Trains Lanes and Danger A Button Up Detective Agency Cozy Mystery #9

By Lizzie Lewis

Janika’s investigations involve a hit-and-run driver in a white van, a daughter concerned about a developing relationship between her widowed father and a younger woman he has met through an online dating agency, and a truly scary happening in the Button Up coffee shop that could be the end of the business.
All these events keep Janika busy. And this is on top of adjusting to married life ― while sharing a single bed with Toby in her combined office and living apartment above the coffee shop.
Liam, the young ginger-haired magician, keeps the Button Up customers entertained in the coffee shop with a trick involving a pocket sundial and a flashlight. But why has he shut himself in his room with his cat Tonto, refusing to come out? The boy is clearly terrified. Then he unexpectedly demonstrates what it means to be a magic detective.
Going for an afternoon bike ride along country lanes on her own, exploring a track leading into Cravenwell Forest in mid November, might not be one of Janika’s most sensible ideas. It will be getting dark within the hour. She hasn’t told anyone where she’s going, but she has her phone with her. What could go wrong?

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Tree Publishing
• Release date: Apr 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781915671226

Book preview

About the Book

Janika’s investigations involve a hit-and-run driver in a white van, a daughter concerned about a developing relationship between her widowed father and a younger woman he has met through an online dating agency, and a truly scary happening in the Button Up coffee shop that could be the end of the business.

All these events keep Janika busy. And this is on top of adjusting to married life ― while sharing a single bed with Toby in her combined office and living apartment above the coffee shop.

Liam, the young ginger-haired magician, keeps the Button Up customers entertained in the coffee shop with a trick involving a pocket sundial and a flashlight. But why has he shut himself in his room with his cat Tonto, refusing to come out? The boy is clearly terrified. Then he unexpectedly demonstrates what it means to be a magic detective.

Going for an afternoon bike ride along country lanes on her own, exploring a track leading into Cravenwell Forest in mid November, might not be one of Janika’s most sensible ideas. It will be getting dark within the hour. She hasn’t told anyone where she’s going, but she has her phone with her. What could go wrong?

Trains Lanes and Danger

A Button Up Detective Agency

Cozy Mystery #9

by

Lizzie Lewis

©Lizzie Lewis 2024

This eBook ISBN: 978-1-915671-22-6

Also available as a paperback ISBN: 978-1-915671-23-3

Trains Lanes and Danger is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this edition.

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Published by

White Tree Publishing

Bristol

UNITED KINGDOM

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

The Abi Button Cozy Mystery Romance Series

The Button Up Detective Agency Cozy Mystery Series

About White Tree Publishing

Chapter 1

We’ve been married for just over six weeks, and last night there was a big falling out. I’ve got several painful bruises as proof. All Toby did was laugh. But as our pastor said at our wedding, sharing everything in married life is important. And it’s sharing a single bed that caused the trouble.

We’re buying a small two-bedroom cottage in a long brick terrace dating back to the early 19th century, close to where our friends Abi and Danny live. We’re not able to move there yet because the cottage needs a fair amount of updating. So, we’re stuck in my office and small living accommodation above the Button Up coffee shop.

When I say small, there’s only enough room for a single bed. Hence the bruises I received when I fell out onto the hard floor at exactly 3:27 in the morning. Yes, there’s our LED digital clock that also serves as a handy nightlight for Toby to find his way back into bed when visiting the loo ‒ or for me, after falling out onto the floor. Talk about waking up with a shock!

I don’t think any great harm has been done. After laughing gently as I climbed back in, Toby lovingly and caringly kissed every single bruise. He even kissed places where he said bruises might develop later!

We go to the cottage most days. It’s exciting to see the progress. Our builder is Brian Warmley, who goes to our church. He’s probably not the fastest, but he and his team are meticulous and totally reliable. He did an amazing job on the nearby house belonging to two of our other friends, Alice and Rupert Forrester.

There’s an amazing story I was told when I first came here, how Alice Forrester won all her Uncle Isaac Newton’s money in a competition their uncle had left them in his will. His only surviving relatives were four siblings, two sisters and two brothers: Alice, Esther, Richard and Michael Newton. Abi told me they were layabouts, scrounging off their uncle instead of working. Except Alice. Abi spotted her straight away as being different. I’m glad to say it was Alice who won the money!

All the red brick houses from that period were really well-built for the mill workers, showing the compassionate nature of the owner. The long row of terraced cottages where Toby and I are buying our property is testimony to that. So the majority of the work that our builder is doing is modernisation, particularly to the kitchen. And more importantly to the downstairs bathroom, which although it’s a relatively recent extension, is damp, mouldy and rather smelly.

