A Tale of Two Bodies Read online

  A Tale of Two Bodies

  Waterfell Tweed Cozy Mystery Series: Book Two

  Mona Marple

  Copyright © 2017 by Mona Marple

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For A

  My inspiration, my reason why

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Honey For My Honey

  Thank You For Reading

  About the Author

  1

  “You’ve outdone yourself!” Sandy said, after a few moments of making appreciative noises as she sampled Bernice’s latest cake creation.

  “Do you think?” Bernice asked.

  “It’s far too nice.” Coral agreed, taking another bite of her own sample slice. “This won’t be any good for my hips.”

  The three of them were standing in the kitchen of Books and Bakes, Sandy’s bookshop and cafe, hiding out from the crowds for a few seconds on a busy day.

  The upstairs bookshop had been open for six weeks and, as Sandy had hoped, it had transformed the business. While her cafe remained a popular haven for the villagers themselves, people flocked from far and wide to see her lovely books.

  “Hello? Is anyone serving?” Someone called from the counter. The three glanced at each other and laughed and Sandy and Coral returned out front, leaving Bernice to finish decorating her new cake.

  “Sorry Dorie.” Sandy said, not surprised to see her most regular customer standing at the till. Dorie was small and round with hair like candyfloss.

  “Don’t let this success go to your head, you still need to look after your best customers.”

  “You’re right,” Sandy said. The best way to handle Dorie was to agree with her. “What do you fancy? Do you want to sit down and I’ll bring it over?”

  Dorie looked around her from side to side, as if scared her cake order would be overheard. “I actually need a book, could you help me find the right one?”

  Sandy laughed. She had dreamed of her days being full of requests like that ever since she opened the shop. “Of course I can. Coral, mind the till while I go upstairs with Dorie.”

  She lead Dorie to the back of the coffee shop, through the small section of downstairs books. She’d extended the cafe area a little when she extended into the upstairs space but had kept some of the most popular books on the ground floor too. Things like children’s books and local interest stood with pride to catch the cafe visitors’ eyes.

  The upstairs was larger than the downstairs. Sandy had thought it was a trick of the mind when she first saw the space, but her landlord Ignatius Potter confirmed her suspicions.

  It was a beautiful space, renovated with a careful hand to keep the original wooden beams. The windows had been replaced throughout the years but kept as similar in character to the original sash windows as they could. While he was an eccentric man, it had to be said that her landlord cared about the appearance of the village. All of the properties he owned - and there were plenty of them - were managed in a similarly sympathetic way.

  “Here you go, Dorie. Are you after something in particular?”

  Dorie had visited the cafe almost daily since it had opened, and usually alone. She’d never bought a book in all of that time.

  “It’s a present.” Dorie said, glancing at the bookshelves as Sandy paced the length of the upper floor with her.

  “Who for?” Sandy asked.

  “That’s a personal question.” Dorie scolded.

  “It will help me suggest ideas if I know who we’re looking for,” Sandy said, surprised by the woman’s secrecy. Dorie was the biggest gossip in Waterfell Tweed.

  “It’s a gentleman,” Dorie admitted.

  “Ok,” Sandy said. It would be Dorie’s son, Jim. The two of them were very close. “How about a nice leather journal?”

  “Oh no, no, I don’t think so.” Dorie said.

  Sandy continued walking through the aisles, wondering what Jim would appreciate as a gift. It was a momentous occasion, a local wanting to buy a gift from her bookshop, and she needed to get it right. Dorie trailed behind her, appearing uncomfortable around so many books.

  “What about this history of the police force?” Sandy asked. Jim was a local police constable. According to Dorie, he ran the whole of the local police force.

  “Don’t you have anything more exotic?” Dorie asked. “Travel? Something like that?”

  Sandy returned the police book to the shelf and turned on her heels towards the travel section. She had a large collection of coffee table books with beautiful photography inside. “They’re all here, anywhere in particular?”

  Dorie examined the titles without standing too close to the bookcase. The woman’s awkwardness around books made Sandy have to stifle a laugh.

  “Africa.” Dorie said, after a few moments.

  Sandy pulled out a large hardback and held it open for Dorie, flicking through the pages to show her the photographs contained within. “This is a really nice one.”

  “Hmm.” Dorie murmured. “Would a man like it?”

  “I think so,” Sandy said. “Well, I mean, the right man would. An intelligent, stylish man.”

  “I’ll take it,” Dorie said. “Will you wrap it for me and I’ll get myself a coffee?”

  “Of course,” Sandy said. “You go down and I’ll bring it to you.”

  There was a small till in the far corner upstairs, and while gift wrapping wasn’t strictly a service she had planned to offer, it surprised her how many people requested it, so she had kept a selection of wrapping paper behind the till. The till itself was usually not manned, with all customers being served at the cafe till downstairs, but as the shop grew increasingly busy, Sandy expected she would have to man the upstairs till full-time soon.

  “Excuse me?” A voice called as she worked at wrapping Dorie’s book.

