I scrolled right to the end of the feed. I stopped on the very last photograph, the snap she’d taken right here in the shop on the day of her murder. I hadn’t wanted to read the caption the other day, too afraid of what it might say about me, but now the words filled me with a weird exhilaration.
“Dropped off a very special illustrated book at this quaint bookshop in my hometown. I also found a copy of High Fashion and the Culture of Excess, a classic for any fashionable minx!”
“That’s how the buyer knew to come to the bookshop to pick up the pictures. He was following her Instagram feed.” I paused. “But if this message is correct, Ashley collected the money and dropped the picture in the afternoon, so why was she in the shop that night?”
“Perhaps she wanted to confront him, or she was hoping to get the pictures back off him and keep the money?” Quoth offered.
I handed the phone to Morrie. “Can you get an IP address for these comments?”
“I can, but it’s useless.” Morrie tapped away on his phone. “It’s a residential proxy. Tracking the real IP will take me some time, and even then it’s not a guarantee.”
“What would we do with this person’s address, anyway?” I rubbed my temple. “Go over to his house and beat him until he confesses? We can’t exactly speak to the police about Ashley’s conspiracy. They’re never going to believe us based on some drawings and an Instagram post.”
“There’s got to be a way we can trick him into confessing,” Morrie said. “My nemesis fooled many of my contemporaries in such a way.”
“But how? He obviously knows Ashley’s dead. It’s not like we can just send him another message saying – omigod, that’s it. That’s exactly what we can do.” I tossed the phone to Morrie. “You’ve already hacked into her Instragram, right? So I can post something and it will appear as her?”
Morrie tapped a few buttons on the phone and handed it back to me. “There you go.”
“I need paper and a pencil. And somewhere to sit.”
Without a word, Heathcliff swept his arm across the desk, sending a cascade of pens and papers and books onto the floor. Morrie grabbed the monitor before it joined the rest. Quoth crept upstairs and returned with some fancy art paper and pencils. I slid into Heathcliff’s chair and sketched out a design. It was one of my own, for a figure-hugging fishtail dress with leather and lace inserts that matched the general style of Marcus’ latest collection. When I was done, I arranged a few books around it, making sure to include the volume where we’d found the money. I snapped a picture, added a filter and enough hashtags to make it look legitimate, and uploaded it to Ashley’s site.
“That’s quite clever, gorgeous,” Morrie said.
“Now for the final touch.” I typed a message that sounded pure Ashley. “Hey twats. I might be dead, but I’m not buried yet. You’ll find me under the full moon, in the place where we last met. This zombie bitch is ready to kick some serious arse.”
I hit publish and the post appeared in Ashley’s feed. Immediately, people started liking and commenting. “There. Now whoever turns up at this store tomorrow night, we know they were the one who killed Ashley.”
“Excellent work, gorgeous.” Morrie swept me up into his arms and honored me with a kiss that left me breathless. The tension in the room shifted, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
I drew away from Morrie and grabbed my purse. “I’d better go, It’s late and my mum still wants me to set up a Facebook page for her wobbling business.”
“You’re not walking, are you?”
“Nah, I’ll take a rideshare. It won’t be cheap, so it would be nice if someone paid me,” I said with a glare at Heathcliff.
He grunted in reply. I called up the rideshare on my phone. It would take a few minutes to arrive. I sucked in a breath – now or never.
After hugging Quoth goodbye, I picked up my bag. “Wait with me outside?” I asked Heathcliff.
“I’m busy.”
“Please.”
Heathcliff sighed, but he got up and followed me out into Butcher Street.
“Listen,” I said as we stopped under the streetlamp, before I lost my nerve. “I know you’re mad at me about yesterday, but you can’t treat me like this. As much as I love the bookshop, I can’t work in a place where the boss is ignoring me and avoiding me. So you need to either talk to me about it, or I won’t be in at work tomorrow.”
“I’m not angry with you, Mina.” Heathcliff stared past me, into the gloomy night.
“Then why did you yell at me?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. You’re my boss. Don’t you get that the kiss and these mind games aren’t appropriate?”
“Is that the only reason you’re upset with me, because I’m your employer?”
“No. You kiss me and then you yell like that? I assume I’ve upset you or hurt you in some way. Against my better judgement, I care about you, okay? As… as more than a boss. And that’s bad, too.”
Heathcliff sighed, his huge frame heaving. He stared at the moon, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Morrie and Quoth, they didn’t leave anyone behind. But I left her, and every time I look at you, I feel as though I’m betraying her.”
Here it comes. “Cathy.”
“I read my book,” Heathcliff growled. “I know what happens to her, and what it does to me. I know the monster I become. I promised myself that I’d never make that mistake. If I never loved in this world, I would starve the monster of the fire he needs to rage. But then you came along and I… and I…”
His fists clenched and unclenched.
“You what?” I whispered, my chest tightening.
The door banged open, and the shop bell tinkled.
“I’ve never been so happy to have a customer,” Heathcliff cried out, turning away from me and snapping the spell that wove between us. He rushed back toward the safety of the shop. “Come in, come in. Make yourself at home. We’re open late tonight! Pull out your mobile phone and selfie as you please. Books are this way! Come distract me with your inane questions!”
