a dodo,’ he replied, pleased. He went on to explain how such traps worked.
Shortly Eileen came back with her cup of tea.
‘The Commodore caught a mole, Eileen,’ said Marigold. ‘He killed it.’
‘Shame,’ said Eileen. ‘It’s not fair to kill a creature just because it’s inconvenient for you. Moles were in your garden long before you were, I suspect.’
‘Well, not those ones,’ said Marigold.
‘Their ancestors, then. I think you should try and find a humane way to trap them.’
‘Why don’t you ask Dennis,’ Marigold suggested. ‘He could make you something out of wood. I’m sure he could. Dennis can make anything.’
The Commodore scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘That’s not a bad idea, ladies,’ he said. ‘My grandchildren would be very happy with that. They get awfully upset at the thought of me killing them.’
‘I’d keep quiet about your small success, then,’ said Eileen.
‘Now what did I come in for?’ The Commodore swept his eyes around the room. ‘Phyllida gave me specific instructions, but you’ve distracted me.’
Marigold was heartened that the Commodore was forgetful too.
‘Ah, now I recall. She wanted dishwasher salt and Dijon mustard.’
‘Let me get those for you,’ Marigold suggested, coming round from behind the counter. ‘I can’t think where Tasha is. Really, she’s very late this morning.’ She looked at her watch and sighed, thinking that if Tasha was going to be late she should at least have the decency to tell her.
The little bell sounded and Carole Porter entered. ‘Good morning,’ she said, smiling at Eileen and the Commodore. Being a brisk and efficient woman in her early forties, she didn’t linger but strode down the aisle to find what she needed.
‘Her husband John is still feuding with Pete Dickens over the size of his magnolia tree. It’s getting rather nasty,’ said Eileen in a low voice. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to sneak into Pete’s garden in the middle of the night and poison it.’
‘Gracious, that bad, eh?’ exclaimed the Commodore.
‘John and Carole are very precious about their garden and they say the shadow of the tree is preventing plants from growing.’ Eileen grinned mischievously. ‘I think you should put your moles in there, when Dennis builds you a trap to catch them alive. That would give them something proper to worry about.’
The Commodore chuckled a little uneasily. This kind of subversive behaviour was not what he was used to and he wasn’t sure he could condone it. ‘I’ll let them out in the open countryside,’ he said as Carole marched to the counter and placed her basket on top of it expectantly. She looked around for Marigold.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Carole,’ said Marigold, returning with the dishwasher salt and mustard for the Commodore. ‘I don’t know where Tasha is this morning. Really, I’m sorely tried.’
Once the Commodore and Carole Porter had left the shop, she shook her head at Eileen and sighed despairingly.
‘What you need is someone you can rely on,’ said Eileen as the door opened and Cedric Weatherby and Dolly Nesbit came in together, arms linked. Dolly looked pale and fragile, but Cedric was as perky as a parakeet in a purple jacket and orange trousers.
‘Hello, Cedric. Hello, Dolly,’ said Marigold, giving Dolly a sympathetic smile. ‘Are you all right?’
‘We’re coping, aren’t we, Dolly,’ said Cedric, squeezing her hand.
‘I’m okay,’ said Dolly in a voice so small Marigold barely heard her. ‘It’s very quiet in the house without her.’
‘I bet it is,’ Eileen rejoined. ‘Time is a great healer, though,’ she added unhelpfully.
‘We’re still waiting,’ said Cedric. ‘No sign of any healing yet.’ They went down the aisle together at a slow and stately pace.
Marigold looked at her watch again. ‘Where’s Tasha? This is most unusual.’
Eileen frowned. ‘Are you sure she didn’t ask for the morning off?’
‘No, she didn’t. I’d know about it if she had.’
‘Why don’t you check that red book of yours. You’ve become very forgetful lately, Marigold.’
A patch of fog cleared in Marigold’s mind and she remembered that she hadn’t yet looked in her red book. ‘How strange. I always look in that book first thing in the morning, before opening the shop.’
She bent down and took it out from under the counter. When she saw Tasha morning off, dentist, in big letters, she blanched. She had absolutely no recollection of writing that down, none whatsoever. Nor did she remember Tasha asking her for time off. When she closed the book she noticed her hand was shaking. The cold damp fear, now a familiar foe, crawled across her skin. ‘I