CHAPTER EIGHT
The front door of the bookshop refused to open.
Charlotte had lost track of time after her shower, indulging in just one more chapter of her latest book which became two more chapters. With ten minutes until opening, she’d done her usual tasks. Through the back door, lights on, money in the register. No time to vacuum so she’d pick a quiet moment when Rosie arrived to do it.
Broom in hand to sweep the pavement, she hurried to the front door, moved the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open’ and turned the lock. It turned, but the door handle wouldn’t.
“Come on, Charlie, you’re not that weak!”
She rattled the door and tried the handle again. In both directions. Just resistance. Something must have jammed the door from outside. She’d locked up yesterday after Rosie left to go to the bistr
