“Um…” I stared at the cover, struggling to contain my laughter. “Ma’am, this is the book we chose for your niece. The book you gave her was supposed to be for you.”
“Oh.” The woman raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.”
She dropped the book on the counter and dashed off. Unable to contain myself any longer, I collapsed into giggles. Heathcliff looked over the top of his book.
“Don’t mind me.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “It feels good to be back in the shop.”
It was good. Hayes had already stopped in to let us know that Christina would be going to a psychiatric facility, which seemed like the best solution. I hoped they’d let her keep her bonnets. The tear in Gerald’s shirt cuff matched a scrap of fabric found at one of the previous Argleton Jewel Thief scenes, and a search of his house revealed a stash of jewels nicked from the homes of his British Heritage clients. Hannah dumped him and had started frequenting the shop, much to Heathcliff’s dismay and my delight. Morrie hadn’t called Quoth ‘little birdie’ once, and the boys were bickering less than usual. Lydia was as annoying as ever, but she’d spent most of her time exploring the village and sorting out her newest scheme, so we’d hardly had to worry about her. The only thing that could have improved life was if Heathcliff would hang some Christmas decorations.
BANG. BANG. BANG. Lydia dragged an oversized suitcase down the stairs. Morrie had made the mistake of lending her his credit card so she could buy an appropriate wardrobe. Although considering where she was going, perhaps it was good she got some practice lifting heavy things.
“I still can’t believe you joined the army,” I admonished her.
“Oh, Mina, stop fussing. It will be such good fun!” Lydia clapped her hands. “If I’m to find a soldier to marry me, I must go where the soldiers are. Besides, I thought you’d be pleased that I am throwing off the patriarchal yoke and taking the King’s shilling—”
“It’s actually the Queen’s shilling now,” I pointed out.
“Don’t vex me with your feminism on today of all days!” Lydia spun around, revealing the tailored scarlet military jacket with gold braid and epaulets she’d purchased from Mrs. Maitland. “Don’t I look absolutely stunning? Don’t you think I shall land myself a wonderful soldier to marry?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d be in fatigues as soon as she arrived on the base. Some problems were not mine to solve. “Sure, Lydia. You look amazing.”
“Well, won’t you all see me off, then?” She thrust her hands on her hips.
“Goodbye,” Heathcliff muttered, without looking up from his book. From his perch on top of the chandelier, Quoth shook his head vehemently.
Excellent self-preservation skills, I said inside my head. You’re much safer up there.
Morrie slumped over and wrapped his arms around her. “Good luck, Lydia,” he said. “We’re going to miss your annoying face around here.”
“Does that mean you wish I could stay?” Lydia batted her eyelashes at Morrie.
“No!” yelled Heathcliff, Morrie, and I in unison.
“Croak!” seconded Quoth.
“Meow!” added Grimalkin, for good measure.
Lydia laughed. She threw her arms around me. “I shall miss you most of all, Mina. You remind me a little of my older sister Lizzie, although not as bossy or plain. I still can’t believe she marries that Mr. Darcy.”
I laughed. “I’ll miss you too, Lydia. You come visit if you’re ever back in Argleton.”
“I shan't think so. Not for a very long time!” She blew kisses as she hurried into the street to place her bags in the back of a waiting rideshare. I watched her go, half of me terrified she wouldn’t last an hour, the other half certain she’d be a general in no time.
As soon as her car backed away from the curb and took off down the street, Morrie slumped into a chair. “Thank the gods.”
I smiled. “Hey, we all liked Lydia in the end.”
“I’ve run the most successful criminal empire in the developed world, but that woman tries my every nerve.” He lifted a limp hand to me. “Fetch me a cup of tea, would you?”
“Fetch it yourself.” I punched him in the arm. “I have some boxes to unpack.”
“How can you have more stuff for Jo’s apartment?” Morrie had helped me move into the spare room at Jo’s house last night. It was a tiny room, barely big enough for the single bed I’d found on Gumtree and a rack of clothing. But it was a palace compared to my last room, which wasn’t a room at all, but a conservatory with the windows taped over with cardboard. Jo’s place was amazing – she had a rain shower and heating and an espresso machine in the kitchen (and an anatomical skeleton in the bathroom, but we won’t talk about that), and absolutely no mother in sight.
“I told her, she should have just moved in here,” Heathcliff muttered, turning the page.
I’d been sorely tempted when he made the offer, but in my heart, I knew I wasn’t ready to accept. We may have all said the three scary words, but everything with me and the guys was still so complicated. I needed time to be on my own in the world before I took that step. But at least Jo lived nearby, so I could come and see them any time I wanted, without forking out a fortune for rideshares or walking through my old, scary neighborhood.
“Nope, not more clothes.” I dragged a box from behind the desk. “Christmas decorations.”
“No.” Heathcliff’s book clattered to the floor.
“Yes!” I threw open the box, revealing strings of bright, glittering tinsel. Instantly, my eyes were drawn to the iridescent colors, and the rest of the room fell into shadow. “It’s my mum’s newest scheme. Apparently, Sylvia’s shop’s been shut down by a hazmat team after one of their make-your-own-soap kits exploded. So now she’s selling these ‘designer’ Christmas decorations at a two hundred percent markup.” I held up a string of tinsel hung with miniature books. “Take the other end of this. We’re going to hang it along the front of Heathcliff’s desk.”
