Flora and Sylvie’s task was to work out whether Benedict had had the opportunity to set up the explosion of glasses in the cabinet. Flora didn’t believe that the shop was cursed, which meant there had to be some practical explanation. Was Benedict the smasher?
‘Can we do a reconstruction in the shop?’ Flora wondered.
‘I don’t see why not,’ Sylvie said. ‘Tilda might ask what we’re up to. And it might be a bit embarrassing if Benedict is there. But a little bit of embarrassment is no reason not to do something.’
Flora sighed. Actually, she didn’t like being embarrassed at all, but Sylvie, who wanted to be an actress, had elephant-hide skin.
They walked to the shop.
Tilda was at her desk at the far end of the room. She gave them a smile and a wave, but without much enthusiasm. Even the bright colours of her clothes couldn’t disguise how miserable she was.
Flora said hello, but Sylvie moved straight into position. ‘Right,’ she said, in a low voice so that Tilda wouldn’t overhear, ‘we got here on Tuesday at 6.40 p.m. We rang the bell and Tilda let us in. The others hadn’t arrived.’
‘We came and stood here,’ Flora said, taking over the story. She moved to the refectory table. They now stood between the cabinet and Tilda’s desk. The entrance was beyond the cabinet. Flora tried to remember every second of that evening: what she’d said, what she’d done, what she’d seen. ‘It was getting dark outside; the market was packed up. You said something to Tilda about a sleepover in the shop.’
Sylvie nodded. ‘That’s right. Then Benedict came in.’
‘But we didn’t know he was Benedict.’
‘Not until Tilda made a big fuss of him.’
‘Well, he is her nephew.’
Sylvie looked at the door. Flora followed her gaze. They both remembered Benedict sweeping open the door, beaming at Tilda, announcing himself to the shop and everything in it. Even them, until he realised they weren’t customers.
What had he done next?
Taken off his scarf. Hugged Tilda. Accepted the offer of tea. Had he gone near the cabinet before Piotr, Minnie and Andrew arrived?
‘You know, I really don’t think he did,’ Flora said.
‘No, me neither.’
It was deeply frustrating. They had had the suspect right under their noses, but hadn’t seen him do anything remotely suspicious.
‘Aunt Tilda!’
Flora and Sylvie exchanged looks. Benedict’s shout had come from the back of the shop.
‘He’s here,’ Sylvie hissed.
They heard him bustle closer.
‘I’ve got another brochure for Spain. The climate is so much more forgiving. Oh.’ He stopped when he saw the twins. He gave a tight shake of his head. ‘Tilda tells me you mean well, but this shop isn’t a playground. I’m not sure you should be here. Unless you want to buy something?’ he added hopefully.
‘They’re not doing any harm, dear,’ Tilda said. She patted Benedict’s arm. ‘And the shop is so quiet.’ She picked up a leaflet from the desk. Flora saw photos of white houses with terracotta roofs on the front.
Benedict turned his back on them very deliberately and leaned over the leaflet. ‘That one looks lovely,’ he said. ‘If I wasn’t going to be so busy here, I’d join you.’
‘Are you going on holiday?’ Flora asked, stepping closer.
‘Something like that,’ Tilda replied. ‘Benedict here is going to run the shop for me, so I can rest.’
‘You’re giving him the shop?’ Sylvie exclaimed.
Tilda opened the leaflet and stared at the pictures of sandy beaches and sapphire-blue seas. ‘It was always going to be his, once I retire. It is a family business, after all. It was my dad’s before me, and his dad’s before that. This is just handing it over a little earlier than planned, that’s all.’
‘When?’ Flora asked.
Benedict stepped between Flora and Tilda with another leaflet. He gave it to his aunt. ‘No time like the present,’ he said breezily. ‘It’s been a difficult time for Aunt Tilda.’
‘The present?’ Sylvie said. ‘You mean, like, right now?’
‘The next few days, yes,’ Benedict said. ‘What do you think of Tuscany, Aunt Tilda?’
‘I expect it’s very nice at this time of year, thank you, dear.’
Flora raised her eyebrow. Benedict was moving fast. He was practically shoving Tilda out of the door!
But how would they prove it?
She was about to speak when she heard a trilling sound come from Benedict’s pocket. His mobile. He answered it smoothly: ‘Benedict Meeke speaking.’ Then he listened, making agreeing murmurs and mutters.
He hung up and gave Tilda a broad smile. ‘It’s been a wonderful afternoon getting to know the ins and outs of the shop, but I’m afraid I must leave.’
Tilda nodded. ‘Of course, dear, it’s getting late. We can sort out the details tomorrow.’
Benedict dropped a kiss on his aunt’s cheek and picked up his jacket and scarf from a nearby chair. He nodded curtly at the twins, then he was gone with a tinkling of the bell.
Flora looked at Sylvie and tried her very best to send her thoughts into her twin’s brain. Luckily, they didn’t have to rely on paranormal activity, as it seemed Sylvie was thinking the exact same thing. ‘We have to go too, Tilda,’ she said. ‘We’ll probably see you again tomorrow. Bye!’
Sylvie grabbed Flora’s wrist and together they raced out of the shop.
Just in time to see Benedict disappear around the corner, heading towards the end of Marsh Road, where the gallery and grill restaurant stood.
Sylvie picked up the pace, with Flora close behind.
They were gaining on him now. But he didn’t look back. He was intent on his destination.
Theatre Square.
A bench.
With a woman sitting on it.
Her little dog barked. She stood, opened her arms. Benedict stepped into her embrace. They kissed.
‘Yuck,’ Flora said.
‘Wow,’ Sylvie said.