It was Quoth who saved the evening. He went behind the mixing desk, plugged in a set of headphones, and put on some sweet dancing tunes. Mrs. Ellis’ friends took to the dance floor, followed by a group of young girls. Heathcliff lobbed free merchandise at anyone who looked like they were about to talk to him. Soon, everyone in the room was affixing silver patches to their arms and gyrating to Lady Gaga.
Morrie popped the corks on the cheap Champagne, and Heathcliff rinsed out shot glasses so we had something to drink with. Jo drove out and returned with a stack of pizzas, which were quickly devoured as the hungry dancers returned to the floor. One thing was for sure – I could wrangle a crew to put on a mean party.
“Fancy a spin?” Morrie held out his hand for me.
I glanced down at his immaculate brogues. “You think your shoes are up to a battering?” I might love music, but I wasn’t exactly a demon on the dance floor. More like an uncoordinated rhinoceros.
“I’ve got plenty of pairs at home. These ones can be sacrificed.” Morrie took my hand. Even though the song was fast and pumping, he held me close, his hand resting in the small of my back in a possessive way that made my heart patter.
“So… that bloody cat is your grandmother, Count Dracula wants to suck your blood, and you’ve agreed to help a suspected murderess clear her name.” Morrie swirled me around the edge of the dance floor. “What else did I miss?”
I remembered then that I had something important to ask him. “Grey Lachlan came to the shop yesterday, trying to get Heathcliff to sell.”
“Ah. And Heathcliff told him where he could stick it?”
“He certainly did, but not before Grey declared that he knew about the state of the shop’s finances. He also said he knew that your funds were frozen in a Cayman Island bank account as they were being investigated.”
I watched Morrie’s face carefully. In the dim light, it was impossible for me to see, but his right eyebrow might have twitched. “You shouldn’t pay any attention to that man. He’s all bluster and bollocks.”
“I know that, but are you telling me hand-on-heart that there’s not a single shred of truth in what he said?”
I waited. Morrie exhaled through his teeth. His fingers pressed into my spine. “There is some truth.”
“Is that why you went down to London? And is it also why you haven’t offered to bail the shop out of our current financial crisis?”
Morrie didn’t answer.
Concern slithered along my spine. “Are you in trouble?”
Morrie opened his mouth to say something, but then his gaze slipped from my face. He was looking at something across the room. “I’ll get it sorted, Mina. I experienced a temporary setback, that’s all. The only person who could unravel my network is Sherlock Holmes himself, and he’s still stuck inside a book, thank the non-existent gods. Everything’s fine.”
“Don’t say ‘everything’s fine’ like that. It makes me concerned that you’re plotting something nefarious.”
“Me? Never.” Morrie’s gaze flicked over my shoulder again. His fingers slid down my arm, and I wasn’t thinking about his criminal empire anymore. His hands on me, his strong body guiding me around the dance floor… that was all I wanted…
What is he looking at?
I stomped on his toes, a little harder than I was intending. Morrie winced, but his gaze didn’t falter. As Heathcliff clomped past, spinning Dotty around in his arms, Morrie leaned over and hissed, “Isn’t that Miranda, from the Argleton Arms Hotel?”
I glanced over my shoulder, but I couldn’t see with all the shifting lights. Heathcliff didn’t even bother to look. “Who cares?”
“We do. I happen to know that she works the front desk most weekdays. It’s likely she was working the morning Danny was killed.” Morrie craned his neck. “She was probably the last person to see him alive, apart from the murderer. She’s heading toward the drinks table. Heathcliff, take our woman. I’m going in.”
Heathcliff dropped Dotty like a stone and wrapped his arms around me. We danced closer as Morrie ducked through the crowd and went straight up to Miranda. I could see now Miranda was a leggy blonde with impressive cleavage spilling out of her v-neck sweater. In moments, she was tossing her hair and laughing at something Morrie said. Morrie handed her a glass of Champagne and she touched his arm, smiling up at him while running her tongue along her bottom lip. Watching them laugh and flirt sent a flash of anger through my veins.
