A Dead and Stormy Night

by Steffanie Holmes

  “How do you know a girl came into the shop yesterday?”

  “Heathcliff told me. He’s a right gossip if you ply him with Scotch. I asked him all sorts of questions about your first day. What you did, how efficient you were, whether you bent over in that hot little skirt of yours—”

  “Don’t be disgusting.” Heathcliff shot Morrie a look that could melt diamonds into mush. He rubbed his chin with his hand, and his dark eyes bore into mine. “This girl was Ashley.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I nodded anyway. “Yeah. She said she was visiting her family for the holidays. Ashley’s from Argleton, too. We’ve been friends since secondary school. Ashley is…” I searched my head for a way to describe her. “She’s the life of the party. She’s hyper creative. She runs a million miles a minute and she’s always full of ideas. She says what she feels and she doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. When I hang out with her, I feel invincible. But she’s also shallow, and selfish, and ruthless when she wants something, or someone. She doesn’t see how her decisions step on other people. I thought I was different. She called me her best friend. I thought she cared about me enough not to crush me. I was wrong.

  “There were four interns on the placement program, and we were all competing for one full-time position with Ribald’s studio. Not to sound like a snob, but I pretty much had that job in the bag. One of the girls shagged her way through the entire styling team, the other one was a kleptomaniac. Ashley’s competent, but disorganized, and she was spending too much time becoming a social media influencer to focus on Ribald’s work. On more than one occasion I had to save her arse before Marcus discovered a mistake she’d made.”

  “Looks like you hired the right lass for the job,” Morrie said to Heathcliff. “Maybe our Mina can help you transcend your grubby gypsy aesthetic.”

  “Better a grubby gypsy than a dandy coxcomb.”

  “Did you just call me a coxcomb?” Morrie snorted. “Nice topical reference. You got any more Shakespearean put-downs? Tell me how I art a boil, a plague sore, an embossed carbuncle in your corrupted blood—”

  “Quiet, both of you.” Quoth spoke, his voice velvet and darkness. “Let Mina speak.”

  I took a shaking breath. “A few months ago, I started noticing I couldn’t see very well in low light. I was sitting at this bar with Ashley. She’d convinced a couple of guys to buy us drinks, and I realized I couldn’t tell if they were the same two we started the night with. I couldn’t discern their faces. I thought maybe I’d had too much to drink, but then later that week I fell down the stairs to our flat. I scraped my arm all up. It hurt like hell.” I lifted my arm and rolled up my sleeve to show them the scar along my forearm.

  “There was other stuff, too. Ashley said I kept bending my head weird. It turns out I’d been angling my head because my peripheral vision was receding at an alarming rate. A couple of weeks later I crashed into a filing cabinet and chipped a tooth. Then I missed the edge of my desk and dropped my cold-pressed cacao smoothie on the floor. In New York, that’s fucking sacrilege, like spitting on the Pope. It was weird, but I just thought I was stressed about work.

  “We were leading up to New York Fashion Week, so work was crazy. Marcus was unveiling his first ever bridal collection and everything had to be perfect. I worked backstage at the event and I could hardly see a thing. I had so much to organize and so many people relying on me, the whole show’s success was riding on me getting every cue perfect, solving every disaster, finding every missing accessory. Ashley called my name and I stumbled toward her through shadows and gloom and crashed into a model wearing an eight-foot-high headdress. Luckily, she managed to steady herself before she fell and ruined the outfit, but I couldn’t stop shaking. I’d never done something so stupid before. It was like I was on drugs. I thought maybe one of the other interns had roofied my drink. Ashley kept telling me it was just an accident, but that was it… I didn’t see her. Even when I hit her, I couldn’t see her body. And I should have seen her.”

  Tears stung in my eyes at the memory. Working Fashion Week for Marcus Ribald should have been a dream come true. Instead, it was forever etched in my memory as the day I realized something was really wrong with my eyes.

  Grimalkin jumped into my lap and curled up, her body vibrating with an intense purr. I stroked her silky fur – the action helped steady my breathing so I could continue. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. “I went to an optometrist and she referred me to a specialist ophthalmologist and after some more tests and things, I got my diagnosis – retinitis pigmentosa.”

