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Harold had built and painted three new birdhouses. He had made one look like a mansion and even painted a fountain on the front. It was unnecessary, but he enjoyed doing it. He had tiny brushes and a lot of patience. He moved swiftly in his wheelchair even if the grass wasn’t the easiest to navigate. He had two birdhouses on his lap, while I carried the other one. I put it down on the ground by the oak tree at the edge of the cemetery and removed the older birdhouse. They would be added to Gil’s market stall; he sold antiques and objects crafted by talented members of the community.
“If I ever decide to move into a cottage, make sure you get me one too,” I said as I bent down to pick up the new birdhouse. It smelt of paint.
He chuckled. “I’ll make you one that looks like The Wicked Bookworm.”
“No way, that would be so cool,” I said as my eyes widened. “I might want to live in it myself.”
“That might be a good idea. I don’t think the birds do. It’s just that I like making these birdhouses, and they look cute.”
I hung up the first house and took a step back to admire it. “Well, you’re right about that.”
We continued hanging up the other two houses and then joined Eleanor in their back garden with lush rosebushes and other plants and flowers. The garden was thriving in the summer heat and bees and butterflies were frequent visitors. Eleanor had put out lemonade and lemon tarts. The sky was turning pink as the sun was setting.
“How did you enjoy your first day of the Summer Festival?” Eleanor asked. She was wearing a summer dress with white flowers. Only during summer did she wear dresses, even though they looked so good on her. Her other outfits were a lot more reserved and bland. Not too long ago my wardrobe could have been hers. I was glad I was putting in more effort into my clothes, shoes, and even handbags. Not that I was doing that for anybody else. Not even for Alistair.
“In fact,” Detective Black said, startling me. “I believe he called you perfect once.”
I felt my cheeks get warm and was sure I was blushing.
“It was fine,” I said and took a sip of the cold drink.
“Alistair had a stand-off with Pandora, I heard.” She smiled. “He also walked Beth and Poppy home. He advised them to drink lots of fluids in this warm weather and even bought them a lot of water bottles. Delivered them right to their doorstep with DC Daniels.”
“Really?” I asked.
“He seems like a good man,” Harold said.
Eleanor studied my face. She knew all about what had happened to us when he first moved back.
“He is,” I said. And he was. He was also very human and had made some bad decisions, but so had I.
“Speaking of good men.” Harold cleared his throat.
“Oh, boy,” Detective Black said.
Harold only did that when he had something serious to discuss. The last time he cleared his throat was when he wanted to discuss the dangers of cycling with untied shoelaces. Apparently he had witnessed someone fall off his bike and right into Pandora, who had seen it as a full frontal assault. It ended with a trip to the hospital for the poor bloke. He hadn’t stopped cycling, but he had become a strict vegetarian after that.
“I met this really nice man when I went to visit a family in Green Field; the mother is an old friend of mine. He ended a relationship about six months ago, and we chatted about how difficult it is to find someone interesting these days. These were his experiences, not mine.” He winked at Eleanor, and she giggled. “But it’s something I hear a lot, including from you.”
I see where this is going. Towards the edge of a cliff.
“Listen—” I started.
“You just say the word, and I’ll give you his number. If you don’t ask for it, that’s also fine. Now, have a lemon tart.” He winked at me.
I couldn’t say no to that. The tart, not the phone number.
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IT WAS DARK BY THE time I returned to my flat. Christina was on the sofa with Snowball. She was trying to teach her to come when she called her name. Apparently bunnies could be taught to do tricks. I had seen videos. It was amazing.
“Hey,” I said and plopped down next to her. “Today was fun, huh?”
Christina picked up Snowball and snuggled with her. “Yeah. Listen, I need a favour.” Her voice had gone up, and she refused eye contact.
I swallowed.
“See, this is what happens when you’re too social,” Detective Black said. “People are nothing but trouble. You should be writing. I want to solve a murder.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“First of all, I want to thank you for letting me wallow and get over Alistair. I really appreciate it. I’m very close to being over him, I just need one more thing. And I think only you can help me.”
I waited.
“Don’t ask me how I know this, but every Wednesday Alistair leaves the house for an hour and then comes back. The thing is, I have the feeling that maybe he cheated on me right before breaking things off with me. I think he might be seeing that woman every Wednesday. I need you to find out if it’s true. Be a sleuth again.” She glanced at me, gauging my reaction.
“You don’t want me to ask him, you want me to follow him and find out where he goes?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I know you must think I’m terrible for asking this, but he was acting so weird before we broke up. He stopped being...you know, physical with me when moving here.”
“Gag,” Detective Black said. “Too much information.”
I rubbed my temple. “I—I don’t know.”
“Please, I need to know.”
I contemplated telling her about the almost-kiss, but decided against it. What if I had imagined the vibes he’d thrown me? What if she was right, and he was seeing someone? What if he was a cheater just like my ex?
Don’t think like that. But it was too late.
“I’ll do it,” I said.
She beamed at me. “Great. I’m so lucky to have you.”
“And I’m lucky to have you.” I fished out a pocket knife.