  Sandy glanced up to see a man standing in front of her. His hair was bedraggled and his trousers were worn and dirty. He carried an old, and bursting full, bag for life in his right hand. “Can I help?”

  “Go’a job?” The man asked, stepping closer to Sandy. She stepped back before she realised she had. The man noticed and stepped back himself, putting more space between the two of them.

  “Excuse me? A job? I haven’t seen you around before.” Sandy said although she knew that was a silly comment. He didn’t appear to have any money to allow him to be a regular visitor for coffee and cake.

  “I ain’t been around before. Just looking for a job, lady, nowt else.” The man said, holding his hands up as if Sandy had accused him of having a gun.

  “I… erm… I haven’t got any jobs at the moment, I’m afraid.” Sandy said. “I can offer you some lunch, though, if you’d like?”

  The man eyed her. “Your customers wouldn’t like me down there with them.”

  “That’s not true,” Sandy said although it was. Waterfell Tweed could be an old-fashioned village, and many people’s opinions on homelessness were not that nice. “But I can get something brought up here if you’d prefer.”

  “Nah lady, don’t wo
rry. All I need’s a job.” The man said, already walking away. Sandy watched him, saw how he lingered over the aisles as he walked away, stopping to touch books. He picked up an illustrated poetry anthology and ran his fingers along the cover.

  “Wait, what’s your name?”

  “Anton. Anton Carmichael.” The man said, without turning back to her.

  “Give me a second,” Sandy instructed, picking up Dorie’s wrapped book and scurrying past the man and down the stairs. The cafe was bustling, and both Coral and Bernice were taking orders and serving up food. Sandy slipped behind the counter and picked up a brown bag, then selected a large slice of chocolate fudge cake for it. She pulled a loaf of bread from beneath the counter and sliced two thick doorstep slices, slathering them in butter and adding lettuce, plenty of bacon, and tomato. Then, she sliced the sandwich in half and placed that in another brown bag, and made a large coffee in a takeout cup.

  “You’re not having your lunch now, are you? We’re manic!” Coral called, whizzing past her with a single dirty plate. Coral was brilliant front of house with customers but her ability to balance the dirties needed work.

  “No, don’t worry, this is for someone else.” Sandy called as she walked through the busy cafe area and up the stairs.

  A few people were milling around the bookshelves, some with stacks of books piled high in their arms. The sight of her book stock being enjoyed always made Sandy’s heart swell.

  “Anton?” She called out, peering in each aisle. She looked for him in travel and topography, in science and self-help, in children’s and cooking. He was gone. Finally, she stood by one of the sash windows that overlooked the village square. It was raining, it had been all day, and the temperatures were approaching freezing. Just as she was about to give up, she saw a scruffy figure of a man walk past the butchers and then disappear from view.

  She gave a deep sigh and returned downstairs.

  “Are you ok?” Bernice asked, noticing Sandy’s face as she returned to the kitchen.

  “I think we’ve just had a homeless man in,” Sandy said, standing at the counter and still looking out of the shop window.

  “Did he steal anything?” Dorie called. She was sitting at her usual table, polishing off a sausage sandwich.

  “No!” Sandy cried. “He wanted a job, actually.”

  “That’s what they do,” Dorie said. “It’s called the cover. They get you talking, lower your guard, and then take what they’ve been eyeing up.”

  “That’s very judgmental, Dorothy.” Sandy scalded.

  “My Jim told me, so it’s not judgmental, it’s a police-corroborated fact,” Dorie said, her posture straightening with pride as it always did when she spoke about her son.

  “She’s right,” Bernice said. “We all need to be more careful, there’s more crime now.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes. Apart from the murder of Reginald Halfman, the village had remained it’s usual, crime-free, sleepy self. “What crime?”

  “There’s so much rubbish,” Coral said, and Sandy couldn’t argue with that. The village square was unusually messy, it had to be said.

  “I’m not sure that leaving rubbish is a huge crime, and that could be the teenagers. They’re always loitering around waiting for the bus.”

  “It’s the squatters,” Dorie said, chewing her last mouthful of food. “Lovely sandwich as always.”

  “What squatters?” Sandy asked.

  Dorie sighed. “For a woman so involved in the community, you don’t pay enough attention to what’s happening.”

  “She’s got a point,” Coral said. “Everyone knows about the squatters.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Sandy said in exasperation, and it was true. She had bootstrapped the extension as much as she could, and that had meant moving all of the books herself, buying the bookshelves at auction and assembling them herself, painting the upstairs herself to freshen it up, and giving the upstairs carpet a shampoo treatment - herself. “Will someone tell me what you’re all talking about?”

  “The Manor’s been taken over by homeless people, they’re squatting in there,” Coral said. Although she had left her journalist career behind her to come and work in the cafe, she still enjoyed breaking headline news when she could.

  “The Manor? Are you serious?” Sandy asked. Waterfell Manor was home to the Harlow family, wealthy and generous benefactors of the village. Following their daughter’s arrest for murder, Benedict and Penelope Harlow had announced they would be leaving the village for some time to spend time with their son, Sebastian, who was travelling the world.

