Small-Town Sleuth: The Detective's Apprentice by Tom Watts

Author:Tom Watts [Watts, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-05-30T00:00:00+00:00

16

This being Sunhampton, a place where someone defacing a park bench was newsworthy, the mysteries were slow in coming. The fact was, if crime paid – which Mick always said it didn’t – then any self-respecting criminal would look elsewhere if they wanted to keep their pantries stocked and food on the table.

He had a few little riddles of his own to work on, but if he wanted to earn his five skill trees quickly, he’d need a lot more. And meatier ones, too. Ones that really stretched him, forced him to think hard about them. Lewis Cooper had once told Mick that the tougher his crafting projects, the more experience he got from them. Surely the same applied to a sleuth solving mysteries?

A few days went by, and not a single person crossed the threshold of his new office. It was with this in mind that he called on Paisley Porter’s store again one morning. She wasn’t there today, though. Instead, Jace Porter was standing behind the counter, rebinding an old book.

Mr. Porter used to be one of the richest merchants in this part of Easterly. He could still claim that title here in Sunhampton, but his finances had taken a hit recently. Something about an iron deal that went wrong. Mick had always thought of him as a busy guy, the kind of businessperson who only concerned himself in deals that brought in thousands of gold. A couple of months back, though, he’d opened a stall on the Sunhampton market. Book repairs – that was what he offered. If you had a treasured tome that needed rebinding or just sprucing up, then he’d do it for you.

“Michael Mulroon, as I live and breathe,” said Mr. Porter. He was a much cheerier fellow these days. Everyone said so. His new vocation was treating him well.

“Morning, Mr. Porter.”

“Oh, please. How long have we known each other?”

Some folks, no matter how long you’d known them, you just couldn’t think of them as anything other than mister or missus. Teachers, for instance. Whenever Mick saw one of his old teachers in town, he still thought of them as Mr. Kenwright, or Ms. Marble.

“Is Paisley around?” he asked.

“She’s at the Tillwrights’ farm. Jon Tillwright’s been making birdhouses. Looking to perhaps sell them here.” Jace looked down at a sheet of paper, as if there were instructions written down for him. “You’re a strapping guy, Mick. You’d look top notch in one of these coats. Try one on.”

Mick glanced at the paper and sure enough, he saw that Paisley had left a list of things that her uncle had to try selling in her absence.

Ought to be careful, he thought. A master merchant like Jace Porter, he’ll have me handing over all my savings if I don’t keep my wits about me.

“Still got life left in this yet,” said Mick, pinching the collar of his tattered coat. “Any idea when she’s back?”

“Not until later.”

“Righto. I’ll pop by tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Now hold on a second,” said Jace.

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