Unsolved Murders and Mysteries

Dana had stared so long at the computer that the numbers on the screen were beginning to swim. She sighed with relief as the bell over the shop door jangled and Mrs. Busby entered. Hiring Mrs. Busby was one of the few decisions she had not second guessed since leaving her law career to start the bookshop in an abandoned High Street grocer’s shop in the scenic town of Little Brooking.

“Hello, love. Let’s have a cuppa before we start work. I'll put the kettle on.”

“If we have work,” Dana said.

Mrs. Busby bustled around in the kitchen making tea. She passed a mug to Dana and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Been looking at the accounts again, love? Are we in the red?”

“In the pink,” said Dana. “Not as bad as I’d feared, but not as good as I’d like.”

“Don’t get discouraged. Been talking to your mother? That always gets you down.”

“She thinks I went crazy after watching too many YouTube videos about restoring old properties and that the whole project is doomed,” Dana said with a sigh.

Mrs. Busby laughed as she rinsed the mugs.

“Let’s prove her wrong. I’ve had an idea.”

She cleared her throat.

“The Toddlers’ Story Hour is going really well on Wednesday mornings.”

Dana grinned.

“All credit to you. You’re a great storyteller, and your animal noises are impressive.”

Mrs. Busby chuckled.

“The legacy of being a pre-school teacher for thirty years. I’ve been thinking we should expand our activities. What about a monthly Unsolved Murder and Mystery Book Club?”

“Most of our regulars are retired ladies. Wouldn’t they be more interested in gardening or cooking?”

“Not at all. They’re ready for a change,” said Mrs. Busby. “Women are the biggest fans of true crime, and the primmer and more proper they are, the more they love it. We can pick a different book about an unsolved case each month, with all the appropriate trigger warnings in case anyone gets the vapors.”

“Are you speaking from experience here?”

“Guilty as charged,” said Mrs. Busby. “I love a good crime story. We could start with a local mystery.”

She handed Dana a paperback entitled ‘The Femme Fatale of Little Brooking.’

Dana skimmed the blurb on the back of the book.

“The May-December marriage of Colonel Lucas Farrington of Brooking Manor and his second wife Silvia, a former showgirl, abruptly ended when he was found dead in December 1920 in his Bentley sports car. An accidental overdose of cocaine…or was it? Lady Silvia alleged suicide. Pansy and Hobart, the adult children of his first marriage, alleged something more sinister…”

Dana raised her brows.

“Really? Hard to believe something like this happened in sleepy Little Brooking. Is there anyone still around who’d be offended by us discussing this?”

“I doubt it. It was a sensation at the time but it happened over a hundred years ago. Read the book and tell me what you think. Oops, better go. I hear the bell.”

She hurried back to the shop. Dana followed, happy to ring up the purchases of an elderly man with a white toothbrush mustache who had selected books on woodcarving, bird watching and painting in oils.

“I’ve been under my wife’s feet since I retired. She says I must find a hobby or else,” he said as he paid, bright blue eyes twinkling.

“Maybe she’ll like this,” Dana said, slipping a pretty bookmark with pressed flowers into one of the books. “Good luck!”

Business was brisk for the rest of the day. As they closed the shop, Dana gave Mrs. Busby a hug.

“A few more days like that and I’ll be able to breathe easier. Now I’m off home to read that book and have a glass of wine.”

“See you tomorrow,” Mrs. Busby said, laughing.

Mrs. Busby was already in the shop by the time Dana arrived the following morning, clutching a large cup of coffee and yawning.

“It’s your fault if I’m sleepy. I was up until the wee hours reading that book and I’m still not sure what happened. Why would Silvia kill him? She had money and position as his wife. Without him, she’s just another pretty, not very talented girl on stage.”

“What about the life insurance money? That’s motive,” said Mrs. Busby. “She could be a merry widow instead of being tied to a husband thirty years older than her.”

“His children certainly thought she was a golddigger. But perhaps he was worried about her future if he died. He’d seen a lot of horror during the Great War. We’d probably say he had PTSD and addiction issues nowadays. I couldn’t believe how easy it was to get cocaine and opium back then.”

Mrs. Busby chuckled.

“Listen to us. We’d better save all this debate for the book club. I got my granddaughter Lois to put it on the shop Facebook page and to make posters. I’ll display the book now.”

Dana allowed herself a moment to enjoy the shop as she watched Mrs. Busby happily fussing around setting up the book and poster. Retaining the old counter of the original grocer’s shop during the renovation, she had installed antique wooden bookcases and furnished the shop with overstuffed armchairs, colorful rugs, plants and reading lamps. It was cozy and welcoming, if she did say so herself. The shop door opened and the elderly gentleman with the toothbrush mustache from the previous day appeared. He greeted Dana and Mrs. Busby and began to browse. After a while he approached the register with books on baking, bee keeping and model airplanes.