  “And that is?”

  “A breakdown of cells in the retina,” said Morrie. “As the retina degenerates, patients suffer loss of night and peripheral vision.”

  “Are you a doctor, too?” I asked, surprised that he knew so much.

  “I’ve dabbled,” he said simply.

  “Well, you’re right. It’s a genetic condition, so as well as my tiny nose and mousy hair I’ve inherited these delightful genes from my parents. No one in my mum’s family has the condition, and she doesn’t have any contact with my father so we don’t know anything about his side. The specialist said mine’s quite a rare form of RP that may accelerate at any time. There’s nothing I can do about it and there’s no cure. He says that…” I sucked in a breath. “That I’ll eventually go completely blind.”

  My greatest fear hovered out there in the open. Instead of being horrible, it was weirdly liberating, speaking the words into the gloom. I felt as though I stood outside my body, watching this sad girl in her scuffed Docs and jersey dress spill her guts in front of these guys. It didn’t matter what their reaction was because she’d done the scary thing. She’d said the words. She’d made them real.

  “Shite,” Heathcliff spat, the word dripping with hidden pain. My eyes flew open, and a jolt raced through my body as he looked – really looked – back at me. He saw the clues that had been hiding in plain sight ever since he hired me, and everything this diagnosis meant for my future.

  And it made him angry, not at me, but for me. It made him remember some long ago pain from his past that made him feel helpless and alone, and for the first time since I’d walked into the Nevermore Bookshop, I realized that Heathcliff and I had a connection.

  “That’s a bloody shame, gorgeous,” Morrie said.

  Quoth said nothing.

  I sucked in a breath, strengthened by their reactions, but the set of their eyes upon me. Outside, the rain came down harder, slamming against the windows and pounding on the roof, matching the pattering of my heart. I continued. “The first thing I did was call Ashley. She came straight over with a bottle of bourbon and we finished it off that night. I got completely maggoted and cried a lot. All I’d wanted my whole life was to be a fashion designer, but how can I do that if I can’t even see? Ashley convinced me that it wasn’t all bad. It might be twenty years or more before I go completely blind. It might never happen. She thought I should keep pursuing fashion and fuck anyone if they tried to stop me. I’d never loved her so much as I did that night.

  “I woke up the next morning with a new sense of determination. Ashley was right. I wouldn’t let what might one day be destroy my dreams today – and that started immediately. I went to work hungover but with a bounce in my step, and worked my arse off until well after the sunset. Marcus stopped by our desks to say the show had been a success, and he’d be giving us our performance reviews the next day, as well as announcing who got the permanent job on his team. Ashley and I went out for a drink that night and we both talked about how we’d be happy for the other person if they got it, but I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she knew I was going to get it. I bought all her drinks that night because she’d been such a good friend and now I was going to get this amazing job she really wanted. It was the least I could do.

  “At work the next day we waited outside Marcus’ office. He called us in one by one like he was a school principal and we were
naughty children. My head throbbed from the drinking, but I was too excited to care.

  “Marcus called me in, and I perched on his la corbusier recliner, launching into a speech I prepared about how honored I was to work with him and how I’d do him proud. Marcus looked pained. ‘I’m sorry, Mina,’ he said. He clasped his hands on his lap. ‘You’ve worked so hard this year, and you have a real flair for design. I think you have amazing potential, but I’ve decided to give the job to Ashley.’

  “I couldn’t believe it. The words didn’t make sense. I asked him why. ‘The fashion world is shallow, and it demands nothing less than perfection. It’s sad, but that’s fashion. I just can’t have someone on my staff who’s going blind. You would be a liability. What if you fell off the runway prepping for a show? What if you cut a garment wrong? My silks are handmade by cloistered nuns in Tibet. They’re priceless.’