It’s hard to credit it, but when the houses were built, people used a tin bath in front of the fire every Saturday evening, and had a loo in a shed in the back garden ‒ I think it’s called a privy. Not that I’ve ever come across one. A few people have converted their back bedroom into a bathroom with a shower and a loo, but for our cottage that would mean ending up with just one bedroom.

The cotton mill was the heart of our town of Craidlea. Actually, the town grew up because of the cotton mill. It started life as just a little village. Later, when the mill changed from water to steam power and needed a lot more workers for the increased output, the new owner at that time built shoddy tenement buildings the other side of the river, which rapidly turned into slums. These have now been replaced with local authority houses.

The Germans must have thought the mill was worth bombing in the Second World War, even though it hadn’t been used for several decades. So, unlike nearby Brevelstone where the mill survived and has been turned into multiple retail outlets, the remains of the Craidlea mill were cleared in the 1950s and small commercial units have taken its place.

It’s amazing that Alice won her house in a competition. I wish Toby and I had discovered a similar competition! Our mortgage is disturbingly high, although with my work as a private investigator, fully trained with certificates on the wall, and Toby’s job as an insurance claims assessor, we reckon we’re going to manage okay. Okay is good. Comfortably would be better!

Our initial plans were to drive to work every day when we move into the cottage. Me to my office above Button Up, and Toby to the insurance company office near the railway station.

However, in order to become more green and not use our cars so often, we have bought bicycles. Basic mountain bikes. At the moment we have to keep them in our cottage, as there is no room here in our apartment above Button Up, where I’m now about to open my work emails. Bikes would be difficult to get up and down the stairs if we kept them here, and I don’t think they’d be safe in the small parking area at the back.

I’d completely forgotten how much effort a bicycle needs on the peddles to get up the hills in Craidlea, and how unpleasantly firm a new saddle can be. The last time I’d ridden a bike here was when I was still at school, before being taken off to Poland by my parents. I didn’t realise it before, but it turns out that Craidlea is a very hilly town!

I remember reading children’s stories about a boy and his girl cousin who had adventures on their bikes. The boy had drop handlebars on a racing bike, and his cousin had an upright bike with a basket on the front. And probably a tennis racket or hockey stick clamped to the front forks! Did those days really exist? They existed in the fiction I was reading back then. It must have seemed perfectly acceptable, because I thought nothing of it.

How times change!

I can’t say I have much nostalgia for those childhood days. How did everyone manage without mobile phones and the internet? And of course, times have also changed in my personal life since marrying Toby – definitely for the better ‒ even if it does involve the occasional unexpected journey to the floor in the night.

Toby and I lie together so that, looking directly down on the bed, I’m on the left by the floor, and Toby is on the right against the wall. And that’s the way round he insists he wants to sleep.

I’ve had a sudden light bulb moment, so I can’t have permanently damaged my brain in the fall. The headboard and the footboard are more or less the same height, so all we need to do is put the pillows at the other end, and drag the duvet down closer to where our feet will be. And maybe turn it round so that we don’t get the duvet buttons in our mouths.

Toby can be the one to fall out of bed tonight. If and when he does, I’ll be the one to kiss the damage. Well, I will be the one, as long as he doesn’t make too much fuss. And of course as long as I’m not too sleepy.

I’m sitting at my beautiful antique mahogany desk directly above the Button Up coffee shop owned by Abi and Melanie. I can hear voices below. There’s a flat white and an apple Danish waiting for me at the small table at the far end of the coffee shop, permanently reserved for family and friends.

I need to get a move on. I still haven’t checked my emails, and that’s the number one priority.

Chapter 2

My laptop fires up quickly. I hope my first email is a job of national ‒ or even international ‒ importance. But before I open it, my mobile phone rings.

Holding the phone jammed between my shoulder and chin, I say, Button Up Detective Agency. How can I help you?

While doing this, I open my email app. You can’t beat multitasking in a busy office! Or even an unbusy one, which is what the whole week promises to be ‒ so far. But who can possibly guess what the next few hours will bring? This could be the big one!

It’s me, Courtney, says a voice I know well. Didn’t my name come up?

Sorry, Courtney, I was a bit distracted. Note to self: multitasking can upset friends. Good friends. What can I do for Brevelstone CID today, Detective Sergeant Courtney Jacobs?

A couple of things, Courtney says. First, how is married life still suiting you?

Um, let me think about it. Well, I say slowly, we were married in late September, it’s now the middle of November. So, all in all.... I deliberately give a long pause. "Now I come to think about it, married life is fabulous!"