“No, we’re not.” Heathcliff folded his arms.
“Yes. We are. No arguments. No more Ms. Nice Mina. If I’m going to stay working here, you’re going to let me try my creative ideas. I need this shop to turn a profit so I can earn some more money, because I’m in need of adaptive equipment and a guide dog. And also a new pair of Docs.”
“Meow?” Grimalkin’s head popped up from behind the armadillo, her whiskers twitching with concern.
“Don’t worry, kitty,” I patted Grimalkin’s head. “I promise my doggo won’t chase you.”
“Meow!” Grimalkin swiped at the tinsel, attacking one of the tiny books with her teeth, as if trying to demonstrate what would happen to any guide dog that dared cross the threshold of the shop.
“Where’s all this sass coming from?” Morrie asked as he shoved Heathcliff aside to hold up the tinsel. “Don’t get me wrong, it excites me. It’s just not like you to lay down the law.”
“It’s coming from me. I’ve decided I don’t want to end up like Christina.”
“A sword-wielding maniac? I think we can all agree that isn’t the ideal outcome for any situation.” Morrie rubbed his chin. “You’re way too uncoordinated for a sword.”
I kicked out my leg and pretended to swing at him. Unfortunately, I misjudged the angle and ended up swinging so far forward that I lost my balance and fell over.
“Fine. I concede your point.” I held up my hand, and Morrie helped me up. “I mean, Christina was so consumed by inaction. She couldn’t face up to her father and the things he’d done, so she continued to exist in the box he stuffed her into, until one day she just snapped. I realized I’d been doing that with my eyes, putting myself into this box where I couldn’t enjoy the things I loved without vision. And I’ve been ignoring things I didn’t want to think about, like the time-travelling room and meeting Victoria and my father’s letter and this whole ‘covered in blood’ thing. Now I see how limiting it is to put yourself in a box and hide away, how Christin
a couldn’t see a world where she just told her father, ‘I’m gay, and I hate Jane Austen’, and lived her own life. And now, she’ll never get that chance.”
“In an odd way, I admire her,” Morrie said, holding up a little shepherd figurine. “She created a little welcome chaos around here. Oooh, a nativity scene. Can we put this over on that table?”
“Yes. I actually had an idea that we could make a stable out of books.” I stacked two hardcovers on their sides and placed a third on top to make a roof. Morrie arranged the porcelain figures inside.
And the armadillo could be God. Quoth shoved him into place with his beak.
“No,” Heathcliff growled.
I ignored him. “And then we just need the baby Jesus and… Morrie! You can’t have Joseph and the first wise man snogging!”
“Why not? I thought that was the sort of thing that went on in barns,” Morrie grinned wickedly.
“Not this one.” I moved the figures back into place, and grinned at Heathcliff. “You haven’t said much about Christina. I remember you feeling empathy for her when you saw how much she feared her father.”
Heathcliff shifted in his chair. “Don’t remind me. I just wish that fear hadn’t turned her ugly.”
I thought I knew what he was alluding to, but I wanted him to talk about it. “Care to elaborate?”
“Hindley,” Heathcliff breathed. The word seethed against my skin, carrying all Heathcliff’s malice with it. “All my life he treated me with cruelty. He said I was a monster and I believed it. How could I not, when I was so different from all of them at Wuthering Heights? When I heard Cathy say that she could never marry me, of course I knew it was because of this,” he rubbed his cheek, indicating his dark skin. “Christina’s father treated her in a different but no less destructive way. He made her into a monster. She deserved to be free of him.”
“But did she have to kill Alice?”
“Of course not. She was desperate. I could understand that. I can’t forgive it, but I can understand.”
The shop bell tinkled, interrupting our conversation. Quoth shrunk into a corner. Heathcliff picked up his book and indicated I should deal with the customer.
A man entered the room, wearing a sharp suit and pressed white shirt. He was handsome in a real-estate agent kind of way – slick hair and boyish features. He marched straight up to the counter and extended his hand to Heathcliff.
“Biographies are up the stairs and to the left,” Heathcliff muttered without even looking up. He knew the sort.
“Ah, but what if I don’t want a biography?”
“Then get out.” Heathcliff turned the page.
The man laughed, extending out a hand. “Mr. Heathcliff, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Grey Lachlan. Let me guess, that tall fellow is James Moriarty. And you must be the indomitable Miss Mina Wilde.”
He turned to me with his slick smile, and a strange wobbly feeling settled in my stomach. Instantly, I wanted to curl up into a ball and hide from this man, but I couldn’t say why.
If Grey Lachlan sensed my unease, he didn’t acknowledge it. His grin spread wide across his earnest face. “My wife has told me how you all solved the murder of her friend Gladys and saved the Jane Austen Experience. We’re incredibly grateful.”
“Yes, well.” Heathcliff sat down and folded his hands across his chest. “Biographies are up the stairs and to the left.”
