Fiona later discovered that two things had alerted Gail to her perilous predicament. Gail had been taking a breather from cleaning the floor of the Cats Alliance, which Sophie insisted should be clean enough to see her face in or there’d be trouble — a mystifying and impossible task when one considered that the floor was covered in carpet. But that was Sophie for you. She ran a tight, hygienic ship. As Gail had switched off the hoover, she’d happened to notice Stewart leaving the bakery and heading into Dogs Need Nice Homes. She hadn’t seen the knife, but she had noticed him go in and abruptly turn off the lights. It had seemed a strange thing to do, unless he’d gone to show off the luminous dial on his watch like kids used to do at her school in the seventies. But she had doubted it was that.
So, flicking the lights off hadn’t been enough to set alarm bells ringing, but as he’d entered the shop, Gail had got a clear view of his back and spotted what was clipped onto his belt. Being an electronics expert, she knew a mobile phone jammer when she saw one. To the untrained eye, it would have looked fairly innocent — just an odd, chunky thing that most people would have thought was a walkie-talkie. But Gail knew better. Anyone carrying a device for disrupting mobile phone signals into a darkened shop was definitely up to no good.
“I bet it felt good, cracking him round the head with that hiking cane,” Partial Sue said.
Gail took a massive bite of chocolate cake. “’S’right.”
They’d arranged a celebratory tea in Dogs Need Nice Homes in Gail’s honour. If it wasn’t for her, Fiona wouldn’t be alive, and the real killer would have got away with it. Again. They’d pulled out all the stops, offering a vast selection of cakes from Waitrose (they’d had to resort to shop-bought cakes, as no one had seen Oliver after he’d been released), and they’d even splashed out on a tablecloth, all to say thank you.
“I really owe my life to you, Gail,” Fiona thanked her for the umpteenth time. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you, anything you need . . .”
And for the umpteenth time, Gail refused. “’S’right.”
Daisy raised her teacup. “How about a toast to Gail?”
“That’s a great idea,” Fiona agreed.
They raised their teacups and clinked them together. “To Gail!” they chorused heartily.
Gail flushed with embarrassment. Being the centre of attention was an alien concept to her. She clearly wasn’t comfortable and didn’t know where to look.
“Now, I have a question ask you, Gail,” Fiona said gleefully, catching Partial Sue and Daisy’s eyes. “How would you like to be part of our little investigative trio?”
“Make it a foursome,” Partial Sue suggested.
Daisy screwed up her nose. “That sounds wrong. A quartet.”
“Yes, quartet. How would you like to be the fourth wheel of our investigative quartet?”
Gail went quiet, not that she was ever loud or said anything consisting of more than one or two syllables.
“You’re not sure,” Fiona said. “I get that.”
Gail nodded.
“You need some time to think about it,” Partial Sue added.
“’S’right.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.” But Fiona could tell that the answer would be no, regardless of how much time she took. Gail was a loner, and happy to be so. That was absolutely fine. Some people just preferred their own company. But despite this, she wanted Gail to know that she wasn’t alone. She had friends, people she could turn to, even if she never socialised with them. Emergency friends, as it were.
“On another matter,” Partial Sue said, “if you ever get fed up with Queen Sophie, you know you’re always welcome to work here.”
Gail smiled and blushed some more. All this attention and offers of jobs were overwhelming for someone who didn’t get very much of either.
Speak of the devil. The bell above the door rang as Sophie flung it open, never one to shy away from making an entrance.
“Hello, ladies. What’s all this in aid of?”
“None of your business,” Fiona replied.
“Maybe, maybe not. But I’ll tell you what is my business — Gail, you need to come back to work. You’ve had your fifteen-minute lunch break.”
“I think she’s allowed more than fifteen minutes,” Partial Sue pointed out.
“Not on my watch. Come on, Gail. Off we go.”
Gail took the hiking cane from her side and placed it deliberately and carefully on the table in front of her. After the incident with Stewart, she’d taken to carrying it everywhere, and not to aid her walking. More as a talisman or a badge of honour and, in Sophie’s case, a warning.
The manager of the Cats Alliance grimaced at the sight of the stick covered in little metal badges naming places such as the Brecon Beacons, the Lake District, the Yorkshire Dales and other famous UK walking spots. This was the cane that had knocked out a serial killer, wielded by someone who might be described by an American, as “a bit of a badass”.
Sophie gulped hard. “But I’m sure a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.”
“I think Gail can take all the time she wants,” Fiona suggested. “Don’t you agree, Gail?”
“’S’right.”
“Fine.” Sophie turned tail and exited the shop as fast as her expensive spiked heels would carry her.
All four ladies around the table burst into fits of laughter.
After Gail had left on her own terms, when she felt good and ready, Fiona, Partial Sue and Daisy cleared away the cups and plates and ensconced the leftover cake into Tupperware boxes. They’d made a good job of demolishing most of it.
Daisy was about to embark on the washing-up in the storeroom when the doorbell signalled a customer. Rather sheepishly, a middle-aged man stepped inside.
“Good afternoon,” the ladies said in unison.
The man nervously glanced around.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Fiona asked.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “To be honest, I’m not here to buy anything. Actually, I don’t even know if I’m in the right place.”
“What place were you hoping to be in?” Daisy asked.
“Well, I’ve heard there’s a charity shop in Southbourne with three ladies who are very good detectives. That wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”
They all looked at one another, never ones to blow their own trumpet.
Fiona cleared her throat. No point in beating around the bush. “You’re in the right place. This is the Charity Shop Detective Agency. How may we help you?”
THE END