Murder Lost and Found by Debbie Young

Author:Debbie Young [Young, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

18

DON’T SHOOT THE MESSENGER

‘Special delivery for Mr House!’

Undeterred by the ‘closed’ sign, Tommy waved a small white envelope bearing a single line of handwritten text.

‘Mr Munro to you.’ Hector strolled over to collect his letter. ‘What, no stamp? Nor is there any address. Is it from you, Tommy? You can just talk to me, you know. No need to stand on ceremony.’

Tommy glanced at the doormat beneath his feet, before patting the fraying fisherman’s satchel slung over his shoulder.

‘It’s not from me, Hector, I’m just the postman.’

‘That’s news to me. What about Raymond?’

Raymond, the local postman, toured the village around lunchtime every day, dispensing mail and cheery greetings.

‘Of course there’s Raymond. There’s always been Raymond. No, what I’m offering is a personal mail service, for Wendlebury Barrow only. Didn’t you see my special post box?’

Hector looked him up and down.

‘No, where are you hiding it? Is it in that old bag?’

‘No, it’s outside the village shop. Carol told me I could put it there.’

‘Oh, so that’s what that big green box is.’ I came out from behind the tearoom counter to start cleaning the tables and chairs. ‘The one with a pair of wings painted on the side. I thought it was storage for Carol’s stock of wild birdseed.’

Tommy’s face fell.

‘But that’s my postal service logo. The wings are to show how fast I deliver it. Same day service. Didn’t you notice it says WILD underneath? That’s short for Wendlebury Instant Letter Delivery. I’m much quicker than the Post Office.’

I wrinkled my nose.

‘Sorry, Tommy, I think you’d better put some instructions on the box to make its purpose clear.’

Tommy stuffed his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts and scuffed his shoes on the doormat.

‘No wonder not many people are using it.’

Poor Tommy. He’s a natural entrepreneur, he just needs to fine-tune his ideas.

‘You’d better put a note of your prices on your post box, if you’re going to make any money out of it,’ advised Hector. ‘Where can people buy your stamps? I see there’s no stamp on my letter.’

Hector frowned as he looked at it again.

Tommy leaned against the doorway, as if feeling the weight of this interrogation.

‘No, I haven’t quite worked out how to do that yet.’

Anticipating a request that we might start selling Tommy’s stamps at Hector’s House, I intervened.

‘I’ve got a better idea. In the olden days, before stamps were invented, it wasn’t the sender who paid for the postage, but the recipient. It might make life easier if you did it that way round. Then anyone could post a letter in your box without needing to buy a stamp, and you just ask the person to whom you deliver each letter to pay a fee, say 50p.’

Tommy brightened.

‘Thanks, Sophie, great idea.’ He pulled his hands from his pockets and held one out to Hector. ‘That’ll be 50p, please, Hector.’

I burst out laughing. ‘Go on, Hector, cough up!’

Hector slumped down onto his stool, now restored to its usual height, opened the till and fished out a 50p piece.

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