How Heathcliff Stole Christmas: A Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries novella

by Steffanie Holmes

  Josie buried her head in her hands and bawled.

  “I knew I didn’t count wrong,” Morrie cried in triumph. “The accountant only had four puppies today because the fifth one was here.”

  Not the time, I mouthed at him as I sat down beside Jonie and wrapped my arms around her.

  “I couldn’t say no!” Jonie picked up Buster and cradled him to her chest. “Look at his face! Besides, Bertie couldn’t take care of Buster. He said so himself. He was going to abandon Buster and his brothers and sisters at the animal shelter. I knew that with so many animals needing homes over Christmas, they’d be unlikely to find a new family in time. I had to help him.” Tears streaked her face. “Am I in trouble?”

  “You tried to do a good thing, Jonie. But you stole things that were meant for others and lied about it. You let everyone in the village believe Heathcliff had taken the tree and presents. That was wrong. Why didn’t you tell your grandma about Buster? She would have helped you pay for his food and supplies. Wouldn’t that be better than stealing?”

  “I didn’t tell her because I’m not allowed to have a pet.” Jonie sighed, slumping down on the bed. “Grandma Mabel would tell my mum and I’d get into so much trouble. Mum won’t let me have a pet because she wants her new boyfriend to move in and he hates dogs. Of course he does. He hates anything I like because he hates me, even if I try so hard to be good and do what they want and not bother them while they’re on their dates. But it was so cold out and Bertie didn’t even have a coat on Buster, and he’s just a tiny puppy. I think he was sick even then. I couldn’t just leave him.”

  Jonie’s tear-streaked face broke my heart. Of course, she felt neglected by her mother. I would too if I’d been shuffled off to stay with my grandma over the holidays so Mum could go to Paris with her dog-hating boyfriend.

  I thought of my oddball mother and all her insane shenanigans. Even though she drove me crazy with her wacky ideas and insane pyramid schemes, she really did love me. She’d never ship me off out of her way so she could be with a guy. “Any bloke I like enough to bring home has to be able to handle both Wilde women,” she used to tell me whenever I asked her why she didn’t have a boyfriend. “So far, no one has come close.”

  Buster whimpered again, and his tiny body trembled.

  “Can I have a look at him?” I reached for the puppy. Reluctantly, Jonie passed him over. Buster’s eyes drooped, and he whined when I touched him. He flattened his ears against his head. I knew that animals often hid how sick they were until it was too late.

  My suspicions were confirmed when I held him. He was a bag of skin and bones, and even though he was wearing a woolly sweater, he trembled in my arms. Buster’s pupils weren’t just large – they were dilated. His skin felt cold, and when he drooped his head and touched his nose to my arm, the cold of it shocked me.

  “Jonie, I think he’s really sick. We need to take him to the vet right now.”

  Fresh tears welled in Jonie’s eyes. “It’s all my fault. I tried to take care of him. Every time I love someone, they leave me. Dad walked out. Mum went to Paris. I can’t even keep a dog alive.”

  I squeezed her leg as I scooped Buster into my arms. “It’s not your fault. I’m sure you’ve taken good care of him. I’m sure everything will be okay.”

  Please, please let everything be okay.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Morrie called a rideshare and we rushed Buster over to the vet clinic. Jonie broke down in the waiting room, sobbing into Morrie’s shoulder while I sat in on the consultation. As I suspected, Buster had hypothermia, probably from being hidden in that freezing secret tunnel.

  The vet wrapped Buster in warm blankets and placed him on a heating pad. He set up an IV to help warm Buster recover. “You’re lucky you caught this when you did,” he told me. “Hypothermia can be as dangerous for dogs as it is in people. I’m going to do some blood tests to make sure there’s no long-term damage, but I believe Buster is going to be just fine.”

  While we waited with Jonie for the tests, I called DS Wilson and told her where she could find the presents. “Mrs. Ellis is either at her knitting circle or her BDSM for seniors group… I hope for your sake it’s the former. Get her to help you collect them all from Jonie’s room. If you drop them back at the bookshop, I’ll see that they’re re-wrapped and a replacement tree located.”