Huh. That’s weird. I’d never felt like that when the guys talked to other women before. Even though I knew Morrie was over there trying to get information from Miranda by any means necessary, seeing him do it made me feel… not jealous exactly, but possessive. I wanted to go over there, drape my arm across his shoulders, and casually mention that he was mine, mine, mine.
But that’s not fair. I was dating all three of the guys, and they were completely fine with it. They bickered about me all the time, but they bickered about everything, so that didn’t make me special. They’d happily declared that they’d be exclusive to me, and I… I didn’t even want Morrie to pretend-flirt with a hot blonde in order to get some important information?
I didn’t like this needling sensation running down my spine. I suspected it had less to do with wanting to keep Morrie all to myself and more to do with my fear that one day they’d make me choose between them, and I wouldn’t be able to do it.
I needed something to distract me. Luckily, I had just the something in my arms.
“Did you ever try to date?” I asked Heathcliff, leaning against him and resting my head on his shoulder. Heathcliff couldn’t dance the way Morrie could, but he allowed me to stand on his feet while he shuffled awkwardly to and fro. “Before you met me.”
He shook his head. “Never wanted to. Morrie made an online dating profile for me.”
“No, he didn’t!” I couldn’t picture it.
“He did. He made me sound like a brooding, soulful artist. I went out with one girl who left me a no-star review.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. She said I wasn’t a tortured bad boy, I was just a dickhead gypsy and it was spending time with me that was the torture.”
“It sounds like she was the problem, not you.” I tangled my fingers in his tousled hair. “I mean, I can’t believe you can give someone a no-star review. Surely you’d get one star for at least showing up.”
“Apparently I have that effect on people.” Heathcliff’s lips brushed the top of my head. The gesture was so uncharacteristically soft that it made my heart skip. For a moment, I forgot all about Morrie and that weird niggling sensation in my spine.
Then I happened to glance over at Morrie and Miranda. They had their heads bent together in deep conversation. The niggling feeling returned with full force.
I spun Heathcliff the other way, so I didn’t have to watch. “Do you ever think about what you’d like to do if you didn’t run Nevermore?”
He snorted. “Why bother? Your father gave me a job to do. I’m not going to leave. What else would I do, go to the moors and look for my birthright – a house and land and ex-lover that don’t exist?”
“I’m serious. Consider for a moment that the upstairs bedroom wasn’t a porthole into space and time, and this book magic – whatever it is – didn’t randomly bring fictional characters to life, and there wasn’t a cache of dangerous occult books hidden in the storage room, and a spring of ancient mystical water somewhere under the foundations. If Nevermore was just a normal bookshop and you were just a normal guy, would you want to run it?”
“Yes.”
His answer surprised me. “Why?”
“Because you’re there.”
“Heathcliff Earnshaw, that’s not an answer. I asked what you want. You can’t stand customers. You don’t want to learn how to use the computer. Half the time you’re not really even interested in the books.”
“I told you. I want to be with you, Mina. And you love the bookshop. Before you
came it was just dusty shelves filled with paper, Morrie and Quoth being annoying shits, and customers who seemed sent from hell specifically to torture me. But then you came along, with all your crazy ideas. You make it fun.”
“Did you just use the word fun unironically? I think I might faint.”
“It’s true. You make me want to enjoy life, even if I never will use that bloody computer.” The hint of a smile played across Heathcliff’s mouth. “If what Grimalkin says is true, you, love, may have even brought me here in the first place, brought me to you. Why would I want to leave?” He glowered at me. “Do you want me to go? Is that it?”
“Hell no.” I kissed his stubbly cheek. “But it’s been crossing my mind lately that we can’t just live like this forever. What we have right now – you, me, Morrie, Quoth – it’s amazing, but it can’t be permanent. This world doesn’t accept a relationship like ours, and sooner or later it’s going to bite us on the arse. Someone will want out.”
“Not me.” He shook his head. It seemed impossible, but the black of his eyes got even blacker. “You?”
