Don't miss the next instalment in the Fish and Chip Shop Detective Agency Series, available to pre-order now!
It's been a busy summer for the Fish and Chip Shop Detectives as they get drawn into their next investigation, hook, line and sinker...
The bustling streets of Mousehole are home to Robbins' Fish and Chip Shop, where Maggie and Ryan dish up the best fried goods Cornwall has to offer - and solve a crime or two.
When a villager is found dead, Maggie and Ryan rapidly find themselves deep in a new mystery.
But as the case unfolds, it becomes clear that something strange is simmering beneath Mousehole's serene surface. The enigmatic owner of the chip shop, Mr Robbins, is nowhere to be found. And when Maggie and Ryan search his campervan home, they find it already unlocked and completely ransacked...
Where is Mr Robbins? Is his disappearance linked to the murder? As the fish and chip shop detectives face a boatload of questions, can they catch the killer before someone winds up dead?
The Fish and Chip Shop Detectives Forty-eight-year-old Maggie is a lover of puzzles. When she's not working at Robbins' Fish and Chip Shop, she can be found on her sofa, nursing a cup of tea and solving the latest mystery thrown at the detectives in Death in Paradise, Midsomer Murders and more. Maggie's found a firm friendship with Ryan, a newcomer to Mousehole. When he's not busy sleuthing, Ryan enjoys nursing a pint at The Mariner pub. Together, Maggie and Ryan serve the best fish and chips - and solve crimes as The Fish and Chip Shop Detectives.
The Setting Mousehole is a picturesque fishing village in Cornwall, known for its scenic harbour, winding streets, and tiny sandy beach. It's also home to Robbins' Fish and Chip Shop, the only chippy in town. Tourists and locals alike enjoy a battered cod whilst admiring the calm waterfront. And if you want a side of gossip with your food, make sure you get to the chip shop at exactly 6 o'clock, where you'll find local pensioner Harry, who is always up for a natter...
Release date:
June 11, 2026
Publisher:
Hodder & Stoughton
Print pages:
320
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The Fish and Chip Shop Detectives and the Campervan Murder
Jenny Kane
Chapter One
Wednesday 3rd September
‘This is perfect!’ Izzie’s enthusiasm shone out of the computer screen.
‘Perfect?’ Maggie was surprised at her daughter’s reaction. ‘How can the fish and chip shop I work in being broken into be a good thing?’
‘Come on, Mum! You wanted a more challenging case to investigate – now you’ve got one.’
‘I wasn’t imagining anything so close to home. Perhaps I should have been careful what I wished for,’ Maggie reluctantly admitted. ‘To tell you the truth, Ryan and I have discussed giving up on the idea of being private detectives. We’ve only had three cases in three months. One lost cat, a stolen bird table and a stolen necklace.’
‘Did you say bird table?’
‘I did. Turned out our client’s neighbour had “borrowed” it.’ Maggie rolled her eyes. ‘We found ourselves refereeing a long-running dispute between neighbours.’
‘And did you resolve their argument?’
‘We did – but I suspect it was a ceasefire rather than a truce.’
‘And the cat?’
‘Ryan found it after knocking on doors for the best part of a day, asking people to check their outbuildings to make sure she wasn’t trapped inside. The normally pampered feline was in a seldom-used shed a mile from home, looking very sorry for herself.’
‘I bet the owner was delighted to get her back.’
‘If she was, she didn’t show it. Went on alarmingly about how her darling’s pedigree value would be diminished if she had mongrel kittens.’
Izzie could sense her mother’s disappointment all the way from New Zealand. ‘It’s early days yet. You and Ryan solved a murder for goodness sake. Where is Ryan, anyway?’ Izzie picked up a mug, which Maggie knew would be full of green tea.
‘In your room. He’s really settled in, but don’t worry, he knows he’ll have to move back into the chippy’s bedsit once you’re home.’
Izzie blew air over her mug. ‘So, what happened at the chippy?’
