Her call found Malcolm, as usual, behind the counter of his shop, supping tea from an oversized mug and pretending to read, while keeping a beady eye on the various customers browsing among the teetering stacks of books.
“Hey Rube. What can I do you for?”
“Malcolm... What do you know about crabs?”
The bookseller shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where the question was leading.
“Er... Do you need to see a Doctor, Rube?”
“No, dear. I’ve already seen one – and he was of very little use. I mean crabs of the crustacean, water-dwelling variety. I'm particularly interested in any arcane symbolic meaning the creature might have outside of the zodiac, and in any 'crab cults' you can discover.”
“'Crab cults'. OK, got you... Anything else?”
“Pearl symbolism. And roses. What do you have on roses?”
“You taking up gardening now, Rube?”
“No. Again, I'm more interested in the symbolism.”
“Hmm. Rose symbolism. That's quite a broad area. Pearls, too... I'll have a root around, though, see what I can dig up.”
“Oh, and come to think of it, if you DO find any books on the cultivation of roses on your shelves, they might come in handy, too...”
“OK, no worries. Funny thing, though, Beth was in here t'other week, after something similar...”
“Beth? Beth...any Devizes?”
“Well, yeah. How many other Beths do you think I'm going out with?”
Ruby had no personal animosity to Bethany; in fact, much to her surprise, she generally thought of her with warmth and affection; but the girl was still Liz Devizes' daughter, and blood is thicker than water, and will out in the end. Thus, her response to Malcolm's question was somewhat prickly.
“Your torrid private life is your own affair, my dear, but I WOULD be interested to know what manner of books your little playmate availed herself of.”
“Pretty bog-standard, basic stuff. Nothing too heavy or in-depth. Kind of thing a lazy student might pick up, to do some last-minute research before an exam – assuming they actually do degrees in Gardening; but if you can can get a BA(Hons) for watching soap operas, then it's probably a safe bet. Though to be honest, most students these days just use the internet and then just do a bit of cutting an' pasting... Probably find better material that way, too...”
“Assuming of course they actually know how to use the internet... And I'm sure young Bethany does?”
“She's never off it. She's down at Glastonbury right now, far too busy facebooking me every ten minutes to actually see any bands.”
“Hmm... The books were for her mother, then. That would explain their simplicity. Liz Devizes never was much of a reader... OK, thank you, Malcolm. You've been most helpful. And if you could, maybe, when you've a minute, give some thought to what you might have on the shelves about roses, pearls and crustacian cults, that would be even more so.”
“I'm on it.”
Malcolm's deceptively keen mind had already begun sifting through the possibilities. As soon as they had said their goodbyes, he eased his bulk from his favoured perch, and ambled into the body of the shop, looking about him thoughtfully...
**********
“Well, that settles it.” Ruby turned to address the others. “Devizes and Nutter are definitely up to no good. And it would seem that their plans are more than slightly... horticultural... in nature.”
That was another way in which Malcolm was now a useful ally. He was, whether he realised it or not, her spy in the Devizes camp.
**********
True to Ruby's prediction, late that afternoon, a familiar, thin, spidery shadow crept up the Reverend's garden path. A bony, translucent-skinned fist raised the old, black iron knocker and crashed it back three times against the wooden door.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Reverend Phullaposi answered, opening the door no wider than a crack, from which he peered out, twitching a little, but trying to look as calm and natural as possible. He was no actor, however.
Hariman smiled his wide, sharp-toothed, crocodile smile.
“Good afternoon Reverend. Aren't you going to invite me in? We have sooooo much to discuss, concerning our village's fête, and the doorstep is not really the appropriate place to conduct such business, now, is it?”
Reverend Phullaposi nodded his acknowledgement and opened the door a little wider so that the Doctor could make his entrance into the Vicarage.
Once inside Hariman tried the same technique as Ruby; complimenting the Reverend's taste in his collection of watercolour paintings. The big difference was that Ruby had actually meant what she said, while the Doctor’s words rung hollow and false. The Reverend recognised this at once, and thus the differing sincerity of his two visitors.
Hariman settled himself on the settee.
The Reverend hopped nervously from foot to foot, rather like a small boy who badly needed to go to the toilet. He was not at ease at all, even though Ruby had told him in advance what would happen. It was one thing to be told about a forthcoming ordeal; it was a completely different matter to be subjected to it.
“Tea?” he offered, totally at a loss at what else to say. “I've bought some Ruby recommended and...”
“Thank you, but no.” Hariman shivered, all-too-aware that any tea Ruby had recommended would not be for his palate at all. “Let us get straight to business... As you are aware, tomorrow is the Village fête The very fête that my associates and I have expended so much time and effort to ensure the success of. And this is why I am here, as their representative. We feel, seeing as you will no doubt benefit so greatly from our little... Rosy-Crustacean society, that there ought to be something a little more... legally binding between us, something written down... Something... clerical. It is not that we do not trust your word... You are, after all, a respected man of the cloth. But, money changes everything, and my associates and I feel
