Cook hurried down to the green cafeteria, where Mrs. Weedon could usually be found dozing beside the kitchen range or reading thrillers. But today she was nowhere to be seen. Cook found her, at last, in the yard outside the kitchen, feeding an evil-looking dog.
"Bertha, what on earth are you doing?" cried Cook as the animal bared its teeth and lunged at her.
"Poor thing, it's hungry," said Mrs. Weedon. "It's a stray. I'm very fond of it. And so much food goes to waste in this place."
Cook had given up wondering why Bertha Weedon always looked so sour. She decided that the poor woman probably couldn't help it. After all, being married to Mr. Weedon could be no picnic.
"Why are you all dressed up? You're on duty," said Mrs. Weedon, looking at Cook's woolly hat.
"I'm hardly dressed up," said Cook, "but as you rightly point out, I am supposed to be on duty, except I'm going out, so you'll have to do dinner tonight."
Mrs. Weedon put her hands on her wide hips and stamped her foot. "Why should I? Where are you going?"
"I'm visiting a sick friend. She's very ill. No one else to look after her.
So toodle-loo!" Cook stepped nervously around the dog, which now had its nose in a bowl of cold stew, and ran up the flight of stone steps that led to the road. Ignoring Mrs. Weedon's indignant shouts, she hurried down to High Street and then on into the old part of the city. She was quite out of breath by the time she reached Cathedral Close, and thinking of a nice cup of tea, but as she approached the bookstore, something happened that put the cup of tea completely out of her mind.
Two figures stepped out of the bookstore, slamming the door behind them so that the bell rang frantically and the glass pane at the top of the door rattled alarmingly. The strangers did not look at all like Miss Ingledew's usual customers. One wore a white undershirt and camouflage trousers, and the other was dressed in a hooded black tracksuit. They were both laughing in a rather unpleasant way.
Cook shrank against the wall as the men jogged past her, chatting in low voices. She couldn't hear what they were saying and hoped they wouldn't notice her, but unfortunately, the undershirt man caught sight of her bright red hat. "What're you looking at, Grandma?" he shouted in a mocking voice.
Cook was tempted to reply that she was too young to be a grandmother and who was he to cast aspersions when he was wearing a silly undershirt on a freezing March night. But she thought better of it and kept her mouth shut.
The two men ran on, laughing, and eventually turned onto Piminy Street. "I might have known it," muttered Cook as she hurried toward the bookstore. She thought of her friend, Mrs. Kettle, the only trustworthy person in Piminy Street, all alone now on a street of thugs and hooligans and probably worse.
When Cook reached the bookstore she found that the closed sign had been removed and, looking through the window, was horrified to behold a scene of utter devastation. Piles of precious books lay strewn across the floor. Two shelves had collapsed, the ladder that was used to reach the highest shelves was broken, and the cash register had been turned on its side. Miss Ingledew stood leaning against the counter, her hands covering her face, while her niece, Emma, knelt on the floor and smoothed the pages of a large, leather-bound book.
Cook rang the bell and then knocked frantically. "Julia!" she called. "Julia, let me in."
Miss Ingledew lowered her hands, revealing a tearstained face, and wearily climbed the steps to the door, unlocking it with trembling fingers.
"My dear!" cried Cook, entering the store. "Whatever has been happening here?"
"I hardly know where to start," said Miss Ingledew. She locked and bolted the door, then followed Cook down into the shop.
At that moment, Olivia Vertigo appeared through the curtains behind the counter. She was carrying a tray containing three large mugs and a plate of cookies. "Hello, Cook," she said cheerfully. "Do you want some cocoa? It won't take a sec."
"That would be nice, dear," said Cook, gazing around the shop, her horror growing every second.
Olivia put the tray on the counter and retreated behind the curtain, saying,
"Okeydoke."
"What can I do to help?" asked Cook. "Oh, dear, dear me. Those wonderful books. Have you called the police, Julia?"
"I did," said Emma. "They told me they had a lot to deal with tonight, and if we hadn't actually been burgled, which we haven't, then we weren't a priority."
"But they've done so much damage," cried Miss Ingledew. "My books are priceless."
"Tell me everything." Cook took Miss Ingledew's arm and drew her into the little room behind the store. Here there was yet more chaos. Books open, their pages torn and crumpled, lying all over the floor.
Miss Ingledew sat on the edge of the sofa with Cook beside her and in a tremulous voice began to describe the events that had followed the arrival of the two threatening-looking strangers.
"I had some very important customers and they didn't leave until half past six," Miss Ingledew explained, distractedly lifting her mug of cocoa to her lips. "I was just about to put the 'closed' sign up and lock the door, when these two villains pushed their way in, nearly knocking me over."
"I saw them!" Olivia came in with another mug of cocoa and handed it to Cook, saying, "I'd just come from dinner at Charlie's place—boy, what a lot he's been through, I can tell you—anyway, when I came into the bookstore, I saw these men hauling books onto the floor. It was pretty scary. They said they were looking for a box, and if I knew anything I'd better come clean. Well, we all know what box they meant, don't we? But I wasn't going to say anything."
"They seemed to think it might be hidden in one of my larger tomes," said Miss Ingledew, "but they just hauled the whole lot out and shook them, as if they were ... as if they were so much... trash. They rummaged under my counter, turned over the cash register, and then started in here. Olivia came and shouted at them, but they just laughed. One even threw a book at her."
Miss Ingledew's shoulders heaved. "And then they went upstairs."
Cook put an arm around her. "There, there, my dear. It's all over now. I don't know—all this fuss over a box that might contain a will. And even if it does, and Billy Raven proves to be an heir, what's the point of all this trouble if Billy is lost to us?"
"He isn't," Olivia said confidently. "Charlie will get him back." She skipped across the room and through the curtains, back into the store.
"Well, it's good to see that someone is optimistic," said Cook.
"She's a treasure," Miss Ingledew declared. "She's always cheerful and such a help. I know people think she's a bit odd, in those rather flamboyant clothes of hers. But then, her mother is a famous film star, so what can you expect?
She often stays with us when her parents are on location, and Emma loves her company." Miss Ingledew wiped her nose and actually smiled.
Cook decided that her own news could wait until the bookstore had been put to rights, and with the four of them working together, they managed to clear all the books away in both rooms in under an hour.
"I'll have to get the ladder fixed," Miss Ingledew said ruefully. "But I'm almost ready for business again." She beamed around at them. "Thank you all so much."
"And we've still got Sunday," said Emma. "I'm sure Mr. Yewbeam will mend the ladder for you."
"No, he won't," said Miss Ingledew in a slightly bitter tone. "He'll have better things to do. I tried to call him when those ruffians came in, but he didn't pick up, and so far he hasn't even bothered to return my call... a distress call at that."
There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Olivia suggested that Paton was in a place where his cell phone couldn't get a signal. "He did look a bit preoccupied when I saw him earlier," she said.
"He told me he was coming around after dinner this evening," Miss Ingledew said coldly. "So where is he?"
"Held up?" Cook helpfully suggested. "In times like these, anything can happen. Now I want you all to sit down and listen to what I have to tell you.