Welcome to Nevermore Bookshop

by Steffanie Holmes

  But how did she kill Gladys Scarlett with arsenic if they weren’t close friends, and why did Ginny want her dead?

  I rushed back to our table, desperate to tell Morrie what I’d heard, but he’d been surrounded by several teenage girls from the youth group. They batted their eyelids at him and gushed over his clothes and asked him all sorts of questions. He was lapping it up. Sighing, I left him to his adoring crowd and started packing the books back into boxes, watching as rows of mourners filed into the church. The other members of the Banned Book Club huddled together at the entrance, handing out programs and pulling handkerchiefs from their sleeves to blow their noses. Mrs. Winstone flashed me a kind smile as she dabbed at her eyes. Bells peeled across the village, and the sound of dreary hymns floated over the parking lot.

  Forty-five minutes later, Morrie and I had sold a stack of vampire novels to the teenagers and a set of old bibles to the vicar’s son, and packed all the boxes back into the trolleys. Beside us, Helmut was doing a roaring trade – he’d completely sold out of wine racks and was taking orders for more. I guess it’s okay to promote the evils of alcohol at the church fete, but not the perils of reading?

  With a final dreadful hymn, the service concluded. Mourners trickled out of the church, and the funeral procession made its way across the road to the cemetery. As the heavy mahogany coffin made its way through the carpark, I raised my hand and threw devil horns.

  Rest in peace, Mrs. Scarlett. I hope you’re up in heaven, causing all sorts of mayhem. I hope—

  A piercing scream interrupted my thoughts. I whirled around. Mrs. Ellis raced from the church, her usually-red cheeks pale, her hands waving frantically. The procession stopped in its tracks and every face in the crowd swung around to gape at her.

  “Come quick!” she screamed. “Oh, it’s terrible!”

  Morrie dropped the trolley handles and raced toward the church. I sprinted after him, shoving my way through the confused crowd of mourners at the entrance. Morrie poked his head into the church and withdrew, his mouth set in a firm line. He threw his arms in front of the door, blocking the way with his body. Mrs. Ellis fell into my arms, sobbing on my shoulder.

  “I forgot my shawl. I just c-c-came back inside to collect it,” she sobbed. “And I s-s-saw her.”

  ‘Saw what?” I scrambled toward the door. The conversation between Dorothy Ingram and Ginny Button playing over in my head. What happened?

  Morrie threw out a hand to stop me. “Mina, don’t—”

  Ignoring him, I slipped under his arm and stepped into the church. Candles flickered from sconces beside the doors and on the altar, doing little to light up the dim space. I squinted into the gloom, trying to discern what had frightened Mrs. Ellis. I couldn’t see anything amiss.

  As I moved into the light cast by the stained glass windows, I noticed a crumpled pile of clothing at the bottom of the spiral staircase leading up to the bell tower.

  Oh, no.

  I stepped closer.

  That’s not clothes.

  I took another step, peering down at the sprawled figure. Ginny Button lay at the bottom of the stairs, her dress torn. Blood pooled between her legs, and her neck was twisted at an impossible angle.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Heart racing, I knelt down in front of Ginny Button and checked for a pulse. There was none. Her glassy eyes stared up at me, silent and accusing, as if I was the one who’d pushed her. I pulled out my phone and dialed an ambulance. Ginny might be gone, but if there was a chance her baby could be saved—

  “Hi… we need an ambulance at the Argleton Presbyterian Church. A woman has fallen down the stairs.” Morrie’s hands wrapped around my body, and he pulled me against him. “She doesn’t have a pulse, but she’s pregnant. Yes… yes… thank you.”

  Morrie stroked my hair. “Oh look, another murder victim. Are you sure you’re not cursed, gorgeous?”

  “Not funny.” Please let Ginny’s baby be all right. “And this isn’t murder. She tripped on the stairs.”

  “No, she didn’t.” Morrie pointed at her neck. Her bare neck. “Someone has stolen her necklace.”

