Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

  “Oh, yes!” Mum dashed off to fix dessert. I slumped down next to Heathcliff, Quoth in my arms. “Do you keep anything stronger than wine in your desk at the shop?”

  “I have booze stashed all over the shop. It’s the only way I can tolerate customers. Why?”

  “After tonight, I’m going to need to drink it all. Every last drop.”

  “Not if I get there first.” Heathcliff’s dark eyes twinkled, and the corners of his lips tugged upward, almost reaching a smile. A weird, fluttering feeling tugged at my chest as I clasped my hand in his.

  “Here we go!” Mum entered the room with a large tray. She frowned as she saw Heathcliff and I sitting together. “Where is everyone? Is Allan not back from the bathroom yet?”

  “He said he was constipated,” Heathcliff mumbled.

  I slammed my foot down on Heathcliff’s boot. He winced, but didn’t retract his statement.

  “Morrie just had to duck out for a phone call.” I stared down at the dessert in horror. “Mum, what is that?”

  “I call it ‘Helen’s mess.’ It’s like Eton mess, except instead of strawberry puree, I’ve used strawberry ice cream sauce and licorice allsorts.” She pointed at the giant pile of lollies. “And I’ve put some Cadbury chocolates all over the top. I thought we could have something fancy to celebrate your friends coming to visit.”

  “It looks delicious.” I let her spoon a huge portion into a bowl for me. “Thank you.”

  Morrie barreled into the room, waving his phone. “I’m sorry, Helen. We’re not able to stay for dessert.” He slid the phone back into his pocket. “That was Jo. Mrs. Winstone has been admitted to the hospital. Someone tried to kill her.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” Mrs. Winstone croaked. “The doctors say I’ll be out tomorrow.”

  She didn’t look fine. A splotchy purple bruise covered half her face, and there were more bruises on her arms. She clicked the button on her bed to raise her head up to face us, and the twist of her jaw revealed how the jerking movement pained her.

  I can’t believe someone tried to kill this sweet lady. It didn’t seem real.

  “Pffft. What do doctors know? They’re even worse than those incompetent detectives,” Mrs. Ellis scoffed, gripping her cousin’s hand. “Brenda, our book club is being picked off one by one, and they’re still holding Gray and Cynthia. Why, the Lachlans couldn’t have attacked you, because they’re behind lock and key!”

  “I just spoke with Inspector Hayes,” Mrs. Winstone said, annoyance flickering across her features. “That silly bobby doesn’t believe Gladys’ death was related to my attack.”

  “Bah! Then he’s an even bigger fool than I first thought.” Mrs. Ellis rubbed Mrs. Winstone’s fingers. “Now, don’t you worry. Mina is going to help us catch the person who attacked you.”

  Mrs. Winstone’s eyes widened. “Mina, is that true? Oh, you really are a treasure.”

  “I’m going to try,” I promised, because that was what you did when a person in a hospital bed looked at you with such a hopeful expression. “But you’ve got to remember that I’m not a police officer, so I don’t—”

  “Oh, I don’t trust that Inspector Hayes as far as I could throw him, even though he is very handsome with that mustache.” Mrs. Ellis sighed. “Do you have a suspect in mind?”

  “A couple,” I thought of Miss Blume speaking with Ginny at her cottage, and Dorothy Ingram’s angry face at the church. “I’m starting to put things together. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I was at the library, speaking with the librarians about running a children’s craft and story hour. They’re very enthusiastic, especially after they’d heard such good things about my management of the youth group. Apparently, all those lovely children are begging me to come back.” She smiled wistfully. “On the way home, I stopped at the market and picked up some groceries. I was setting the bags on the front stoop and hunting in my purse for the keys when someone leapt out behind me and hit me across the face with something hard.” She winced as she raised her arm. “I remember thinking, ‘you’re not going to get me the way you got poor Gladys!’ I lunged at the assailant, grabbing their arm and wrestling with them. I managed to seize the object they struck me with – it was long and round and wooden – but they wrenched it free and kicked me and I fell and hit my head on the stoop. They hit me a few more times,” she gestured to the bruises on her arms. “They must’ve thought I was a goner because they scarpered without finishing the job.”

