Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘Oh my God.’ I rushed forward, hoping I was mistaken and that the cabin door wasn’t cracked open.
‘Molly? What’s the matter?’ I heard Jack’s question.
By the sound of it, he’d jumped ashore and was heading back towards the Oxford Bookship, but I couldn’t give him an answer.
Steeling myself for the worst, I tentatively pulled the cabin door wider and stared into my living quarters.
The boat being released into the middle of the waterway could have been a badly thought-out prank, but the open door suggested much more sinister forces were at work.
I’d heard cases from elsewhere in the country where boat owners had returned to find their vessels broken into and sunk in the middle of the canal, their interiors entirely stripped by ruthless thieves who didn’t give a toss about the impact their actions would have on the individuals whose pride and joy they’d violated and destroyed.
Had the Oxford Bookship been similarly targeted?
It took my eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the shadows in the cabin compared to the sunshine outside, but it felt like endless minutes, during which I fought to control my sense of dread.
I imagined books shredded, their ruined pages heartlessly tossed around the floor, graffiti on every surface, drawers wrenched open, their contents trashed.
It would break my heart. And worse, the desecration of her beloved former home might just kill Nana Rose.
But as my gaze grew clearer, I realised the cabin was apparently untouched, my personal collection of books still neatly lined up on their shelves, the washing up still on the draining board, the cushions plumped on the bench.
Everything was as it should. Or nearly everything. The dog bed was empty.
‘Hilda?’ I called, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat and repeated my summons, hoping against hope that the reason I wasn’t hearing the reassuring tip tap of her claws clattering across the cabin floor was because I’d struggled to get her name out.
My senses were on red alert, every step I made thudding noisily in my brain as I walked across my cabin, through the bathroom and into the shop, examining each nook and cranny on my way.
Logically I knew there were no hiding places in the boat which would be big enough for Hilda to tuck herself into, but I checked them anyway, because the alternative was too hard to consider.
There were footsteps behind me, and I turned, cruel hope trying to convince me that the confident tread could actually be Hilda’s paws instead.
‘She’s gone, Jack.’ My words were matter of fact and emotionless, but the heaving sob which followed them was anything but.
He didn’t say anything but reached for me, wrapping me in an embrace which felt strong enough to keep the rest of the world temporarily at bay and let me cry into his shoulder.
I was grateful he didn’t try to comfort me with reassurances which he couldn’t guarantee.
Nothing would be okay again until I found Hilda.
After a few minutes, Jack gently rubbed a circle on the small of my back. ‘Do you feel ready for us to talk about next steps?’ he asked softly.
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling with the effort of trying to stop the tears.
‘It’s a good thing I haven’t changed out of my wet gear yet what with all the snot you’re depositing on my shoulder,’ he added. It was exactly the kind of deliberately ridiculous statement that I needed to pull myself together and snap into action.
‘Every cloud and all that,’ I said, my voice wobbly. I managed to nod at him, grateful for his practical approach. He was right. I couldn’t afford to indulge in wallowing.
‘Tell me everything you can about her last known movements,’ he said.
I nearly laughed in a strange kind of reflex response.
He sounded so like a police officer from one of my favourite crime series, an Adam Dalgliesh or a Harry Nelson.
A dependable sort, the kind of man who would seek answers and find a solution no matter how challenging a problem he faced.
‘She was messing around while I was setting up the afternoon tea. Oh heck, the afternoon tea. How on earth will I be able to host all those guests?’
‘Don’t worry about that. We’ll ask for their help in searching for Hilda,’ said Jack decisively. ‘They’re book people. I’d say that means they’re probably a pretty empathetic lot. I’d imagine most of them will be more than happy to step up.’
‘They might be nice people, but will they be nice enough to spend their time searching for a missing Irish wolfhound, having paid twenty-five quid for a Food and Fiction event?’
‘Where’s your optimism, Bramble?’ That bolstering tone was back.
‘We’ll explain they can take a rain check and you’ll run the event on another occasion.
Also, we’ve got a couple of hours before they’re due to arrive.