“My wife says I’ve been driving her crazy since I retired,” he said. “I’ve been ordered to find a hobby or else!”

Dana, momentarily nonplussed, realized that he had no recollection of their previous conversation. She smiled as she slipped another bookmark into his bag.

“Maybe she’ll like this,”

He stared at the book club poster as Dana rang up his purchases.

“An unsolved mystery book club. What a splendid idea, especially with a local mystery,” he said. He tipped his hat as he left. “Thank you, my dear.”

Dana had just sat down in her office when Mrs. Busby came in, looking puzzled.

“Dana, where’s that book? I could have sworn that I put it out on the display.”

“You did. I wonder if Mr. Mustache took it. He was very interested in the topic.”

“Mr. Who? Oh, that old man.”

“I’ll see if he’s outside.”

Dana rushed outside and scanned the High Street. She spotted Mr. Mustache coming out of the chemist’s three doors down and ran towards him.

“Mr. Mu…I mean, sir! Can I speak to you for a moment?”

To her surprise, he glanced over his shoulder at her and hurried off, stepping out into the traffic. There was a screech of brakes as a car halted, knocking him down. Dana clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream. She rushed to his side, relieved to see that he appeared to be stunned but not seriously injured.

“Call an ambulance!” Dana barked at the bystanders, realizing that she had left her phone in the shop. Books were scattered around, including ‘The Femme Fatale of Little Brooking’. Without thinking, she grabbed it. Sirens wailed and she was pushed aside as paramedics elbowed their way through the crowd. Trembling, she returned to the bookshop and flopped down into an armchair, still holding the book.

“What on earth?” said Mrs. Busby. “You’re white as a ghost and there’s a police officer coming this way. I’ll put the kettle on.”

She disappeared into the kitchen as the policeman entered the shop. Dana explained what had happened

“I don’t know why he ran off. I wasn’t chasing him or anything. I thought he’d picked the book up by mistake. Will he be okay?”

“Looks like it. They’ve taken him to hospital to check him over. He was a little confused.”

“I wonder if that is new,” said Dana. She recounted how the old man had not seemed to remember their conversation from one day to the next.

“We’ll know more after we speak to family,” said the officer. “Plenty of witnesses say it wasn’t your fault, so don’t worry. We’ll be in touch if there are any questions. Bye now.”

Mrs. Busby returned carrying two mugs of tea.

“I’d give you something stronger if we had it,” she said. “Meanwhile, I’ll put that book where it belongs. How do you feel? Do you want to close for the day?”

“Tea is perfect, thanks,” Dana said. “We can’t afford to close. I’ll be fine.”

She took her tea and returned to the office.

An hour later, Mrs. Busby poked her head round the door.

“Do you have a minute? There’s someone here who’d like to speak to you.”

A weary-looking middle-aged lady stepped into the office and Dana offered her a seat.

“Hello, I’m Dana. Mrs. Busby, could you…”

“Put the kettle on? Of course, dear.”

The woman smiled.

“I’m Joyce. Reginald Morgan, my father, was in the shop earlier before the accident.”

“Ah, Mr. Mustache,” said Dana. “Sorry, not to be rude, but I didn’t know his name. Is he alright?”

Joyce nodded.

“He’s got some minor contusions, but he was very lucky. Nothing broken. He scared the poor driver half to death, though.”

“He says his wife has been telling him he needs to get a hobby,” Dana said as Mrs. Busby returned with the tea.

“That’s part of the problem,” Joyce said, wiping her eyes. “His wife, my mother, died five years ago. We realized recently that he hasn’t been coping well on his own, so my husband and I brought him here to live with us. He often doesn’t remember that she’s gone…in fact, his short-term memory is very poor. He also startles easily. He probably had no recollection of taking the book or who you are and panicked. Not that I am blaming you,” she added hastily.

“That must be really stressful for you,” said Mrs. Busby. “I’ve lived here all my life. If you need help finding services, just say the word and I’ll be glad to help.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Joyce. “We’ve only been here for a couple of years and were just getting to know people ourselves. My husband and I both work full time, but it seems like we can’t leave Dad alone all day anymore. No telling what trouble he might get into.”

“I think there’s a day care program at the Senior Center. Why don’t you investigate signing him up for that?” Mrs. Busby said.

“In the meantime, if you need a break, bring him over here and let him browse for an hour or two,” said Dana. “You can bring the books back later before you get inundated. And for a little recreation for yourself, come to our Unsolved Murders and Mysteries Book Club. Some crime and mayhem might take your mind off things!”