  A long wooden object, like Dorothy Ingram’s walking stick.

  “Did you get a good look at the person who attacked you? What can you tell us about them?”

  “It was a slight person, maybe a woman, but I couldn’t say.” Mrs. Winstone wrung her hands. “They wore a veil over their face and dark clothing. It had just started to go dark when I got out of the car, and the bulb over the door is broken, so I’m afraid I can’t say more than that for certain.”

  “And did you mention to anyone at the library that you planned to go to the shops?”

  “Well… yes. A couple of ladies from church were in front of the library, handing out leaflets listing church-approved reading material. I stopped to chat. Cassandra Irons and Dorothy Ingram agreed with me about the dismal vegetable selection at the market. Dorothy told me they got in fresh carrots from the Ingles farm that morning and if I got in quick I’d be able to procure some for dinner.”

  “So Dorothy knew you were going to the market?”

  Mrs. Winstone nodded.

  “And what about cars on your street as you drove home? What about your husband – where was he? Did he notice anything unusual?”

  “Oh, Harold’s out of town on business, chasing down some old archives to do with the old hospital project. He’s been gone for a few days now, and he said not to expect him back for at least three weeks.”

  “And he can’t drop it to see you in the hospital?” I was starting to believe what Mrs. Ellis had said about Harold Winstone, famous historian.

  “Oh no, I told him not to worry about me,” she beamed. “I’m fine, and Harold is so wrapped up in his work. I don’t want to disturb him. As for what else I remember, there was a grey car parked on the corner as I turned in. I recall it distinctly, as it was parked on the street outside my neighbor Gillian Appleby’s place and that’s very unusual. Gillian’s visitors always park in her driveway, but I happened to notice her curtains were closed. It didn’t even look like she was home.”

  I turned to Mrs. Ellis. “Do you know what kind of car Mrs. Ingram drives?”

  “Why, I believe it’s a grey Nissan,” Mrs. Ellis said. “Mina, what are you suggesting?”

  I turned to Mrs. Ellis. “Dorothy Ingram had opportunity – she knew Mrs. Winstone was going to the market, which gave her enough time to drive over there and hide in the garden. She owns a grey car and uses a walking stick that might’ve been the weapon. And she had motive – she wanted to end the Banned Book Club. I think she’s responsible not just for Brenda’s attack, but for the other murders.”

  Mrs. Ellis gasped. “Surely that’s not reason enough to murder poor Gladys and Ginny and nearly kill Ginny’s baby, too!”

  “If I’ve learned one thing from the hundreds of murder mysteries I’ve read over the years, it’s that people have all sorts of motives that can’t be explained. Both Mrs. Scarlett and Ginny Button incurred Dorothy’s wrath for their so-called sinful behavior. Gladys for starting the book club, and Ginny for having a baby out of wedlock, and I also believe she was blackmailing Dorothy Ingram.” I patted Mrs. Winstone’s arm. “And you were trying to corrupt the minds of innocent children through un-sanctioned books. It all fits. We have to go to the police.”

  “I already told them everything I just told you,” Mrs. Winstone said. “Even with that note in her hands and the missing necklace, they think poor Ginny’s death was just an accident. Hayes said one of the mourners pocketed the diamonds during the kerfuffle
, and he thinks I was hit over the head by some young hoodlum trying to snatch my purse. But when I came to my purse was on the ground next to me!”

  “What can we do if the police refuse to listen!” Mrs. Ellis cried.

  “We need to find some more compelling evidence. If it’s okay with you, Brenda, I’d like to take a look around your garden.”

  “Of course.” Brenda’s fingers closed around mine. “If Dorothy is behind this, I want to see her in jail for what she nearly did to poor Ginny’s baby. To hurt a child is the most horrible thing. We are so blessed the child survived.”

  That poor baby. “What will happen to it now? Will it go to its father?”

  “No, no. If Ginny even knew who the father was, she didn’t make that information known,” Mrs Ellis said. “Brenda is going to adopt the child just as soon as she’s able to, isn’t that wonderful?”