  “Will do.” DS Wilson paused. “Mina, I should apologize to Heathcliff, and to you. I made assumptions—”

  “I know,” I said. “Me, too.”

  I hung up the phone. DS Wilson wasn’t the only one who needed to apologize. My stomach twisted in knots – I hated that Heathcliff was out there thinking I doubted him. It would do no good to call him, since the lovable curmudgeon didn’t even own a mobile phone. I’d already tried the shop. Quoth picked up and said Heathcliff wasn’t there.

  Where can he be?

  Ah, of course. He’s gone to King’s Copse.

  Heathcliff may spend most of his time cooped up in the bookshop, but he was still a wild man at heart. The moors ran in his veins. There were no moors near Argleton, but there was a hidden stream in the King’s Copse wood where we had our first real date. If Heathcliff was upset, he’d go there.

  I yanked my coat off the seat and raced for the door, already punching in a request on my rideshare app. I could still get to the wood and back before the vet was finished with Buster and—

  My body crashed into something hard.

  A wall?

  Walls weren’t warm. Or wearing coats with torn black fur fringe.

  Heathcliff.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “I heard about the puppy,” he said, his voice gruff. “Is he all right?”

  That did it. I fell into his arms, letting him sweep me up into one of those hugs that drove the air from my lungs. “I’m so sorry. I never should have doubted you. I believed you until I saw you hiding those presents and I… I let the detective in me take over, instead of listening to the girlfriend.”

  “It’s okay,” he said gruffly, his huge hands running circles on my back.

  “It’s not okay,” I sniffed. “You’re my boyfriend and I love you. Your word should have been enough for me to trust you.”

  “Why? I gave you every reason to mistrust me.” Heathcliff stroked my hair. “If things had been reversed, I might’ve wrestled with the same questions.”

  I pulled back. “Heathcliff, why do you hate Christmas so much?”

  He stiffened. “It’s because of… before.”

  “In your fiction life?”

  He nodded. “Cathy stayed at Thrushcross Grange until Christmas. When I left her, she was my wild woman, but when she returned she had all these airs and manners and fine clothes and a haughty attitude. While she’d been gone, there was no one to shield me from the family’s neglect and tortures. Nobody but Nelly even did me the kindness to speak to me during that wretched time. I lived mostly outdoors, foraging for my food and sleeping with the horses, and so when she returned, I was befouled with mire and dust – a forbidding blackguard next to her bright and graceful beauty. Hindley relished my discomfort. When the Lintons called on Cathy, Nelly helped me to make myself presentable and I swore to be good, but Hindley’s scorn and my own nature betrayed me. Hindley and that goat Linton mocked me, and for defending myself from their insults I was banished from the room.”

  I nodded. I remembered well that chapter of Wuthering Heights. Catherine at the table, cutting her goose wing and engaging in lively talk with the Lintons, with no thought to Heathcliff confined to the garret. Later, she snuck in to see him, and when she dragged him back to the kitchen, he’d told Nelly that the only time he didn’t feel pain was when he was thinking of the satisfaction he would feel upon punishing those who wronged him.

  “Christmas became an ill omen – it had changed Cathy forever. She’d been stolen away by the fairies and returned as one of them. She was forever remote and beyond my reach, and she knew it. She tormented me
with it, for she alone could love me and hurt me like no one else. All these songs about Christmas being magical – they’re right. But it’s a dark and foul magic. Christmas changes people – it makes them forget who they are. I swore it would never change me – I would never succumb to its spell.”

  “But you have changed.” I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. “Maybe it’s not Christmas magic at all, but something inside you has been broken open and remade anew. You’re not that same cold and bitter boy anymore.”

  “That’s not Christmas magic.” Heathcliff pressed his lips to mine. “It’s you, Mina. Cathy made me want to burn the world. You make me want to be a better person.”

  My chest swelled at his words, only to be crushed by the fury of his lips. Heathcliff’s kiss consumed me utterly, for with his lips and tongue he expressed a longing deep and fearsome and beautiful – he gave himself to me utterly, a promise that if all else perished and he remained, I would continue to be. To be loved by Heathcliff, to be kissed by him, was to have our souls become one.