  “‘I’ve been looking at ways to adapt,’ I said. ‘It’s really not as difficult as you think—’

  “Marcus shook his head. ‘I really am sorry. You’re not able to work in fashion. Here or anywhere. It’s just not possible.’ He turned back to his drawing board, indicating that was the end of the conversation. I sat frozen in the chair, and finally willed my feet to move. I couldn’t… I just didn’t—”

  “That’s discrimination,” Morrie said. “You could take that bastard to court. I’ll help with your case.”

  “He should not be allowed to do that,” Quoth added.

  “I’ll gut the bastard,” Heathcliff growled.

  “Or, even better, we’ll blackmail him into giving you the job. I’m skilled at digging up nasty secrets from the past people don’t want to be made public. I bet this guy has a mistress. Or hey, I wager Marcus Ribald isn’t even his real name.”

  I hated how much their reactions touched me. I wanted to keep my distance from these guys, especially because of all the magic flutters and aches stirring in my body… but as much as I denied it to myself, I’d already pinned too much hope on them becoming my friends. I waved my hand. “Of course it’s not his real name, and it doesn’t matter. Marcus is right. How can I work in fashion if I can’t even see the clothes? How can I do runway shows when I can’t see in the dark? It was stupid for me to even consider continuing. But I could have hid it for a bit longer. I could have had the best job of my life, if Ashley hadn’t told Marcus about my eyes.”

  “That’s just one fool’s opinion,” Morrie said.

  “One dead fool,” Heathcliff growled.

  “I bet if you sent your resume around to some different fashion houses, you’ll find—”

  “I tried. Ashley and Marcus blabbed it to the entire fashion community. He flat-out told me he wouldn’t give me a positive reference. Which is a total dick move, but Ashley was worse. She pretended she did it all out of concern for me. She said she was worried about me after the accident at the show. She just wanted Marcus to know so he could help me. But there was a glint in her eye that I’ve seen too many times before. She planned it as soon as she heard to take me out of the running. The way she was looking at me the night before – it wasn’t envy, it was pity.”

  I sighed, scratching Grimalkin under the chin. “That’s my story. Now you know why I hate Ashley and that’s why I’m back in Argleton. I’ve spent the last four years of my life working toward a career that’s now out of my reach. I wanted to be a fashion designer since I was eleven. Now…” I shrugged again. “I don’t know who I am without my eyes. I don’t—”

  A loud crash sounded downstairs, followed by a low moan, and the thud of the door slamming shut.

  “What’s that?”

  Grimalkin bolted up, her ears pricked.

  “I bet it’s Heathcliff’s homeless friend, looking for a warm place to crash.” Morrie went to the window and drew back the curtains just as a jolt of lightning arced across the sky. “He probably saw Mina enter and realized the shop was unlocked.”

  “Well, if you hadn’t left the front door open, he wouldn’t have been able to invite himself in.” Heathcliff glowered.

  “You’re the one who makes him feel welcome in here,” Morrie insisted. “If I owned this place, I’d pay him a wage to work here, earn an honest living, and I’d make him shower.”

  “You were the one who invited guests after closing. We never have guests after closing. Now you’ll have to go down and shoo him back outside.”

  “I’m not going anywhere near him,” Morrie looked aghast. “Not in my second-favorite waistcoat. He’s your smelly friend. You go.”

  I stood up. “I’ll go, if me being here is a problem—”

  “Sit your arse down,” Heathcliff boomed from his place at the fireplace. Stunned, I fell back into the seat. “Morrie, get Mina some tea. Can’t you see she’s upset? Quoth, deal with whatever’s going on downstairs. If it’s Earl, he can have the sofa in the Natural History room if he wants to shelter here, as long as he’s gone before opening. If it’s someone else, make them go away without bothering me. I’m not moving – I’ve found the perfect arm groove on the mantle here, and I’m not losing it for anything.”

  With a silent nod, the black-haired beauty left his perch and glided down the stairs. Morrie bustled into the kitchen. Heathcliff’s eyes locked on mine.

  “You’re better than this place,” he whispered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “If all else remains, but something or someone you love is annihilated, the universe turns to a mighty stranger. I thought for so long pain like that could ruin the soul, but now I understand torment is not forever.”

