Inspector Sullivan's thoughts on Lulu and Lucia did not remain a mystery for long. He was the first customer in; storming in before the other ladies had even hung up their coats and exchanged their early morning gossip in the little back room that Bunty avoided at all costs. The door flew open with such force it bounced off the wall and Sullivan thundered in, eyes wide with fury, biting his lip so hard (in an attempt to control his anger) that it had gone sheet white and he was in danger of biting right through it. Bunty smiled at him as chirpily as she usually did.

She did not have time to ask, ''How can I help?''

''You,'' He began, voice trembling, ''You, you, you-'' His emotions far past the aid of adjectives, he dug the copy of Lulu and Lucia (hidden within the folds of his overcoat) and brandished it at Bunty, clamping so tight onto the spine his knuckles went white.

''What is this?!'' He roared, at a tone completely unacceptable for any library, yet Bunty thought it unwise to 'shh' him. She was smirking though. ''This, this - I ask you for a book recommendation in good faith expecting something respectable and you give me this, this- filth - why on God's earth would you - ''

''Not to your liking, Inspector?'' Bunty giggled.

''No it is not!''

Sullivan, with the air of an experienced bowler, lobbed the book at Bunty with as much force as he could muster. She wisely ducked out of the way and it whacked the wall behind her and fell to the ground, pages crunched and spine battered. Bunty lifted it and smoothed the pages, tutting matronly.

''Look at the state of that,'' She tutted, clicking her tongue, ''And there was me thinking you were a proper bookworm.''

''That is not a book!'' Sullivan howled, specks of spittle starting to fly out of his mouth. ''That's borderline illegal! That's a depraved schoolgirl's fantasy! It's disgusting, defiling, debauchery pretending to be a novel!''

''Nothing wrong with a bit of spice in your life.'' Bunty remarked calmly, still debunching the battered pages.

''You call that a bit of spice? That's a jalepeno flavoured firework! I could have arrested every single person for about six different crimes! Hell, if I walked into someone's house and found that on the bedside table, I'd probably arrest them!'' Sullivan yelled. He stormed to the counter, slammed his hands down and stuck his face out until it was only a few inches away from Bunty. The man was so cross he was trembling, virtually vibrating. This would have terrified any lesser person, but Bunty didn't flinch. She just smiled at him.

''Do I look like the sort of man who enjoys reading lesbian erotica?'' He hissed, face murderous.

Bunty shrugged. ''As they say, it's always the quiet ones.'' She said quietly.

That really did it.

Ms Haxelby appeared just as Sullivan slammed the door behind him with such force the entire science fiction section tumbled off their shelf and littered the floor like broken meteorites. She whistled lowly, crossing her arms and raising her greying eyebrows.

''I didn't catch what he last called you, but I deduce that it wasn't very flattering.'' She said delicately.

''I'll give you a hint - a word that sounds very like witch featured in it, and also one that rhymes with ducking.''

There was a silence.

''I would still like to know how far through it he went.'' Ms Haxelby wondered aloud, before picking up the disgraced literary work and leafing through the pages in the hope he may have left a bookmark.

''What was that about?'' Said Mrs Randall, who had appeared behind them very quietly. Obviously she had caught a whiff of some news and came sniffing along hopefully like a dog at a barbecue.

"Nothing to stick your snout into.'' Barked Ms Haxelby, who thumped down on the seat behind the desk, swung her legs up onto the desk and resumed her reading with one eyebrow raised. There she stayed for most of the morning, until she had to get up to retrieve the sequel.

A week went by. No Sullivan. Bunty leaned against the shelf and chewed her lip as once again, the door opened and somebody else walked in.

Ms Haxelby stomped past, and paused, her eagle eyes catching a series in the wrong order. She stopped immediately and started rearranging the shelf. She didn't look at Bunty, and she didn't look at her.

''I fear we may have paid dearly for that moment of fun.'' She said, eventually.

Bunty hummed in agreement.

''It's a terrible shame, really.'' Mourned Ms Haxelby, ''He was such a passionate reader. It was incredibly funny, but I do wish we hadn't scared him off. I'd hate to think of him too scared to come back to us, just because of a daft joke."

"Do you really think he'll stay away forever?" Asked Bunty.

"To be honest, I don't know. Men are strange, fickle, stubborn creatures - and he doesn't seem to abide by their rules anyway, making him even harder to predict." She swatted a dead bluebottle off the dusty shelf. Bunty felt that it might be time to impart the dreadful news.

"Mrs McCarthy was telling me that he caught some bug at some filthy house he was investigating, and now he's off sick." She relayed guiltily.

Ms Haxelby made a noise like a duck being throttled and dropped the book with a clatter. Her mouth opened so wide an entire Encyclopaedia Brittanica could have fitted in quite comfortably, and she threw her arms up in desperation and hysteria.

"Off sick," She choked, gesticulating madly, "And no books..."

She let out a huge groan and slumped against the bookcase, overcome. There was a weedy little chair beside her but given many unfortunate incidents in the past, she wisely elected not to facilitate it. Few chairs ever seemed to be up to the challenge of the mighty Ms Haxelby.

"I feel awful - just awful." Bunty confessed. "I never thought he'd react like that - and I should have guessed he would, he was so shy, and I really embarrassed him."

"Ah, you weren't to know dear, you weren't to know." Consoled Ms Haxelby, shaking her head slowly and tragically. "But to think of the poor soul, alone, sick, bored out of his..."

She realised that this was making Bunty feel even more guilty, so she changed tactic.

"That being said, if he is really sick he probably wouldn't be able to make it in here anyway. He's probably all alone, too." She shook her head again, then turned to Bunty. "We've got a register - all the people who are ill or prone to illnesses. We run them out a few books every so often. We ought to try that with him. Make it seem like a peace offering."

Her mottled face lit up, and she raised one finger in the air dramatically. A sunbeam caught it - this must be a moment a moment of divine intervention. Bunty gazed open mouthed at the splendour.

"Phone the station." She instructed. "Let's find out where he lives."

Bunty glanced at the huge bundle of books lovingly seatbelted to the passenger seat at the car, before looking up again for the fork in the road. The rain meant that the roof of the car was up, and the drizzle smudged each signpost like badly removed makeup after a night out.

The Donaldson Lane cottages were looming ahead; six charming chalets set quite far apart for Kembleford, each with a garden, clinging to the edge of town, bordered by the thick, wild, dark looming woods. Washing out at number three, a dog frantically chasing nothing in number four, that nosy old crone staring very unsubtly at her from the doorstep of number five - yes! Number six!

The gleaming ebony police car sat outside soon gained a companion as Bunty crunched over the gravel beside amd disembarked, shrugging on her coat as the fine rain sank into her and clung to her like dewy cobwebs. She lifted the book bundle (wrapped in an old but very waterproof raincoat) out of the car and staggered towards the imposing door, struggling under the weight of the literary apology.

Right, she thought, ringing the doorbell with her elbow. Into battle.