  I shuddered. He was right. Ginny’s expensive necklace was nowhere to be seen. And there was something else… a white object clutched in her hand. A piece of paper. I drew it from her fingers and read the message, flipping it over to check for a signature, but there was none. It read in a simple font:

  Meet me at the top of the bell tower after the ceremony. We have something important to discuss.

  Morrie grabbed the note from me and held the paper by the corners, peering at it through the light. “Standard printer paper, inkjet. Not much to be gleaned from this except the threatening tone of the message. ”

  I surveyed the crowd as they filtered into the church. Any one of them could have done it. Women screamed as they saw the body. The vicar and his son tried to push everyone back outside, but of course, you couldn’t keep nosy villagers away from a body. Because of the chilly winter day, most of them wore gloves. There probably wouldn’t be any fingerprints on the note.

  “Someone lured her into the tower and killed her!” Mrs. Ellis cried, reading the note over my shoulder. People stared in horror at the body. Her words passed through the crowd, and heads bent to whisper accusations about who might’ve done it.

  “We don’t know that yet,” I said to soothe Mrs. Ellis, so neither she nor anyone in the crowd would panic and flee. “Ginny probably tripped on her way up the stairs. They are slippery and uneven, and look at the shoes she’s wearing.” Ginny’s stilettos were hardly adequate footwear for climbing ancient church steps.

  “She was murdered, I know it! It’s the same person who poisoned Gladys. Don’t you see? Someone has it in for the Banned Book Club.”

  Dorothy Ingram’s flared nostrils and twisted mouth flickered across my mind, as did the ominous words of her secret conversation with Ginny. Maybe Mrs. Ellis is right. “The police will look into every possibility. Did you see anyone else inside when you were looking for your shawl?”

  “No. I went to the end of the row, and I noticed a lump at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the tower. I thought one of the flower arrangements had fallen over so I came to right it and… oh…”

  I wrapped my arms around Mrs. Ellis’ shoulders and tried to steer her away from the grisly scene. Outside, sirens wailed, growing closer. “I really think Ginny fell—”

  “She didn’t fall, she was pushed!” Mrs. Ellis gripped my shirt. “Ginny was as nimble as a mountain-goat in those shoes of hers. She’d not have fallen. And look, someone’s taken her diamond necklace. That was her favorite, she never took it off. Oh, Mina, you have to help me.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not in danger.”

  “I am!” Mrs. Ellis’ eyes bugged from her head. “Someone is killing off members of the Banned Book Club. And I could be next!”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After we gave our statements to the police, I left Morrie to return the books to the shop and the trolley to the market, and helped Mrs. Ellis back to Nevermore Bookshop. Upstairs in the flat, she settled into Heathcliff’s chair by the fire while I boiled the kettle and prepared the tea – the only appropriate English response to a terrible fright.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized she could be right about the Banned Book club being targeted. First Mrs. Scarlett, and now Ginny Button. The only thing those two ladies had in common was their membership to the book club and the fact that both of them had crossed Dorothy Ingram.

  And then there was that strange conversation I’d seen between Dorothy and Ginny Button. From what Dorothy said, it was almost as if Ginny was blackmailing her. But what secret did a woman like Dorothy have, and what would she do to stop it being made public?

  I handed Mrs. Ellis her tea, which she took in shaking fingers. “Mrs. Ellis, has Dorothy Ingram ever threatened anyone at the book club before?”

  “Oh, yes. Every few months that nasty woman will ge
t a bee in her bonnet about something in the village that doesn’t meet her puritanical standards. She’ll write letters to the Gazette and plaster the shops with flyers and work the church committee into a frenzy. She’s got the vicar’s ear, you know. But she could never get the best of Gladys. Every time Dorothy started a campaign against the Banned Book Club, Gladys found a way to make her look foolish and have people stop taking her seriously, and Dorothy found another group to terrify.”

  “I read a column in the Gazette where Gladys stood up for Sylvia Blume.”

  “Yes, that was a number of years ago, when Sylvia first wanted to open her crystal shop and offer her services. Dorothy tried to start a good old-fashioned witch hunt. Gladys couldn’t stand to see bullies, so she let rip in the paper. Of course, Dorothy can’t prevent a legitimate business from opening on the high street, and after Gladys’ letter in the paper nothing Dorothy said would stop the villagers lining up to have their auras read, so she’s mostly left Sylvia alone ever since.”

