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Muriel investigated the gap between the books using the magnifying glass that Aziraphale kept in the shop to decipher the minuscule writing in the old scriptures. They held it up to their eye as if it were a monocle and peered through, squinting in concentration.
“Strange,” they muttered, furrowing their brow. “Very strange.”
The disappearance of the books posed a perplexing puzzle for which they had no immediate explanation, and to their dismay, the magnifying glass was of no help. Instead of sharpening their vision, the tool blurred it, so they set it aside with a resigned sigh and knelt on the floor of the bookshop, inspecting the gap in the lowest shelf closely.
Naturally, Muriel had detected the mysterious disappearance of the books right away. Keeping track of things was their job after all, and they weren’t a 37th-class scrivener for nothing.
(In fact, Muriel had flinched violently at the noise when a neighbouring book had collapsed into the newly created emptiness beside it, indicating a space large enough for at least four books to have vanished by that point).
With their experience as Inspector Constable, and drawing on the insights gained from reading a fair share of the bookshop's detective novels, Muriel knew exactly how to proceed of course - they began looking for clues immediately.
Unfortunately, there was little to be found. The only notable detail about the missing books was that they all belonged to Aziraphale’s favourites. Otherwise, there were no peculiarities worth mentioning - no scratch marks on the door lock, no broken windows, no signs of forced entry or damage. Although Muriel tried their best, they didn't find any incriminating fingerprints, and nothing aside from the books seemed to be missing (although it was hard to tell with all the fascinating memorabilia Aziraphale had collected over the last centuries cluttering the bookshop).
When their search for clues yielded no actionable insights, they proceeded to the next step: interrogating witnesses.
Muriel’s first stop was Heaven.
“No, books have never vanished without a trace before,” Aziraphale said, sitting behind his desk full of paperwork, looking wary. “Muriel, should I be concerned? Do you need any assistance?”
Muriel let out a nervous laugh and waved their hands in dismissal.
“Oh, no, not at all. It’s fine,” they assured him, attempting to conceal their embarrassment at having troubled the Supreme Archangel with such a trivial matter. However, after the disappearance of the seventh book in just a few days, they thought it best to clarify whether this was a common occurrence that no one had thought to inform them about.
Muriel squirmed under Aziraphale’s lingering gaze. It left them wondering whether they had given him the impression of neglecting their duty to care for the bookshop in his absence. Hastily, they added: “I … I will conduct an inventory. I am certain they’ve simply been misplaced.”
Aziraphale sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked tired, worn out, and lacked the warm smile and friendly tone in his voice that Muriel had always appreciated for their kindness.
“Keep me informed, please?” Aziraphale requested and Muriel nodded eagerly in response. That was the least they could do.
“And if you happen to meet…,” Aziraphale's voice trailed off, lost in thought, before he forced a smile and adjusted his attire, shining with a white so radiant that it nearly hurt the eye. Yet, instead of lending him authority, it only made him look pale.
“No, it’s nothing,” Aziraphale concluded, already turning back to the paperwork piled on his desk, wearing a determined expression on his face. “Thank you for telling me, Muriel.”
Muriel opted for Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death as their next stop. Positioned directly across from the bookshop, there was the chance that Nina might have witnessed an intruder. Armed with a notebook and a pen, Muriel entered the café, ready to jot down every single detail Nina could provide. Inside, Muriel found Nina in the midst of serving a large cup of coffee to Aziraphale’s grumpy demon friend. Mr. Crowley, if they remembered correctly.
“What is it, Cupperty?” Nina greeted Muriel, ignoring Mr. Crowley’s extended hand as she held onto the steaming cup rather than placing it on the table in front of him. “Can I get you the usual?”
“Um, no, thanks,” Muriel declined, casting a nervous glance at Mr. Crowley. They hadn’t forgotten how he tricked them into granting him access to Heaven, or how he had refused to let them wait in the bookshop when Muriel had had nowhere else to go. Muriel didn't feel particularly comfortable in his presence, although he certainly didn't appear to match the gruesome and frightening description of a demon Heaven expected Muriel to believe in.
Mr. Crowley had given Muriel a book after all, and Aziraphale seemed to like him, so perhaps there was a hidden kindness to him, though Muriel was hard-pressed to detect it beneath his clenched jaw and grim expression.
“I thought you might be able to help,” Muriel said hopefully, turning their attention back to Nina and recounting everything about the vanishing books. They noticed Mr. Crowley shifting in his seat, but his facial expression remained a mystery behind the shades covering his eyes.
“That’s weird,” Nina remarked after Muriel had finished. “But I am sorry, I haven’t seen anything unusual happening.”
Muriel made a desperate noise, their shoulders sagging.
“Aziraphale will be very angry with me for not paying proper attention,” they lamented, earning a disbelieving snort from Mr. Crowley.
“Oh, he won’t,” he growled. “He’s very good at forgiveness. Trust me, I know.”
Muriel squinted in confusion at Mr. Crowley’s bitter tone, which didn’t quite align with the notion of forgiveness.
“Why do you think the thief took these specific books?” Nina inquired, shooting Mr. Crowley a dismissive glance. “They aren’t the most valuable in the bookshop, are they?”
Muriel shook their head.
“No. But they're all Aziraphale’s favourites. He keeps them on a separate shelf in the back of the bookshop to prevent customers from accidentally taking them.”
Nina hummed thoughtfully.
“Sounds like someone is on a personal vendetta,” she speculated.
Muriel remained unconvinced.
“I think the thief must be lonely,” they proposed their own theory, receiving a skeptical look from Nina.
“What makes you think that?” she asked, eyebrows raised.
“Well, books are like people, only portable,” Muriel explained, fondly remembering the first time they had picked up a novel, the words on the page as comforting as a warm hug, distracting them from feeling out of place on this strange yet exciting planet. “So if someone takes that many books in such a short time they crave company, obviously.”
Nina's expression shifted. She looked as if pieces of a puzzle clicked into place, and then regarded Mr. Crowley with suspicion.
“Or,” she intoned meaningfully, her gaze fixed on Mr. Crowley’s face, her features softening into something Muriel took for sympathy, “craving the company of someone very specific, given that only the favourites are disappearing.”
Mr. Crowley finally snatched the cup from Nina's hands, his patience running out.
“Why are you even bothering with this?” he snarled, downing his six shots of espresso and slamming the cup onto the table with unnecessary force, causing Muriel to flinch. “He left them here without a backwards glance. They don’t seem that important to him after all.”
Muriel hurriedly took a few steps back as he abruptly pushed back his chair and left the café with brisk strides, smoking.
“Watch out for lightning strikes, Mr. Six Shots of Espresso!” Nina called after him as the door shut with a resounding thud. She sighed, and Muriel looked at her with a questioning expression - as did all the other customers who had witnessed Mr. Crowley’s abrupt flight. Nina ignored them, putting a comforting hand on Muriel's shoulder.
“Don’t you worry, Cupperty” she said, the soothing words accompanied by a reassuring squeeze of her hand. “The books will be back eventually.”
“How can you be so sure?” Muriel wanted to know, taken aback by Nina's confidence.
Nina glanced out the shop window as Mr. Crowley sped away in his Bentley.
“Because he won’t be able to bear the look of heartbreak over those missing books on that angelic face for very long when Mr. Fell returns.”
With that, Nina collected Mr. Crowley’s empty cup and tended to the customers waiting at the counter, leaving an even more confused Inspector Constable behind.