Page 21 of The Undercover Bookshop

I grip it tight. “Don’t you dare. But what are you thanking me for?”

His smile returns, smaller, more intimate this time. “You were right.”

“Right? Right.” I grab his arm. “Mr. Lombard? He did it, didn’t he?”

His eyes drop to his arm, as do mine, and I realize I’m still clutching him. I snatch my hand away.

“He did. In debt with his bookie and fuming mad at his wife.”

I pull up one knee, and my dress’s skirt billows on the bench between us. “I need all the details.”

Charlie straightens and glances around, as if looking for anyone who might overhear. “Sometime soon when it’s not so public.”

He watches me a moment before continuing. “Mr. Hastings showed me the store’s new bookshop corner, by the way. It’s a fine idea, and he’s very proud of it, proud of you too.”

I feel my face blush anew and hope the warm infusion stops there. Often when my blood rises, it’s not the rosy glow most girls get. It’s a wash of florid spikes.

I shrug away the compliment. “He’s just being kind. It probably cost him more to rearrange the store than the books will ever bring in. And with as many mistakes as I made today, I’m surprised I still have a job.”

“He’s not going to sack you. He’s clearly fond of you and thinks the book corner idea is superb.” Charlie chuckles. “Though I will say he was a bit apologetic about its limited selection.”

“Ugh . . .” I slap my hand over my eyes. “That’s completely my fault.”

“So the shop won’t only carry mysteries in the future?”

“No, about fifty new books—all literature, no more mysteries—will arrive by the end of the week. What’s worse is that I hadn’t realized I did that until Lady Marchmont pointed it out. It’s the only genre I read.”

“The only?”

“Everything gets set right in a mystery. Not all characters get what they want, but that’s life too. In a way I find it better that the world and the story are set right than that any one individual gets a happily-ever-after moment.”

I bite my lip. I’ve blathered again.

“So some people make sacrifices to make the world a better place.” He sums up my thoughts in a single soft sentence. “Not unlike the war, I suppose. I never thought of mysteries like that, but I like it.” He looks across the green. “That said, I’ll wait to buy a book when your new stock comes in.”

I hear teasing in his voice and match his tone. “You don’t like mysteries, Detective?”

“Not a detective. Not yet. Not with only one solved case. Though after your help with the Lombards, I’m not so against the idea anymore.” He studies me. “And I didn’t say that.”

“You just said—”

“I said I’d drop by when your inventory expands.” He crosses his arms. It feels smug, almost like he’s sending me a challenge of some sort. “That’s because I’ve read most of the books you stocked.”

“Most?” I retort, catching on.

“Test me.”

“The Mysterious Affair at Styles.”

“Christie’s first Hercule Poirot, and the husband did it,” he states, far too pleased with himself.

“The Man in the Queue.”

“Another first. Josephine Tey’s first Inspector Grant novel. And I’ll admit, the Mrs. Wallis twist stumped me for a few pages.”

I raise a brow, sure I have him this time. “Mr. Pinkerton Goes to Scotland Yard.”

He tips a few inches closer. “Trying to trap me with the more obscure, are you? Well, Pinkerton is a little bumbling, but I like him. That said, those capsules caught my attention right away. It always had to be Dr. Freebody.” Charlie’s eyes gleam, both at his victory and probably my appearance, as my jaw just dropped. “But back to Tey, have you read A Shilling for Candles?”