Chapter 4
Wilma had decreed it spring cleaning day at Second Chances.
The plan, as outlined in a WhatsApp message to the charity shop’s three volunteers, was to do a bit of dusting, freshen up the displays and ‘make everything look spick and span and springy!’ With this in mind, Julia had dressed in serviceable khaki-coloured trousers and a loose floral top that wouldn’t be bothered by a bit of dirt.
Most of her daily clothes fell into that category, and she wore sensible, comfortable shoes in all but the most exceptional circumstances – weddings, parties, the beach – so it wasn’t difficult to put an appropriate spring cleaning outfit together.
Diane was similarly attired. Wilma, as always, was in some sort of hybrid clothing category that fell between sports gear and leisure wear, layered as the season demanded, and accessorised with the bossy sports watch that tracked her every move.
Somehow, the combination always looked rather stylish on her.
‘Oh, well now, aren’t those pretty!’ Diane exclaimed when Julia walked in. In addition to her sensible clothing, Julia had brought a bright bunch of flowers from her garden, a few tulips and poppies among the cherry blossoms.
‘I thought a bouquet would be a nice addition to the spring theme,’ she said, glancing around for somewhere to put the flowers.
One good thing about a charity shop as a place of work is that you will never be at a loss for a container in which to arrange a bunch of flowers.
Julia cast her eye over a shelf of vases and similar vessels in glass, crystal, pottery and more, in every size or shape.
And then the jugs, mugs, ice buckets and other potential flower receptacles.
She chose a simple, stout stoneware canister which might have been a sugar or flour container in its heyday, filled it with water and plonked the flowers in.
They leaned this way and that and looked perfect in a loose, unstructured way.
Julia left the flowers on the counter, and the three women got to work.
Like all rather mundane and lightly physically taxing tasks, the spring clean was easier and more pleasant than anticipated.
Rather rewarding, in fact. Wilma prettied up the front window with a garden theme.
She found a selection of gardening books, floral fabrics, a Japanese blossom print and a nice striped deck chair that Julia rather fancied for her own lawn, and arranged them stylishly.
Julia picked out books to arrange on a Spring Reads!
shelf by the door, and dusted everything down.
Diane spent her time removing the coats and woollens from the clothing racks, to be replaced by more summery clothes from the capacious storeroom.
‘You do know there’s going to be an unseasonable cold snap any day now,’ she said with some satisfaction.
‘Really?’ said Julia, peering out of the window at the baby blue sky. ‘It looks like spring is properly here, and my nose is telling me the same. The sneezing! I must say, though, I haven’t seen the weather report.’
‘No need. It happens every year, as soon as I rotate the clothing stock for the season,’ Diane said cheerfully. ‘I am personally responsible for the last miserable wintery spell.’
‘The power of you, Diane!’
‘I know. Remarkable, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I won’t tell anyone it’s your fault. They won’t be pleased. There might be repercussions.’
The tinkle of the bell above the door signalled the arrival of the day’s first customer, Nicky Moore.
‘Hello, ladies,’ she said, stepping inside the shop. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘So far…’ said Julia, catching Diane’s eye with a laugh.
‘I thought spring was just not going to bother to come at all,’ said Nicky.
‘All that rain. And then these beautiful days all week. You appreciate that when you’ve been cooped up in the house with a young one, I can tell you.
Not to mention the mud – how old are they when they learn to wipe their feet?
Anyway, today is so pretty, you can’t help but be happy.
Well, not everyone, I suppose. Did you hear about my second cousin’s first husband? ’
The women were still grappling with the quick change of topic, not to mention the genealogy of the people in that last sentence, when Nicky said, somewhat impatiently, ‘Basil Crow. The man who died at the meadow.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Nicky. My condolences. I had no idea you were related,’ said Wilma.
‘We weren’t, really. It was a starter marriage, and it had no sooner started than it was finished.
Not to speak ill of the dead, but she was well rid of him.
But her second husband – I suppose you’d call him my second second cousin-in-law – Herbert, is a super fellow.
Size of a house, in the gym half the day pushing weights, looks like a bruiser, but the kindest man you’ll ever meet.
A big step up on old Basil who looked pleasant enough but…
’ Nicky paused briefly to draw breath, and added lamely as an afterthought, ‘Rest his soul.’
‘Are you looking for something in particular, Nicky?’ asked Diane. ‘Anything I can help you with?’
