How Heathcliff Stole Christmas: A Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries novella

by Steffanie Holmes

  “I appreciate it, Tabitha.” She ducked outside.

  As soon as the door blew shut, Quoth fluttered down and shifted to his human form. “We have our answer. Tabitha wasn’t the thief. Will you come up to bed now? It’s freezing down here.”

  My teeth chattered as the draft blasted through the room. “Not quite yet.” I pinched the corner off my favorite notebook, lifting it gingerly off the desk and dropping it into the bin. “I need to disinfect this desk first.”

  As I scrubbed at the wood with the industrial cleaner, my mind whirled with what we’d learned. So Earl had been outside that night, and he was asking about the tree. I’d better have a talk with him tomorrow.

  Chapter Eleven

  I woke up with a start – driven from dreams not by the light streaming in the attic window but by a cold blast attacking my face. That damn draft again – it was everywhere in the shop. I climbed out of bed, pulled on my fleece leggings, wool jumper, Quoth’s Blood Lust hoodie, my winter trench coat, and a pair of red gloves. I wrapped my favorite red scarf several times around my neck. Still, I felt cold.

  “We’ve really got to fix that draft,” I muttered as I slunk into the kitchen, hunting on the counter for hair clips I’d left there last night. They were nowhere to be seen. Morrie was standing over the stove, layered up with a similar array of jumpers and jackets, as he hopped from foot to foot with impatience waiting for the kettle to boil.

  “I would fix it if I could locate the source.” The kettle whistled. Morrie poured water into two waiting cups and handed me my first tea of the day. For a few moments, we sipped in companionable silence, letting the warmth of the mugs permeate our freezing hands.

  When my mouth had warmed up enough to speak, I told Morrie what I’d learned. His lips twitched into a smirk as I told him what Tabitha and Roland had been up to.

  “So everyone was getting some that night except Heathcliff. No wonder he was pissed at that tree.”

  Quoth fluttered downstairs and perched on my shoulder. I held out my cup to him and he dipped his head in to finish off my tea. “Quoth and I are going out to speak with Earl. Do you want to come?”

  “No can do. I’m going to spend the day tailing Bertie Robinson. I hope I catch him in sordid and depraved acts. Take Heathcliff with you – he might be able to get a coherent answer out of his friend Earl.”

  Quoth shook his head so vigorously he nearly knocked the cup from my hands.

  “I think we’ll try on our own first,” I said hurriedly, just as Heathcliff emerged from his room and loped into the kitchen.

  “Coffee,” he muttered, reaching for the kettle. He dumped three teaspoons of instant coffee into his cup, then pulled a hip flask from his pocket and added a generous glug. Even Morrie raised an eyebrow.

  Quoth launched himself off my shoulder and swooped from the room. Heathcliff didn’t look up. I hated that they were fighting.

  “We need to talk.” I grabbed Heathcliff’s arm and dragged him into the living room. He slumped down in his chair and took a swig of coffee. “What is up with you?”

  “I’m being falsely accused of a crime,” Heathcliff muttered into his drink.

  “And we’re all trying to help with that. But you’ve been in a bad way ever since the calendar rolled over to December 1st. It’s not just Christmas carols and happy customers getting you down.”

  “I’m a cantankerous hellion. That’s my nature,” he shot back.

  “True. But this is different. You’re acting cagey – not wanting me to go in your room. Slamming the drawer of your desk shut before I could look inside. Shutting down when I try to ask you what’s wrong.”

  “That’s because nothing’s wrong, except that you keep harassing me.” Heathcliff fixed his gaze on the corner of the room and sipped his coffee. The only clue that he still acknowledged my presence was the tension tugging at his shoulders.

  “Fine.” I balled my hands into fists. I willed him to look at me, to meet my eyes and see that he was hurting me, to give a shit about the people who cared for him. But he didn’t look up from his drink.

  Screw this. I spun on my heel and stomped down the stairs. Quoth fluttered down after me, settling on my shoulder as I dragged out the phone book to search for the number of the furniture store. I’m so angry at him, he raged inside my head. He has no right to treat you like that, especially when you’re trying to help him.

