12 An Argument in Public

Christie’s Detective Agency Two Part 12 THE BODY IN THE LIBRARY

“It’s the second worst thing I’ve ever seen,” wept Rosie Buxton, standing outside the main entrance to the library where she’d bumped into Jenny, who put one hand on her shoulder to comfort her.

“It must have been dreadful,” sympathised Jenny, “what a dreadful thing to happen. And the poor woman.”

“She was all right, was Damsel,” sighed Rosie, “too much make-up, but that goes with getting older, don’t it?”

“Shouldn’t you be at work, young lady?” barked the usually quiet voice of Dorian Leslie who had emerged from the main entrance, making way for two paramedics whose only task would be to discreetly cart the lifeless body of Damsel Eagerhill far from the peaceful depths of the library.

“I… I’m never going in there again…” gasped Rosie, “the way she was lying there where I had to lean over and see her, so still, she was, poisoned … they said she was poisoned.”

“Who did?” demanded Dorian Leslie, “who suggested poison? She had a heart attack, that’s what happened, all that make up and lipstick she daubs on her face, it was bound to lead to trouble, and it did: it led to a heart attack!”

“You seem very sure of that, Mr Leslie,” put in Jenny, “are you qualified to make such judgements?”

“And who the dickens are you?” growled the librarian, clearly in a mood that had hitherto either not existed or been kept away from public scrutiny. The normal perception of the librarian was the he hardly ever displayed any kind of mood, and certainly not ill temper.

“Marple,” murmured Jenny, “Jennifer Marple of Christie’s Detective Agency. And experienced as I am with the various ways a woman might die whilst at work behind a library counter, I’ve never met one who died of a heart attack at her age and with no prior symptoms. But whatever killed the woman, the police will get to the bottom of it. The coroner will never be able to issue a cause of death being natural causes notice until he’s satisfied that a heart attack is what it was. A young woman like her? She wouldn’t have a heart attack, not at her age, unless something very peculiar was going on in her insides.”

“She daubed all sorts of stuff on her face,” muttered Mr Leslie, “have you seen what she looks like after spending half an hour in front of the mirror? She puts enough stuff in her creases to kill an army, if you were to ask me! So that’s what I’d say did for her, and I’ll make it quite clear to the police if I’m asked. Cosmetic make-up leading to a heart attack, and self-inflicted if anything ever was.”

“I’m never going to use lipstick again,” wept Rosie, “I never knew it could do so much harm to a woman, I know I never did.”

“And it can’t,” Jenny soothed her, “take my word for it, a little bit of lipstick doesn’t do any harm but might do a little bit of good if it makes you feel better.”

“Are you sure, misses?” Rosie was clearly troubled about unsuspected dangers in life.

“I certainly am! Why, I like a bit myself! No, the best thing any of us can do is wait for the post mortem and let experts find out the truth. They’re so good these days. And if it was a fast-acting poison, say strychnine, they can find so much out about where it might have come from and even who handled it.”

“They cannot!” snapped Mr Leslie, and he scoeled at Rosie, “now you, girl, aren’t you supposed to be at work? We don’t pay you for hanging around in the street gossiping to any passing stranger who’s got a kindly word for you.”

“It’s my week off, sir,” she mumbled, “I only popped into the library to get a book. Look:” She opened a carrier bag and revealed a couple of library books.

“Then be off with you, girl!” snapped Dorian Leslie.

“She has every right to be standing here, talking to me, on the public street,” protested Jenny, “and the way you’re treating her makes me wonder about your competence as an employer in the public sector! And by the way… why did you change your name?”

If Mr Leslie’s eyes could have popped out of his head they would have done so when she asked that. He took a step back, treading on one of an elderly woman’s feet and making her squeal.

“Watch where you’re going, you clumsy oaf!” she screeched.

“Sorry,” he said, almost absent-mindedly, then to Jenny, “what’s a man’s name got to do with anything?”

“It’s what Damsel told me when she had her cup of tea,” said Rosie, “she was telling me that she wondered why a gent like yourself was once somebody else. She said it was funny, that’s all.”

“Funny? Why funny?” barked Dorian Leslie.

“She thought you might really have something like Mickie Mouse for a name. Or James Bond. That sort of thing, and that’d be why you changed it.”

“Well I didn’t!” he snapped, “and I’ll wish you goodbye if you’re not at work, and I’ll have to speak to you when you do get back!”

It was a struggle, but he fought his way through a gathering crowd of inquisitive shoppers who were wondering why the library needed another ambulance and accompanying police vehicle at its door. A second police car pulled up, blue lights flashing, and the crowd increased exponentially.

“Go away!” he snapped as he vanished into the building.

“What you could do with, dear, is something to cheer you up,” Jenny said to Daisy.

“I want my Jimmy, but he’s at work,” Rosie told her sadly, “we were supposed to be together all this week, then he got a special job and had to cancel our holiday.”

“How very sad,” sighed Jenny, “I’ve got an idea. Come with me, my dear, and we’ll have a nice cup of tea, or something stronger if you’d prefer it.”

“Tea would be nice,” replied Rosie, and she tried to smile at Jenny, but with very little success.

Jenny took her by one arm and guided her through what was becoming quite a dense crowd as a third police car joined the throng on the road. She led her to a charity shop come coffee bar, her favourite port of call when she fancied a snack, and sat her down at a table.

“Can we have two of your special teas?” she asked.

“What’s special about them?” asked Rosie when they arrived.

“Just taste yours when it comes, and don’t complain,” grinned Jenny, “there’s nothing a drop of whisky can’t cure! Now tell me, this name changing business of the librarian’s. Is that all there was to it, the way you explained it to him?”

Rosie nodded. “But I could tell by the look on his face there was more to it than that,” she said, “and so could poor Damsel. She said as any normal bloke would laugh off a daft name and leave it at that.”

“Then therein lies the answer to all our riddles, if only we can fettle them out,” murmured Jenny, “ah, look who’s coming! It’s my number two!”

Horace had the broadest of smiles on his face as he wove between rows of second hand clothing to where they were sitting.

“I think I’ve got the kernel of it,” he said, “and it’s very, very interesting…”

© Peter Rogerson 06.10.21

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