The Boutique

ique

  A short story by

  Clair Louise Coult

  The Boutique

  Copyright: Clair Louise Coult 2013

  Published: August 2013

  The right of Clair Louise Coult to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Other titles by Clair Louise Coult:

  The Heaven Knows Trilogy

  Heaven Knows This Time

  Another Perfect Angel

  Angel's Shadow

  Being Isobel

  Short Stories

  The Last Bite

  For more information please visit the website:

  www.clairlouisecoult.com

  The Boutique

  Alison picked herself up off the floor. Embarrassed, she dusted herself down and ran her manicured fingers through her shoulder length blonde hair. Cautiously she looked around to see if anyone had witnessed her fall. She wasn't sure how she'd ended up flat on her face behind the counter of her designer boutique, perhaps it was her own fault for skipping lunch. At the age of fifty one it was getting harder to keep her waistline trim. The cocktails with Natasha last night had been a little too indulgent so she'd decided not to buy her usual sandwich from Marks and Spencer. She wasn't going to make that mistake again. It wasn't like she had anyone to keep her figure in shape for, not since Bob walked out on her last year to be with that young floozy. She could feel her blood pressure rising just thinking about her orange tan, fake boobs and botoxed face. No, she told herself, she wasn't going to let herself slip into those negative thoughts again. There were more important things in life than getting worked up over her cheating ex husband and his mistress.

  Alison picked up her Chanel handbag and cashmere coat from the back room and shut off the lights in the boutique. The place looked eerie in the twilight with the headless mannequins casting grotesque shadows across the bare wooden floor. Not that it bothered Alison, she wasn't scared of a few shadows, all she was thinking about was getting home. A large glass of ice cold chardonnay and a long hot bath was what she needed to cheer herself up.

  Business had been slow, again. It was barely worth her trouble cashing up the till. The recession was hitting her hard, her customers were tightening their purse strings and she was struggling to break even with all the discount fashion stores on the high street. The young girls didn't care that the discount garments were stitched by starving children in the far east or that they fell apart after the first wash, they just wanted cheap disposable fashion at bargain prices. The younger customers had stopped coming in her shop a long time ago. Alison catered for the more mature lady these days. The fat and frumpy empty nesters, buying posh frocks for dinners at the golf club or their annual Caribbean cruise. At least they still had money, or rather their husbands did.

  Turning the key in the lock she gave an involuntary shiver as a chill passed over her.

  "Someone walk over your grave?" said a voice behind her. Startled, Alison turned around to find herself face to face with a middle aged security guard. He was dressed in a smart navy uniform and peaked cap. His green eyes sparkled in the light from the reproduction oil lamps that illuminated the small courtyard of exclusive shops. She hadn't seen him around before and wondered if he was new. He wasn't in bad shape for his age. She guessed he was in his early fifties and even though the skin on his jaw was a little slack and he had a few lines around his eyes, he was still pretty handsome.

  Alison had always had a soft spot for a smartly dressed man but there was something about his uniform that puzzled her. The usual security guard wore a shapeless polyester sweater with a Hall's Security Limited badge sewn crookedly on the left breast, but this man was wearing a smart wool jacket with brass buttons. It was a high quality garment, made to a standard you just didn't see these days. It reminded her of a jacket her grandfather used to wear. She smiled back at him. He obviously took a pride in his appearance. Feeling bold she decided to introduce herself.

  "Alison Payne," she said, extending her right hand towards the man and giving him a coy smile.

  "Peter, Peter Dunne," he said, nervously taking her hand. He had a firm handshake, Alison liked that in a man.

  "Are you new? I don't think I've seen you around before," Alison enquired.

  "No, I've been here longer than I care to remember!" Peter laughed jovially. Alison smiled but she had a nagging feeling of unease. She couldn't put her finger on it but something didn't feel quite right.

  She slipped her shop keys into her handbag and looked back up at Peter but his brow furrowed as squinted through the window of Alison's shop. The courtyard of shops was deserted and the quiet night air was suddenly filled with the ear splitting sound of the burglar alarm, it's two tone bell ringing loud and clear above their heads. Alison raised her hands to her ears to shield them from the shrill sound. She turned to look what might have set it off but Peter launched himself at her, pushing her clear as two men dressed in dark hooded jackets burst through the shop door. The taller of the two men shouted something obscene at the other and pushed him, making him drop his burgeoning holdall. He quickly picked it up again, swinging it over his shoulder and nearly knocking Peter off his feet in the process, then they made their escape down the narrow alley that lead from the courtyard back to the high street.

  "What on earth?" shouted Alison. "How? I just locked that door, didn't I? " she said, shaking from the shock. How did two men get into her boutique? They weren't there when she got her coat from the back room. Her mind was in turmoil, none of this made any sense. Peter placed his hand on her shoulder and tried to calm her down.

  "They must have got in through the back," he suggested. "Wait right there," Peter said pointing to an ornamental cast iron bench in the centre of the courtyard. Alison did as she was told, sitting on the bench and clutching her handbag to her chest while Peter went inside to investigate.

  Taking a weighty metal torch from his pocket Peter shone it around the boutique. He searched the shop floor with a heavy heart. He knew exactly what he was looking for but the thought of it made him feel nauseous. When he'd spoken to Alison he hadn't expected her to reply. People never replied, they sometimes looked over their shoulder or cocked their head to one side as if they sensed someone was there, but they never paid him any attention. Not Alison though, she had seen him clear as day. She'd seen him, spoken to him and she'd shook his hand. There was only one explanation for that.

  Peter raised his hand to his mouth as he stepped behind the counter and saw the body of a woman sprawled face down on the floor. He stood and watched her for a moment, hoping to see the rise and fall of her chest, but there were no signs of life. Blood had seeped through the gash in the back of her head, staining her blonde hair and her pink shift dress as it collected in a small pool on the floor around her manicured fingers. A beige patent shoe had fallen off her left foot and her stockings were laddered. She hadn't struggled, the burglars must have killed her instantly with a single blow. She probably never knew what hit her.

  As he looked down at the body a lump came to Peter's throat. He'd hoped that it wouldn't be her, but there was no mistaking it. He glanced out the window to look at Alison. She was still sitting on
the bench wearing a pink shift dress and beige patent shoes, the exact same outfit as the dead woman on the shop floor. His worst fears confirmed Peter walked slowly back to the shop door.

  Alison let out a sigh of relief as the burglar alarm stopped ringing. "What? What is it? What did you find? Did they take much?" she asked.

  "The till was empty and the display case behind the counter has been smashed," Peter said, he raised his eyes to look at Alison, then quickly he looked away.

  " I suppose it could have been worse," Alison said, stoically. "There was only tomorrow's float in the till and the costume jewellery will be covered by the insurance. I suppose I'd better phone the police and let them know. I need a crime number for my claim, don't I?" Her hands were still shaking as she reached into her handbag for her mobile phone.

  "Alison, there's something I need to tell you..." Peter said, but Alison was too caught up in her own thoughts to listen.

  "Oh, they haven't made a mess, have they?" she asked as she stood up and started walking towards the shop door.

  "No!" shouted Peter. "I can't allow you to go inside," he said, firmly but Alison continued walking.

  "Why not? It's my shop, I need to see what they've taken."

  "Alison!" Peter shouted, grabbing her shoulders and