“No. Never. We’re like… I never fit in anywhere before, not at school, not in this town, not even really in New York City. I was the puzzle piece in the box that was from the wrong bloody puzzle. But being with the three of you is like slotting the right puzzle pieces together. We all fit, and we make a beautiful, vivid picture. But one of us is bound to get sick of being one of four. And what about marriage? Children? What about power of attorney? What about two-for-one night at the movies? What about how this town will treat us as soon as they figure out we’re all dating?”
“I don’t care what people think,” he growled.
“You might. One day.”
“Unlikely.”
“Or Quoth might. Or Morrie. We can’t exactly do normal things. If we all go out on a date together, people are going to stare. How would we buy a house together? How will we sort out life insurance, or split up the chores? Who cleans the bathroom? How the fuck will we sign our Christmas cards?”
“That’s easy. We don’t send Christmas cards.”
“I’m serious! The world isn’t built to accommodate a relationship like ours. We’re taking the hardest path, and I just wonder if one day, one of us might wake up and wish things were easier.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Heathcliff narrowed his dark eyes at me. “You know why?”
“Why?”
Hot lips pressed against mine. Heathcliff’s kiss drenched me with his need, drowning me in the well of his love. It was a kiss that spoke more eloquently, more passionately, than words ever could.
Heathcliff pulled back, his chest heaving. I gasped for breath. That kiss… it told me that as far as Heathcliff was concerned, all my worries were completely unfounded. The certainty in that kiss steeled me.
Morrie’s head popped up between us. “Sorry to break up the party, lovebirds. But I’ve got news.”
“Miranda dumped a smoothie on your head?” I asked, trying not to sound hopeful.
“Of course not. In mere minutes, she succumbed to my not inconsiderable charm and spilled all the details about Danny’s last morning. According to Miranda, Brian arrived at the hotel first, by himself, followed by Angus a half-hour later escorting Danny’s wife Penny. Danny and Amanda came in after midnight. They sat in the bar for an hour or so before they went up to bed. Miranda said they were flirting hard. She also said they headed upstairs together and it seemed as though they would be… ‘shagging all night’ was the term she used. Personally, I prefer something more poetic, like bumping uglies or a bit of crumpet, adult naptime, caulking the tub, in the service of Venus, baking the potato, dancing the Paphian jig, groping for trout in a peculiar river, Blitzkrieg mit dem fleischgewehr, bludgeoning the flaps…”
Bludgeoning the flaps? I rolled my eyes. “We get the idea. Where do you even get this stuff?”
“I’m a man of many talents. Do you want to hear the rest of my story?”
I sighed. “Yes. Please continue sans poetic euphemisms.”
“In the morning, Miranda saw Danny leave the hotel around five a.m. He was in a jovial mood, flirting with her as he asked about the dinner options when he got back. A few minutes after he left, Angus called down to the front desk and asked for some towels to be left in the hall in front of his room. Miranda left the desk and went up with the towels. Angus had the DO NOT DISTURB sign on his door. As she set down the stack outside Angus’ room, she couldn’t help but overhear the sounds of rather vigorous lovemaking coming from inside.”
“Did she recognize the woman’s voice?”
“She says it was Amanda Letterman.”
I couldn’t believe it. “So Amanda was shagging both Danny and Angus, on the same night, right under the same roof as Brian? That guy has got to have known about this.”
“I agree. And he was the most likely person to have picked up Beverly’s scarf. I’m just not sure if he’s responsible for Danny’s death. If this murder is about infidelity, then why go after Danny? Why not Amanda? What does Brian gain apart from revenge? This murder was premeditated – the killer has gone out of his or her way to choose the manner of death. They’re sending a message. Everything about this suggests it was related to the murder of Abigail Ingram. Which means that all the evidence still points towards Beverly.”
