The Case of the Missing Books

'Yes.'

'What about if you spoke to me, strictly'-and she leaned a little closer to Israel here, as she lit the cigarette-'off the record,' and she spoke the words 'strictly off the record' as if they already were strictly off the record and slipping between silk sheets.

She exhaled.

Israel coughed.

'No. I…' Israel wriggled away towards the end of the bed, where a brass knob prevented him from going any further. 'Would you mind if you didn't…'

'What?'

'Erm. Smoke?'

Veronica laughed. 'Why?'

'I'm a bit, er…' He coughed again. 'And it's very bad for you, you know.'

'You're very funny, d'you know that?' said Veronica.

'Am I?'

'I think you know you are.'

Israel blushed. 'Yes. Well, I'm sure Linda will be able to help you out. And…'

Israel went to open the door.

'Lovely to have met you,' he said. 'I need to…'

'Help muck out the pigs?'

'Something like that.'

'Well, I can take a hint, Mr Armstrong. It's a shame. I thought we were going to get along so well.'

'Thank you.'

'Here's my card. In case you decide you want to…talk.'

Now, Israel could not deny that Veronica Byrd was a woman of considerable persuasive charms, and the pleasure was really all his, but all he could think about was that Linda Wei was going to kill him if she found out that the local paper knew about the missing library books: she'd blame him, without a doubt. The only people who knew about the missing books, apart from him and Linda, were Ted and Norman Canning, neither of whom was likely to have gone to the paper if they were guilty of stealing the books.

Israel could not work out at all how Veronica had found out about the missing books. He certainly hadn't told anyone else about them, except of course for George, and Brownie and Mr Devine…

Oh, no.

He thought he could have trusted them. Surely he could have trusted them. He didn't have anyone else to trust.

He hurried to the farmhouse, looking for George. There was no one there, but then coming out he spotted her in a field-it was a late winter's afternoon and the sun was shining, and he could see her from way off, her red hair-and he trudged and trudged and trudged his way up to her in the mud, his brown brogues squelching beneath him, calling her name.

'George! George!'

George ignored him. She was holding a wooden post in one hand and a mallet in another, and she was scowling.

'George!'

'How's your lady friend?'

'What?'

'Your lady friend?'

'She's not my lady friend.'

'She looked pretty friendly to me.' George stood up straight, brushed her red hair out of her eyes and fixed Israel with a stare.

'Well, it was…Business. Anyway, I've got a-'

'That's what you call it on the mainland, is it? Business?'

'No, it is not. Listen, I've got a bone to pick with you.'

'Aye, right, well.' George looked away. 'Sure, it's your business anyway, whatever it is. Now while you're here, you can make yourself useful.'

'No, hang on.'

'We need to strain these wires.'

'What? Why? No. I need to talk to you about-'

'Fine, you can talk and work, can you? Or that beyond you?'

'No. Of course it's not beyond me.'

'Good. Because we're stock-proofing the field.'

'What?'

'Stock-proofing. Stop the pigs getting away. We had a turshie out last week.'

'Right. What?'

'Never mind.'

'Wasn't it stock-proofed before?'

'It was. But we're having to sell off parts.'

'Of the field?'

'Aye.'

'Why?'

'Why d'you think we're selling the field?'

'I don't know. For money?'

'Aye, well done: it's certainly not for the sake of my health, is it?'

'No.'

'Same reason we took you in,' she said, looking at him disdainfully. 'We're not doing it out of goodwill.'

'No. Clearly.'

She handed Israel a wooden post. 'Here. Hold this. Have you sorted out anywhere else to stay yet?'

'No, I've not had the chance.'

'Unfortunately,' said George.

'Yes. Well. My feelings exactly. Anyway, George, I-'

'You just let me know when you do.'

'Believe me, you'll be the first to know. But-'

'Good. Hold it. There. There.' She placed her hands firmly on his, steadying them.

'What are you-'

'Just hold it straight. I need to mallet it in. I need it straight.'

'OK.'

'Straight! Holy Jinkers! What are you, stupit? Straight!'

She pounded the mallet onto the post, Israel gripping tight all the while, his whole body shuddering.

The post stayed upright.

'Right. Is that it?'

'I need to box 'em.'

'Box them?'

'Box anchor.'

'Right. Well, first, let me-'

'I've already got the rocks in. I need the Number 8 wire from the box there. There.' She pointed to the box with a long fine finger. 'Can you get it?'

'The what?'

'The Number 8 wire!'

All wire looked the same to Israel.

'Is this it?'

'No! The Number 8!'

'This?'

'Aye, that's it.'

'George?'

George started tying and straining the wire.

'George?' repeated Israel, raising his voice.

'What? What?'

'Listen, I think I'm in trouble, because-'

'Oh, this is the bone you want to pick with me, is it?'

'Yes, it is, actually. If you would just let me explain.'

'Fine. Go on then.'

'Well. It's…You or Brownie haven't mentioned the missing books to anyone, have you?'

'What?'

'The missing books from the library.' Israel looked around to make sure no one could hear him. They couldn't: he was in the middle of a vast silent field. 'You haven't mentioned it to anyone? It's just, we really didn't want rumours getting around.'

'And who's "we" then?'

'The Department of Entertainment, Leisure and Community Services.'

'Oh, right, you're speaking on their behalf now, are you?'

'Well. Yes. I am supposed to be the librarian.'

'Supposed to be. Aye.'

'Right. Anyway, it's just, you know, it wouldn't look good if people knew the library books were missing.'

'We said we wouldn't mention it to anyone.'

'Yes, that's right.'

'So we haven't mentioned it.'

'Not just accidentally maybe, or-'

'We said we wouldn't mention it.'

'But-'

'Is that it? Here, hold this.' She gave Israel the end of a piece of wire. 'Hold it tight!'

He held it tighter. 'So you haven't spoken to anyone at the paper or anything?'

'The Impartial Recorder?'

'Yes. You've not spoken to them-'

'If we said we wouldn't, we haven't. Do you understand that? Unlike some people I could mention, we do have standards in this family, Armstrong.'

'What? What's that supposed to mean?'

'Nothing.'

'I have standards!'

'Aye, right enough: snuggling up like with your lady journalist friend in your love nest, sipping on whiskey at half past four in the afternoon while other people are out working, earning an honest day's wages: that's your standards, is it?'

'What? My love nest! That…place!'

'Coop.'

'Exactly! And I told you, she's not my lady friend. I've only just met her.'

'Aye, well, that makes it all right then.'

'What? No! And anyway, what about you snuggling up with your man friend in the back of the taxi the other night?'

'That's different.'

'Is it? Why?'

'Because. It is.' George stared at him again, hands on hips, eyes blazing. 'Because it's my business.'

'I see. Fine. Right.'

'And I'd be grateful if you kept your nose out of it.'

'I will. And maybe you can do the same.'

Israel turned away as if about to go.

'Hey, Armstrong! Don't you just walk away from me. I've a bone to pick with you, before you go flouncing off.'

'I am not flouncing off.'

'Well, you can call it what you like. I had my aunt on the phone this afternoon.'

'Right?'

'Minnie. At the café? Have you been talking to her?'

'Well, I-'