  Heathcliff’s voice was as gruff as ever, but he spoke as a poet, giving me a glimpse at his own soul. My chest swelled to think a man like him would trust me to see such an intimate side of him. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Right now, I can’t see an end, pun intended. No matter how happy I feel in a moment, I still drag around this heavy weight. I don’t know how to let it go.”

  “We all drop our weights on the threshold of this shop. I know you loved Nevermore because of what it meant to you as a girl, and I see you’re already in love again.”

  “I didn’t think you were even listening to me.”

  “I always listen, Mina.” Heathcliff growled. “I am—”

  “Oh, shite!” came a yell from downstairs. “Guys, you’d better come quick.”

  “What’s that wanker done now?” It was to-be-determined whether Heathcliff meant the homeless man or Quoth. Probably both. Heathcliff headed for the stairs just as Morrie emerged from the kitchen and extended a hand to me.

  I ached to take his hand and feel our skin sizzle together. But it was dangerous, so dangerous right now, with my heart already laid open in front of them all. “I’m fine,” I said, rising to my feet. At the staircase, I slid my hands down the wall and felt for the stair treads with my feet, heading toward the square of light at the bottom.

  The first thing I heard was Heathcliff gasp, a sound so utterly out of character it made my stomach tighten in fear. As Morrie emerged on the landing, he swore. Heathcliff turned and waved at me to go back up the stairs.

  “It’s not for you to see,” he growled.

  “Don’t be so old-fashioned. I’ve seen drunk guys passed out on the floor before—” I peered around Heathcliff’s bulk, and my stomach plunged into my knees.

  In front of the Sociology shelf, a lump of clothing spread across the floor. A hand stuck out at an angle, clutching a bloodied Birkin bag. Two pale legs jutted out from the hem of a pink dress covered with a pattern of revolvers.

  Not a pile of clothing. A body. A body wearing a very familiar Marcus Ribald dress.

  Ashley lay face down on the brown shop carpet. A knife stuck out of her back, a trickle of blood dribbling across her bright-pink dress and across the rug.

  Someone… someone stabbed Ashley.

  Chapter Ten

  Bile rose in my throat. “Ashley?”

  This is some kind of joke. Any second now she’s going to leap up and ya
nk the prop knife out of her back and tell me I’m a silly bitch for falling for her practical joke. And then we’ll hug and be friends again.

  Ashley didn’t move. Morrie stepped over her, bending down to examine the knife. He pressed two fingers to her throat, and shook his head.

  Heathcliff gathered me in his arms, his smoky, peaty scent invading my nostrils. “She’s gone,” he whispered.

  No no no no.

  It can’t be true. Ashley can’t be dead.

  “I’ll call the brass.” Morrie slid his phone out of his pocket.

  “I’ll finish the tea,” Quoth said, slipping back upstairs.

  Heathcliff shuffled me back onto the landing, placing himself between me and Ashley’s body. “I just saw her today,” I whispered into his stiff coat. Warmth radiated from his arms through my whole body, but it couldn’t dislodge the ice stabbing into my heart. The scent of old leather and rich ink wafted from his clothes, mingling with his spicy, peaty scent – the comforting smell of books baked into his essence.

  Ashley’s dead.

  Not just dead. Murdered. That knife didn’t get there by accident. While I was upstairs spilling my guts to Heathcliff and Morrie and Quoth, she was down here getting stabbed.

  But who would want Ashley dead? And why? And why would they do it here?

  Morrie slid his phone back into his pocket. “The police are on their way. We don’t have much time. Mina, we have to—”

  “Don’t ask her,” Heathcliff warned him. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “Sorry, mate. It’s so much neater if we get Mina to agree.” Morrie tugged on the hem of his waistcoat.

  “Agree to what? My best friend is dead.” Panic crept across my chest.

  “Ex-best friend,” Morrie reminded me. “Mina, we have to talk to you about something, and it can’t wait. The police are going to ask you about finding the body. You can’t tell them Quoth was down here first.”

  “Huh?” His words took too long to penetrate the fog in my mind. “Why not?”