The Charity Shop
A humorous short story of crime and suspense
Copyright 2012 Dorte Hummelshoj Jakobsen
My crime fiction blog: DJ´s krimiblog
Cover photo: Ellen Nielsen
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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What the reviewers said about "The Cosy Knave", the first Gershwin & Penrose mystery:
“The people living in this sleepy little village all have their faults, secrets, and motives. In contrast with the coziness of the setting, the story has real suspense and danger. An excellent choice for cozy mystery lovers.”
"If you like the Midsomer Murders television series, based on the mysteries of Caroline Graham (and which the The Cozy Knave actually mentions), you are a fair way toward enjoying this book already."
"Cozy mysteries like “The Cosy Knave” transport readers into a kinder, gentler world for a fun escape. I loved the clever names, the plays on words, the humor, and the peaceful world that Dorte Jakobsen created. Rhapsody is a sleuth you’ll pull for."
I
- You´re that new constable, aren´t you?
Constable Archibald Penrose nodded warily, stealing a look at the gaunt man with the stoop who was sitting next to him on the bench. He had only been in Aldburgh for a few days, and his superintendent had assured him the job would be a piece of cake. But here he was, three days later, stealing out of his office for ten minutes to eat his sandwiches in peace.
- You see, I really thought the new second-hand shop was the answer to all our prayers. The leaky church roof, you know. Central location and all.
Penrose nodded again. - I see.
- Poor Chesterfield and his delusions I can live with, but all their other stories. King George and his nose and all that... The dog-collared vicar sucked his cheeks in. - Avarice is such a mean character trait, don´t you think?
- Ehm, yes, vicar, I´m sure you are right.
- Sorry, I´m afraid I forgot to introduce myself. Reverend Sheridan Thwing. St. Bartholomew´s, you know.
- Constable Penrose, Penrose said, relieved that this time he did know. No one in Aldburgh could help spotting the square, Norman tower of St. Bartholomew´s.
This time it was the vicar who nodded. - Good to know they´ve sent someone here. If... But no, I´m sure it´s just Chesterfield. He hesitated. - And Chippendale, of course.
- Perhaps you should ask someone who knows more about antique furniture than I do, Constable Penrose ventured.
- Brilliant idea, Constable! Reverend Thwing´s hollow face lit up for a second. - But where...
Constable Penrose threw the last bite of his ham sandwich into his mouth and grabbed the vicar´s hand firmly in his. - It was good to meet you, Reverend Thwing. I´m sure we´ll meet again soon.
He rose from the bench and moved away like a constable on important business. Only two weeks, he whispered. Two weeks, and Constable Askwith´s paternity leave will be over.
II
- My husband seems to have gone missing somehow. The tweed-clad woman ran a hand through her hair. - At least he´s not where he should be.
- Good morning, Madam. And whereabouts is it he should be? Constable Penrose rubbed gummy sleep from his eyes, hoping he looked more vigilant than he felt. It was very early Sunday morning, and he had been busy stopping a pub brawl only a few hours ago.
- In the shop, of course.
- Pardon me, but what shop?
- The antique shop, of course. Don´t tell me you´ve been in Aldburgh for four days without noticing our chic shop because then you won´t be much help when it comes to spotting a missing antique dealer either. She shook the untidy shock of hair energetically.
- Ah, you mean the second-hand shop on the village green. The charity shop. Penrose felt he was doing extremely well on an empty stomach and no coffee in sight, but her clouded face told him he couldn´t have been further from the truth.
- We prefer to call it an antique shop, you know. We wouldn´t want all sorts of riff-raff on our premises so to pique the interest of the upmarket clientele, we always call it the antique shop.
- Quite, Ma´am. But now your husband has gone missing, you said. In his stupor, Penrose wondered if the haystacky woman could be good for the shop´s reputation, but he was too wise to say so.
- Come. Come along with me, and I´ll show you. She curled her chubby fingers invitingly in front of his eyes.
He had figured out she was the kind of person who would brook no argument so he rose and followed her, ordering his stomach to stop grumbling. Why was it all these Aldburghers believed the whole world knew all about them and their affairs?
- See? There´s our shop. Chesterfield´s Antique Furniture. Proudly, she pointed out the wooden sign which said ´Second-hand furniture´. And underneath it ´In aid of St. Bartholomew´s roof´.
- And your husband was supposed to be in the shop? On a Sunday morning? Penrose wondered if she had checked under the duvet where any sensible creature would be hiding out at this time of the day.
- Oh, yes, definitely. Sunday is the best day for American tourists so he´s always behind the counter himself at the weekends. As any retailer would know. She sent him another withering glance.
Penrose nodded, cowardly choosing the path of least resistance. He opened the shop door, noticing the tell-tale bell above his head, the general impression of clutter and a ghastly smell. He clasped a hand in front of his nose. - Oh dear, when did you last see your husband?
- Let me see. I went to bed a little after ten o´clock, and Earl stayed up, fiddling with that silly stamp collection of his... Oh, you´re thinking of the smell?
Penrose nodded, trying his best not to gag.
- That´s just one of their experiments. You´ll get used to it in a week or two.
- Their experiments?