Heathcliff remained bone still. He glared up at DS Wilson, his dark eyes daring her to say more. I stepped in front of him and folded my arms. “You can’t just accuse Heathcliff without—”
“As an eyewitness, I’m just telling you what I saw. At one point, your boyfriend pounded his fist into a table so hard he cracked the wood. It’s obvious he drank himself into a villainous mood, came here, destroyed the tree, then hid it to try and make it look like a burglary.”
“What a bloody stupid theory,” Heathcliff retorted. “That tree was twelve feet high. Where do you suppose I hid it? Up my arseho—”
I cut him off. “I really don’t think Heathcliff is responsible. Isn’t it better to approach any crime with no preconceived idea about the perpetrator?”
“That’s the idea. But when all the circumstantial evidence points at one suspect…” DS Wilson tapped her phone. “Inspector Drudge has asked me to make an assessment of the scene on his behalf. I need a statement from all of you. Mina, when did you last see the tree?”
“It was here when I locked up the shop, about 6PM. I didn’t come downstairs again until just now. I was in the attic with my boyfriends…” I looked around for Quoth and found him sitting on the door in his bird form. “Er, yes. I mean, in the attic with Morrie. The other flatmate, Allen, is away visiting his family.”
“She’s my alibi,” Morrie grinned. “And I’m hers. I alibied her hard and without protection—”
“Yes, I get the idea.” DS Wilson groaned. “And the two of you didn’t hear anything?” She whipped her gaze from me to Morrie, struggling to keep the salacious questions out of her eyes. I never explicitly told her I was dating all the guys, but I’d never hid the truth, either. I figured in her job she’d probably seen all kinds. She desperately wanted to ask, and I admit I kind of wanted to tell her, but also, I think we both understood it was better if Argleton didn’t know about my harem just yet.
“We heard the usual thuds and groans of this old building settling—oh, and I heard the bells on the door tinkle,” I remembered. “I assumed it was Heathcliff coming home from the pub.”
“What time was that?”
“I didn’t look at a clock, but somewhere between 10:30 and 11PM?”
DS Wilson turned to Heathcliff. “Can you confirm the time you arrived home?”
Heathcliff shrugged. “Dunno. Wasn’t exactly on a schedule.”
I elbowed him in the ribs. You could at least try to help yourself. “The pub shuts at 11PM on quiz nights. Had the landlord called time?”
Heathcliff nodded. DS Wilson scribbled notes.
“And the tree was still here when you arrived home?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly…” Heathcliff grabbed his sleeve. “Yes, it bloody well was! I was trying to get to my desk, to… to… pour another drink, and I crashed into the blasted thing and knocked it over onto the table. I was too drunk, so I figured I’d right it in the morning. Look, it shed needles all over my coat.”
I had to lean in close to see the needles stuck to the fabric, but there they were, running along the inside of his arm, like he’d given the tree a hug.
I wonder if that’s how the bauble ended up in the hallway upstairs, too.
DS Wilson looked unconvinced. “All that proves is you were the last person to handle the tree. Lift up your feet. Let’s see the soles of your boots.”
Grumbling under his breath, Heathcliff complied. DS Wilson leaned in and I stooped down to peer at his boots. Sure enough, the soles were caked with dried mud and needles.
No. I can’t believe it. I refuse to believe it.
“That doesn’t mean anything!” I showed her the needles stuck to my own boots. “You know those things are the herpes of the tree world. They stick to everything. They’re already spread all over the shop – Heathcliff could have got them stuck all over him doing perfectly mundane daily tasks.”
DS Wilson didn’t acknowledge me but continued to write on her pad. A sick feeling twisted in my stomach. Heathcliff had a lot more pine needles stuck to his clothing than I did.
That’s because he’s a filth wizard. He’s probably been wearing those same clothes for days without cleaning them. And by his own admission, he crashed about in a drunken stupor last night. He probably did hug the tree. Of course he’d be covered in needles.
Someone else snuck into the shop after Heathcliff went to bed. That’s the only explanation.