  “Forget about him,” I said brightly, even though Heathcliff’s callous treatment still smarted. “We’ll go talk to Earl and get to the bottom of this. Then Heathcliff will see how much we care for him.”

  Quoth remained silent. That was good, because I didn’t think I could handle him saying that he didn’t care about Heathcliff. I put in a call to the store, requesting a new desk to be delivered as soon as possible, then grabbed my gloves and beanie and pushed my way out the front door, bracing myself against the biting cold. Honestly, with the draft turning the shop into an Antarctic blizzard, it wasn’t much worse outside.

  “Good morning, Mina!” Mrs. Ellis waved at me from across the street. Her granddaughter Jonie huddled under a giant umbrella covered in yellow smiley faces. “Jonie and I are going out for hot chocolate. Do you want to join us?”

  “Not right now, I’m afraid. I’ve got a few chores to do.”

  Jonie’s eyes widened as she stared at Quoth. I noticed she had some bits of tinsel stuck in her hair. That damn stuff gets everywhere. “Does your bird just sit on your shoulder like that all day? He doesn’t fly away?”

  “He could fly away if he wants to,” I smiled. Jonie looked to be in a much better mood than the last time I met her. Maybe the Christmas market had done wonders for her mood. “Quoth is my friend. I don’t want to force my friend to stay with me. I want him to stay because he enjoys my company.”

  Her eyes widened even further. “Can I feed him?”

  “Sure. I’ve got some fruit right here…” I reached into my purse, but Jonie dug her hand in her pocket and came up with a handful of birdseed. She held her hand flat and Quoth bent down to gingerly pick the seed from between her fingers.

  “Jonie’s always got treats on her for animals,” Mrs. Ellis smiled. “Her other pocket is filled with doggy biscuits. Deirdre won’t let her out of the house until she’s thrown the food away, but I think it’s good for a child to have interests.”

  “He’s so gentle,” Jonie whispered. Behind all that resentment, I could see a true animal lover.

  “He is. He’s also very intelligent. Some scholars believe ravens have the intellectual abilities of a three-year-old child.”

  “Croak.” Quoth stopped eating to shoot me a filthy look.

  I rubbed his head. “Sorry, I meant a four-year-old child.”

  Jonie’s smile could have brightened even Heathcliff. “I wish my mum would let me have a bird. But she’d want it in a cage all the time, and I don’t think that’s fair.”

  “Croak,” Quoth agreed.

  “Do you really want a pet bird?” I asked. “They’re really cool, but they can’t give you hugs or snuggle at the end of your bed.”

  I resent that. I give excellent hugs.

  “If I could choose any pet, I’d have a dog,” Jonie grinned. “A puppy like the ones Mr. Robinson had last night. Then I could train it to do tricks and it would be my best friend. But my mum hates animals. It sucks being a kid when you can’t make your own decisions.”

  “True. It sucks being an adult sometimes, too.” I turned to Mrs. Ellis. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full with this one. Have you seen Earl Larson around this morning, by any chance?”

  “Yes. He stopped by the community kitchen this morning, and he was in a jolly mood. Whistlin’ Christmas carols and smiling to himself. I suspect he’ll be down by the old station. That’s where his friends usually gather. Don’t be too long now. After we’ve finished our chocolate we’ll be back at Nevermore for some Christmas shopping. I’ve got my eye on the next Fifty Shades of Grey book—”

/>   “I’m afraid you can’t. The shop is… closed for repairs.” I’d decided not to open the shop so that more villagers could come to gape at the treeless room and gossip about Heathcliff in front of me. It wasn’t like we were losing business, anyway – no one wanted to do their shopping with the Argleton Grinch.

  Mrs. Ellis’ mouth pursed. “Mina, love, you can’t let these nasty gossips get to you. Those of us who know Mr. Heathcliff believe in his innocence.”

  “I appreciate that.” I blinked, trying to force back my brimming tears. “But you know how it is – even the police believe he’s the thief. They won’t dedicate any real resources to finding the stolen gifts, so it’s up to me.”

  “That’s horrible,” Jonie said, staring at her shoes. I knew she was thinking of all those animals who’d have to go without.