  Everything made sense now – Heathcliff’s sullen mood, his resistance to having anything Christmassy in the shop, his refusal to exchange gifts. But then… “What about those presents you were hiding?”

  “I guess it’s time you found out.” Heathcliff leaned over and produced a faded rucksack from behind the chair. He unzipped it and pulled out a gift-wrapped box. “I got this for you.”

  I held it in my arms, awed by the existence of it. It was the gift I’d seen him trying to hide in the TV cabinet. The gift tag bore my name. Heathcliff, who had sworn an oath that he wouldn’t participate in Christmas, had gotten me a gift.

  “This is the box you were trying to hide from me,” I breathed.

  He nodded. “I was going to surprise you with it on Christmas day. I was trying to find a way to tell you that I was letting go of the old Heathcliff, the one who hated Christmas because of my ex-girlfriend. I wanted you to see that I was trying to see Christmas the way you do. It was in my room when DS Wilson asked to search it. You were standing right there. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise. So I was going to move it to the TV cabinet and let you look in my room, but then you saw me.”

  And I’d thrown his efforts back in his face. Shame squirmed inside me. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Enough of that.” Heathcliff tapped the box. “Open it.”

  I tore off the expensive wrapping paper. Inside was a plain cardboard box, dented on one side, probably from Heathcliff trying to shut the cabinet door on it. I slid my finger under the tape and pried the lid off.

  Inside was an amazing pink-and-black leopard-print faux-fur blanket. When I drew it out into the light, beams of color leapt off dazzling sequins and a sparkling ribbon border. It was the most punk rock blanket I’d ever seen.

  “Wow.” I held it to my cheek, relishing the softness.

  “I won it in the Christmas pub quiz. You’ve been complaining about the cold in the shop, so I thought you could use something to help keep warm,” Heathcliff muttered. “Turns out I could have just plugged the hole Grimalkin made in the cellar door and it would’ve caused less trouble.”

  “Heathcliff, it’s perfect.” I threw my arms around him again. “I love it. And I love you. Merry Christmas.”

  He grunted in reply. I guessed some things never change.

  An idea occurred to me. I turned to the others. “We can’t do anything more for Buster tonight. What do you guys say we go over to the Rose & Wimple and hit up Richard’s famous Christmas roast?”

  “Sounds good, but is it a good idea to go out in public?” Quoth asked. “What if people haven’t heard we have all the presents back?”

  “Then we’ll just have to tell them the true story. Besides,” I grinned. “I have a brilliant idea for how Heathcliff can win back the affections of the town.”

  Heathcliff stiffened, his dark eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Buster the puppy needed to spend the day and night under observation at the vet clinic, but finally, he was given a clean bill of health. I woke up at the crack of dawn on Christmas morning to go with Jonie to pick him up. Quoth decided to come along.

  As I passed through the shop on the way out the door, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness. When I hadn’t been helping customers find last-minute gifts at the shop, I’d spent every spare moment over the last day with Jonie at the clinic. I hadn’t had time to shop for food or even source a new tree. All the presents for the animal shelter were stacked in a towering heap in the corner. Grimalkin had torn down most of the decorations on her catnip high. The place didn’t feel very festive. My dreams of a perfect Nevermore Christmas were just that – dreams.

  At least it’s snowing outside, Quoth reminded me. You love snow. Maybe we’ll have that snowball fight later.

  He was right, of course. Snowflakes tickled my nose as I made my way across the street to Mrs. Ellis’ flat. The whole of Argleton looked like the front of a Christmas card. The bakery piped Christmas carols into the street through a tinny speaker, and delicious smells wafted in the air from all directions.

  “Merry Christmas, Quoth!” Jonie cried as she skipped out of the flat with a handful of berries for Quoth. “Merry Christmas, Mina!”

  Mrs. Ellis called a rideshare and we made it to the vet, who had opened the clinic just for us. When she emerged carrying the bright-eyed pup in her arms, we all clapped. The smile on Jonie’s face could have lit a black hole.

  “You won’t believe it!” Jonie cried. “Mum called me this morning from Paris. She said that I could keep Buster as long as I agreed to be responsible for walking and feeding and training him. It’s the best Christmas present ever!”