But my mind was spinning in a completely different direction. “Or maybe all this bludgeoning the flaps was really about creating a distraction. If someone knew Angus and Amanda were shagging…”
Morrie rubbed his chin. “It’s possible. It may not have been Angus on the phone. Miranda said he sounded tired and muffled. The killer could have asked Miranda to take the towels upstairs, knowing Angus had the DO NOT DISTURB sign up. With Miranda gone, the killer could sneak past the front desk to meet Danny at the shop.”
“That’s elaborate,” Heathcliff said. “Wouldn’t they be better off just going out a fire exit?”
Morrie shook his head. “All the exits are on alarms, to stop guests sneaking out for a smoke.”
“Wouldn’t Miranda see which room the call came from on her switchboard? And surely if someone snuck past the front desk, the police would have seen it on CCTV.”
“It’s the Argleton Arms Hotel, not the Waldorf. They don’t have that kind of technology. The CCTV camera over the front door has been broken for months.”
“One thing we know for sure,” I said. “Angus and Amanda have an alibi – each other. That leaves us with Brian Letterman and Danny’s wife, Penny who don’t have alibis. Both of them had a reason to hate Danny, and both had ample opportunity to follow him out of the hotel. And that’s not to mention Jim Mathis, or any other suspects we haven’t come up with.”
Heathcliff snorted. “Of course, there’s another possibility – that Beverly Ingram really did kill Danny.”
I shook my head. “I just can’t believe it.”
“Fine, fine,” Heathcliff muttered. “We’ll continue this wild goose chase. How much longer are we going to stay at this party? All the Champagne is gone.”
I glanced around. The party looked like it was winding up. The only one still dancing was Quoth, who stood behind the mixing desk, his black hair flying around his face as he headbanged to Blur.
I grinned. “Fine. I guess it’s time to wind up. You find Jo. I’ll grab Funkmaster Quoth. He needs to get a good sleep tonight because we’re going to visit that art school in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nerves tugged at me as Quoth and I boarded the bus in front of the Argleton Arms Hotel. I wanted so badly for everything to go well for him today. This was the first time he’d ever done something for himself, on his own initiative, and if anything went wrong, he’d retreat back into his shell and that bright smile of his would be even rarer than ever.
Beside me, Quoth burst with excitement. His joy radiated off him, and I felt that every eye on the bus was drawn to him. How could they not, when he was shifting in h
is seat, tossing his luscious hair?
The bus dropped us off right in front of the campus. Quoth fidgeted with his clothes as we walked through the gates toward the administration building. I reached for his hand and squeezed it.
We walked into a light, airy atrium. An enormous abstract triptych covered one entire wall, the giant panels stretching two stories. Glossy paint had been streaked so thick that it stuck out in sharp ridges, giving the panels a tactile quality that begged to be touched. Students shuffled back and forth, swinging book bags and chatting in loud, excitable voices.
“Hi,” I told the woman behind the counter. “We’re Mina Wilde and Allan Poe. We’re here for a tour of the art department.”
“Of course. Mrs. Anders is expecting you. She’ll be down in a moment.”
A few moments later, a woman with bright pink hair dressed in a flowing multicolored maxi dress and bright purple knitted shawl appeared. She clasped each of our hands in turn. “Welcome. I’m Charlotte Anders and I’m so excited to show you around campus, Allan. I’ve seen your portfolio. Your work is arresting. Not my taste – a bit too dark for me, I’m afraid – but I think you’ll fit in well here.”
Quoth’s features lit up at her words. She turned to me. “Are you also applying, Mina?”
“No, I—”
“Mina’s an amazing creative,” Quoth cut in. “She made the clothes she’s wearing. She studied fashion at the New York Fashion School, and worked for Marcus Ribald.”
Now it was my turn to blush. At the mention of Ribald’s name, Mrs. Anders face lit up. “Wow, that’s amazing. I love Ribald’s work. That gown he did at the 2017 New York Fashion Week, made out of nails and screws? Obviously, we’re nothing on the Fashion School, but I’d be happy to show you our fashion and textile workshops—”
Memoirs of a Garroter (Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries Book 4) Page 14