‘Someone broke in through the back door last night. They stayed in the office. Left the shop alone.’
‘So what did they do?’
‘Searched the filing cabinet. Although why anyone would want to rifle through a load of order forms is beyond me. Either way, it doesn’t matter, because Mr Robbins doesn’t want us to investigate – or interfere, as he put it. You know how private he is.’
‘And then some! I swear he loves his “man of mystery” persona.’
Maggie couldn’t help but laugh, as Izzie asked, ‘Did you see anything?’
‘Very little. He ushered Ryan and me out of the office when we got to work this morning, saying he’d deal with it. Swore us to secrecy.’
A knowing smile crossed Izzie’s face. ‘I bet he hasn’t told the police.’
‘If you’re about to suggest he doesn’t want the matter investigated because he’s secretly a gangster, then I hate to disappoint you. He’s just the owner of a chip shop.’
‘He looks like a gangster.’
‘I know, but you can’t just make assumptions about people based on how they look.’ The sound of footsteps coming downstairs made Maggie turn around to see Ryan flash a familiar gesture at her. ‘I’d love a cup. Thanks.’
‘Ryan?’ Izzie smiled.
‘Yes. He’s putting the kettle on.’
‘He’s become a real friend, hasn’t he?’
‘Unlikely though it is, yes.’ Maggie lowered her voice. ‘Although if you’d told me six months ago that my best friend would be a twenty-two-year-old from Birmingham, I’d never have believed it.’
‘I bet Ryan thanks his lucky stars he bumped into you after that stuck-up cow of an ex-girlfriend left him homeless.’
Maggie grunted. ‘The less I say about Bea the better, but she did me a favour in a backhanded way. If she hadn’t tricked Ryan into moving to Cornwall, I wouldn’t have found him looking all lost by Mousehole Harbour, and Mr Robbins wouldn’t have taken him on as a part-time member of staff at the chippy and a tenant in the bedsit. Consequently, he’d never have been accused of a crime he didn’t commit, so I’d never have investigated things to clear his name, and so—’
‘There’d be no Fish and Chip Shop Detective Agency!’
‘Exactly!’
Izzie returned them to the matter of the break-in. ‘Did anything get taken from the shop?’
‘Mr Robbins said not.’ Maggie rested against the back of her dining-room chair. ‘And I’ve no reason to disbelieve him. He doesn’t want the police involved.’
‘Ah, so he didn’t tell them!’
‘No need to sound so triumphant, Izzie. This isn’t about my boss having anything to hide. You know what it’s like here. Everyone in Mousehole knows everyone’s business. That sort of gossip isn’t good for trade, especially now the summer season is over. We rely on the locals buying their chip suppers from us.’
‘And you think no one will come if they think something criminal is going on.’ Izzie wasn’t convinced. ‘I think more people would come.’
Maggie couldn’t help but laugh.
‘It’s odd to risk breaking in somewhere and then take nothing.’
‘That’s what I thought, Izzie.’ Ryan arrived at Maggie’s side with two mugs of tea. ‘How’s life over there?’
‘Good, thanks. Don’t you think you and Mum should find out who broke into the chippy?’
‘Izzie! Don’t conspire with Ryan.’ Maggie tutted. ‘Nothing was taken, no one was hurt, and Mr Robbins can’t face the hassle of reporting it just for a crime number to claim on his insurance. It’s hardly surprising he’d rather let things lie.’
‘They made a hell of a mess.’ Ryan shot Maggie an apologetic glance, knowing he was stoking her daughter’s curiosity. ‘I wonder what they wanted.’
Izzie swiped a purple hair from her eyes. ‘Obviously they were searching for something. The question you should be asking is: What?’
Ryan took a sip of tea. ‘Perhaps it’s connected to whatever he studies on his tablet.’
Izzie nodded enthusiastically. ‘I bet you’re right. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s sat in that office all day, studying his screen. I don’t think anyone knows why.’