As I say it, I suddenly feel embarrassed. I remember how Courtney was dumped by her fiancé Ollie when she was arrested on a trumped-up charge of stealing from a woman’s handbag at Parke’s posh restaurant. I can’t very well ask her if she’s found a replacement yet, and I shouldn’t be rubbing in how good married life can be.

I’m glad to hear it, Courtney says laughing. I always felt you and Toby were perfect for each other, even though you didn’t see it at first. I’m just glad you sussed out Ollie for me.

I’m going to be brave. How is single life?

I’m still looking for a replacement. There’s a pause. "Well, not for an exact replacement, Courtney says, with a rather forced laugh. Hopefully an improvement. Anyway, enough chitchat. You might indeed be able to help Brevelstone CID. Then she adds, Unofficially."

I don’t imagine it’s going to be any other way. I can’t see Brevelstone CID paying a private investigator to do a job on their behalf. Always here to help, Courtney.

I don’t know if you heard the local news last night, but some poor kid was knocked down in a hit-and-run late yesterday afternoon in Brevelstone. He was on his bike, and he’s ended up in hospital with a broken arm and two broken ribs. And severe bruising.

I shake my head. Then I realise what I’ve done, and say, No, I missed that one. I take it you’re trying to track down the driver.

Too right we are, Courtney says forcibly. The boy doesn’t remember much about the accident, and we haven’t been able to find any witnesses. He was on his own, and says he was keeping well in. But even if he was wobbling around in the middle of the road, or shot out of a side turning without looking, and it was totally his fault, the van driver should have stopped.

Van?

The boy didn’t get much of a look. All he can tell us is that it was a small white van. It must once have had a trade name on the side, but it had been sprayed out in black. He thinks the first letter on the number plate is a W.

Sounds like a helpful detail, I say. So a W plate means it’s a West Country registration, so not from round here.

It’s not as simple as that, Janika. The boy got the impression that it’s old. Vehicles like that are sold and moved around the country. They keep their original number plate.

I should have thought of that. Did he get the make and model?

I can hear Courtney sigh heavily. "Believe it or not, Janika, boys know every make and model of car that there is. Their knowledge fails miserably when it comes to identifying the make of vans and commercial vehicles. If it had been a Ferrari or an Aston Martin he would have known exactly the model and engine size. Even the 0 to 60 times. But to young boys, a van is just a boring van. Sorry."

I’ll certainly keep an eye open for it when I’m out and about. I take it you’re spreading the word around.

"We’re asking everyone to keep an eye open for it, Courtney says. We’ll make sure it’s on the local news again tonight. I’m drawing your attention to it, Janika, because I know you’re an especially observant person."

I’ll do my best, Courtney, but I can’t believe the van is still in the area. Not unless it’s been dumped and burnt out. Isn’t that the way hit-and-run drivers usually dispose of their vehicles?

"None of our patrols or members of the public have reported a burnt-out vehicle. Our patrols were immediately on the lookout for the van. Well, they’re still on the lookout. So we think it still has to be around here."

It’s probably hidden, or burnt out down some disused farm track.

That’s what we’re working on at the moment, Janika. A man found the boy lying by the side of the road after the van had gone. The first thing he did was check on the boy, phone the emergency services for an ambulance, then give the police the rather vague description of the van the boy had given him.

It’s good to know that there are people who are prepared to stop and help. My guess, for what it’s worth, Courtney, is that you’ll find it burnt out on the moorland. The last thing the driver will want is for their fingerprints to be identified. They must be all over the van. I’m sure the patrols will find it eventually. Hopefully soon.

Our thoughts too, Courtney says. She’s sounding rather depressed. I can’t blame her. Knocking a kid off a bike is bad enough, even if it’s a genuine accident. But to do a runner is unforgivable. Presumably the driver was either drunk, on drugs, or uninsured. It’s usually like that.

You’ve got it, Janika. Our patrols are really fired up about this. Some of the team have kids that age of their own. I can assure you, this van will eventually be tracked down. Anyway, I must go now. My boss wants to see me for an update. If you can do anything to help, please, please, keep an eye open for it, wherever you go.

The phone call has finished, and I eventually open my emails. The first one is from someone called Deborah Holder, and it sounds intriguing. Looking for a tatty old van is valuable work, and I will certainly do my absolute best to spot it when I’m walking around Craidlea, or going further afield in my car.

But this email looks as though it could actually help pay the bills.

Chapter 3

Dear Ms Jones, the email starts. It sounds very formal. It doesn’t seem strange to be addressed by my old Jones surname. I decided to keep using it for my business as a private detective, even though I’m Janika Walton now. Have been since September. It actually seems strange to be called Mrs Walton, and not Ms or Mrs Jones. I’m