‘Sebastian knocked over the milk jug this morning, smashed into a million pieces. It was such a pretty one – red stripe – and a good size, not too big, exactly big enough. I thought you might have something to replace it.’
‘Ah, let’s have a look.’
While Nicky and Diane rootled around for a jug, Julia surveyed the spring reads shelf, which was now neatly stacked with easy, enjoyable books.
She was quite pleased with the way she had arranged the spines by colour, like a rainbow, the reds and oranges moving into the blues and purples.
Together, they promised hours of seaside romances, cosy murders in pretty villages, renovated ruins in Provence, hilarious romps with wildlife.
Wilma was busy with the window display, so Julia went into the back room to make tea and surreptitiously check her phone.
The Southern Times newsletter popped into her inbox, as it did every morning. She hoped for an update on Basil Crow’s death, and there it was in the lead story, under Jim McEnroe’s by-line.
EXCLUSIVE!!! The Meadow Murder: Was it a robbery? Or something more sinister?
Julia clicked through to the article, which was thin on facts, but rich in speculation and innuendo, dressed up with drama and sprinkled with question marks.
The only new information Julia gleaned was that Basil worked as a consultant to the council, and had had a restraining order against him sixteen years prior as a result of a disagreement with a neighbour over a boundary issue.
The neighbour had clearly not got over the incident despite the passage of time, because he referred to Basil Crow as ‘very unreasonable and extremely rude’.
This seemed like rather a long time to hold a grudge, and she wondered that Jim thought it worth printing.
It seemed a bit unfair to malign a dead man for a nearly two decades old neighbourly spat.
She reread the article to see what exactly it was that Basil consulted to the council about, but no information was forthcoming.
A new-fangled way of saying that he did absolutely nothing, thought Julia with a sigh.
She scrolled down the headlines and clicked on another story: Could rabies be making a comeback?
Make sure your dog is safe! Rabies? Now that was alarming!
Or not, as it turned out. There was no actual rabies in the Cotswolds, or, in fact, the whole country.
The article was a reminder for people to vaccinate their dogs.
With another irritated sigh, she put away her phone. Only just in time, as it turned out. Wilma came in as she pocketed it, and reached for the kettle. Wilma was quite disapproving of the use of phones during working hours.
‘Ah, great minds think alike!’ Wilma said, over the sound of the water filling the kettle. ‘I was about to do the same.’
They returned to the front of the shop in time to see Nicky leave with a pretty pink milk jug, as Gina McFarlane came in.
Julia always felt a bit strange – defensive and apologetic and threatened, all at once – when she saw Gina, who flirted outrageously with Sean when she saw him.
There was the usual commentary on the fine weather, before Gina cut to the chase with, ‘Well now, Julia, I heard you found Basil Crow?’
Julia was taken aback. Her name hadn’t been in the press – which was exactly how she liked it. Gina interpreted her hesitation as confusion, and added, helpfully, ‘The dead man.’
‘I did,’ said Julia.
Julia sensed rather than saw Wilma and Diane look at her in amazement. There was an expectant silence, which Julia did not fill with additional detail.
‘Terrible for you, you poor dear. Was it very grim?’
‘Yes.’
‘Crime is out of control, isn’t it?’ said Gina, not to be deterred.
‘Well, I’m not sure if that’s quite true,’ said Diane.
‘The papers are saying there’s been a crime wave,’ Gina continued. ‘Did you know that someone’s been breaking into houses?’
‘Well, not breaking in, as such,’ clarified Julia, but Gina had no time for pedantry.
‘A house right next door to me, robbed on Sunday afternoon while they were out walking the dog. Peculiar, nothing valuable missing, only a plastic necklace. But still, can you imagine? Right next door.’ Gina gave a shudder.
‘Gosh, that’s scary for you, Gina,’ said Wilma.
‘And then, days later, Basil Crow. Although, not to speak ill of the dead, Basil Crow wasn’t very well liked.
He was married to my stepsister, you know.
Long time ago now. But it didn’t last. A right misery, and I’ve never met a man more tight-fisted.
She had to save up the old tea bags, can you imagine? ’
Julia’s brain felt very tired trying to work out how Gina and Nicky were distantly related via the one woman’s stepsister who was – what was it? – the other’s second cousin. Fortunately, the sound of the kettle boiling gave her an excuse to abandon the task.
However the family tree worked out, one thing was clear – Mr Crow was not universally loved.