‘Like I said, Mr Robbins is a private person.’
‘More likely he’s got something to hide.’
‘Izzie!’ Maggie snapped. ‘Sorry. I suppose I’m a bit disappointed. We’re fledgling private detectives, but even our employer won’t hire us.’
‘You can’t give up before you’ve really started.’ Izzie gave her mum a concerned stare. ‘This isn’t like you. You’ve a puzzle on your doorstep and you aren’t even attempting to solve it.’
Feeling guilty for encouraging Izzie, Ryan explained, ‘I’ve advertised on social media and in the local paper for work for our agency, but it’s been slim pickings. We’re not expecting a murder a minute or anything, but so far our greatest success has been locating a stolen necklace on eBay for an elderly lady in St Just – a necklace that turned out to have been put up for sale by the client’s son, who was convinced his mum had said he could have it to do what he liked with.’
Izzie’s eyes gleamed with interest. ‘Could the son have been lying and trying to accelerate his inheritance on the quiet, Mum?’
‘Nothing so underhand. It was a classic case of crossed wires. It still felt good helping them out, though.’
‘We have had a couple of enquiries from people wanting their other halves followed to see if they’re cheating on them.’ Ryan wrinkled his nose. ‘But we decided from the off that we aren’t going to accept that sort of work.’
‘It’d be profitable.’
‘Perhaps, but it makes me uncomfortable.’
‘Me too.’ Maggie raised her cup in agreement.
‘Fair enough.’ Izzie twirled a strand of hair around a finger. ‘I think you’d be crazy to give up on your dream, though.’
‘You’ve made your point, love. We’ll keep an eye on the Facebook page while doing crosswords and watching detective shows on the television.’
‘And set up a website.’ Izzie focused her attention on Ryan. ‘And design some business cards.’
‘Business cards are on my radar, as is a website. I’ve checked out a couple of possible hosting providers.’
Maggie’s eyebrows rose. ‘Have you?’
Ryan’s face flushed. ‘I’ve looked into it, but I wouldn’t have done anything without consulting you.’
‘I know you wouldn’t.’ Maggie felt her earlier despondency lifting.
‘I could help design business cards if you like.’ Izzie smiled. ‘Sorry if I went on about you not giving up, Mum. It’s just, you were so alive when you were on the case back in June.’
‘I felt alive, but—’
They were interrupted by the ring of Ryan’s phone. ‘That’s weird; it’s Mr Robbins.’
As Ryan headed to the kitchen to take the call, Maggie refocused on the Zoom screen. ‘While we wait to see what that’s about, tell me about life over there. Still loving the new job?’
‘Big time. Yesterday I helped a team of school kids get to grips with the treetop walk. Honestly, Mum, the pride on the faces of the ones who’d been afraid of being so high up once they’d managed to do the zip wires was heartwarming.’
‘You should be proud of yourself for helping boost their confidence.’
‘Thanks, Mum. It’s been so much—’
Izzie broke off as Ryan reappeared. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Mr Robbins called me because he couldn’t get through to you.’
Maggie extracted her phone from her pocket. ‘Rats. Two missed calls. I forgot I’d put it on silent earlier. What did he want that couldn’t wait until morning?’
‘He’s changed his mind. He wants us to investigate the break-in after all.’
Chapter Two
Thursday 4th September
Maggie hooked the keys to the chip shop from her handbag as they strode along Duck Street, and weighed them in her palm.
‘You alright?’ Ryan glanced at his friend.
‘I was just thinking how quickly Mr Robbins got the glass in the back door replaced.’
‘He’s lived in Mousehole forever. He’d know who to call. And let’s face it, who’d say no to Mr Robbins?’
‘He’s not really scary.’
‘He is a bit,’ Ryan mumbled as they walked along the narrow lane.
