I reached into my bag and pulled out The Spear Of Destiny again. It had been sitting there ever since the previous night, and now seemed a good time to remind myself about it. Some of Professor Monk’s latest enthusiasm (Biblical scholarship) had rubbed off on me, which is why I had bought it. While I couldn’t do ancient languages, I felt able to cope with this one. Even though the author was a bit over the top in his descriptions of Mystical Experiences, which he treated as matters of fact rather than fancy.
I might not believe much in magic, but there is one thing most people would agree on, and that is the idea that you can sense when someone is staring at you. I was sensing it right now: someone behind me was staring at my shoulder blades. I didn’t want to turn around quickly and alert whoever it was that I was onto them. If only the cafe had an appropriately situated mirror, like the ones that turn up so conveniently for detectives in novels. But as it turned out the mirror wasn’t necessary, because the sensation ceased as the starer rose and walked past me, pausing for a moment to look at my book, then left.
I did not get much of a look at him. Smallish, vaguely Eastern European, and utterly unmemorable. Was it me or the book that interested him? I had never seen him before, of that I was certain.
I returned to the bakery, where all was well, although Jason was cross at missing out on the fun. Goss was consoling him by showing him the video on her phone. I must say I did come across as commanding.
‘You go, Cap’n!’ exclaimed Jason.
‘Is all the bread loaded?’ I asked quietly. I really needed another cup of coffee. I wasn’t used to drinking ouzo at this hour of the morning. Jason jumped and practically saluted.
‘All the restaurant bread’s gone, Cap’n. All the muffins are shipshape.’
This reminded me of my earlier encounter. ‘Oh, by the way, Kate and Marie who’ve opened the music shop will be in for some free muffins I promised, so leave a few aside for them.’
‘Okay.’
I got some more coffee, Goss put her phone away, and the day proceeded gently, with bread sales and quiet conversation, rather than by leaps and screams. It was most soothing. Boring, perhaps, but sometimes I just like boring.
The lunch crowd cleaned us out of almost everything. I saved a loaf and some cakes for myself, not knowing if I would have visitors. I still felt a bit guilty about those poor dogs whom Heckle had probably startled into permanent conniptions. There were enough cases of PTSD around as it was.
CHAPTER SIX
Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ROMEO AND JULIET, ACT 3, SCENE 1
The panic alarm sounded at three o’clock.
The residents of Insula had agreed that our collective security needed some beefing up. It wasn’t as though any of us had put in a requisition for Adventures, with a side order of terror and kidnapping. Most of us just wanted to grow things, make things and, in my case, bake bread. But Adventures kept on happening, and as a result we had installed panic buttons in every unit, with displays showing in whose apartment the alarm had been triggered. Dion Monk’s red light was flashing on my wall, and the insistent beep-beep screamed from the speaker. I pressed the mute button, wrapped myself around with my dressing-gown, grabbed my bag and left the apartment. I had just closed Earthly Delights and had been looking forward to a pleasant afternoon nap. It did not appear that I was going to get it.
Professor Monk’s door was ajar. Mrs Dawson and Trudi were already there. Trudi – once again in shorts and a blue T-shirt – was brandishing a large garden fork and looked ready to use it. The ginger kitten Lucifer was perched in his harness on her shoulder, sniffing excitedly. Mrs Dawson – elegantly dressed despite the heat in a summer skirt, cream-coloured blouse and mauve jacket – had disdained weaponry. She nodded to me. ‘Well, Corinna? The three of us will have to manage for now.’
Trudi led the way in, preceded by the points of her weapon. And there was Professor Monk in the middle of his parlour, standing agape over a recumbent body. Nobody I knew, and no one else seemed to have any ideas as to how he had come to be so unexpectedly among those present. There was blood, though not enough to suggest imminent danger of death. The smell of it filled the room, and Lucifer was taking it in and pawing the air in excitement. It was a young man, so far as could I could see, wearing nondescript pants and a hoodie the colour and texture of decaying vegetation. I bent down beside him. He was motionless, but a faint suggestion of respiration seemed to be happening.
I looked up at Professor Monk, but his presumably unwelcome intruder was not at the forefront of his mind. He shook his head, wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief, and called out in tones of anguish and concern, ‘Nox? Where are you, my little friend? Where is my little darling? Basilissa!’
I stood up in time to see Therese Webb and an unknown woman join the gathering. Professor Monk ignored them. An expression of devotion and relief passed across his face as a small black kitten emerged from the bedroom. She was affronted. She stomped heavily across the fallen intruder towards her protector and clambered up him, pausing only at his shirt-fronted chest. She dug all four sets of claws into him as he cradled her in his ancient arms and began to coo soothingly to her in what I could only presume was Ancient Greek.
I looked again at our visitor. Still nothing happening there. I supposed we should do something about him, though I was in no hurry. Mrs Dawson watched the Professor indulgently for a while, and laid her slender hand on his arm.
‘Come along, darlings!’ she commanded. ‘Come and sit in my apartment. You shall have a stiff drink, Dion, and so shall Nox.’
The kitten looked at her with a moment’s surmise then climbed onto her shoulder. Professor Monk allowed himself to be led away, and I looked at Trudi. She was leaning on her garden fork, but the substantial muscles in her bare arms were tensed. She glared at the fallen youth as if he were an unwelcome sprout of deadly nightshade. I felt that he would be well-advised to play dead so long as she was anywhere near him.
I reached for my phone and began to dial Detective Senior Constable Letitia White, known to me as Letty through long and not always pleasant association. I thought it would save time and needless explanation if I called her, rather than having to introduce a brand new cop to my cast of thousands. At least Letty knew who we were and what we all did for a living. While I waited for the call to be answered I turned to the recent arrivals.
‘Hello, Therese. And you must be Anwyn?’ Therese’s two guests had been named as Anwyn and Philomela, but I recalled that the latter had been in an accident. This one was a plump, sturdy woman wearing an Indian skirt and blouse and adorned with a great many silver bangles and necklaces. She grinned at me.
‘Hello, Corinna. Yes, I’m Anwyn. Therese has told me so much about you!’
I nodded politely as a grumpy voice came on the line. ‘Corinna? What can I do for you this bloody awful day?’ Just for a moment I wondered if she ever regretted giving me her phone number. Then again, perhaps I was brightening up her working life and giving her diversion from the diurnal run of boring crimes and equally boring criminals.
‘Hello, Letty? Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but you did say to ring next time something untoward happened. We seem to have a body.’ I gave it a nudge with my foot. ‘I think it’s still alive, but we should probably have it seen to.’