When I told her, Jo squealed and bought me another G&T and made me tell her all the gory details. My heart soared because my only girlfriend in the world had been brutally murdered after we had a falling out, and now I had another who seemed to get exactly what I needed.
Ever since Jo knew about Morrie, a weight had lifted from my shoulders. Only a small weight, because I’d barely scratched the surface of the secrets I was keeping. I hadn’t told Jo about the boys being fictional characters come to life, about the room in the shop that jumped through time, or about the various characters they’d help set up in stable jobs all over the world. I hadn’t told her about my eyesight, but I guessed she knew from the way she’d steered us toward the table under the brightest light and started reading items on the menu out loud. And I definitely neglected to mention the kiss I’d shared with Heathcliff a few weeks back, the way Quoth had said some weird things, about how they all liked me, or how they all would happily… share me.
I mean, that’s crazy, right? Who even does that?
Lots of people aren’t in monogamous relationships, that niggling punk rock voice in my head taunted me. I knew. I Googled it. It was called polyamory or polyandry, and there were whole communities of people who believed that you could have more than one partner and it worked.
But was I one of them?
Punk rock Mina screamed that I should stop being a pussy and have them all. Book nerd Mina wanted to be cautious, because three times the cock meant three times the heartache, especially when your boyfriends were fictional characters with troubled backstories of their own.
I toyed with my napkin, but the urge to talk overpowered me. “Has Morrie ever said anything to you about polyamory?”
Jo leaned forward, sensing the whiff of good gossip. “Not really. He’s made a few comments about being grateful to be free of repressive Victorian puritanical constraints. Why, are he and you…”
“I’ve got a date with Heathcliff on Friday night,” I said.
Jo’s eyebrow went up. “Morrie okay with that?”
“It was his idea.”
“Ah. Intrigue.” Jo leaned forward, her eyes glinting. “Morrie wants you to date his closest friend?”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I know. Weird, right?” Jo sipped her wine. “I’ve known Morrie for long enough to realize he’s kinky as fuck. He goes down to London for sex parties at an exclusive club. He keeps inviting me with him, but honestly, naked men are kind of gross to me now.”
After I’d spilled my secret about Morrie last week, Jo revealed a secret of her own – she preferred to date women. Now that I knew her better, this wasn’t a shock at all, and I promised to keep an eye out for any hot and slightly morbid females who came into the shop.
“Sex parties?” I gulped.
Jo grinned, toying with her straw. “Has he used any of his bondage gear on you yet?”
My cheeks flushed. “No.”
“But you want him to?”
“…maybe?”
We laughed. My whole face flared with heat. I tipped my head back and downed my drink in one gulp. Gin was the only sane way to deal with a conversation like this.
Jo agreed as she slung back her own drink. “Do you want my advice?”
“Yes, please.”
“I say go for it. Sure, close off your heart a little bit if you need to protect yourself, but don’t look two gift horses in the mouth. You only live once. Most of us dream of having two hot and interesting people meeting our every whim.”
“Three.”
“Three what?”
“Three hot, interesting people,” I mumbled.
“That weird guy who was handing out tea? Okay, definitely go for it. He is fucking gorgeous, and I don’t even like dudes. Who is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him before, and I’d remember a face like that. He’s a thing of beauty. What kind of a name is Quoth?”
“He said his parents were seventies goths,” I went with the cover story I invented for Quoth. Jo snorted. “I know, right? He’s a friend of Morrie’s. He’s staying at the flat for a while. He’s an artist – really good one, too.”
“He did those paintings hanging around the shop?”
I nodded.
“Okay, you have to date him. Artists are always good with their hands.”
The heat crept down my neck. “This is insane.”
“Not at all. Once you’re sleeping with him, can you get me a discount? I’ve got my eye on that painting above Heathcliff’s desk.”
“I can probably get you a discount.”