Next, DS Wilson inspected the floor. Now that I was looking closely, I could see needles scattered everywhere – over the nativity and books on the table, and all across the windowsill. Two more broken glass baubles lay in a forlorn heap beside Heathcliff’s desk. DS Wilson collected a couple of the larger shards in an evidence bag.
“There’s a horrible smell over here.” She pointed to an area near the table.
I bent down and sniffed, my head spinning from the fumes. It was that gross catnip spray Mum brought in, but it was a different spot than the one Mum sprayed yesterday. DS Wilson showed me a wide circle where the rug was soaked in the stuff, and there were a few glass shards scattered at the edge.
“Mum wrapped up a bottle and placed it under the tree,” I remembered. “The bottle was glass. I bet the thief broke it and left this stain.”
“I agree,” she said. “Perhaps the perpetrator will reek of it.”
Morrie loudly sniffed Heathcliff’s jacket. “It’s hard to discern one scent from the layers of odor,” he said. “But I do detect a hint of catnip.”
“That’s because Mina’s mother sprayed that poxy stuff all over the shop yesterday,” Heathcliff shot back.
Muddy footprints of different sizes tramped across the rugs. It would be impossible to separate the prints of our tree thief from ours or our customers. We followed the trail of needles and mud across the floor and down the hall to the front door. Opening the door, we saw more needles on the stoop and steps before the night’s snowfall obscured any possible path.
DS Wilson stooped to inspect the front door. “This lock hasn’t been broken or damaged. No one forced their way in. What about other ways to get into the house?”
My stomach lurched.
I showed her the rear entrance. The lock there was also intact. We walked around the bottom story to check if any windows were broken. None were, and all the latches were shut tight.
“This building has a cellar?” DS Wilson rubbed her arms as that freezing draft whipped down the hall.
I nodded. “But it has no external window or entrance, and the vent isn’t large enough for anyone to squeeze through, let alone get out with a tree. The entrance is blocked off with a bookcase. I don’t even know where it is, but Morrie can show you if you want—”
But DS Wilson was already distracted by something on the staircase. I stooped down to look closely and noticed a scattering of needles trailing up the stairs. We followed the trail up to the first-floor landing, where another glass shard waited.
“What’s this?” DS Wilson picked up some tufts of black fur beside the shard.
“That’s the fringe on Heathcliff’s coat.” My stomach twisted in knots. I didn’t like where this was going. “Like the needles, it’s probably all over the shop…”
DS Wilson bagged the fur and held up another broken shard. “And why would this be on the stairs?”
I had no answer. My heart sinking, I followed her up the narrow stairs to our flat. The needle trail continued across the living room. In the corner beside Heathcliff’s chair, DS Wilson picked up a small length of ribbon and a torn piece of gift wrap. None of us had been wrapping presents upstairs, so the only way those could have got up here was if… if…
No. It’s not true.
The needles came to a stop outside the door of Heathcliff’s room.
Something cold settled on my chest. I reached up to turn the knob. I’m going to open this door and see the usual messy room and everything will be fine, because Heathcliff would never do this—
“You
’re not allowed in there!” Heathcliff flung himself in front of the door, his eyes wild.
DS Wilson shot me a triumphant look. I grabbed Heathcliff’s arm and tried to pry his fingers from the doorframe. “Just let her look inside. When she sees there are no presents in there, she’ll know you didn’t do it, and we can—”
“No.” Heathcliff’s dark eyes raged.
Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. Why didn’t he want DS Wilson to see inside his bedroom? What’s he hiding?
“Why not?” I asked in a small voice.
“I’d also like to know why you don’t want me to see inside this room,” DS Wilson fixed Heathcliff with a suspicious stare.
“Come back with a warrant, and I’ll happily let you sniff around my underthings. Until then, no one goes into this room.” To emphasize his point, Heathcliff grabbed an old-fashioned key from his pocket and turned it in the lock until we all heard a loud, metallic click.
“Heathcliff, please—” Tears spilled over, running down my cheeks. I shook his arm, but he was as immovable as a statue. He wrenched his head away, not even looking at me.