Maggie slowed her pace as the fish and chip shop came into view. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at it properly. After over a decade working there, it had become somewhere she went to earn her keep, not somewhere she noticed. ‘If we’re going to investigate, then we’ll need to think logically. Ask lots of questions and create a timeline of events. It worked for us last time, and this is a far less serious matter than a murder, so we should be able to get to the bottom of it.’
Ryan’s stomach clenched at the memory of being suspected as a killer only a few months before. ‘Hopefully we can start by interviewing Mr Robbins. Although, I think you should do that. You’ve known him longer than I have.’
‘Fair enough. Did he say if he knew what the intruder was after?’
‘No. Once he’d told me that he wanted our help, he just rang off.’
As they came to a halt outside the chippy, Maggie slid the key into the lock, relieved that the front of the shop was intact. ‘I wondered if they’d come back.’
‘To have another go at finding whatever they were searching for?’
‘Yes.’ Squashing down the nerves churning in her stomach, Maggie squared her shoulders and opened the door.
‘I can see why they broke in around the back and not the front.’ Ryan stood in the doorway and stared out at the view. ‘The shop’s on a corner, so it’s visible from three directions. Straight in front is the harbour, so anyone who stands by the door to admire the view can see in.’
Maggie joined Ryan on the doorstep. ‘But as we’ve no pavement on this side, it’s much safer to stand on the other side of the road. Anyone hanging around here after closing time would look out of place.’
‘There’s a relatively clear line of sight for a few hundred yards in each direction. It would be easy to see someone by the door, even if you couldn’t make out what they were doing.’ Ryan flicked on the shop lights. ‘The backyard is quite sheltered, so the shadows would have provided extra cover.’
‘If they were relying on natural light – not wanting to use a torch – then eleven-ish would have been a possible time to act, but I bet it was later than that, so they’d avoid being spotted by anyone leaving the pub.’
Embarrassed that he hadn’t considered people leaving The Mariner, Ryan added, ‘They’d also want to be off the scene before the fishermen came back into the harbour in the early hours.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Maggie conceded as they went into the chippy. ‘A fair number of them pass this way on their way home.’
‘That makes between midnight and four in the morning the safest time to act.’ Ryan tugged off his jacket. ‘Umm, talking of safe—’
‘You feel a bit jumpy too, then?’
Ryan nodded. ‘I know break-ins happen, but there’s something about Mr Robbins being so indecisive about asking for help that’s giving me the heebie-jeebies. I keep telling myself there’s no reason to feel afraid, and yet . . . ’
‘I’m the same.’ Maggie took a steadying breath. ‘Getting to the bottom of this – whatever “this” is – is the only way to go.’
‘I’ll get a potential timeline started in a minute.’
On a nod from Maggie, Ryan swung open the door, only to be greeted by another oddity. The orange plastic bucket chair that Mr Robbins inhabited for hours at a time, day in, day out, tablet in hand, was unoccupied.
There was no sign of the tablet, which discounted the possibility that Mr Robbins had just popped to the bathroom for a moment.
Maggie placed her hand against the side of the kettle. ‘It’s cold.’
‘There’s no dirty mug on the table either.’ Ryan gazed around the room. ‘I wish he hadn’t tidied up after the break-in, so we could have seen which papers had been disturbed.’
Although Maggie was standing still, her pulse was galloping. ‘What time do you make it?’
Stepping back into the chippy, Ryan looked up at the fish-shaped clock that hung over the counter. ‘Ten to ten.’
‘Maybe we’ve beaten Mr Robbins to it.’
‘Doubtful. During the short time I lived upstairs, I’d hear him arrive each day. It was always before seven, sometimes as early as six.’ Ryan exhaled. ‘I know you’ve always discounted Izzie’s theory that Mr Robbins was once a criminal, but if he was, then . . . ’
As his voice trailed off, Maggie opened her phone. ‘There’s only one way to know for sure. First we’ll find out where he is, then we’ll ask him.’
Chapter Three
‘He’s not answering his phone.’ Maggie stared across the office towards the back door.
‘Maybe he decided to go to the police station and report the break-in.’