  “That’s why the shop’s shut today – I need to dedicate all my energy to finding the real robber and returning the gifts.” I forced a smile for Jonie. “I promise that Quoth and I will find them and all the animals at the shelter will have the best Christmas ever. I’m actually following up a clue right now, so we should get going.”

  “Thank you, Mina.” Mrs. Ellis gave my arm a squeeze as she and Jonie shuffled toward the bakery. I trudged through the snow in the direction of the old station.

  I don’t know why you bother defending him, Quoth’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “I know it looks bad,” I said aloud. “But we’re going to prove his innocence. That’s hard to do when even his own friends suspect him.”

  It’s because I’m his friend that I suspect him, Quoth said. You weren’t here last Christmas. You haven’t seen how he gets. Even by Heathcliff’s standards, he’s rude and mean and horrible.

  “That’s the real mystery,” I said. “Why is Heathcliff such a Christmas Grinch? I can tell something’s going on with him. He wants to talk about it, but he’s afraid. And when he’s afraid, he lashes out… Ah, there they are!”

  I raced down the street, rounding the corner onto Old Station Road. An old Victorian brick train station house loomed ahead of us, surrounded by piles of rubbish and overgrown weeds. Before I was born the railway had been rerouted to a new station closer to the center of the village to join it up with the main Barchester line, and this station had been abandoned. Every year the village talked about cleaning up the building and turning it into a community center, or a museum, or a garden center. And every year nothing happened. Instead, teens broke inside to drink and smoke and shag, and the local homeless population used it as a shelter and meeting place.

  As I approached, I heard the sounds of laughter and singing. I pushed through the station door, but found the building empty of people. Only a few scattered sleeping bags and a billy of water showed anyone had been there. The sounds grew louder as we walked toward the platform.

  Quoth peered into the ticketing booth and shook his head. I shoved open one of the broken doors and stepped out onto the platform, stumbling over a long crack in the concrete as I was greeted by a shocking sight.

  Earl sat on an upturned rubbish bin, a fiddle pressed to his chin as he played a jaunty reel. Beside him, another homeless guy I recognized from around the village harmonized on a tin whistle. A line of people danced a wild jig around a fire smoldering in an oil drum.

  In the center of their revels, towering over the fire like a watchful parent, stood a majestic Christmas tree bedazzled from head to toe with tinsel and glass baubles. It was slightly lopsided with a few broken branches, but otherwise in pristine condition.

  It was our tree!

  Chapter Twelve

  “Hey!” I flew into the circle, waving my arms around. “Stop right now!”

  Earl’s fiddle screeched in protest. Startled by the sound, Quoth flapped wildly, toppling off my shoulder and crashing into the tree. It lurched to the side as the rubbish bin holding it upright struggled with the sudden force. Three people wearing mismatched clothing rushed to right it.

  Earl glared at me. “What you doin’ here?”

  “Why do you think I’m here?” I yelled. “I’m here to have justice for your crime!”

  “We was just dancing. That’s not illegal.”

  “I’m talking about the tree! I can’t believe you’d steal from us, Earl. I thought you were Heathcliff’s friend. The whole village believes Heathcliff stole this tree. They’re practically ready to crucify him over it, but it was you all along!”

  “I didn’t steal this tree!” Earl shot back. “I can’t believe you’d suggest such a thing. Mr. Heathcliff gave it to us.”

  “He did?” That was even worse. That meant that Heathcliff… that he…

  Earl nodded. “As good as. He saw me admirin’ it through the window the other day, an’ he said we could take it after he was done with it. Every year we get the Rose & Wimple tree on December 27th when they take it down, and we have our own Christmas celebration out here, y’see? Only this year’s the first year we’ve been able to have a tree before Christmas! And this one doesn’t reek of beer and piss. The kiddies are so happy. That’s why we were celebratin’.”

  “Why did you think Heathcliff was finished with the tree?”

  “That woman leaving the shop last night told me Heathcliff said he was done with Christmas. He’d knocked over the tree an’ everything. So we figured it was okay for us to take it.”

