Chapter Seventeen
“Do you have anything by David Copperfield?” an elderly man asked me as I carried boxes of stock out to the two shopping trolleys Morrie purloined from the market early this morning. It was the day of Mrs. Scarlett’s funeral, and I’d arrived early to sort stock for the church fete.
And also to see Heathcliff and try to get some reading from him about last night, but that was bloody hopeless. The two grunts I’d received upon presenting him with coffee this morning could hardly be interpreted asMina is hot as fuck and I want more of her body.
If Mum could come up with a Heathcliff-to-Human dictionary, I know at least one person who’d buy a copy.
“Ma’am?” The customer waved a hand in front of my face. “Where would I find the famous author David Copperfield?”
“Oh, sure. That way.” I plastered a smile on my face and waved him in the general direction of the Literature section. Maybe he’d grow a brain by osmosis.
“Last night must’ve gone well,” Morrie mused as we pushed the trolleys over to the church and found our table. “You’re not correcting a customer’s literary knowledge, and Heathcliff was singing in the shower this morning.”
Despite myself, my stomach fluttered. “What was he singing?”
“I wouldn’t take it personally, but ‘You Give Love A Bad Name.’”
I punched Morrie in the arm. “Shame on you for being mean to me through Bon Jovi.”
“You love it, gorgeous.”
“If you must know, the date did go well.” I leaned over our boxes to peck Morrie on the lips, too scared to do anything else lest I incur the wrath of one of the choir ladies bustling around the church car park. “How much are you wanting to know?”
“Give me every gory detail.”
“I can’t do that.” My cheeks burned, and Morrie laughed. “But I can tell you that we discovered something interesting about King’s Copse. There’s a row of tiny stone cottages on the edge of the wood. From the looks of them, they’re old workers’ accommodations. I know there used to be an ancient wood mill out there. You can see some of the ruins in the wood if you’re there during the daytime. I’ve never seen the cottages before, but they must be standing on the land Gray Lachlan needs for the development.Andwe saw Ginny Button drive up to one of the cottages with Sylvia Blume. Miss Blume got out of the car and went to the door. She had a key so she must live there. Ginny ran after her and was threatening her. Miss Blume yelled back that she knew what Ginny had done, and she wouldn’t get away with it. It might not mean anything in relation to the murders, but…”
“It’s another connection.” Morrie nodded. “I’ll find out everything I can about Sylvia Blume and her cottage, and about this Ginny Button.”
Morrie lifted the boxes from the trolleys and I arranged the books across two trestle tables, careful to keep the religious books separate from the popular fiction. Beside us, a man draped a blue cloth over his own table and arranged iron pokers and wine racks in a pleasing display. As he turned to speak to a customer, I thought I recognized his deep voice and German accent. He was the man who spoke to Miss Blume from his window last night!
Maybe I don’t even need Morrie doing an illegal search to find out what’s going on. I stepped into the man’s stall.
“These are beautiful.” I picked up one of the wine racks. It was shaped like a dog, and when you inserted the wine bottle, it became the dog’s body. I thought Mum would love it, but it was more than I could afford. “Did you make them all?”
“Ja,” was the reply. “Thank you for compliment about my craft. I am blacksmith. I have a small forge on my property, and I even extract and smelt the ore myself.”
“Is it difficult to do?”
“It is hard work for one person. In Germany, I worked with three other craftsmen, and we would travel around medieval markets and sell our work. But then my parents died and left us only with this small house here in England, where we used to come for holidays in happier times. My sister and I moved here a few years ago and I turned small outbuilding into my forge, so I have not the space to hire more craftsmen. But I do okay. I travel around the markets in the area, and I do commissions for people – gates and balustrades and such things.”
“You live out by King’s Copse, in one of the little cottages.” His face twisted in surprise, and I added quickly. “I was walking with a friend there yesterday, and I noticed your truck. What do you think about that big development that’s going in?”
“The new houses are very ugly and I will be sad to leave the wood. But they have offered a lot of money to buy our land and tear down the cottages. The money would build a bigger forge somewhere else, and maybe hire a team again.” He glanced toward the church, where the Banned Book ladies bustled about, arranging flowers and setting out program baskets for the funeral. “I suppose with her dead now, the development might go ahead.”
“You live next door to a woman in my book club, Sylvia Blume. She was the friend I was walking with.”
“Yes, Sylvia. The fortune teller.” It was hard to tell from his tone what he thought of her.
“How is she as a neighbor?” He frowned at my nosy question, and I thought quickly. “It’s just that she’s seemed a bit quiet and reserved lately, and I’m worried about her.”
“She reads fortunes and forages for herbs. She had argument with other woman last night, but that’s all I know. I don’t like to gossip about neighbors. I just work in my forge. Not care about what happens around me.”
“Helmut, ich habe dein Mittagessen mitgebracht.” A familiar voice said behind me. Greta from the bakery held out a plate piled high with sandwiches and cakes, and the blacksmith – Helmut – accepted it with a smile. Greta nodded at me in her curt way. “Hallo, Mina.”
“Hi, Greta. It was nice of you to come for the funeral. I know Mrs. Scarlett was a frequent customer of yours. She spoke so highly of your baking.”
Greta nodded again. “Ja. It is very sad. Mrs. Ellis asked me to provide refreshments. I have a stall over there.” I followed her finger to a table groaning under the weight of cakes and sausage rolls and pasties.