‘Maybe.’ Maggie unlocked the back door. ‘Let’s go outside.’
Passing the stack of cardboard boxes containing stocks of sauce sachets, they entered the yard that divided the back of the shop from a slim walkway that led to the main road. Along one side was a tower of empty oil cans, ready to be recycled, and on the other stood the rubbish bins and some empty fish crates, waiting to be retrieved by the fishmongers on their next delivery.
‘It would’ve been easy enough to get in here.’ Maggie pointed to the wooden gate. ‘That’s never had a lock on it as far as I remember.’
‘Which means, in the dark, anyone could slip down the alley off the main road and get to the rear of the chippy.’ Ryan examined the back door. ‘I guess the intruder broke the glass and walked in. It was windy on Tuesday night. Perhaps nobody heard anything over the sound of wind and crashing waves.’
‘It’s quite secluded back here – no one’s ever just passing, so the chances of anyone hearing anything were slim anyway.’ Maggie faced the chippy. ‘I wonder why Mr Robbins didn’t replace the door with a solid one, rather than just getting it reglazed? Having said that, the door provides most of the office’s natural light.’
‘It must’ve taken Mr Robbins ages to sweep up the glass.’
‘Good point. Where is the broken glass?’ Maggie lifted the lid on the wheelie bin and came face to face with a split bin bag, bulging with nugget-shaped fragments of safety glass. ‘That answers that question.’
As there was nothing much to see outside, Ryan went back to the office. ‘I bet there’s still some inside. Glass goes everywhere.’
Following on Ryan’s heels, Maggie mused, ‘And, as it was safety glass, there’d be no point checking for blood; even if whoever’s responsible was stupid enough not to cover their fist or elbow first – if that’s how they broke it.’
Dropping to his haunches, Ryan hunted for rogue fragments. ‘If they’d used a brick or something to smash the glass, I bet we’d have seen it. It’s not like they bothered tidying up after themselves.’
‘True.’ Maggie shut the back door and picked up the kettle. ‘I’ll make us a cuppa and try Mr Robbins again.’
By the time Ryan had found a handful of stray pieces of glass and deposited them into the bin with the rest, Maggie had called the shop’s manager three times, but there’d been no answer. She’d been about to call Darren, the man Mr Robbins employed as his driver, to find out if he knew where his boss was, when another realisation hit her.
‘The fryers aren’t on.’ Maggie donned her apron and the white boater she used to keep her mass of curls under control. ‘I should have noticed how quiet it was in the shop.’
Ryan plonked on his own hat. ‘Do you think we should tell the police what’s happened?’
‘He wouldn’t like that.’
‘But he’s missing.’
Maggie’s stomach gave a lurch. ‘Not missing, just not here. There’ll be an explanation.’
‘You could phone David.’ Ryan bit his lip as he made the suggestion. He knew there was history between Maggie and the local police sergeant, but how extensive that history was, he hadn’t liked to ask.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘He was helpful last time.’
‘He was, but this isn’t the same thing at all.’
Dropping the subject of Sergeant Peters, Ryan asked, ‘Do you want me to prep for opening while you get a cab over to Mr Robbins’ place in Newlyn? He might just be at home.’
‘Tempted as I am to say yes, I’ve known him long enough to know he’d hate us turning up at his campervan uninvited.’
‘But—’
‘I know . . . he’s not answering his phone. If he’s not with us by the end of the lunchtime shift, we’ll go to Newlyn. In the meantime we should concentrate on Tuesday night’s break-in.’
‘I agree, but . . . ’ Ryan paused. ‘Fish!’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s Thursday, there’s a fish delivery on Thursday mornings. If the freezer’s full then—’
‘Mr Robbins has been here this morning to deal with the order. Of course!’ Dashing to the large chest freezer at the back of the shop, Maggie wrenched the lid open. ‘It’s full!’
‘Thank goodness. That means he’s been here. He’s probably just popped out for something.’
