Free Death of an Avid Reader by Frances Brody

retentive mind.
    â€˜It would be a good idea if you could look up what type of monkey this is. Then we’ll know its habits. If I have to advertise for its owner, I can give a proper description.’
    â€˜I should think “monkey in a poorly knitted coat” would be sufficient.’
    â€˜There are lots of kinds aren’t there? It’s not a chimpanzee. I’d feel very foolish to just say brown monkey with a whitish circle of hair around its head and a tail as long as itself.’
    â€˜I hate long tails. Rats have long tails. I suppose I could look in your Mees’ Children’s Encyclopaedia. ’
    â€˜What a good idea.’
    She was very slightly placated and slapped a cup of tea on the table while the monkey tactfully kept out of view. It even avoided tearing the bottom of the date box into tiny pieces, until she had left the room.
    The monkey climbed onto a chair, staring at my cup of tea.
    â€˜Want some?’
    It pursed its lips.
    I poured tea into a saucer. ‘Sugar? One lump or two?’
    I stirred in a sugar lump.
    This was the right thing to do. Monkey must have been well trained. It picked up the saucer and slurped the tea.
    A few moments later, I went back into the drawing room where Mrs Sugden sat on the piano stool, an encyclopaedia open on the piano lid, under the glow of the lamp. She tapped at a picture. I stood beside her and looked at a photograph of a monkey that could have been cousin to this one.
    â€˜It’s a Capuchin, said to be bright and intelligent. They like to swing through the woods and they’re not too fussy whether they eat nuts, berries or insects. They come from the Amazon.’
    She glanced at the monkey. It was beside me, holding the hem of my skirt, its head tilted, listening to Mrs Sugden’s every word. She softened a little. ‘Poor little mite. He should have been left to swing through the trees. If he swings through our trees he’ll die of frostbite before you can say bananas.’
    She closed the book and returned it to the shelf. ‘Better shut them curtains. Don’t want neighbours looking through thinking we’ve started a menagerie.’ She paused as she closed them and glanced at the house across the way. ‘You gave Miss Merton a lift up from town?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Did she say anything?’
    â€˜I was very surprised that she accepted my invitation to step inside and take a glass of wine. She doesn’t usually.’
    â€˜And what did she have to say may I ask?’
    I had no hesitation about telling Mrs Sugden what Miss Merton had to say. The two are thick as thieves on all sorts of matters.
    â€˜Her brother, Theodore, is in line for the post of vice chancellor.’
    â€˜Did she tell you he has a rival?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Well he has, and a very popular rival, a clever mathematician, Dr Potter.’
    â€˜Then I hope she won’t raise her hopes too much.’
    â€˜What else did she say?’
    â€˜She told me a ghost story, about the spectre of a librarian who haunts the Leeds Library.’
    Mrs Sugden made a clucking noise, expressing disapproval. ‘That’s not why she came in. I’m surprised you didn’t winkle it out of her.’
    â€˜She hinted at something before she left, that she meant to warn me, that we’re not safe.’
    â€˜She’s worried about her brother. I think he’s receiving funny letters. I was there two days ago when the postman came and she turned white when he handed her an envelope. I didn’t deliberately read it, but I could see that it was addressed to the professor, the name and address written in block capitals, the kind of writing that would let a person disguise their handwriting.’
    â€˜Isn’t that reading rather a lot into the delivery of a letter?’
    â€˜Well all I can say is I’ve never seen her so on edge. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if someone is