He stepped into the hall and stopped short. My heart pounded. Something was wrong.
Inspector Hayes shoved past Heathcliff and strode toward me, pinning me with a fierce gaze. “Wilhelmina Wilde, we’re arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Ashley Greer.”
Chapter Thirty
“I don’t know what else to tell you.” I dug my nails into my palm to stop myself reaching across the table and throttling Inspector Hayes. “I didn’t kill Ashley.”
After the inspector read me my rights, he escorted me out of the bookshop. Every person in the village still awake at eight wandered out of the pub or stopped on the street to gawk at me being escorted into a police car. The back of the vehicle smelled of urine. For the first time in my entire life, I wished my mother was with me.
At the station I submitted to fingerprint tests, and gave them some strands of hair they could test for DNA and trace evidence. I hoped somehow Jo would be able to prove my innocence, but judging by the way she’d fled the bakery, I guessed she’d seen enough to damn me.
“You were upset with Ashley over losing your internship. You discovered she was back in town, and you threatened her.” Inspector Hayes pushed a sheet of paper across the table. On it was a list of comments I’d made on Ashley’s Instagram account after she blabbed about me. Looking at them out of context, all those “I hate you,” and “I hope you choke on a radish” weren’t such a good idea. (The radish thing was a private joke between us that I wanted to throw back in her face, but now… yeah, it looked like a threat).
“I was upset with her,” I said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly. If you notice, I stopped those comments after a few days, once I calmed down. Check my receipts from the market. I haven’t purchased any radishes.”
“And what about these?” The inspector slid another stack of papers inserted into clear sleeves across the table. Marcus’ drawings. �
��We found those in your purse. Can you explain where they came from?”
Shite. Okay, this didn’t look good.
“I found those in Ashley’s bag,” I said.
“We searched her bag and never saw these drawings.”
“You searched her purse. I found those in her travel case at her mum’s house.”
“Why were you looking through her bag?”
“She was stealing designs from under Marcus’ nose to sell to other designers so they could beat him to market. The drawings prove this, and I believe that’s why she was killed. I was trying to find the person who was buying them. That’s not something a guilty person would do.”
“Actually, it’s typical for a guilty party to attempt to deflect blame onto others. You expect us to believe this far-fetched story?”
“It’s the truth! Call Marcus Ribald – ask him if these are his drawings.”
“We’ve already done that. But we only have your word for it that Ashley stole these. A far more likely scenario is that you stole them and planned to plant them on Ashley, getting revenge on both of them at the same time. Only, the arrival of your friends from upstairs prevented you.”
“Morrie and Heathcliff came down the stairs a moment before me. I didn’t have time to do anything.”
“A convenient alibi. We’ll be looking into their statements. For a pretty young girl like you, I imagine they’re all too happy to fudge their testimony.”
“I can prove it.” I pointed to the date in the bottom corner. “Marcus always dated and filed his drawings. These were all drawn after I lost my internship. I wasn’t even in New York, so there’s no way I could have stolen them.”
I sat back, waiting from them to apologize, but Sergeant Wilson didn’t look convinced. “Is this the internship you were fired from because you were harassing the victim?”
“What? No. I never harassed Ashley. She was my best friend. Marcus didn’t fire me. He had one paid position, and even though he admitted I was the most qualified for the role he chose to give it to Ashley because I’m going blind.”
Something battered against the door. Inspector Hayes glanced up just as the knob turned and Heathcliff burst in. “Don’t say another word, Mina. These officers shouldn’t be questioning you without a lawyer present.”
“You’re not a lawyer,” Inspector Hayes pointed out.
Heathcliff slapped down a piece of paper. “There’s a copy of my law transcript. Your secretary has already confirmed my name on the register. This interview is terminated while I have a meeting with my client. In private,” he added with a glower that could have sunk a thousand ships.
Inspector Hayes flashed him an evil glare, but he beckoned Wilson to stand. They left the room. “Twenty minutes,” Inspector Hayes hissed at Heathcliff.
“I’ll take all the time I please,” Heathcliff shot back, slamming the door so hard behind him that the wall shook. He picked up the recorder from the table and ripped the cassette out of the slot.
I fell against him, my body sagging into his. “Am I glad to see you.”
Heathcliff stiffened under my touch. You just going to have to deal with it, mate. I’m a girl and I need a hug.
After a few moments Heathcliff wrapped his arms around my shoulders, enveloping me in leather and peat and strength. By Isis, he feels so good against my body.
“I was never angry at you,” he muttered into my ear.
“I know. Heathcliff, are you really a lawyer?”
“Of course not. Morrie forged a transcript for me. Now,” he rubbed his fingers across my knuckles, sending a shiver through my arm and straight to my core. “We have a plan.”
“Of course you do,” I patted his arm. “Since Morrie’s behind this, I’m guessing it involves breaking the law?”
“Several laws, I imagine. Be ready. Quoth will come for you tonight. In a few hours we’ll catch the killer and have you back in our arms.”
