A Dead and Stormy Night

by Steffanie Holmes

  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.
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  “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?”

  “That was easy. I grabbed them off his belt while he climbed out of his car. Bloody fool never even noticed.” Quoth grabbed my hand. “Are you ready to run? You’re going to be conspicuous in your underwear.”

  “Can’t I just ride on your back while you fly me to safety?”

  “Bloody hell, that would be fun. I wish it worked like that. Follow me. We’ll take the back way – less chance you’ll be spotted. I’ll stay close so you can see me. ”

  Quoth gritted his teeth as the feathers shoved through his skin, and his bones snapped and twisted into place. A moment later, he took off, soaring low so I could see his outline against the grass. Rubbing my hands over my goosepimpling arms, I glanced both ways for onlookers, and plunged after him.

  The police had confiscated my shoelaces, so my boots flapped about on my ankles as the soles sank into the soft, wet grass. I sprinted for the line of trees separating the police station from Donahue Road. My eyes swept the ground in front of me, but with my dwindling vision I could barely make anything out. I listened for the rustle of the leaves on the tree line, to the wind rushing over Quoth’s wings. He’ll guide me.

  The air hung damp and heavy, with a biting chill that burned in my bones. But at least it wasn’t raining anymore. Branches scraped at my skin as I followed Quoth along the tree line, heading down Donahue, past Helen’s cottage and toward the lane at the rear of the bookshop.


  Ah, to be free, where the air didn’t smell like stale urine.

  Quoth hopped into the middle of the deserted street. I peered up at the line of shops, but the only lights I could see were from the upper story of Nevermore Bookshop. I sucked in a deep breath and sprinted across the road, my boots slapping against the damp asphalt, splashing icy water up my legs. The backdoor swung open just as I reached it, and a rough hand clamped around my arm and dragged me inside.

  “Why are you running around without clothes?” Heathcliff demanded, slamming the door behind me. “You’ll catch a chill.”

  “Because she used her clothes to create a Mina-shape in the bed so no one would notice her missing for a few hours.” Moriarty chimed in from the front room. “Obviously.”

  “H-h-how did you know that?” I asked, my teeth chattering.

  “Because you’re clever, Mina Wilde, just like me.”

  “She’s nothing like you,” Heathcliff growled.

  “Hey, I’d like to th-th-think I’m at least a little bit clever,” I protested. Cold chills ran through my body. “Can one of you lend me some cl-cl-clothing?”

  Morrie jumped up and took the stairs two at a time. Heathcliff led me to his chair and pushed me down. He shrugged off his coat. Quoth was already carrying over a teapot, holding the tray just so to hide his genitals.

  He must be freezing his nuts off. I bet that’s why he doesn’t want me to see.

  I wrapped my hands around the hot cup of tea, marveling at how Quoth – who’d known me for three days – got it just right, while Ashley had never been able to remember whether I had milk. Morrie appeared in the doorway with an armload of clothes.

  “Since you’re a woman of refined tastes, I skipped Quoth’s closet and Heathcliff’s cesspool of stench and procured these garments from my own wardrobe.” He handed me a pair of buttery-soft grey trousers. I pulled them on. Morrie bit his lip as I rolled the hems up and stuffed them into my boots. He handed me a long-sleeve black silk shirt and a fine wool jacket. I wish I had a mirror. I bet I look dapper as fuck. “I found you a belt, too, since these will fall off that tiny waist of yours.” He handed me a supple belt of fine leather and I threaded it through the loops.