Anything could happen in that time. Hopefully she’ll turn up long before that. Right?’
I nodded miserably.
‘Okay, think back to when you last saw Hilda.’
I frowned, trying to picture every moment, but it had been so ordinary, so mundane that it hadn’t really registered with me. If I’d known what was to come, it would have been ingrained into my mind.
‘She was mucking around with a cushion while I was trying to get ready for the afternoon tea, so I chased her round trying to get it off her. Then I managed to persuade her to go into the cabin, and she was settling down in her bed when Becki from the Covered Market rang to say my delivery was waiting for me.’
Jack nodded. ‘Good. So, you locked up and then…’
A sudden thought filled me with horror. ‘I’m not sure I did lock up.
I can’t remember doing it.’ I knew my keys were in the pocket of my skirt; I could feel the bunch heavy against my thigh.
I searched my memory, trying to picture the moment of putting the key in the lock and fastening it, but I couldn’t summon it.
‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ said Jack in a reassuring tone.
‘It’s one of those completely routine things that your brain has probably filed away as unimportant.
I can’t generally picture myself pulling on my underwear, but I’ve never found myself not wearing it beneath my clothes.
’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry, that was a very inappropriate example. I was trying to think of something mundane and every day, but it was a weird analogy to make.’
‘No need to apologise, I get the point. The trouble is, I was so distracted. I knew that Becki wouldn’t be able to wait for long, and I rushed off to get there as soon as possible.
I usually always check the door is locked behind me.
But the more I think about it, the more I have a horrible feeling I left it open.
This is all my fault. How could I be so irresponsible? ’
Jack squeezed my shoulder bracingly. ‘There’s no point in beating yourself up about something that might not even be true. There’s the fact that the Oxford Bookship was adrift to consider. Doesn’t it make more sense that whoever was responsible for that also broke into the cabin?’
I shuddered at the thought. ‘The door doesn’t look like it’s been forced.
And if someone had broken in, wouldn’t they have nicked other stuff while they were at it?
Admittedly there’s not much in the cash box, and I certainly don’t have any super expensive jewellery, but the diamond stud which Nana Rose got me for my twenty-first birthday is still there in the tray with my other bits and bobs. ’
‘But it’s still a fact that Hilda is missing. Sorry, I’m stating the obvious yet again and making things much worse,’ he added, no doubt seeing that my face was about to crumple once more.
‘You’re seriously suggesting someone might have broken into the boat to steal my gorgeous girl?’
Jack sighed. ‘I hate to say it, but I reckon it’s a possibility we should consider. There are some very unscrupulous people out there.’
‘But I thought dognappers went after the cockapoos and other designer dogs. I love Hilda to pieces but she’s not exactly the cutesy handbag dog that someone would pay thousands to acquire.
’ I put my hand over my mouth. ‘And now I feel like even more of a bad pet parent because I’m making out that she’s some scruffy beast, which she is, but she’s my scruffy beast and I love every part of her. ’
‘Of course you do. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re an excellent dog parent. I knew within five seconds of meeting Hilda that she was an extremely well loved and well-adjusted pooch.’
‘You accused her of being a horse,’ I said contrarily.
‘And in this instance, I think her size will play well for us. She’ll stand out wherever she’s got to, whether someone’s persuaded her to go for an adventure with them, or she’s wandered off on her own accord.’
I sniffed. ‘That’s true. There aren’t many Irish wolfhounds in Oxford.’
‘Exactly. She’s very recognisable. Everyone on the Oxford Canal will know instantly who she is if they come across her. Have you checked your phone? Someone might have already sent you a message saying they’ve found her.’
My burst of optimism was short lived as I checked every messaging service. ‘Nothing. I think we should start searching along the towpath,’ I said, trying to focus on practical actions rather than letting another wave of helplessness paralyse me.
‘Good idea. Perhaps we should follow the route of your usual walk. There’s a good chance she’ll have stuck to familiar places if she has just wandered off. Sorry, I’m taking over again,’ he added. ‘Feel free to tell me what you’d like me to do.’