  Over Jonie’s shoulder, Mrs. Ellis winked at me. I suspect she’d had something to do with her daughter’s change of heart.

  I hugged Jonie. “That’s wonderful news. I know you’re going to be an amazing friend to Buster.”

  “Croak,” Quoth agreed.

  The rideshare dropped us at the top of Butcher Street and we said a brief goodbye to Jonie and Mrs. Ellis at their front door. They were going to pick up a lead and some treats for Buster, then meet us at the shop. Even though we didn’t have a tree and I hadn’t purchased any Christmas food, we were all going to celebrate together.

  I walked in the door, and was immediately knocked about the head with an amazing smell.

  Mmmmm… hot toddies… and Christmas mince pies fresh from the oven, and pigs in blankets, and is that the sound of a Champagne cork popping?

  “Hot stuff, coming through!” Morrie swung down the staircase in a Santa apron, holding a platter of Christmas goodies. He winked at Quoth and dashed into the main room.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Quoth.

  He shrugged his wings. “Croak?”

  A lump rose in my throat as I followed Morrie into the main room. I gasped. In the short time we’d been gone, the space had been transformed. A respectable-sized tree stood in the window, decked out with strings of tinsel and a few glass baubles. Underneath it, presents stacked as high as the windowsill – all the charity gifts from the town neatly arranged. Morrie stood behind Heathcliff’s brand new desk, pouring Champagne into flutes and fussing over a dazzling array of treats – bowls of sweets and chocolate reindeer, crackers and cheese. A small pile of gifts I didn’t recognize from the charity lay at the front of the tree. As I bent to examine the scrawled labels, my heart skipped.

  TO THE ANNOYING BIRD

  TO THE WORLD’S WORST ENTREPRENEUR

  TO THE NOSY OLD BIDDY

  TO MY OBNOXIOUS FLATMATE

  Across the bottom of each tag was a familiar and wonderful scrawl. FROM HEATHCLIFF.

  He did this. He made Christmas for me.

  I knelt back, tears of joy pooling in my eyes as I searched the room for Heathcliff. A dark figure crouched by the fire. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen him whe
n I walked in, but I’d been so distracted by everything. He blew on the logs and stood back. A warming fire roared to life.

  “Heathcliff.” I threw myself in his arms.

  “It’s no fuss,” he muttered. But he pulled me closer, his lips finding mine for a scorching, possessive kiss. A kiss that promised my Christmas treats had only just begun.

  I pulled back to catch my breath and wipe my eyes. “This is amazing. How did you do all this?”

  “It’s not a big thing. While you were running around after that dog yesterday, I walked over to the tree place and chose a sensibly-sized tree, carried it home, and hid it in the office. We’re never going to get rid of the needles in there now, but I’ve decided to just close the door and never enter until next bloody Christmas. I gave Morrie some money to take care of the food. We didn’t have time to buy decorations, but I salvaged those ones from the cat.“ Heathcliff nodded at the tinsel on the tree. A rare, genuine smile lit up his gruff face. “Do you like it?”

  My voice cracked. “I love it. I—”

  “Yoohoo, Merry Christmas.” Mum walked in, laden down with a stack of presents and a box of her Bedazzling Bethlehem decorations. “Oh, look at that poor empty tree. Luckily, I’ve got lots of things to brighten it up.” She started pulling out all kinds of sparkling things.

  “Champagne, Helen?” Morrie held out two flutes.

  “Don’t mind if I do. Mina, come help me with these decorations.”

  Reluctantly, I let go of Heathcliff and collected my flute from Morrie. Mum had found a tiny Santa hat in the stack and perched it on Quoth’s head. “Mum, what are you going to do with all those boxes of decorations now Christmas is over?”

  Mum beamed at me. She dug a pamphlet out of her pocket and thrust it under my face. “I thought you might want them to enter this! It’s this World of Wearable Arts Award in New Zealand. I saw it on the telly. People make these amazing costumes and wear them on stage and there are tens of thousands of dollars in prize money. There’s a whole category for sparkling and glowing costumes, so I figured that would be perfect for you—”