But he never goes out! Maggie quashed the panic rising back up inside her. ‘I’ll call Darren. He was a huge help on our first case back in the summer – I’m sure he’d help us again now.’
‘He seems close to Mr Robbins too – well, as close as anyone is.’
‘I’ve always thought so.’ Maggie nodded. ‘After I’ve spoken to Darren, if you’re okay prepping the shop, I’m going to search the filing cabinet.’
‘Without asking Mr Robbins first?’
‘He asked us to investigate, and he isn’t here; two things that are out of character, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I would.’ Ryan glanced at the clock as it ticked closer to opening time. ‘Although – could we be overreacting? He might have his phone on silent. Not that much time has passed since I spoke to him, and we know he’s been here today.’
‘I suppose so.’ Maggie couldn’t shift the nagging sense that all was not well. ‘But, what if something’s happened to him?’
‘Then we’ll find out.’ Ryan saw his own worries reflected in his friend’s eyes as he tried to remain practical. ‘After you’ve spoken to Darren, do you know what you’ll be searching the cabinet for?’
‘Not a clue, but at least we’ll discover what he keeps in there.’
In deference to the fact she was examining a crime scene, Maggie put on a clean pair of the gloves she used when handling raw fish and slid open the top layer of the ancient four-drawer filing cabinet.
Using her phone, she took a photograph of the open drawer before she touched it. Rather than diving into her search, Maggie took a few more photographs and soon had a complete photographic record of the office. Then, she pressed Darren’s number into her phone. Receiving no reply, she assumed he was driving and returned her attention to the drawer. It was packed with foolscap folders. There were no loose pieces of paper rammed in at odd angles or any sign that someone had been careless with their filing. Thinking of her own haphazard method of storing things at home, Maggie wondered if Mr Robbins was always this organised or if this was the result of a post-break-in sort-out.
Making a note to ask him, she took out a folder and laid it on the table. Maggie couldn’t bring herself to sit in the orange chair, so she sat on the wooden chair opposite. Inside the file she discovered the last six months’ invoices for the supply of chipping potatoes. Underwhelmed by her findings, Maggie fetched the next folder. This one was full of receipts for tomato ketchup sachets.
By the time Ryan joined her, she was on the third drawer of the filing cabinet.
‘How’s it going?’ Ryan took off his boater as he put the kettle on.
‘I’ve discovered that the chippy gets through such a tiny amount of tartare sauce that he hasn’t ordered any in over a year!’
Ryan pulled a face. ‘I’m not surprised; it’s horrible. Anything else?’
‘Nothing. Unless the intruder was someone Mr Robbins owed money to for fish or spuds, I can’t think of why they would want to read this lot.’
Ryan dropped a teabag into Maggie’s cup. ‘They didn’t, though. I know we only glimpsed the office before Mr Robbins ushered us out, but the impression I got was that they were deliberately making a mess by throwing files everywhere.’
‘You think I’m wasting my time?’
‘No. We agreed to do this properly, and that means being methodical.’ Ryan added some milk to his tea. ‘We knew a lot of our detective work would be dull.’
‘Certainly looks like that on the television.’ Maggie took the next folder from the cabinet. ‘I always feel sorry for the young detective constables you see in TV programmes, who have to sit in cars all night, watching a house to see if someone goes in or out.’
‘That might be us now.’ Ryan passed her a hot drink. ‘Maybe, as we have no car to sit in, we should invest in some thermals, Thermos flasks and a subscription to an online doughnut bakery.’
Chuckling, Maggie opened the next file. ‘More invoices. Haddock this time.’
‘I’d never associated Mr Robbins with being such a good administrator.’
‘The shop is well run. I only cook the food and serve the customers; he does the rest. Things need to be ordered, records kept and so on.’ Pausing for some tea, Maggie mused. ‘This morning’s fish would have arrived early.’
‘The van delivering it is usually here by six-thirty. So, we know he was here today, then. But how long for?’