  Brenda beamed. “I always wanted a child of my own. If there is to be a silver lining in this tragedy, it’s that I can give that child a happy home.”

  A nurse came in and shooed us away so Mrs. Winstone could rest. In the hall, Mrs. Ellis shivered. “Whatever am I going to do? If Dorothy really is killing members of the Banned Book Club, then I could be next!”

  “I’m not going to let that happen.” I thought of the Terror of Argleton, and the elaborate traps concocted by Greta and the other shop owners in the village. “I have an idea. We’re going to set a trap.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “How exactly are you planning to turn my shop into a trap, again?” Heathcliff growled.

  “It’s simple. I’ve left notes in Mrs. Ellis’ and Miss Blume’s mailboxes inviting them to a special sleepover meeting of the Banned Book Club to honor the passing of their dear friends and to talk about a recruitment drive to get more young people reading banned books. It will be held right here in the shop. Mrs. Ellis is going to make sure she mentions it to every gossiping old biddy she knows, which is basically all of them. We’ll make sure word gets back to Dorothy Ingram. Tonight, the ladies camp out in the World History room, and no food or object will be allowed past the door unless any of us have personally acquired or inspected it. And then we wait. Quoth will follow Dorothy and see what she does.”

  “I have a problem with this plan,” Heathcliff announced.

  “Only one?” Morrie piped up, tapping on his phone. “I have at least seventeen, starting with the fact that you’re sleeping downstairs with the old biddies and not upstairs in my bed.”

  “I’m not exactly going to be sleeping with a murderer on the loose,” I pointed out.

  “You wouldn’t be sleeping in my bed, either, gorgeous.”

  “What I want to know is why do all the bloody traps have to involve my shop?” Heathcliff grumbled. “And why do you have to put yourself in danger?”

  “Because if something happened to Mrs. Ellis, I couldn’t live with myself knowing I could have done something. That’s my final word.”

  I left the boys to secure the windows and stage a booby trap in the doorway of the World History room, then went across to Greta’s bakery and ordered a big stack of food, which I watched her prepare and hand to me. I couldn’t afford to take any chances. Then, I went to the off-license and chose a few bottles of wine. I checked the lids thoroughly to ensure they were still sealed. At Mrs. Ellis’ flat, I pulled sheets and duvets off the bed and carried them next door to set up for the sleepover.

  Quoth met me in the doorway and relieved me of my burden. “This place almost looks cozy now.”

  I had to agree. They’d shifted all the furniture to the side, the same as I’d done for the Banned Book Club meeting. Morrie had hooked a projector up to one of his hard drives and was already rolling the 1939 version of Wuthering Heights, with Laurence Olivier doing his best smoldering Heathcliff.

  “If I wasn’t fearful for my life, this would be quite fun!” Mrs. Ellis swiped a cream doughnut from the top of the stack and stretched out across the chaise lounge. “You should run events like this in the bookshop more often. I’m sure Brenda would love to bring the youth group.”

  My mind raced, thinking of book-themed movie nights with the projector, and maybe lectures on local history or book launches. “I’m trying to convince Heathcliff.”

  “No,” said Heathcliff from behind his desk in the other room.

  “You didn’t even hear what I said.”

  “You want to turn the shop into an attractive place people want to come, and I said no.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him. “You’re no fun.”

  “That’s not what you were saying on Friday night.”

  Mrs. Ellis bolted upright, her eyes dancing. “What was Friday night, dearie?”

  My face flushed. “Go back to your movie, Mrs. Ellis. I need to speak to Heathcliff privately.”

  She squeezed my hand, pulling me closer so she could whisper something so filthy it made me blush from head to toe.

  How did this woman teach innocent children for forty years?

  I slipped out of the room and sat on the edge of Heathcliff’s desk. “They’re all set up, snug as two bugs in rugs.”

  “That’s a terrible saying. A bug wouldn’t need a rug, barely even a handkerchief.” He turned a page in his book. “Morrie wants you upstairs.”

