'Til Death Do Us Part by Amanda Quick Page B

see the entry she was pointing to clearly but I’m certain that the last letter of the surname ended in a
Y
or perhaps a
G
. It was definitely a letter that dipped below the line.”
    â€œWhy would she lie?”
    He considered that briefly. “One reason might be that she simply wished to protect the identity of a good customer.”
    â€œI must admit that I can understand that. In her shoes, I would bestrongly inclined to do the same. I am very careful with my client files. But surely we made it clear that there had been a mistake. We told her that the bell had been sent to the wrong address. At the very least one would think that she would have offered to take the bell and return it to her customer herself.”
    â€œWe need to get a closer look at Mrs. Fulton’s financial records.”
    â€œHow do you propose to do that? I’m quite sure she would never agree—” Calista stopped, mouth parted in sudden shock. “Hang on, surely you don’t mean to go into her shop at night when no one is around?”
    â€œA quick look at that journal is all that’s required.”
    â€œWhat you are suggesting is quite impossible, sir. You might get arrested.”
    â€œGive me some credit, Miss Langley. I am not without experience in this sort of thing.”
    â€œExperience? You are an author, sir. How can you possibly claim experience in lock picking?”
    He found himself unaccountably offended.
    â€œI do a great deal of research for my novels,” he said evenly. “If you will recall, Clive Stone is an expert at picking locks. I don’t claim to have his level of expertise but I should be able to manage the old-fashioned lock on the front door of Mrs. Fulton’s shop.”
    â€œThis is not a work of fiction, Mr. Hastings. It is all very well to send Clive Stone out in the middle of the night to investigate a villain’s lair, but I cannot allow you to take such a risk on my behalf.”
    â€œI won’t take the risk on your behalf. I shall do it for myself.”
    â€œHave you gone mad?”
    â€œConsider it research.”
    â€œRubbish. Let me make one thing very clear, Mr. Hastings. This is my problem—my case, as it were. If you insist on carrying out this wild scheme, I must insist on accompanying you.”
    â€œThere is not a chance in hell of that happening, Miss Langley.”
    She gave him a steely smile. “You will need someone to keep watch. I shall take a whistle and use it to signal you if I see a constable approaching while you are inside the shop.”
    â€œHuh. That is a rather clever idea.”
    â€œThank you. I got it from a Clive Stone novel.”

13
    I RENE F ULTON WAITED until the cab had disappeared down the street before she reached under the counter and retrieved the journal of business transactions.
    With the volume tucked under her arm, she walked across the shop, turned the sign in the window to Closed, and then went upstairs to her private rooms. She set the journal on the table while she put the kettle on the stove. When the tea was ready she sat down, opened the journal, and studied certain sales she had made during the past year.
    There was nothing a shopkeeper liked to encourage more than repeat business, but she’d begun to have a few questions about the customer who bought the same items again and again for various elderly relatives, all of whom were at death’s door. And now a dangerous-looking gentleman and a woman who had received the gifts had come around asking questions.
    The pattern was always the same—first came the order for a lovely tear-catcher. Next, the order for the hair-locket ring. That was followed by a request for a safety coffin bell and, finally, a coffin. The customerspecified that all of the items were to be inscribed with the initials of the soon-to-be deceased. The notes were always accompanied with payment in full. The customer never questioned the