  Or has she? Ginny’s visit to Sylvia Blume’s home weighed on my mind. I was sure it was all connected, but I just didn’t know how.

  “I think you should tell the police what you’ve told me,” I said. “It might go some way towards clearing the Lachlans of wrongdoing. After all, they can’t have killed Ginny if they’re still being held at the police station.”

  “Oh, I said as much in my statement at the church, but I don’t think they believed me. And they haven’t let Cynthia and her husband go. I’m so scared, Mina. It someone would push a pregnant lady down the stairs, think what they might do next! Won’t you stay with me tonight?” Mrs. Ellis whimpered. “I’m terrified someone’s coming to hurt me.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Then I remembered. “Oh, no, I can’t. I’m having dinner with my mother.”

  And my three male… boyfriends.

  “I’ll come too!” Mrs. Ellis perked up. “I promise I won’t be a bother. I’ll even bring along my world-famous cottage pie. I’ve got one stashed in the freezer for just such an occasion.”

  What in Astarte’s name am I supposed to say to that?

  “Um… I don’t know if there’ll be enough room. Heathcliff and Morrie and Quoth are coming, and Jo, the forensic pathologist. My mum’s house is very small—”

  “Nonsense. With such a fine crowd, you won’t notice one more. And I might be able to wrangle some useful information out of that pathologist to help you solve the case.”

  I sighed. As if this night couldn’t be any more of a disaster. “Sure. I guess you can come.”

  * * *

  After finishing her cup of tea, Mrs. Ellis perked up a bit. Grimalkin curled up on her lap and I didn’t have the heart to remind them Heathcliff didn’t want anyone on his chair. I brought her a stack of steamy romance books and a block of chocolate and she was back to her old self in no time.

  Downstairs, I gathered Heathcliff, Morrie, and the raven, and filled them in on what happened at the church and on the conversation I’d overheard between Ginny Button and Dorothy Ingram.

  “Mrs. Ellis believes this is about the Banned Book Club, and after today, so do I.”

  “If this witch tries to hurt you, I’ll make her swallow a bloody crucifix,” Heathcliff growled.

  “If Dorothy Ingram is behind this, I doubt she’s after me. I’ve only been to that one meeting.”

  “You did bring all those corrupting books to the church,” Morrie pointed out.

  “True, but I think whatever this is goes back much further. Ginny spoke about Dorothy’s ‘ugly little secret.’ That could be what Dorothy is killing to protect. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is the conversation between Ginny and Dorothy.”

  “Agreed,” Morrie rubbed his chin. “You made it sound as if Dorothy killed Mrs. Scarlett on Ginny’s orders so Ginny wouldn’t reveal a secret about her. But Ginny wanted Dorothy to do more of her dirty work. Dorothy pushed her down the stairs in order to stop the blackmail.”

  “Maybe that means she won’t kill again?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. We don’t know who else knows this dirty little secret. We already know Gladys is the type to blab a secret all over the village. Isn’t that what she did to the Lachlans?”

  I nodded.

  “In that case, all we need to do is figure out why Ginny Button would have wanted Mrs. Scarlett dead, and what dirt she had on Dorothy Ingram.” Morrie grinned. “Uptight bint like her? I bet it’s absolutely filthy.”

  “I’d rather not find out, if it’s all the same to you,” Heathcliff muttered.

  “You mean you’re not in the least bit curious?” Morrie looked scandalized. “I confess that I’ll never understand you, Heathcliff. I do so love a juicy secret.”

  He did at that. James Moriarty already had a lifetime of my secrets stored within the vast vaults of his mind. I wondered again if Morrie had any juicy secrets of his own. He played the easy-going, devil-may-care villain too well. But I suspected underneath that act was a man hiding a whole ocean of pain.

  Or… maybe underneath the act was just the Devil himself. It was one or the other.

  “I’ll look into Dorothy’s background. I’ve already done a thorough background check on all the ladies in the Banned Book Club, and nothing popped for Ginny, except for the fact that she insured that diamond and ruby necklace for twenty thousand pounds. The only old biddy with a record is Mrs. Ellis, who flashed her tits at a police officer in an attempt to get off a parking ticket.”

