim and distant past then cleverly put the words in the right order.”
Eleanor nodded. “You mean you had a ghost writer. That’s quite common in celebrity books.”
“So they tell me. And there I was thinking those young folk off the telly who seem as thick as two short planks could actually write! Seems like cheating to me, but I do what my manager tells me to do. Anyway, I’ve read the manuscript and it’s really quite good, even if I do say so myself. There’s all kinds of stuff in there I’d almost forgotten. You know: early gigs, old girlfriends, parties, fights, more girlfriends, tours, more fights.”
Bill laughed nervously. “The present Mrs Widget won’t approve of a few of the earlier chapters, but I’ll deal with that problem when the book comes out. And I’m all Brenda’s now,” he added with a wink. “If I’ve learned one thing from my guru, it’s that you must focus on the positive and not worry about the past – que sera, sera as they say.”
Eleanor was thrown momentarily by the vision of “Fingers” Widget sitting cross-legged in an ashram with his spiritual healer. “Is your guru here in Combemouth?”
“No duck, not yet. He says he won’t come over until the meditation centre is finished so I pop over and see him in Taunton when I’m in need of spiritual enlightenment and a break from the missus. Which reminds me, I must ask Freda to give the foreman a kick up the backside over at the new house.”
“Freda? Do you mean Freya?” Eleanor tried her best to keep a straight face despite knowing how much Daniel’s ex hated the fact that Bill always got her name wrong.
“That’s the lass. Brenda can’t stand her, but she seems to be doing a good job and the builders certainly jump to attention when she’s around.” He scratched his head. “Anyway, what was I saying?”
“You were telling me the exciting news about your book.”
“That was it – the book.”
“It’s bound to be very popular locally, so I’ll do a nice window display and make sure we have plenty of copies in. But you said there was something you wanted to ask me.”
“Ah, yes. The launch. The publishers want me to have a launch party in some swanky London bookshop full of tosspots and I can’t face it. They’ve been doing their best to bully me into it, but I’ve told them I’ll only agree to a ‘do’ if we can invite my mates and have it at your shop. You are my local bookshop after all and I want to support you. So what do you say? Can we do it here?”
“Gosh, I don’t know Bill. It’s a kind thought but we don’t have a lot of space.”
“The smaller the better from my point of view. I don’t want hundreds of people turning up.”
Eleanor scanned the café and the children’s area behind. “We can move the tables and chairs out of the way to open up this space and there’s the upstairs room if it gets too crowded.”
“That sounds grand.”
She calculated the number of bodies they could fit in, thought about hiring posh glasses and wondered what snacks celebrity guests would need. “When’s the book coming out?” she asked, going to fetch the diary.
“Can’t remember – you’ll have to ask the Boss. But it’s not for a month or so yet.”
“A month? Is that all?”
“Maybe a bit longer, duck. It’s a week or so after the summer knees-up I’m opening for the vicar. There’s no rest for me!” He grinned. “As I say, you’ll have to speak to the keeper of the diary. But can I take that as a ‘yes’?”
The chance to launch Bill’s book in her shop was not something Eleanor could afford to pass over. He was a national treasure and the event would be great publicity for the shop, attracting new customers as well as locals who were rather proud of their very own rock star. She’d wanted a big name to fill the empty slot and she couldn’t get much bigger than Bill. Okay, his launch wasn’t going to be bang in the middle of the festival, but it was close enough. She nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a definite ‘yes’.”
“Ah, that’s excellent. I’ll tell my manager to give the publishing folk a call so you can get everything set up.” He stood up from the sofa, ready to leave. “I suppose I might as well buy a couple of books while I’m here.”
“Is there anything in particular you fancy? Fiction, non-fiction?”
“I’m not well read, duck. You pick me out a nice fat thriller or two and something racy for the wife.”
Eleanor smiled. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
When Bill had gone, Erika came over to join her colleague. “He looks like a happy customer.”
“He is and I’m a happy bookseller. I was beginning to worry that I wouldn’t find anyone. Worst case scenario, I was planning to drag in Daniel and Maureen to perform a double act on the theme of the Combemouth Ghost Ship.”
“Sounds like a winner to me!”
“In my head it was perfect, but standing up and addressing a crowd is Dan’s idea of hell. Maureen would have loved it, mind you.”
“While we’re on the subject of ancient history, I’ve been meaning to ask if you got any further with the Victorian case you were following.”
“I did,” said Eleanor, pleased to share the fruits of her investigations with a former copper. “I discovered that John Able was sentenced to one month’s hard labour then sent to a reformatory school for a year. I’m all for kids behaving properly, but to be put away for twelve months for a minor theft – especially as no one could prove the boy had actually stolen anything – seems excessive. But after his punishment, I don’t know what happened.”
Erika shrugged. “It probably sorted out any criminal tendencies he might have had. Children were expected to behave properly in those days. I’d bring back flogging for shoplifters, personally.”
Eleanor was shocked. “You’re not serious?”
“Okay, I might draw the line at actual flogging, but a few hours in the stocks being pelted with rotten fruit might make some of the pests we get in the bookshop think twice before nicking the novelty pencils.” Erika smiled. “A good clip around the ear never did anyone any harm.”
“You’re a hard woman.”
“Me?” Erika pursed her lips. “Nah – I’m a pussycat. Anyway, given your new interest in Victorian crime I think you should set yourself up as ‘The Bookshop Detective’. We could have a sign on the door in swirly Victorian script: ‘Enquire Within Upon Everything. No Problem Too Large to Solve.’”
Eleanor laughed. “That’s a interesting idea. And I’m sure your experience with the constabulary would come in very useful.”
“Oh, my detecting days are a long time in the past, as you know.”
“It might be some years since you put the cuffs on anyone, but you do have a nose like a bloodhound when it comes to crime. I’ve seen you identify a potential shoplifter a mile off.” Eleanor knew that Erika had come into the world as Eric and for years had fought the feelings of being born in the wrong skin. As Eric Wilmott he’d entered the macho world of inner-city policing in a bid to suppress his feminine side, eventually working his way up to the rank of Chief Superintendent before retiring on a pension large enough that he didn’t really need to work again.
With the money and the freedom from full-time employment came the freedom to change, and it was as Erika Wilmott that she now lived and worked in a peaceful corner of Devon where no one cared about her previous life.
“And my instincts are never wrong,” said Erika, with a wink.
“True. Anyway,” said Eleanor, “my investigations into the John Able case are on ice for the time being. My most urgent challenge now is to finalise arrangements for Bill Widget’s launch party.”
* * *
A few hours later, Eleanor received a very detailed email from Bill’s publishers about the book with details of the launch, including posters, a press release and a guest list.
Looking at the names, Eleanor laughed. “Good grief. Even I’ve heard of this one. Wasn’t he in the Rolling Stones?”
“Yup,” said Erika, looking at the name, “and he still is as far as I know.”
“I can’t believe these people will take the time to visit our little shop.”
Erika shrugged. “They might. You never know who’s going to turn up at these celebrity bashes.” She tapped on the calendar they had hanging on the wall behind the cash desk. “There are several big music festivals in the area next month, so some of the performers might come along to see their old friend Bill.”
Eleanor ran a finger down the list and frowned. “I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve done the right thing agreeing to have it here. We are going to be pushed for space.”
At that moment her son Joe wandered through. “Does anyone fancy a cup of tea?”
Two hands shot up.
“Thanks, love,” said Eleanor. “And when you’ve finished on tea duty, could you give Georgie a call? This is an emergency.”