Chikkamma Tours: A Delectable Murder Mystery Set Around A Bookshop

When the owner of the bookshop above Chikkamma Tours gets stabbed to death in the building, grumpy, book-obsessed, Nilima jumps at the opportunity to play amateur detective. What's more, it seems like the perfect excuse to get close to her alluring boss Shwetha. But to successfully investigate the murder, Nilima also needs to learn to work with her annoying colleague Poorna and with Inspector Sharmila Lamani, who is in a relationship with Nilima's ex-girlfriend. 

Braving the incessant rain, a local gangster and sundry other shady characters, as well as the police, who seem intent on charging an innocent man, Nilima, Shwetha and Poorna are soon hot on the trail of the murderer.

A deliciously bookish mystery set in Bengaluru, Chikkamma Tours (Pvt.) Ltd is the very best kind of cosy novel, featuring wry humour, keen observations of city life and a cast of colourful characters.

Here's an excerpt from Unmana's Chikkamma Tours (Pvt.) Ltd: A Bibliomystery

Nilima waited till Shwetha and Poorna were absorbed in their work—Shwetha had shut herself up in her little room again, and Poorna was talking on her phone, earphones in, so that her hands were free to gesticulate emphatically—and went up to the bookshop. Ever since she had started at Chikkamma, she had been going up nearly every day. But earlier, Jagdip had been a refuge she turned to when her life (usually, just her job) had seemed difficult. Now it had merged into the rest of her life (and her job).

For one, Maniram, who’d always ignored her when she walked past, now got to his feet, saluted smartly and greeted her in Assamese. She nodded brusquely and walked on, feeling miserable. He’ll think I don’t want to acknowledge him in public, she thought. I just don’t want to draw attention to myself! 

There were more customers than usual, and Dipen was at the downstairs cash counter charming a few of them with his bright smile and easy banter. Nilima stopped at the romance aisle a little way inside, where she could listen without being in Dipen’s line of sight. He thanked the customer he had just billed, then Nilima heard another express her regrets at
Jagat’s death. 

There was a pause before Dipen said, in a more sombre voice, ‘Thank you. We’ll all miss my brother very much.’ 

The customer talked on; she had been coming to the shop since Samudra Desai had first opened it. What an institution it was for this part of the city! She hoped Dipen wasn’t thinking
of closing up. 

‘No, of course not. This bookstore is my home. I will honour my father and my brother’s legacy.’

Nilima retreated a few steps, thinking about what she had just heard. Dipen, by all accounts, had never been concerned about the shop or his father’s legacy. Was he just mouthing words that he thought would make him look good? Or did he feel responsible for the shop now that his brother was gone? The shop didn’t belong to him: it belonged to his sister-in-law, who apparently rarely visited. Did that rankle?

Dipen commented on the next customer’s purchases and offered a recommendation. The man demurred. Dipen insisted. ‘It’s a beautiful new series of notebooks; have a look, you’ll love it. We just got them, we haven’t even had a chance to put them up yet.’ He yelled across the shop: ‘Sampath sir! Get a set of those new notebooks that just came in.’

Nilima had never seen Dipen so interested in serving customers, and none of the shop’s current employees had indicated he was (though Pallav had hinted he was good at his work—maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Pallav’s judgement). Had Dipen avoided getting involved for so many years simply because he didn’t have control?

She ducked into an aisle to avoid Sampath, who was hurrying across with a bunch of notebooks (in different sizes, all with bright, hard covers) in his arms. She had landed in the non-fiction section; there were signs up for memoir, business, finance, philosophy, self-help. She shuddered in distaste. Towards the front of the store were the aisles for mythology, romance, fantasy and Indian writing. And stationery and toys were right up front near the counter. She hadn’t spent much time on this floor, except in the comics and graphic novels section at the back, behind the stairs leading to the second floor.

She went up the stairs. The literary fiction section took up most of this floor, and was divided into classics and contemporary fiction. Beyond it was her favourite haunt, the thriller aisle.

Mehnaz was holding court at the cash counter, a cluster of customers around her. Nilima hid behind a shelf. A customer asked about a book he was looking for.

‘Try the classics section,’ Mehnaz told him. ‘At the back, near the modern classics. Or else try downstairs, in the Indian writing section.’

The man wandered off. The other customers in the queue seemed more interested in chatting than paying. They were asking about the murder. Mehnaz replied shortly in a bored voice, and Nilima grinned. They won’t get much gossip out of her.

Nilima walked towards the back of the shop. The Unmanacustomer whom Mehnaz had just directed found his Volga exactly where she had said it would be. Nilima felt a thrill of happiness at the thought that this bookshop could become the kind of place she’d love to come to, day after day and week after week and maybe year after year, if she worked at Chikkamma for that long.

Then she remembered; what underlay this change was the grim fact of Jagat’s murder. When Jagat had been around, both Mehnaz and Dipen had been quiet and sullen.

Extracted with permission from Chikkamma Tours (Pvt.) Ltd: A Bibliomystery by Unmana; published by Tranquebar, an imprint of Westland Books