Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ereader for textbooks txt) 📗

‘But you don’t know anything about antiques,’ I said in an attempt to put her off.

‘Do you?’ she said, returning with my tea and toast.

‘Not much.’

‘Then we’ll learn together, won’t we?’

I relented. I couldn’t say no, especially since we were starting to bond and rebuild our relationship.

‘Okay, Mum. I’d really like it if you helped me.’

‘Great, get that down ya. You’ll need a good breakfast to start each day. You’ll be working six days a week now, John-Michael.’

I’d only worked three days a week until now. But I didn’t mind. It meant I could provide for the family—as long as the customers returned.

Mum and I jumped in the car after breakfast and went to open up. She chatted to me excitedly all the way there. I smiled at her enthusiasm, but deep down I was worried that The Suit would return. I would not only have to protect myself but Mum too.

Mum took the route to the front of the shop.

‘Mum, don’t you think we should park around the back?’

‘Oh… yeah, maybe.’ Her fingers tapped the steering wheel nervously. ‘I’m a little excited; I wasn’t thinking. I’ll turn round at the bottom of the street.’

‘Okay—’

‘What the—’ I watched in the reflection on the passenger-side window as she sat right up against the wheel. ‘Is that—?’

I followed the direction she seemed to be looking. Claude’s Antiques had just come into view down the street, and there was something on the shutters.

She muttered something I couldn’t hear and brought the car to a halt opposite Claude’s Antiques. Someone had spray-painted ‘Murderer’ in black across the front.

‘Should we go home?’ I asked.

‘What on earth for? From now, we will hold our heads up high and be brave. Why should we skulk off like wounded animals?’

‘What are we going to do, then?’

The driver of a car behind us pipped its horn, and she drove off.

‘I’m going to turn this car around, and we’re going to open the shop, alright?’

‘Okay, Mum.’

After parking round the back, Mum didn’t bat an eyelid as she got to work on scrubbing the paint from the shutters. When she finished, she came in and made us both cups of tea as though nothing had happened.

‘Thanks for taking care of that, Mum,’ I said as she handed me my tea.

‘Don’t mention it, son. We’ve got this. I’ll never let anyone say a bad word to your face, and if they spray it on the shop… Well, I’ll clean it right off.’

Throughout the morning, customers arrived to collect their watches and offer their condolences for Mr Phillips’s death with promises to return, which I was thankful for.

By the afternoon, Mum and I were sat behind the counter on two wooden stools we’d dug out from the storage room, having cups of tea. I had no new watches to repair, and I thought I’d keep her company. We were chatting about Tina’s baby when two figures appeared behind the glass of the shopfront.

The two detectives, Lightman and Green, came in wearing the same brown suits I’d seen them in the first time we met, but this time I could see their faces properly in the various mirrors around the shop.

Detective Lightman was a head taller than Detective Green. He had thick, curly brown hair and a weird goatee. It looked like his moustache had fallen off and landed underneath his lips. Detective Green was all blond hair and blue eyes. He wouldn’t have looked out of place on the television. They walked in slowly, pretending to browse items and running their fingers over the inventory. I didn’t know what they expected to find; everything had been cleaned by me after the crime scene team been in. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on anything.

‘Afternoon,’ Mum said. ‘Can we help you?’

‘Yes, we’d like to take another look around,’ said Detective Green. ‘Perhaps in Mr Phillips’s flat and check out the contents of his safes. It turns out the crime scene team were unable to find the keys and get access. We thought young John-Michael might know where the keys are and let us in.’

I frowned. I didn’t want them looking in the safes or moseying around Mr Phillips’s flat when we hadn’t even been in there yet.

‘Don’t you need some kind of permission for that?’ she said, eyeing the two men suspiciously. ‘What’s it called? Umm…’ She started drumming her fingers on the counter.

‘A warrant?’ Detective Lightman offered.

‘That’s it, don’t you need a warrant to snoop around?’

‘Mrs Chester, we aren’t snooping. This is a murder investigation, if you’d forgotten.’

‘How could I? It’s me who got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floors where Mr Phillips died,’ she said, crossing her arms.

‘We were hoping you would open the safes, John-Michael. If you have the keys, that is?’ asked Detective Green, ignoring Mum’s comment.

‘I’m not so sure I should let you do that without permission,’ I mumbled, ‘like my mum said.’

‘That’s your right, John-Michael, see’n as you’re the owner, so we’ve been told, but it would be much easier if you let us look now. You are the only witness to this, and we could really use your help,’ he said.

Mum stepped in. ‘Don’t you try to manipulate my son. If he says no, that’s it. Come back when you have a warrant—then you can search to your heart’s content.’

‘Alright, Mrs Chester,’ said Lightman. ‘Oh, and John-Michael, we want you down the station tomorrow afternoon to make your written statement and go over a few things, see’n as we’ve been unable to locate this “Suit” fella.’

‘Don’t forget your warrant next time,’ Mum huffed as they left.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ I smiled at her.

‘No thanks necessary; I’m your mam, and it’s about time I stuck my neck out for you,’ she said, then pulled her lips to the side. ‘Where’s the number for that fancy solicitor Pete gave you? He’ll know what to do. We can’t have them bizzies snooping around like they own the place. You’ve told them who did it. They