“Heathcliff, do you know that Morrie and I—”
He nodded.
“Does it… bother you?”
“Do you want us to have a duel for your virtue? I’d win, obviously, but from what Morrie tells me there’s not much virtue left to claim.”
“No, I…”
Heathcliff patted my hand, the most intimate gesture he’d ever given me. His eyes glistened with something like awe. “We’ll get you out of this first, Mina. And then we’ll see what happens.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Heathcliff stayed by my side while the officers finished their interview. Not that they got much out of me with him barking “no comment!” after every question, his resting his hand on my knee, his fingers curling over the edges of the table.
Finally, Inspector Hayes terminated the interview. He explained that he’d be taking me back to a cell, where they’d hold me for questioning before making an arrest.
Visions of shivs slicing up my skin haunted me, but when I arrived at the cell I was grateful to discover I’d be sleeping alone. As if I’d get any sleep on the narrow wooden cot in a bare room that reeked of urine. Red stains had soaked between the tiles on the floor. Was that blood?
I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to two male prisoners chatting in the other cell and police officers responding to calls. Outside, a dog barked. Cars drove down the road. I counted them. I was so fucking bored.
My mind rebelled against the stagnation of the cell. I searched every nook and cranny of my memory for faces and names of people in the fashion industry, or everyone Ashley had contact with, who might want to destroy Marcus Ribald.
Was it Holly? She had an alibi for that night, but she might have hired someone. Was it Roger Cox? But it didn’t fit with his story. I didn’t think it was Earl Larson, either. But who had entered the shop and killed Ashley? Earl said no one had walked past him, so had they been hiding in the shop the whole time?
And murder aside, there was an even bigger mystery afoot. What was going on in Nevermore Bookshop? Heathcliff. Morrie. Quoth. How were they real? How could a person step out of the pages of a book and become flesh-and-blood? Three smokin’ hot characters from the pens of three of my favorite authors.
It was almost as if someone chose them especially for me.
A female officer delivered me dinner – a ham and cheese sandwich on stale bread, and some watery orange juice. I ate every morsel.
I lay back on the bed and watched the light outside change from the grey to a pale-blue shaft of moonlight. Scritch, scritch, scritch. Something sharp scraped against the concrete. I stood on the bed and peered up at the window. “Quoth, is that you?”
“Croak,” the raven replied. My heart thudded. A pair of keys dropped through the bars and onto the bed beside me.
“That’s great, but how am I supposed to get past the guards?” I hissed out the window.
No reply. “Quoth?”
Still nothing.
I guess I’m just supposed to make a run for it. Why did they think this was a good idea?
Because I made the instagram post, and if the killer is from the fashion industry I might be the only one who can identify him. I’ve got to be there, for Ashley’s sake. She deserves that much.
Great. I stared at the keys in my hand. I guess I’m doing this. I’m going to get in so much trouble.
By fumbling around in the dark, I managed to wrap my hand around the bars and insert the correct key into the lock from the outside. It turned easily, and the cell door swung open with a creak that shattered my eardrums. I held the door shut, my heart pounding.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Nothing stirred in the hallway. The guys in the cell beside me continued to snore.
I rushed back to the bed, pulled off my hoodie and jeans and arranged them and the pillows under the threadbare blanket so it looked as though I was sleeping. I pushed open the door just wide enough to slip through, then rested it back on its hinges and locked it.
I crept down the hall, pausing outside the door to the
other cell. Sucking in my breath, I darted across the doorway, slamming my back into the wall. The snoring didn’t change.
One obstacle down, now for the guards.
The hallway ended in a stairwell. At the top was the on-duty officer. I crept up the first flight of stairs, flattened myself against the wall, and peered around the corner. The officer sat behind his desk, poring over paperwork. He stopped to take a sip of coffee. A shadow moved behind his head.
What the—
A raven flew down from atop the filing cabinet, flapping its wings in the cop’s face. “Argh, what the hell!” He staggered out of his seat and picked up an enormous tome titled “Handbook on Self-Defense.” The officer flung the book at the raven, but Quoth dived out of the way just in time and the cop battered himself in the face.
“Argh, my nose!” He clutched his face and spun around, tripping over his chair.
I sprinted up the stairs and ducked beneath the desk. My heart thudded so loud I was sure the cop must be able to hear it, but he kept swearing and swinging at Quoth. I scrambled for a door on the other side of the room, and shoved my way through. It led to another long corridor. At the end way a room labeled ‘breakroom.’ I peered inside. It was deserted. Two rows of large windows faced the fields for the local school.
I flung a window open, clambered through, and dropped into the bushes beneath, pausing to catch my breath. A few moments later, a black dot soared across the moon, trailing the angry cries of the officer behind him.
The raven dropped into the bushes beside me. A second later, Quoth materialized in the flesh. He grinned when he noticed my lack of clothing. “Isn’t it a little soon for matching couples outfits?”
“I had to use my clothes to create a Mina-shape in the bed, in case they checked on me.”
“Good thinking. Plus, I like the view.”
I punched him in the arm. “Thanks for the distraction back there. How’d you get the keys?”
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