  “Why didn’t you wait to ask Heathcliff yourself?”

  Earl shrugged. His kitten crawled out from the collar of his coat and sat on his shoulder, glaring at Quoth. “You know Mr. Heathcliff, he doesn’t much like repeating a conversation if he’s already told you once. That an’ he’s been extra grumpy last couple of weeks. I didn’t want to be a bother. I slipped in just after the fella went out, hid in the shadows until she locked up behind her, an’ called out to my boys down the street. We wrestled the tree outside an’ dragged it down here.”

  “What about the presents? Don’t tell me you’ve been sharing those around, too?”

  Earl shook his head. “We left the presents behind, I swear! Heathcliff never said we could take presents. We may be homeless, Miss Mina, but we don’t steal. An’ we’d never take someone’s Christmas gifts. We know what it’s like to have nothin’ at Christmas.”

  Guilt tore at my chest. I was wrong to come here and assume the worst of them. When I saw the tree, I flipped out, but I shouldn’t have accused Earl without getting his side of the story first. “I’m sorry, Earl. I shouldn’t have made assumptions. I think… I’m scared for Heathcliff, and I left that affect my judgment.”

  “I’m real sorry, too. We thought it was okay for us to have the tree.” Earl snapped his fingers. “Ratty! Boris! Fatso! Get over here. We gotta take the tree back to the bookshop—”

  “No. Don’t worry about it.” I broke into a smile. “Please. I didn’t know about the agreement you had with Heathcliff. You keep the tree. We can easily get another one.”

  “But what about these decorations? They must’ve cost a pretty penny.”

  You have no idea. “Keep them, too. I think they look awesome twinkling in the firelight.”

  “Bless you, Miss Mina.” Earl held one of my hands to his chapped lips and kissed my fingers. “You’re our Christmas angel.”

  I didn’t feel like a Christmas angel. I felt like complete shit. And we were no closer to figuring out who’d taken the charity gifts. Quoth settled on my shoulder as we trudged along the platform. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my mobile phone and punched in the number of the Kings Copse Wood Christmas Tree Farm.

  “Hi, it’s Mina Wilde from Nevermore Bookshop. I’d like to order another Christmas tree if you’ve got any left. Our one was stolen—”

  “I’m not selling you another tree just so that rotten Heathcliff can steal it again,” the woman on the other end screeched. “Those gifts were for the animals. You should be ashamed of yourselves! Why, I ought to report you to the police for—”

  I hung up the phone. Quoth nuzz
led my cheek – his feathers soft and warm against my cold skin. You have to consider this a victory, he said. We’ve found the tree. We have a definite timeline. That’s one step closer to identifying our thief.

  “Are you saying you’re starting to suspect Heathcliff isn’t responsible?” I pushed open the shop door, kicked off my boots, and headed for the staircase.

  I think if Heathcliff offered our tree to Earl and his friends so they could have a nice Christmas, then he probably didn’t steal gifts meant for the animal shelter.

  “I’m glad you think so.” I patted Quoth’s head. “We’ve got to remember that we’ve done this to him before. We assume he’s being selfish, but really he’s just holding his feelings close to his chest. I bet if we—”

  I stopped short, my breath catching in my throat.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  But there was no mistaking what I saw. Heathcliff stood in the middle of the living room, trying to shove a large gift-wrapped box into the TV cabinet. There were two smaller presents scattered at his feet, all wrapped in my mother’s expensive Bedazzled Bethlehem papers. The look on his face when he saw us was pure guilt and thunder.

  Heathcliff did it. He stole the gifts.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Go away,” he growled. “You can’t see me like this.”

  “Heathcliff, what’s that package?” I pointed at the box. “That’s my mother’s wrapping paper – the designs she sold to people for the charity tree.”

  “It’s not.”

  “It is! And why do you have these gifts?” I bent down to pick up one of the smaller boxes, but Heathcliff snatched it from my hands. “You don’t give presents at Christmas, so I know these aren’t yours. Why are you hiding them?”

  In response, Heathcliff glared at me in stony silence.

  “We’re out there trying to prove your innocence and…” My hands balled into fists. “I can’t believe you really did it.”