  “He does? You don’t want me to—”

  “No.” Heathcliff’s fingers slipped between the pages. His mouth twisted up into a smirk. “I’ll take first watch.”

  “You sure?”

  He leaned back in his chair, folded his ankles over each other, and patted the stack of books beside him. “I’m happy.”

  “Okay. Set your alarm and come get Morrie in two hours.”

  “If you say so.”

  I slipped upstairs. I’d strung even more fairy lights around the staircase. Morrie had left them on for me. As I made my way through the twinkling lights up to the second story flat, I felt like I was ascending into a magical world. Which, in a way, I was.

  “Morrie?” I pushed open the door to the flat, expecting to see the glow of his computer screen from the alcove he used as an office. Instead, the living room was cast in shadow, the only light coming from the hallway that led to the bathroom and bedrooms.

  “Oh gorgeous,” a sugary voice called to me from the depths of the flat. “Won’t you come and find me?”

  I stepped into the hall, my heart pounding with delicious anticipation. Morrie’s door was open a crack. I pushed it with my foot and peered into the gloom. “What?”

  “I have a surprise for you,” he whispered, his words dripping with lust.

  “Yes?” All thoughts of catching the murderer fled as excitement shuddered down my spine. I stepped into the room. Morrie’s bedside lamp was on, the beam trained up toward the ceiling, where a pair of leather and steel cuffs hung from the hook above the bed.

  “Surprise,” Morrie whispered in my ear, as he drew up behind me and lowered a blindfold over my eyes. “Tonight, you are mine.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As the material slid over my eyes, a faint flicker of panic flared in my stomach. I reached up and grabbed his wrist. “Morrie, what is this?”

  He lowered the blindfold and stepped out of the shadows so I could see him. He wore a beautiful blue shirt that brought out the ice in his eyes, and a wicked grin – a grin that turned my limbs to jelly. He nodded to the handcuffs hanging from the ceiling.

  “I’ve been thinking about you, Mina, about how you fear the darkness. Not just the darkness that may eventually become your world, but also the darkness you see inside me.” Morrie paused. “Inside Heathcliff and Quoth, too. But you fear your own darkness most of all.”

  I gulped, staring at that blindfold. I thought back to the blue lights that had flickered across my vision that so far only Quoth knew about. “I sound like a real scaredy cat.”

  “You’re not. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.” Morrie leaned forward, pressing his lips against my forehead. He linger
ed there, the heat of his lips searing through my doubts. “Maybe if you learn that the darkness is nothing to fear, then you’ll be able to unleash all that Mina fury I know is hidden inside.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “The other day, you said you wanted to try this. Do you retract that statement?”

  “No, I just…”

  “You kept up your end of the bargain with Heathcliff, so I’ve decided to reward you. Do you trust me?” Morrie asked.

  Did I? Academically, I shouldn’t. I had to keep reminding myself that the sexy computer hacker I thought of as Morrie was really James Moriarty, the ‘Napoleon of Crime’ who was Sherlock Holmes’ ultimate arch-nemesis. And yet, even though I’d seen Morrie perform any number of illegal acts during the course of hunting out Ashley’s true killer and trying to get to the bottom of the Banned Book Club murders, I knew there was more to him than that. I knew that if I fell, he’d be there to catch me.

  “I trust you.”

  Morrie slipped the blindfold over my eyes. Darkness enveloped me, sweeping over my body like a cold wave. The panic flickered again.

  Morrie’s mouth pressed against mine, his tongue searching, enjoying. His fingertips trailed down my arms, and the flickers of panic became shivers of desire.

  I want this. I crave this. But Dorothy Ingram… everyone downstairs…

  “Morrie, we can’t do this now.”

  “We can do anything you want,” he murmured against my lips. “I cleared it with Heathcliff. That’s why he’s taking the first watch. No one will disturb us unless there’s an emergency.”

  “You told Heathcliff…”

  “Of course,” Morrie grabbed my neck, forcing my chin upward as he deepened this kiss. “Quoth, too. I couldn’t very well have either of them flying up here every time you screamed.”