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The sign on the door of A.Z. Fell and Co. said ‘closed’. But it was only 3:30 pm on a Wednesday and the lights were on. DI Crowley knocked.
There was no reaction, but he was quite sure he heard someone humming along to music. So he knocked a bit more insistently.
The music was turned off, and a few moments later he saw the face of a man — soft, bright and around his own age — peering through the glass. Crowley held his warrant card up.
“Yes?” a voice as soft as the face said as the door opened a crack and the man inside cautiously looked through it. “Can I help you?”
“You’re Mr Fell, I presume?” The soft face nodded, making the fluffy, practically white hair bob along with the movement. “There have been a few reports of burglary in the neighbourhood. Have you noticed anything?”
“Noticed, not so much, no. But a few young lads did illegally enter these premises one late night.” Fell answered in an almost questioning tone, as if he wasn’t sure if that was of any importance.
Crowley’s eyebrow shot up. “Mind if I come in?”
“Oh, no. Come inside, please.” Fell stepped aside and opened the door wider to let Crowley pass. Inside it was darker than 3:30 pm would suggest as most of the blinds were closed, but it was cosy and not gloomy. All available surfaces were covered in a wild disarray of books, the shelves themselves overflowing, and dust danced in the air that was scented with old leather, paper and curiously tea and something sweet.
“Would you like some tea? I just brewed a fresh pot. There is some rather nice lemon cake as well, if you’d like a slice.” Fell gestured for Crowley to follow to an old sofa that had certainly seen better days.
“Just the tea, please,” Crowley said as he sat down. The sofa was surprisingly comfortable. He had to swallow a groan that almost escaped him. After spending most of this day on his feet, he was really feeling that his body was closer to 50 than 40.
A dainty cup was put in front of him and filled, and milk and sugar pointed out that he could help himself to. Which Crowley didn’t; he preferred his drinks to mirror his mood when he got home to his empty flat at night.
“Did you report the burglary?” he asked.
“No, they didn’t take anything. Well, nothing other than a little cake.” Fell said with an odd smile, especially considering what they were discussing.
Crowley blinked. “Cake?”
“Yes, I gave it to them. You see, I like to bake, but there is only so much one single man can eat.” Fell looked at him through his lashes. The smile turned—
No, Crowley was clearly wrong.
“You simply let them leave after they tried to burgle your shop and didn’t even report it?”
Fell shook his head, “No, we had a nice little chat about their future prospects first, of course.”
Crowley blinked again. “Uh…” Then he blinked some more. Meanwhile, Fell’s smile was encouraging. And… flirtatious? “Uhm, could you describe these ‘lads’?”
“Medium height, medium build. One had a bit of bright hair peeking out of his hat. I’m afraid they never took off their masks.”
“I hope you don’t mind me asking but…” Crowley scratched his head, unsure how to handle this situation. In all his years he had never come across a man like Fell, and he had seen a lot. “Aren’t you worried they might return?”
“Not at all. They’ve seen the error of their ways, I’m sure. One of them seemed quite keen on making it as a florist.”
Crowley shook his head with a smile. “You are an interesting man, Mr Fell.”
“Aziraphale, please.” The smile was returned with a mischievous twinkle in blue eyes. “Interesting enough to share a drink with? After hours, naturally.”
There was only one truthful answer. “Yes?”