“And I want all the gory details. I’ve only ever had one threesome. It was with my last girlfriend, Dr. Adele Martinez, and her young technician, Michael Rousseau, at the annual digital pathology symposium. After one too many G&Ts at the conference dinner, we decided to sneak into the mortuary for our dalliance. Rousseau got so freaked out when we told him to lie on the autopsy table that he ran away and myself and Adele continued on our own. So I guess it wasn’t really a threesome at all. I want to know what it’s like with all those dicks flying around—”
“Can we talk about something other than my sex life or threesomes or flying dicks? You did Gladys Scarlett’s autopsy today. Was it a heart attack?”
“Nope.” Jo tapped her nails against the stem of her glass. “It turns out your local busybody Mrs. Scarlett didn’t die from natural causes.”
“No?” My chest tightened.
“I found high levels of arsenic in her blood. She’s been poisoned.”
Chapter Eight
“Poisoned? But… how?”
“I’ll know more once I get the toxicology results back from the lab, but a lethal dose of arsenic is usually administered in food or drink, because it dissolves easily in liquid and it doesn’t have much of a taste.”
My heart thudded. “But we all ate food at the meeting. Could we all be—”
Jo held my hand. “Relax, Mina. I’d have notified you immediately if that was the case. If you’d ingested any arsenic, you would have felt symptoms by now. The body tries to expel the poison by vomiting and diarrhea. Also, didn’t Gladys only eat very specific food because of her intolerances?”
“Yes, that’s right. We all drank from the same teapot, but she had her own plate of sandwiches and treats. But that means…”
After the food was delivered, only myself, Quoth, and the ladies went anywhere near it. Someone in the Banned Book Club must have administered the poison.
Jo nodded. “I can tell by your face exactly what you’re thinking, and you’re right. It means one of those kind old biddies is a cold-blooded murderer. Can I get you another drink?”
I pushed my empty glass away. “I’m not thirsty anymore.”
“Really? I’m parched. Murder cases are thirsty work.” Jo waved at the landlord, who ambled over with two more glasses for our tab. “This case is fascinating. Arsenic was actually one of the most common types of poison to be used throughout history. Murderers love it because it has no obvious taste, and the symptoms can appear similar to dysentery or cholera, which were pretty common.”
“So it’s not difficult to make?”
“Oh no. It’s a simple chemical process that’s been known to poisoners since Ancient Egypt, and it was a particular favorite murder method of the Borgia family. Apparently, they’d spread it on the entrails of a pig, leave them to rot, then dry what remained and grind it into a powder called la cantarella, which they added to the food or drink of their enemies.”
“You sure know a lot about killing people,” I mused.
“Hello, I’m a forensic pathologist,” Jo grinned, pointing to her chest. “I’ve got loads more stories if you want to hear them, but you might have trouble holding down your dinner. This is actually my first arsenic poisoning. You don’t see it used much anymore. During the Industrial Revolution, arsenic was as common as mud because of the huge demand of iron and lead – the extracted ore contained arsenic, and during smelting, the arsenic would condense in the
chimneys as a white solid that could be scraped off and sold. Every household had arsenic for killing rats and mice and other vermin. Now, of course, you’d need a special license to purchase it, or access to an industrial plant where it’s stored. It’s not a very common poison anymore, which means it should be easy to figure out who’d have access to it.”
“So the police are already investigating the case?”
“Yep. Hayes and Wilson are taking statements from all the Banned Book Club members. Hayes said he’d be around tomorrow morning to take one from you and your friend, the beautiful Quoth.”
Shit. If the police needed to talk to Quoth, this was a big problem. Because his shifting was so erratic and he spent most of his time in his bird form, Quoth lived off-the-grid. If the police had cause to look into his background, they’d discover he didn’t technically exist, and that could cause all kinds of problems. After all the effort we went to after Ashley’s death to keep him out of things, he’d end up before the police anyway, and all because I’d encouraged him to come out of his shell.
That shell was what protected him, and I’ve gone and blown it to smithereens.