“I think I’ve seen enough.” DS Wilson scribbled on her pad. “There’s no evidence of a break-in. The thief was either inside the house or had a key to get in. They took the tree and dragged it outside. Since you and Mr. Moriarty vouch for each other, and your other flatmate is away, it has to be Heathcliff – the one person in this room with a motive to destroy the tree.”
I balled my hands into fists, fighting to gain control over my rising panic. “Heathcliff didn’t do it. He’d never—”
DS Wilson flipped her pad shut and shoved it into her pocket. “Mina, because you’ve helped us out with a couple of cases over the last few months, and also because Inspector Drudge hates being bothered with paperwork over the holidays, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to keep this quiet for forty-eight hours. Convince your boyfriend to return the tree and presents intact, or in two days’ time I’ll be pressing formal charges.”
Chapter Four
“I didn’t do this.” Heathcliff barely held himself together. His whole body trembled with rage. He planted both hands on his desk and loomed over it, looking every bit the terrifying fiend he’d been described as in Wuthering Heights. Needles dropped from his coat like tiny snowflakes of incrimination.
He faced off against Morrie, Quoth, and I. Between his hands was the scrap of ribbon and the broken baubles, along with the intact one I’d found in the hallway this morning. The one with tufts of his coat sticking out of it.
The only other sound in the room was Grimalkin’s ecstatic mews as she rolled about in the catnip stain.
“Just admit it.” Quoth’s eyes blazed. “Give the tree and the presents back and we can all pretend you’re not a villain.”
“I can’t give the bloody tree back, because I don’t know where it is!”
Quoth turned his head away. “You’re horrible. You don’t care who you hurt, as long as you get your way.”
I wrapped my arm around Quoth’s shoulders, but he shrugged me off and slunk into the shadows. A moment later, a black raven swooped up to perch on the chandelier and frown down at Heathcliff.
“You going to sit up there and judge me all bloody day,” Heathcliff shook his fist at the bird. “So that’s what friendship means to a grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore.”
“Croak!” Quoth’s eyes blazed with ire.
“Hey, don’t get personal.” I glared at Heathcliff, lest he broke into another line of Quoth’s least-favorite poem. “Quoth has a right to be upset.”
“Yeah. The birdie’s not the only one reeling.” Morrie stuck out his lower lip. “I’m hurt, too. You committed a high-stakes theft and didn’t even tell me! I’m the Napoleon of Crime, in case you’ve forgotten. If you’d employed my help I wouldn’t have allowed you to make so many stupid mistakes.”
“I didn’t make any stupid mistakes, because I didn’t steal the bloody tree!” Heathcliff bellowed.
I struggled to keep my breathing even as I leaned over and placed my hands on top of his. Beneath my fingers, he trembled. “Heathcliff, if you tell me you didn’t take the tree, then I believe you. But is there any possibility that in your inebriated state you might have done something to it? Thrown it somewhere on the street, or cut it up? Maybe if we—”
“I didn’t do it. I crashed into the bloody thing when I came home, but that was it. I came upstairs and went to bed.”
“Then why didn’t you want DS Wilson to look in your room?”
“None of your business.” He jerked his hands from under mine, making the whole desk shake.
“Fine.” I closed my eyes for a moment, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. “I stand by what I said. Even though you’re being a complete wanker, I believe you. But convincing DS Wilson and the rest of the village is another matter – the four of us have to tackle this the way we settle all the other mysteries that cross our path. We’ve got two days to figure out who took the tree and presents and make them return it.”
Morrie and Quoth looked at each other. Quoth fluttered to the ground and transformed back into his human form. Naked, he stared at the floor, his long hair curtaining his face so I couldn’t see the pain in his eyes.
“I’d love to help, Mina. But I’ve got to head over to the animal shelter. They’ve got a fresh litter of rescued kittens coming in today. And now that they’re not going to get all the supplies from under the tree, they need all the help…” his words faded into a shudder.
“But, Quoth—”
Quoth had already scooped up his clothes and padded away into the shadows.
