-Chapter One -

Two Things

I did two things on my sixteenth birthday. I hid under a table. Then I murdered a corpse.

Hiding under the table was less dramatic but just as messy. The table was in Nolan’s Rare Books where I worked and not more than half a mile from where I was born and raised. It hadn’t been easy getting the job, apparently some people still think that being blond and a girl means that you simply can’t know about old books. Luckily my dad, who happens to be the mayor, knocked a few hard heads together and got me the job. Being the daughter of the Mayor has its advantages.

So, the shop. Tall and ramshackle, with books on every floor, even up the narrow stairs. As a contrast, it has a bank on one side done up to look like a temple and on the other side a jewellers. A respectable place of business but it is definitely the poor relation on the street. The sign read ANTIQUARIAN BOOKS. I remember looking at those two words each time I went in, admittedly the first time I had to look up antiquarian but ever afterwards I thought, how can two words go so perfectly together and yet give so little away. Unlike the other shops that declared, in large black letters and coloured signs, every little thing they sold.

My friends said that I would get all dusty and old working in a shop like that. I hate that they think I’ve become one of those people that prefer the dusty and old to the shiny and new. They don’t understand that a dusty book is still a good read.

I was at work early; I always am. Mr Nolan was getting ready to open up the shutters when the ground started to shake. I hid under a table as shelves toppled, each triggering its own papery tsunami. It had taken me such a long time to get it all catalogued, it really was vexing. We get these tremors every now and then; I think I was six last time one this bad hit, though I don’t really remember it all that well. Still I ended up taking Mr Nolan to Dr Harris. He had a scalp wound and bled so much that I thought he was going to die.

After all that, killing a corpse wasn’t really all that dramatic.

My town was too small for its own police station. It was rare that there was any real mystery here. Everyone knew everyone else’s business, only too well.

So I was surprised when Mr Dickson, our town constable came up to me. He was wearing an expression quite unlike the one he wore when he came to speak to Dad at the Mayor’s office. “Miss Tayor I need you to come with me”, he said in an even tone.

“What is the problem?” I was still dusty and horrible, plus I was going home, so I didn’t see a reason to be polite if he wasn’t going to be.

“Miss Tayor” he repeated. “I need you to come with me” He then relented and added “I can’t say why, everyone is shaken up enough already”

“Earthquakes will do that”, I said. My attempt at marginally sarcastic humour went ignored and by his expression unappreciated. That was pretty much how most of my jokes were received; good to see that I had not lost my touch.

So, I followed Mr Dickson. I silently cursed my tongue; it always got me into trouble and probably always would. We didn’t speak again till we were both sitting in his tiny office. I tried not to grin, it had been the fitting room of a dressmakers and he did look so serious.

“When did you start working for Mr Nolan?” he asked.

“Since July, is it important?”

“Yes it is I am afraid.” “Did know him before you started working at his shop?”

“Well I know most people in this town and I’ve always liked books. So, yes, I did know him”

“I talked to Dr Harris who informs me that Mr Nolan was admitted earlier today, covered in blood”

“Yes, he hit his head in the quake” I said “It was an accident”

“Are you certain that he was injured in the quake?”

I was beginning to think that Mr Nolan might not have been the only one to have hit his head. “Yes, he hit his head on a bookshelf,” I said.

“Did Mr Nolan have any family a brother perhaps?”

“Oh, he wasn’t that badly injured.” I said, feeling relived at knowing what this was all about. “There was just a lot of blood.” Strangely he didn’t seem pleased at this news.

“Miss Tayor, I have a man who appears to be Mr Nolan’s twin dead in the overnight cell,” he said. “Now is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Eventually Mr Dickson seemed convinced that I was not a witness or perhaps an accomplice to murder. So, I found myself looking at my first corpse. I never knew Mr Nolan had a twin. What a way to find out.

The overnight cell was really the empty cellar of the dressmakers the police house replaced. It was dim and dusty but smelled better than I expected. I was a little disappointed. Less a dungeon and more a root cellar with a strong door.

The corpse really did look like Mr Nolan. They must have twins, they were so alike. I could only tell them apart by the crescent moon tattoo Mr Nolan said was a relic of his misspent youth. At least that meant the two could be told apart; perhaps that was why Mr Nolan got it in the first place, if I had a twin I wouldn’t like to be taken for the other one. Mr Nolan twin must have had very different taste in clothes. The twin was dressed in black baggy pyjamas. Which was odd enough; but they were worn over perfectly normal shirt and britches.

“He just looks like Mr Nolan but without the tattoo” I said hoping Mr Dickson would take the hint and let me go.

“I would like you to be certain. I’ll let some light in” He said as he pulled open the old coal chute hatch.

While Mr Dickson tried to get the rusted hinges open I looked down at the corpse. There was something around the twin’s neck, like a thin bit of string. I reached out and touched it just as light spilled into the cellar. There was crack like an axle breaking and the corpse jerked and half sat up.

Jumping back I still gripping the bit of string tied round its neck. It snapped. In the same moment the ‘corpse’ flopped back to the flagstones like a day old fish.

Mr Dickson just stood there open mouthed for a moment. Then he seemed to recover a little; moving over to the stairs where I had retreated, giving the ‘corpse’ a wide berth.

“Now girl don’t go thinking about ghouls and ghosties.” “Escaping gases and such can make a corpse seem to breathe, it’s natural” He said.

“That was natural?”

“Yes, not a nice thing to see I grant you but natural.”
I had either to believe him or believe that I had just murdered a corpse.

My birthday was shaping up to be memorable for all the wrong reasons. Then I ran into my friends. They practically exploded with the need to interrogate me as to why I had blood all over me and especially why I was coming out the police house.

“Ann! Liz, Its Ann. We didn’t see you earlier! Oh, how are you? Are you all right?

I smiled to show I was fine. Liz didn’t look all that convinced eying the bloodstains.

“Oh, no”, I said “Its Mr Nolan’s not mine, he fell and cut his head.”

“Have they found him then, Mr Nolan that is?” Liz asked.

“I am not sure that I should tell you” I said.

“They say he ran out of the hospital screaming, THEY COME FOR ME!” Sal said.

Sal had always had a weakness for the dramatic. She must love the thought of shopkeepers running through the lanes spouting nonsense.

In that moment I knew I had to find Mr Nolan. I think I had just met one of the ‘they’ he had been screaming about and I needed to do it before any rumours started. This town being what it is; it would not take long. Once that happened I’d lose my job and Mr Nolan would be taken off to an asylum. I hoped that I had not made things worse by running into Liz and Sal, they were both active if not malicious gossips.

Feeding Mr Nolan’s cat provided me with the excuse to hurry off. Luckily I had remembered to get Mr Nolan’s keys from him back at the hospital.

The door wasn’t locked. I frowned; Mr Nolan wouldn’t have left it like that, not unless he was in worse shape than the Doctor had made out. I pushed the door open; there were papers all over the place. Either Mr Nolan could really do with a maid or someone had been through his papers.

I poked around downstairs; there were things strewn around the floor of every room, loose papers and even books. I knew Mr Nolan would never do that to a book; someone else had been here. I thought about tidying up for him, then realised how ridiculous that sounded even in my own head. I picked a poker from by the fire instead and hoped to God that no one I knew would see me with it.

Fortunately I didn’t find anything waiting for me upstairs except more papers, a broken potter’s wheel and a charred mess in the fire. I turned it over with the poker. Well I had solved one mystery today at least; I now knew why Spot hadn’t turned up to be fed.