I excused myself, went to the ladies loo, and called Morrie. “We have a problem.” I filled him in on Mrs. Scarlett’s murder and the police investigation.
“Arsenic?” Morrie’s voice perked up. “That’s not exactly a common poison these days. Not quick or painless, either. I much prefer cyanide.”
“I don’t want to hear that. What are we going to do about Quoth? He helped me set up the book club meeting, and he stayed to serve tea to the ladies. They’re all going to mention him in their statements, which means the police will want to interview him. It’s all my fault! I never should have allowed him to stay at the meeting.”
“Relax, gorgeous. We’ll deal with it. As soon as you started your crazy campaign to get Quoth recognized as an artistic genius, I organized him some papers. As far as the police are concerned, tomorrow they’ll be interviewing Mr. Allan Poe, an itinerant painter from Norwich with a passport, some dead parents, and his own Facebook profile. If Quoth can keep his feathers inside his skin, he’ll be fine.”
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thank you, Morrie.”
“I know. I’m a genius. I’m already planning exactly how you can thank me. It involves a blindfold and a flogger.”
An ache spread between my legs. “What’s a flogger?”
“One day soon, you’re going to find out.”
I rang off, my heart hammering for an entirely different reason.
After we finished our drinks, Jo offered me a lift home. She stood in front of her fancy new car, a Nissan Leaf, jangling the keys in her hand. Old, familiar shame welled up inside me. “It’s fine. It’s a nice night. I’d rather walk.”
“You’re not walking through that neighborhood in the dark on your own. I’m giving you a ride, and that’s an order.”
My breath hitched. “How do you know where I live?”
“You were the leading suspect in a murder investigation. I know far too much about you.” Jo flung open the door. “Get in.”
I glanced up. A black raven sat on the guttering opposite the pub, two beady brown eyes trained on mine. I’ll be watching you, a silky voice reverberated in my head. Quoth took his duties seriously, but I couldn’t tell Jo that.
Jo sighed. “If you get in the car, I’ll let you know what I find out about the arsenic, as long as you promise not to pass on any information I tell you. Technically, I’m not supposed to be telling you details of an active murder investigation, but what good are friends if we can’t dish the dirt to each other?”
My hands trembled, because I’ already told Morrie about the arsenic. But I slid in beside her and pretended to zip my lips. “Exactly. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Jo grinned. “Good. And I promise not to tell anyone you’re a filthy polyamorous harlot.”
“Deal.” We shook on it. Jo pulled away from the curb and drove out of the village proper, onto the council estate. The quaint thatched cottages and pristine gardens gave way to shabby brownstones and brutalist concrete towers and streets littered with rubbish. A police siren wailed in the distance. My fingers dug into the armrest.
“It’s fine,” Jo said, breezing through the neighborhood. “I don’t care where you come from, only who you are. Now, which one’s your house?”
Numb, I pointed to the last door at the end of a block of tiny flats. A stack of crumpling wobbleator boxes leaned against the side of the fence. Mum’s car sat in the driveway. Panic shot up my spine. Please don’t come outside and try to sell Jo animal dictionaries.
“Cute place,” Jo said. “I love the conservatory.”
“That’s my bedroom,” I choked out, shoving the door open before Jo came to a stop. “No need to walk me up.”
“Mina—”
“Talk to you tomorrow.” I slid out of Jo’s car and sprinted up the steps. On the porch, I fumbled with my keys, slipped through the door, and slammed it behind me. I watched through the faded curtain as Jo pulled away. When her taillights disappeared around the corner, I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Mum stood in the hallway, arms folded, a terrifying expression on her face. “What time do you call this?”
I glanced behind her at the clock on the microwave. “Mum, it’s 8:15. Eastenders hasn’t even started yet.”
“You were at that bookshop all night again with that gypsy.”
“Mum, for the last time, don’t use that word. It doesn’t mean what you think it means. It’s a derogatory term the Victorians invented because they thought the Romani people looked like Egyptians.”
