The Murder Coat - Chapter 5
Sharp Around the Edges
The Murder Coat is a serialised mystery featuring Evie Harroway, a second-hand shop owner with a knack for finding trouble (and trouble finding her).
📖 Start from the beginning or jump to the latest trouble below. Or, if you prefer, you can listen to my dulcet tones in the audio version.
Wellington was doing its usual winter thing – grey skies, a bitter wind that seemed to knife its way down your collar, and just enough drizzle to ruin your hair but not justify an umbrella. Still, I was in love with it. Messy but magnetic, windswept and sharp around the edges, with beauty tucked into alleyways and weirdness in the bones of the city.
Just after 1pm, I prepared for my usual lunchtime walk down Riddiford Street. I picked up Horatio’s lead and raised a querying eyebrow at him. He looked pointedly outside at the mess that was Wellington in June and gave me a look as if to say, “what the fuck are you thinking, you insufferable human?” Then stalked dramatically back to his velvet cushion and began aggressively cleaning his arse. Classic.
I sighed, put the lead back down, and headed out onto the street alone.
I passed the butcher who always asked after Horatio if he wasn’t along for the walk, the hipster florist who never made eye contact but always arranged her peonies with the devotion of a lover, and the second-hand bookshop where the owner nodded at me each time like we were both part of a secret society. I picked up a coffee and a cheese scone from the café that had somehow perfected the balance between greasy and gourmet. Then I wandered slowly back, letting the wind tangle itself through my hair.
The shop was warm when I returned. A small mercy, since the cold had seeped into my bones. I loved these moments of stark contrast. They were like my version of bungee-jumping or mountain climbing – I felt most alive. I sat on my stool behind the counter and let the heat settle into my shoulders. Delores was back, naturally, and was rearranging the scarves on the centre display like they were rare orchids instead of overpriced neckwear.
I tried to ignore the feeling irritation that began to buzz in my forehead.
My phone buzzed.
Bernadette: Any word from Lila yet?
I glanced towards the back room where the other box sat, hidden. The rest of the contents hadn’t been touched since that first day. I’d been putting it off. Avoiding it. Maybe waiting for a nudge. Or an omen.
Me: No word. Not holding my breath.
I put my phone away and turned my attention back to Delores.
“You’re welcome,” she said brightly, before I could open my mouth.
I rolled my eyes and dumped my bag behind the counter. “You know, some people enjoy running their business their own way.”
Delores sniffed and waved a dismissive hand. “And some people don’t understand the subtle difference between visual clutter and creative layering. Honestly, darling, if you want to sell that hideous mustard wrap, you need to put it next to something that sings.”
“It doesn’t sing. It yells. Loudly. About fungal infections.”
“It’s vintage Marimekko. Show some respect.”
I opened my mouth for a snarky retort and froze.
Just across the road, half-lost in the end-of-day shuffle, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a shape I knew better than I wanted to. Shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to look smaller. That coat: too nice, too clean, too him. Then he vanished behind a busker and a pack of schoolkids.
Fuck.
A flurry of last-minute customers yanked me back to the present, but I was rattled. Not enough to show it, but enough to triple-check the locks when I finally released Delores out into the wild of Riddiford street and shut the door behind her. She wished me good evening with all the cheer of someone who hadn’t just rearranged my entire shop like a meddling design elf.
In the sudden peace of the space, I took a deep breath. I couldn’t head straight home. If I had indeed seen who I thought it was, there was no way I was risking a confrontation on my doorstep. Safer to keep things out in the open…for his sake.
So, steeling myself to keep calm and act normal, I meandered back up Riddiford Street, pretending I’d forgotten something – maybe soy sauce or… willpower. I paused to admire the antique clocks in the window of the repair shop no one ever seemed to enter. Watched the mirrored surface of a darkened sushi place – and there it was.
A flicker of movement.
Too far back to be casual.
Gotcha.
I kept walking. Slower now, letting the late crowd thicken around me. Then I slipped into a narrow side street that smelled like damp concrete and yesterday’s curry. Ducked behind a recycling bin and flattened myself as much as one could flatten a middle aged body. My heart thudding like a drumline. Horatio gave a questioning chirrup.