“No, no. I’ve come for something even better than books.” Grey Lachlan set his briefcase on the counter and plunged his hands into the depths. He pulled out an envelope and set it on the table in front of Heathcliff. I started when I noticed the envelope was sealed with wax. “I would like to buy your bookshop. And I’m willing to make you an offer you cannot refuse.”
“Think again,” Heathcliff growled. “I refuse.”
Grey waved the envelope in front of his face. “You should look inside, Mr. Heathcliff.”
“No.”
Grey sighed. He dropped the envelope on the desk. “Let me be clear. I’m a powerful man, more powerful than you could ever imagine. You do not want me as an enemy. If you do not cooperate with me, I have other means at my disposal. I suggest you give this offer due consideration, because I will have Nevermore Bookshop, even if I have to step over your dead bodies to get it.”
TO BE CONTINUED
A murdered writer threatens to derail Mina’s author event, and a biblical plague threatens her sanity in book 4, Memoirs of a Garroter.
Can’t get enough of Mina and her boys? Read a free alternative scene from Quoth’s point-of-view when you sign up for the Steffanie Holmes VIP list.
From the Author
As I was writing this book, my country was hit with one of the greatest tragedies we’ve ever faced. 50 citizens going about their daily prayers at two mosques in Christchurch were gunned down by a terrorist. The attacks left the whole country in shock – this was more innocent people dead than are usually murdered in New Zealand in a year. Is this who we are? Are we no longer safe? Were we ever really safe?
In the days that followed, I struggled to put words on the page. In the face of such an overwhelming act of hate, I couldn’t see the point. What good did my silly stories about love and acceptance do against such a world?
It turns out, everything.
Because this crime was only possible because there wasn’t enough love. Because the community that was attacked had said for some time that they didn’t feel safe. Because small acts of love, just like small acts of hate, can add up to a lot. With love, attacks like Christchurch wouldn’t happen. With love, everyone would be allowed to feel safe.
Over the days and weeks following the attack, a nation came together to mourn. A government took swift action. And in my little home library, through a haze of tears and with love in my heart, I wrote THE END on this book.
Pride & Premeditation has become my favourite book in the whole series. While my country did its soul-searching and came out strong and mighty and filled with aroha (love), Mina dug deep and found her strength. In this book, she accepts what’s happening to her for the first time and starts to look forward, instead of grasping for the past.
She sees the love she has – not just from the guys, but from her mother and her friends and herself – and in the safety of that love, she can free herself of fear. She finds her strength. She feels safe. She is free.
What makes us different – our race, our religion, our wonky eyes – isn’t as important as what unites us – our love, our humanity, our strength.
I hope, I wish, I believe… that with more love in the world, we can all be free.
Kia kaha, aroha nui.
(Stand strong, with love).
Steffanie
Nevermore Bookshop 4
Memoirs of a Garroter
READ NOW
Murder is bad for business, especially when the hot local crime writer is garrotted between the shelves!
With grudging permission from Heathcliff, Mina Wilde has transformed Nevermore Bookshop. She’s running author events, hosting Quoth’s art show, and using her creative flair to attract more customers. But when crime writer Danny Sledge is murdered moments before his writing workshop, the bookshop goes from bustling to broke.
No one in the village will set foot inside Nevermore. What if the murderer is targeting the bookshop? What if it’s connected to Mina’s father and the mysterious room? All Mina knows is that if she doesn’t solve the crime soon, she can kiss her livelihood goodbye.
Add in a plague of locusts, an emotional school visit, and a magical visitor from the past, and poor Mina has her work cut out for her. Luckily, she has Heathcliff, Morrie, and Quoth to help… that is – if they can keep their hands off her, or each other...
The Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries are what you get when all your book boyfriends come to life. Join a brooding antihero, a master criminal, a cheeky raven, and a heroine with a big heart (and an even bigger book collection) in this brand new steamy reverse har
em paranormal mystery series by USA Today bestselling author Steffanie Holmes.
READ NOW
Want more reverse harem from Steffanie Holmes
“Sizzling hot, sexy characters, and a plot filled with magic, mayhem, excitement, suspense, and fairies. Fantastic.” - Laure Eccleston
“I love all the guys and this book is hot!” - Gilda Rodriguez
“Maeve is feisty and no damsel in distress. I want more!” - Stephanie
Dear Fae,
Don't even THINK about attacking my castle.
This science geek witch and her four magic-wielding men are about to get medieval on your ass.
I’m Maeve Crawford. For years I’ve had my future mathematically calculated down to the last detail; Leave my podunk Arizona town, graduate MIT, get into the space program, be the first woman on Mars, get a cat (not necessarily in this order).
Then fairies killed my parents and shot the whole plan to hell.
I've inherited a real, honest-to-goodness English castle – complete with turrets, ramparts, and four gorgeous male tenants, who I'm totally not in love with.
Not at all.
It would be crazy to fall for four guys at once, even though they're totally gorgeous and amazing and wonderful and kind.
But not as crazy as finding out I'm a witch. A week ago, I didn’t even believe magic existed, and now I’m up to my ears in spells and prophetic dreams and messages from the dead.
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