“I don’t need a linguistics lesson, Wilhelmina. I need to know why you care more about those bookshop delinquents than you do about your own mother.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. You know that’s not true.”
“I needed you this evening. The local pet shop has agreed to stock some of my books, only the owner flicked through the cat one and she says it’s filled with spelling errors. I can’t understand it! The salesman says they’d been checked over by a best-selling author. Now I need you to check all the spelling and change it on the file—”
“Mum, I’m not spending my evenings helping you edit a cat dictionary. I have a job. I’m making friends. Actual friends who don’t stab me in the back, like Ashley did.” I winced at my choice of words as the image of the bloody knife in Ashley’s back flashed before my eyes. “And if you must know, I wasn’t with Heathcliff and Morrie and Quoth. I had a drink at the pub with my new girlfriend, Jo – not that I need to ask your permission. I’m an adult now. I lived for four years on my own in New York City. I can go out and see my friends if I want to.”
“That was before you got your diagnosis. Mina, you’re going blind. I understand you’re upset and you want to rebel, but you have to be careful who you trust now, darling.” Mum wrapped her arms around me. I stiffened under her touch. “I’m here to look after you, but you have to let me help you.”
“Shouldn’t the fact that I trust Heathcliff and Morrie and Quoth and Jo be enough for you?”
“Not when I haven’t even met them. I need to know what sort of people my baby girl is hanging out with.” Mum wiped a strand of hair out of my face. Her eyes widened with maternal care, and a lump rose in my throat. Maybe I’m being too hard on her? “Did you even ask the gyp— ask Mr. Heathcliff Earnshaw about stocking my dictionaries?”
I sighed and slid out of her grasp. Nope, definitely not being too hard on her. “I had a few other things on my mind today.” In the kitchen, I filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. “A woman died in the shop.”
“Another dead body? Oh, Mina, that place is dangerous—”
I sighed. I couldn’t exactly argue with her. “I’m not giving up my job or my friends. What will make you feel better?”
She tapped her chin, her eyes glinting. Great, I’m going to pay for this.
>
“I want a dinner. You’re going to invite these new friends over for a nice home-cooked meal. We’ll sit down like adults and they can calm my fears with their own words.”
I stared around our tiny kitchen, at the cracked linoleum and peeling paint on the cupboards, at the charity shop furniture and rickety shelves crammed with Mum’s junk. It was bad enough that Jo and Quoth had seen the outside of the flat. It was bad enough they all knew I was poor and that I was going blind. If the boys saw inside this place, they’d realize that I wasn’t this interesting person they thought they liked. They’d see all the secrets I’d tried to hide from them. I’d be wide open, exposed.
And Jo? She was a clever professional woman with an advanced degree and a mortgage and a electric car. She’s been so deliberately trying to put me at ease when she dropped me off, that I knew the whole thing must’ve freaked her out. There was that familiar squint in her eye as she took in the dilapidated house and our delightful neighbors the drug dealers, the tilt of her lips into that look of pity.
People couldn’t be friends with people they pitied. It upset the balance. My hand trembled as I poured the water into my tea. I’m not having them over for dinner. I’m not losing the best people who’d ever happened to me.
Now, how to convince Mum to drop it.
“They won’t all fit around the table. We could go to the pub instead. My treat—”
“No, that won’t do. If you can’t invite them over here, then they’re not close friends, and I don’t think you should be spending so much time with them.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Mina, can’t you just let me meet them so I stop worrying about you?” Mum rubbed her eyes. “All this worrying is aging me horribly.”
I swiped my hand across my eyes, hoping Mum chalked up the tears pooling in the corners as the result of one too many drinks. “Fine. I’ll invite them.”
Chapter Nine
“I’ll have four Cornish pasties, thanks, Greta, and my usual coffee order.” I forced a smile for the tiny German girl across the counter.
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