“Shh,” I whispered, patting his warm, squirming body. “Trust me.”
And then, there he was.
Strolling past like he owned the whole fucking city. Same gait. Same boots that somehow never saw mud. Still infuriatingly elegant. Still Thax.
I counted five long beats before stepping out and holding my ground in a pose that I hoped look strong.
Horatio let out a disdainful meow that could’ve curdled milk.
Thax froze. Turned around then threw his head back and laughed.
“Oh, I should’ve known better,” he said, grinning. “Trying to follow Evelyn Harroway. I taught you how to spot a tail, after all.”
“You taught me how not to get caught with my pants down,” I said. “Big difference.”
He tilted his head, still smiling. “Always were my best student.”
I stepped closer. “Then you should remember what happened to your worst teacher.”
He walked toward me, hands in coat pockets.
“Alright, Evie. Can we talk?”
Something in his tone, that old tension, the one I’d learned to listen to with my whole body, made my stomach coil. The street felt too open. Too easy to overhear.
“You can walk with me. To the corner. Say what you have to say and fuck off. That’s it.”
We fell into step. Silence at first. Then:
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Morgan’s insignia. That pendant you handed in? To fucking Lila Bennet of all people??”
I stopped dead.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He turned, blocking my path. “Don’t bullshit me. You recognised it. I know you did. And you gave it to Lila? Are you trying to get us both fucking killed?”
Just like that, the air shifted. The city didn’t feel sharp anymore. It felt dangerous.
I looked down at Horatio, who gazed back at me with that eternal expression of feline judgment. “Come inside,” I said.
Back we went. I unlocked the shop door and flipped on the lights. Thax trailed behind like a bad memory in a good coat. Horatio twined between his ankles like he wanted to trip him up.
I shrugged off my jacket and threw it over a chair. “Say what you came to say.”
“Where did you find that pendant, Evie?”
“None of your fucking business,”
“Why the fuck would you hand it to Lila?”
“Because I didn’t want that fucking toxic thing anywhere near me. And because I didn’t forget what Morgan’s capable of. I just don’t want any more trouble with the police.”
He stared. Hard. I don’t think I’d ever seen him look this…scared. Thax did a lot of the intense emotions, but scared was rare for him. He lowered his voice. “I’m really fucking serious. Where did it come from? That pendant.”
I sighed. Maybe if I just told him he’d go away. “A box that came into the shop. From the Godfrey estate. There was a coat in it – it was owned by the victim from that cold case appeal Lila’s doing at the moment.”
He grimaced. “I saw it. Social media. Lila front and centre.”
I narrowed my eyes. Something didn’t quite add up. “Wait. How do you know about the pendant?”
He exhaled through his nose. “Because Lila’s been asking questions. Questions that got back to the wrong people.”
“You mean your people?” I raised an eyebrow.
He made a face. “This is serious, Evie. Has anyone dodgy been sniffing around the shop? Watching you?”
“Just you.”
He didn’t smile. “If anything else comes in from the Godfrey estate, or anything even sniffing of Morgan, you tell me. First.”
I snorted. “Absolutely fucking not. If anything comes in, it’s going to Lila. Like it should.”
He tipped his head back and let out a sigh like it hurt. “Fine. But at least let me look at it first. Before the cops.” He stepped closer. “Please Evie. You have no idea how deep this goes.”
At the plea in his tone, my eyes flicked, involuntarily, stupidly, to the back room.
There was that one more than one box. Still holding god knows what. I’d forgotten it.
Thax being Thax, clocked it. Eyes narrowing. Body shifting, predator mode.
“What’s back there?”
“Don’t–”
But he was already moving.
“Thax!” I cursed myself for being so bloody stupid.
Too late.
He grabbed the box and flipped the lid.
And everything changed.
➡️ The second box doesn’t have biscuits in it. Pity. What it does have? Trouble with a capital T. [Read Chapter Six: The Call →]