I squeezed his forearm. ‘You’re not taking over.
I’m grateful for your support. But I’m not so heartless as to make you search while you’re still dripping wet.
You go and get changed while I bring the food from the Covered Market delivery on board before I add a littering complaint to my problems. By the time I’ve dug out a selection of Hilda’s favourite treats, I’m sure you’ll be ready, and we can get going. ’
‘Good plan. I’ll be back in two ticks.’
I stuffed the surviving food in the fridge as best I could and shoved a load of dog treats into a bag, along with Hilda’s favourite soft toy, the sight of which brought tears to my eyes all over again. I was just changing into a sturdier pair of shoes when there was a tap on the cabin door.
‘Come in, you don’t need to knock,’ I called out. ‘Are you feeling more civilised now you’ve dried—Oh,’ I broke off as I turned round and realised there was a complete stranger standing in my cabin.
‘You’re not Jack,’ I said stupidly.
A line appeared between the man’s thickset brows. ‘Who’s Jack?’
I shook my head. ‘Never mind that. Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?’ I wondered why I was being so polite about it. This was my boat. I was entitled to expect any visitor to the private side of the Oxford Bookship to identify themself.
‘I’ve been appointed on behalf of the Oxford Boating Association to carry out a snap inspection of this vessel. You can check my identification.’
He held up an ID card in a leather case as if he was a police officer on official business, which he might as well have been, given the authority which I knew this Mr Fred Zimmer, as the card named him, would hold over my affairs.
‘Thank you. But now’s really not a good time.’ I was about to explain about the Hilda situation, but he cut me off.
‘I apologise, Ms Bramble, but that’s the nature of a snap inspection. It happens when it happens. I appreciate it’s rarely a good time for boaters, but when you signed the lease for the mooring position, this is one of the terms which you agreed to.’
‘I’m in the middle of a family crisis at the moment,’ I tried to explain. ‘I promise you can come at any other time, but I really need—’
‘Family crisis?’ asked Mr Zimmer. ‘According to my records you are the sole occupier of the Oxford Bookship. You don’t have any family.’
If I wasn’t so distressed about Hilda and wary of exacerbating an already tense situation, I would have given him a piece of my mind, livid at the suggestion that just because I was single it meant I didn’t have family.
There was Nana Rose, my parents, Hilda herself, not to mention my close friends like Flick.
I had family in abundance, even if it didn’t look like the cookie cutter version that society expected for women.
‘My dog is missing,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he responded in a tone which didn’t reflect the sympathy of his words, ‘but I’ve got a job to do. I should warn you that if you refuse the inspection without appropriate cause, it will put you in contravention of your licence terms. See here, it’s stated on this document.’
He wafted a piece of paper covered in type towards me.
I was about to reply saying he could stuff his document, when Jack returned to the cabin.
It had been less than five minutes since his departure, but this patrician individual with slicked back hair and a power stance couldn’t be more different from the dripping wet man who’d let me blub on his shoulder.
‘Hello, Mr Zimmer, isn’t it? I recognise you from your profile on the Oxford Boating Association’s website.
’ He held out his hand expectantly, forcing the inspector to juggle his paperwork in order to respond to the gesture.
‘I’m Jack Siddall, owner and proprietor of the Jericho Wine Barge next door.
Perhaps if Ms Bramble is in agreement, I can assist you with your endeavours while she continues the search for her dog.
It is after all most important that you are able to fulfil your duty. ’
Fred Zimmer looked ready to salute in grateful obedience, swept up in the easy authority of Jack’s manner.
‘That would seem to be a sensible solution,’ he said.
‘Excellent, where shall we start? How about in the bookshop?’ suggested Jack heartily, clapping the man on the shoulders and steering him in that direction without giving him the chance to disagree.
As they left the cabin, Jack sent the ghost of a wink over his shoulder towards me and mouthed, ‘Good luck.’
I scurried off the Oxford Bookship as fast as I could before the inspector changed his mind. I had to trust that Jack would keep a careful eye on him in my absence. After all, if I failed the inspection, Hilda might not have a home to come back to.