‘It would take about twenty minutes to sort the order, I’d imagine – so, for now, let’s guess that the fishmonger left the shop sometime between six-fifty and ten this morning.’
‘Memories from living upstairs make me think he’d have been and gone by eight, even if he was running late.’ Ryan put down his mug and drew some gloves from his pocket. ‘I’ll start the last drawer.’
‘There was no reply from Darren. I rang Mr Robbins’ mobile again half an hour back. He’s still not replying either. I’m hoping they’re out together and simply offline for some reason.’ The unease Maggie had been battling increased as she checked the time: eleven-fifteen. ‘I wish we knew what we were looking for.’
‘Perhaps that’s it.’ Ryan abruptly sat up. ‘Perhaps they were looking for something, not a paper from the files. Something they thought might be hidden amongst the files?’
‘Such as?’
‘I haven’t got a clue.’
Chapter Four
Ryan followed their final lunchtime customer to the door and flipped the open sign around to closed.
‘I’m going to try Darren again.’ Maggie brandished her phone. ‘Something’s definitely wrong.’
‘Perhaps the boss has got a cold or something.’ Ryan grabbed a cloth and wiped down the counter with antibacterial spray.
‘He’s not had a sick day in a decade. He . . . ’ Maggie held up a hand to indicate that her call was being answered. ‘Hi, Darren. Sorry to disturb you, but is Mr Robbins with you?’
A quarter of an hour later, having swept the chippy’s floor and emptied its rubbish bins at high speed, Maggie and Ryan locked the shop door just as a car drew up, temporarily blocking the road outside.
‘Thanks for this, Darren.’ Maggie climbed into the passenger seat while Ryan got in the back. ‘Have you heard from him since I called?’
‘Nothing.’ Darren drove the Citroën smoothly along the winding road that led straight to Newlyn. ‘I’ve been working all morning but haven’t had any messages from Mr Robbins.’
‘Perhaps he was more shaken up by the break-in than we thought,’ Ryan mused.
‘What break-in?’ Darren braked sharply.
‘You hadn’t heard?’ Although Darren was almost as shadowy a figure as his employer, Maggie knew Mr Robbins trusted him, so saw no harm in telling him what had happened. ‘The shop was turned over on Tuesday night. Or maybe the early hours of Wednesday morning.’
‘Did they take much?’
‘Nothing.’ Maggie checked her phone again. There was nothing from Mr Robbins. ‘When you said you were out working this morning, Darren, what were you doing?’
‘Helping a friend at their coffee shop.’
‘Locally?’
‘Opposite side of Newlyn Harbour to where Mr Robbins has his campervan. I haven’t seen him today.’
‘Oo . . . kayy . . . ’ Every instinct in Maggie told her things were far from okay. ‘He called Ryan last night and asked us to find out who broke into the chippy. Whoever it was concentrated their search on the filing cabinet. We’ve been through that this morning but found nothing of interest. Can you think of anything that might be worth stealing from the shop?’
‘Nothing.’ Darren’s brow furrowed. ‘And they didn’t try the till?’
‘Not that we saw. Odd that he didn’t tell you.’
Darren kept his eyes on the road. ‘He’s not one for sharing.’
Unable to deny this, Maggie voiced an idea that was forming in her head. ‘If there was nothing worth stealing, then perhaps there was another reason someone went to all that trouble. Perhaps someone wanted to scare Mr Robbins.’
‘Or us?’ Ryan added.
‘If that’s the case—’ Maggie swivelled round to face her colleague on the back seat ‘—then they are succeeding.’
The driveway into the rear side of Newlyn Harbour was bumpy and littered with potholes. As the car rumbled over the gritty ground, far from the touristy part of the harbour, Maggie took in the ramshackle nature of the location.
‘Funny, in all the years I’ve worked for him, I’ve never been here. I hadn’t pictured it as quite so rundown.’
‘He likes to be separate from everyone else.’ Darren brought the car to a halt. . .
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