"A drug drop!?"

"It would appear so."

They were all sitting around the table in the 'back room', a communal area that served as a kitchen, store and gossip hotspot, sparsely furnished, badly lit, stiflingly warm, with a very out of place houseplant sadly withering beside the radiator. The initial shock (which had threatened to floor her altogether, only she disapproved of such overused dramatic tropes), was starting to give way to a tremendously fiery fury, the greatest of outrage.

The three of them sat at opposite ends of the large table, which had been built for many more, but Ms Haxelby needed the space. Should she succumb to the wrath that was slowly bubbling she might toss the table altogether.

Bunty, perhaps fearing an outcome like this, hastily refilled the gobsmacked librarian's mug with the very strong batch of tea she had made them all. Evidently not very good tea, as Sullivan had grimaced several times and discreetly poured most of his cup into the pot plant when he assumed she wasn't looking.

Ms Haxelby's craggy, majestica face was changing clolur. Beginning with white, she'd surpassed a strange puce and was now being flooded with purple. Her sentiments were obvious - how dare some lowlife criminal scum use her beloved texts as paper mules!

Bunty had originally been confronted with the fear that the custodian might just lift a Dostovesky and set off to batter the participant to death, so she was glad there was a policeman present. Someone to calm the situation, let out a clear course of action, neutralise the threat of violence, prevent the very unfortunate employment of that hardcover copy of Vanity Fair on whatever unfortunate civillian happened to be passing.

Unfortunately, this policeman happened to be Sullivan; no use whatsoever. Ms Haxelby had gone magenta, and he casually remarked,

''This is rather interesting. You don't meet many drug dealers who read.''

Boom.

''And what a comfort it is- no, an honour!- to be hosts to such an intellectual party! Common criminals, well, that would be a disappointment, but who could complain about the refined, literary drug dealer storing their wares in the community library? It really does cast a whole new light over the subject, such a relief to know that the dangerous gang who have chosen my library to disperse their very damaging contraband are cultured enoug to seclude their profits amidst the pages of a great American classic, as opposed to under a rock on the high street?''

''I didn't think it was that great.'' Sullivan mumbled, ''I was a bit disappointed actually. I don't really see what all the fuss is about, to be honest.''

Bunty shot him a look that clearly signified her astonishment at his progression through the ranks of the police force, combined with pure disgust for the aspect of the crime he had chosen to focus on. Ms Haxelby waited, peering through her glasses (shook to the very end of her nose in the excitement) and surveying him with a very phony stare of deliberation.

''And what,'' She asked, in a dangerously soft voice, ''Would you have went for, Inspector, if you had been our erudite drug peddlar?''

Sullivan mused this for a moment. ''Probably the casebook of Sherlock Holmes.'' He recounted wistfully, ''Or a George Orwell.''

Bunty buried her head in her hands. Ms H thumped the table so hard with her fist Sullivan's empty cup gave a joyous leap and spun a cartwheel.

"You absolute-"

"Maybe we ought to start investigating," Bunty hastily intervened, "Instead of tearing each other's throats out?"

"Where did this 'we' come from?" Sullivan asked, "In case you've decided to take a leaf out of Father Brown's book, I hasten to remind you that it will be the police to investigate this.''

''Ah, the noble police force.'' Mrs Haxelby piped, ''Who make jokes about drugs in the library.''

Sullivan failed to respond. Bunty was struck by an idea.

''Could... do you think there could be some kind of...'' She tailed off

A silence ensued.

''This is most intriguing.'' Ms Haxelby mused, glaring at Sullivan, ''You can see the conflict in his eyes. He's desperate to know what you're thinking but there's his pride, his obstinance, he can't possibly agree with whatever it is you're about to tell us.''

Sullivan's frown deepened.

''Go on, Bunty dear, do tell us.''

''Well... I doubt its very plausible but... do you think there's any chance that this gang could be using books in some sort of system?'' She suggested, ''I mean...''

''No, no, keep going!'' The librarian encouraged, ''He's going a bit of a funny colour, it must be a good.''