I glared at Heathcliff. “You should go after him.”
“Why? He’s the craven one suspecting me of high crimes. He should be the one apologizing to me.”
“You know he’s sensitive about the animals, and yet you’ve been sniping at him about the tree ever since we put it up.”
Heathcliff waved his arms around his head. “That’s because it was bigger than the bloody shop. You know what? Go after the tree thief if you want, but leave me out of it. Thanks to this burglary I’ve finally got some peace and quiet, and I intend to enjoy it.”
Before I could protest, Heathcliff grabbed up his prize whisky, swung around, and stumbled through to his office. CRASH. The door slammed behind him – the sound slicing through my fractured heart.
I stared at the cracked wood of the door. A tear escaped the corner of my eye. I couldn’t believe Heathcliff would steal from the town, from me, and especially from Quoth. But between his horrible mood and the fact he wouldn’t help clear his own name… was I wrong?
Did Heathcliff steal Christmas?
Chapter Five
I slid into Heathcliff’s chair. The glass baubles stared up at me, mocking me with his secrets. I shoved them aside and pulled over a notebook and pen.
Time to get to work. Detective Mina is in.
“Does anyone else have a key to the shop?” I asked Morrie, who was busy picking needles off his favorite velvet chair.
Morrie sat down. He winced. Reaching under his arse, he pulled out a particularly long needle and tossed it aside in disgust. “So you are trying to solve the theft.”
“Of course I am.”
“Even though it might reveal Heathcliff was the thieving bastard who took all those donated gifts?”
“It’s not going to reveal that, because Heathcliff wouldn’t do such a horrible thing,” I said with more conviction than I felt. I truly believed Heathcliff was innocent, but so much evidence had mounted against him and he was refusing to help himself.
He was acting guilty. I hated it.
Morrie brushed needles off the edge of the desk and leaned across to fix me with his icicle eyes. “You know I can’t refuse a good mystery. What do you have so far?”
I doodled names on the page. “It wasn’t Heathcliff, and it wasn’t Quoth or you or I. Grimalkin lacks opposable
thumbs, so it can’t possibly be her. It had to have been someone outside the shop. I’ve checked the bedroom upstairs and it’s locked tight, so it wasn’t someone who’s come from some other place in time. We haven’t seen any new fictional characters around. Judging by the fact the thieves absconded the tree out the front door, I think we’re looking at ordinary, human crooks from this century, probably one that now smells like catnip. Since the burglar didn’t break any locks or windows, they must have a key. Do you know if Heathcliff has given anyone a copy of the key?”
“Are you kidding? He won’t even give Quoth and I keys. I wouldn’t have stood for it except that he doesn’t know I can pick the lock in about two seconds flat. You’re the only one who has one. Oh, and Bertie the accountant.”
“He does?” That seemed weird.
“Sure. One day a few years back, Bertie needed to collect the account ledger, but Heathcliff was passed out drunk. Rather than have his client face a late payment fee, Bertie broke a window, climbed inside, collected the ledger, and left a note stuck to Heathcliff’s forehead saying he either needed to move to cloud-based accounting software or give Bertie a key to the shop.”
I couldn’t resist a smile at that. “Heathcliff would never agree to voluntarily use the computer.”
“Exactly. Hence, Bertie got his key. Just as well, too – he cut up his abdomen pretty bad on the broken window. There was blood everywhere. I think he’s been a bit afraid of Heathcliff ever since – he keeps hinting that Heathcliff finds another accountant, but you know how much that guy likes change. Heathcliff is by far Bertie’s most bothersome client, so maybe he thought if he could frame Heathcliff for the robbery he’d be able to get out of their contract, but that seems a pretty feeble reason to steal the tree.”
“Except that Bertie’s dog just had puppies!” I exclaimed. “He said his wife lost her job and he was struggling to feed them. If you were desperate, and you knew where some pet supplies were, and you had a key and a guy you didn’t like took the fall for it, that sounds like an ideal solution to me.”
How Heathcliff Stole Christmas: A Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries novella Page 4