  “It’s an awful business,” Bernice said, her voice quiet. Bernice, like Sandy, was not one for village gossip.

  “Surely the Manor wasn’t empty, though? What about the staff?” Sandy asked. The Harlows had employed a team of staff, including a full-time housekeeper.

  “There’s only Pritti, the others were hired as needed,” Bernice said.

  “I don’t understand how this could happen,” Sandy said. She was fond of the Manor house, it was such a part of the village.

  “Word spreads among these people,” Dorie said.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Sandy said. She sprinted up the stairs, thinking of Dorie’s certainty that Anton Carmichael would have been in the shop to steal. Sandy darted through the bookcases until she reached the poetry section, her heart beating in her chest until the familiar pattern caught her eye.

  She pulled out the anthology that Anton had been looking at earlier.

  It was still in perfect condition.

  2

  Sandy was going to spend a rare evening at The Tweed. The village’s pub rarely offered much more than cask ales and a roaring fire, but the landlord had announced his plans to try out a quiz night.

  It had been a hectic day in Books and Bakes, and Sandy would have preferred to be changing into her pyjamas and curling up with her latest novel, but she didn’t like to let people down.

  By the time she pulled up outside her cottage, her sister Coral was standing on the doorstep.

  “I’m sorry!” Sandy called, as she parked up. She locked the car and unlocked the door, letting Coral enter first.

  “What happened in here? It looks like a bombsite.” Coral said, looking at the piles of clothes laid out on the settee.

  “I’m having a clear out,” Sandy said. “I haven’t worn any of these clothes for years.”

  “I’m not surprised - size 10!” Coral laughed, holding up a pair of tiny jeans. “When were you ever a size 10?”

  Sandy felt her cheeks flush. “I got those to motivate me when I was trying to lose weight.”

  “Ah, that old trick. Never worked for me.” Coral said, tossing the jeans back over the settee. “Anyway, you’re fine as you are.”

  “I know,” Sandy said, and she meant it. Her body was wobbly in places, but she didn’t let it bother her.

  They were disturbed by a knock at the door. Sandy padded back into the hallway and opened the door. In the few moments that she had been inside with Coral, it had started to rain.

  “Awful weather!” Her best friend, Cass, exclaimed, darting in the house. Her sister, Olivia, stood behind her, biting her thumb nail.

  “Come in, Olivia, don’t get wet.” Sandy said. She had spent a few evenings with Olivia since her arrival in the village, but didn’t feel like she knew the girl yet. She had initially thought she was sullen, but realised that she was actually painfully shy. She reminded Sandy of herself as a teenager; awkward and self-conscious.

  “Evening!” Coral called. She was examining the rest of the pile of clothes, looking at each item before tossing it down.

  “It’s pouring down out there,” Cass told her. “I’m not driving, I need a glass of wine after this week. Ooh, these are nice.”

  “I’m having a clear out,” Sandy said. “Help yourself if you want anything, any of you.”

  Cass joined Coral in examining the clothes, while Olivia hung back by the door.

 
“These look brand new,” Cass said, holding up the pair of jeans that Coral had already examined.

  “Never quite right for me,” Sandy said, with a smile.

  “They’re nice.” Olivia’s little voice came.

  “Take them,” Sandy said. “You’d be doing me a favour.”

  Coral eyed her but said nothing.

  “Shall we get going or have a drink here before we set off?” Sandy asked, as Olivia moved into the room and joined Cass in looking through the clothes.

  “If we stay here for a drink we’ll never make it out the house. Let’s go.” Coral said.

  “Ok, well I’ll drive. I’m only drinking mocha in this weather anyway!” Sandy said.

  The four of them piled into her old Land Rover and made the short drive to The Tweed, finding a parking space on the road nearby. They sat in the car for a few moments after they had parked, none of them too keen to open the doors and get wet again.

  “I wish you’d lived in the Bahamas, or somewhere,” Olivia whispered to Cass in the back seat. Everyone laughed.

  “Waterfell Tweed is beautiful,” Cass said, her bright pink lips bursting into a smile. “Wet, and windy, but beautiful.”

  “Come on, we can’t hide out here all night,” Coral ordered, and the four doors opened. The women all broke into a run, bursting into The Tweed with such force that the landlord looked up from pouring a pint.

  “All right, ladies?” Tom Nelson asked.

  “Better now we’re dry!” Sandy said with a laugh. Tom nodded and returned to serving.

  The pub was busier than normal, but there were a few tables left. Coral lead the group to a booth near the fire, and they all removed coats and sat down.

  “Love your dress,” Cass said to Sandy. Cass was very interested in clothes and make-up, while Sandy didn’t have much time for those concerns. It was surprising that the two had been best friends for so long, considering how different their interests were. While Sandy was devoted to her bookshop and cafe, Cass ran a nail salon, and there was no better example of their different interests.