''Oh,'' Bunty herself coloured slightly. She wasn't really used to her theories being heard like this. ''Well...It could be alphabetically, or- what do you call it, you know, when its in an order-''

''Chronological.'' Sullivan said quietly.

''You're on to something, lass.'' Ms Haxelby said, raising her eyebrows appreciatively. ''You've even got him playing to your tune. I wonder what your secret is.''

Sullivan was starting to look very, very annoyed. ''I do have a mind of my own, you know.'' He said haughtily, ''I happened to be thinking of the same thing. A library, now that I think of it, is really the ideal place for an operation like this - vessels open to all the public, can be dispersed without anybody batting an eyelid, and there's all matter of algorithms and codes you could use, I mean - there's the library coding for one, and then sections, chronological series, genres, alphabetical-''

''You're getting a bit excited by all this, aren't you?'' Bunty grinned.

''Absolutely not!'' The Inspector protested, ''If I'm perfectly honest, I wish I was at home in bed, instead of finding out that my only leisure activity in Kembleford is the centre of a drug smuggling ring!''

''Your only leisure activity?'' Bunty asked scornfully. ''We really do have to get you out and about, Inspector.''

''I agree,'' Ms Haxelby nodded, ''You haven't even told Bunty your first name and she's your only friend.''

Sullivan started spluttering. ''What's that got to do with anything?!'' He exclaimed, holding his hands out in exasperation.

''Actually, while we're on the subject, what is your first name?'' Bunty asked.

''Edgar.'' He said, and looked outraged as she immediately started giggling.

''Edgar!'' She laughed derisively.

''Oh yeah, because Penelope is so much better.'' He retorted hotly.

Ms Haxelby bashed on the table with her teaspoon. ''I think we'd better call it a night,'' She declared, ''Before you petty youths insult each other to a serious degree.''

''Of course, Dorcas.'' Sullivan quipped, with an innocent smile.

Ms Haxelby's face contorted to rage. ''OUT!''

Bunty had never walked through this part of Kembleford at night, so Sullivan's offer to accompany her to familiar paths was readily accepted. Probably because she had a very important question to ask.

''Dorcas.'' Bunty tittered, ''How on earth did you figure that out?''

''Checked the library registration accounts.'' Sullivan smiled, ''Had to find some retaliation for her teasing me.''

''She's a brave woman.'' Bunty added, ''I wouldn't want to start teasing you.''

''You do nothing but tease me,'' He reasoned, ''It's the cornerstone of our friendship.''

''You're saying we're friends then?'' Bunty asked.

Sullivan stopped, looking rather hurt. ''Are we not?'' He asked.

''Of course we are!'' She reassured, catching hold of the crook of his arm, ''I'm just glad that you think so too.''

He smiled. ''Thank you.'' He beamed, walking on, his arm in hers. ''Obviously there is absolutely no attraction-''

''You've ruined the moment now, Edgar.''

''Well I just want to know where I stand, you always seem to speaking in innuendos, you confuse me like that!'' He protested, ''Its a bit scary, if I'm perfectly honest!''

''Are women that terrifying to you?'' Bunty enquired.

''Yes!'' He exclaimed, very honestly, ''They do scare me! I find people confusing at the best of times, but you lot take the biscuit! I don't understand you at all!''

''So you're more comfortable with men?''

''Yes!''

''Would you prefer to be in the company of men?''

''Most of the time, yes. I find them much easier to read, to understand. You put everything in code.''

''Is that why you're uncomfortable when I flirt with you?''

Sullivan fell quiet.

''I'll stop it then.'' Bunty said, ''Because we're friends. I don't want to scare you.''

''Thank you.'' He said, with a genuine tone of gratification.

''And if you should ever need help decoding the feminine mystique,'' Bunty mused, ''You only have to ask.''

Sullivan managed a laugh. ''Thanks, you might be a slightly more balanced, generic view than Virginia Woolf.''

Bunty smarted a tiny bit at that, but let it slide. She'd managed to wrangle his first name out of him, and here they were walking arm in arm. That had to be classed as a victory.

''Will you let me help investigate this case?''

''Don't push your luck, Penny.''

Bunty gave him a shove that landed him up to his ankles in the gutter.