  “Go Mrs. Ellis!” I grinned. “I knew she’d had a wild youth.”

  “Youth? This incident occurred last year.”

  Heathcliff choked on his doughnut.

  Quoth fluttered down from his perch on the chandelier to sit on my shoulder. He bowed his head, his wide brown eyes tinged with concern. I patted his head.

  I’m worried for you, he said inside my head. Why are you meddling in another murder? Shouldn’t the police be trusted to solve the case?

  “I agree with the bird,” Heathcliff added. “We’ve got enough to concern ourselves with, given the shop’s penchant for opening doors and throwing surprises, and our continued feud with The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Solving murders isn’t part of your job description.”

  I stared them all down, meeting fierce black eyes, calculating blue, and kind brown. “It is now. The police are still trying to pin Mrs. Scarlett’s death on the Lachlans. They think Ginny Button fell down those stairs. If Dorothy Ingram is behind this, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this before anyone else dies.” I winced. “After we endure a dinner with my mother.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “Why do we have to take a taxi?” Heathcliff grumbled. “It’s a waste of money. Your little church fete stall didn’t exactly rake in the millions.”

  “Cheer up, Lord Crotchety-Goo,” I grinned. Heathcliff hated it when we made up noble names for him. “We’re taking a taxi because it’s a long way for Mrs. Ellis to walk, especially while there’s a murderer on the loose. And that’s the last complaint I’m hearing about it, or we’re staying for a game of after-dinner charades.”

  Heathcliff snapped his mouth shut as the taxi pulled up. The five of us piled in – Mrs. Ellis in the front seat, her sequined shawl pulled up around her ample shoulders. Me in the middle between Heathcliff and Morrie. Quoth in a fold-down seat in the back. Jo had called earlier to excuse herself – she had to conduct the autopsy on Ginny Button. She’d also given me the good news that the child – a little boy – had survived and was in stable condition at the hospital.

  Morrie and Mrs. Ellis kept up a steady stream of chatter as we drove through the council estate. I stared out the window, cringing at every detail. Heathcliff’s huge fingers clamped on my knee and wouldn’t let go. I thought he was just trying to reassure me, but when I looked at his face, his features were drawn. He’s nervous, too.

  I didn’t know what to make of that.

  We turned the final corner and slowed down in front of our row of
flats. The next-door neighbors were having some kind of party. People spilled out their door onto the rickety deck and the overgrown lawn, and out into the street. Our driver swore as he swerved around a large sofa that had been set on fire in the middle of the road. People laughed and shouted as they tossed beer cans into the blaze.

  “Well,” Mrs. Ellis said with fake brightness as she slid out of the taxi and clutched her purse against her chest. “This is lovely. Very festive.”

  “At least they’re staying warm,” Morrie’s teeth chattered. He’d worn one of his tailored jackets over grey slacks and a thin white shirt and black silk waistcoat. He looked delicious, but not exactly dressed for a British winter evening.

  Mum threw open the front door, beaming down at us. She wore an apron and a chef’s hat made of rolled-up newspaper. “Come on in!”

  No, mum, no. She acted like a complete fool, trying to pretend she was super fancy, whenever I brought anyone around to the house, which I hadn’t done since the first time Ashley came over for dinner and Mum tried to smoke her own salmon in her Gore-Met Kitchen Whiz (another get-rich-quick-scheme) and gave Ashley food poisoning.

  I gritted my teeth. Just get this over with and she’ll stop hassling me about the shop. “Hi, Mum, we’re all here.” The guys followed me inside, Mrs. Ellis trailing behind. As we filed into the living room, I peeked at the kitchenette table. Mum had cleared away the boxes of crap that usually littered the surface, and set placemats (colored cardboard) and all our best crockery and glassware (all mismatched, chosen because they were the pieces with the smallest chips). Two bowls sat in the middle of the table, lids on tight. I shuddered to think what might be inside. A stack of pet dictionaries had been artfully fanned across the table.