Her eyes widened. “Oh oh.”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “I found this at the market today. I’m going to keep it on me, just like Detective Black will once I start writing chapter five. Anyway, I need you to tie me up again. I want to see if it works.”
“That’s just the thing to do on a Monday night,” she said while a smile tugged on her lips.
“What can I say? Writers are weird.”
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THE NEXT MORNING I got up early to get some writing done. It had taken me six and a half minutes to get out of the rope, and it had given me extra motivation to write. Detective Black was going to get into trouble, and I was looking forward to it.
“Sadist,” he muttered next to me.
I finished one and a half chapter by noon and had a piece of toast before heading down to the bookshop. Christina and Eddie were working. They wouldn’t be attending the reading, but that was alright. I didn’t want to close The Wicked Bookworm and lose potential customers. The Summer Festival brought a lot of extra sales.
Just as I was about to head out, Miles Mortimer strode in. He was dressed in a white shirt and khaki shorts. I met him when I got into trouble with the law, and he was friends with Alistair. He’d recently moved into the Pembroke because apparently he liked living in a cursed deathtrap of a place. Not to mention, people had died there. The Pembroke Hotel was built by a serial killer. But no, instead of buying a cute cottage, he had to buy that awful place. Okay, it was beautiful, but Alistair and I had nearly died there, not to mention Victor Woodsbury actually had.
Miles shot me his dazzling smile when he saw me and ran a hand through his light-blond hair. In a way, he reminded me of Alistair. They both valued their appearances and aimed to look professional. They were childhood friends, and Miles had grown up in Castlefield but then moved away. Now he was back and though he seemed nice, I hadn’t spent much time with him.
“The always gorgeous Maggie,” Miles said as he approached me. “How are you?”
“It’s probably a good thing you haven’t met my aunt yet. If you greeted her like that, she’d probably hit you with a kettle.”
He raised an eyebrow and looked around, as if she would jump out at him any second. “I’ll keep that in mind. Listen, I have a massive library filled with books that aren’t mine. Some of them are quite old, some are new. You can have whichever you like, or donate those you don’t, I don’t care. I’d like to fill it with my own books, renovate it so it becomes a study that will actually be used. Will you help? You can just show up whenever you want, there’s no deadline.”
I frowned. “Are you planning on opening the Pembroke as a hotel again?” This was something the entire village wanted to know. Miles didn’t hang out at the pub, and I was certain he’d hired someone to do his shopping for him, so nobody saw much of him.
“Not anytime soon. First I want to make it my own. I’ve only just finished renovating the bits that were damaged by the fire.”
The fire that had killed Mr Field. Another one to add to the death list. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather live somewhere less...homicidal?”
He chuckled. “The past is the past, dear. It’s a beautiful place that deserves to be treated well, not shunned because of what people did in it. Besides, don’t you believe in second chances?”
That was a good question, and I couldn’t help but think about my mother. She rang me a couple of days ago, and according to my aunt, she was doing well enough to leave the mental hospital soon. It had been a long time since I’d seen her, and I preferred it that way. Still, some nights I’d lie awake and think about what it could be like. A version where we were all happy, together. “I believe in second chances,” I said. “Just not more than that. But I’m glad you’re not opening it to the public, it might keep the death count steady.”
“I do plan on that.” He smirked. “So are you in?”
“I’m in. I can’t resist books. And food.”
He chuckled. “Good, I’ll make sure there will be both.” He handed me a key. “You’re welcome to let yourself in any time. Don’t give that key to anyone else, though. Obviously.”
“Got it.” I immediately put it on my key chain and slipped it back into my yellow handbag. It stood out against my red dress. “Will you check out the reading today?”
“I’ll probably check it out. No promises. I abhor the heat.”
“Me too. I put on two extra layers of sunscreen, but by the time the Mystery Readings are over, I’ll probably still be red as a lobster.” I made a face.
“It would match your dress,” he said.
“Glad you’re looking on the bright side. I’ve got to go and make preparations. See you.”
“Bye.”
I left him behind in the bookshop and headed outside where the heat hit me like a brick wall. I had to resist the urge to run back inside where there was air conditioning. It was slightly warmer than yesterday, and I was certain the universe was out to get me.
The Mystery Readings would last about two hours since we’d also be doing signings. Harold and Eleanor had summoned volunteers during this Summer Festival to help out.
Tomorrow, for instance, me and the half of the Castlefield Book Club would help out with the pie eating contest. Today Stanley, the baker, and a bunch of his mates had set up the table for the signings. They had provided a sheet that functioned as a parasol. But the actual readings were on a wooden platform with one microphone and five wooden chairs placed in a row. There was no protection from the sun. I should have put on a hat.
Plastic chairs had been put out in front of the platform. There were enough for an audience of about sixty people. Others could stand. I wasn’t sure how many people would show up to this. This was the first year we were doing something like this.
All I could do was hope it would be a success.
“Besides,” Detective Black said, “what’s the worst that can happen? It won’t kill you, will it?”
I glared at him. “Don’t you dare jinx this.”
A scream filled the air.