Chapter 18
Quoth
Iswoop from tree to tree, following Mina as she heads across the village to Ashley’s mother’s house.
Mina isn’t at the stage yet where she struggles with getting around because of her eyesight, but I do notice her lingering before she crosses the road, making extra sure that she isn’t walking out into traffic, and that she stares intently at the ground when she’s in the shade.
I wonder if I could go in training as a guide-raven?
Mina knocks on the door at a gorgeous cottage with a garden bursting with flowers and a fairy door in the low stone wall.
A woman with salt-and-pepper hair and an expression of utter desolation opens it and invites her inside.
I swoop down and watch from the windowsill as Mina and the woman have a conversation and lots of hugs.
Tears roll down their cheeks, wetting the collar of Mina’s tuxedo jacket with the safety pins in the lapels.
We’ve been so preoccupied with Mina being blamed for the murder that we haven’t considered that she must be upset about her friend’s death.
Ashley has been in Mina’s life since she was a kid.
They left the UK and went to America on their big adventure together.
I can’t even imagine having that kind of friendship.
I can’t imagine having a friend.
No, that’s a lie. I’ve imagined it so many times.
Unlike Heathcliff and Moriarty, who have a whole history and vivid world within the pages of their books, I’m from a poem.
My world before I was pulled into Nevermore Bookshop consisted of a single chamber and a bust of Pallas, and my one job was to be a grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore.
Ominous birds of yore don’t make friends easily.
I have Heathcliff and Morrie, but their friendship is more out of obligation.
Unlike the other fictional characters who appear in the shop, my shifting means they’re not able to find me a job and another place to live.
Heathcliff’s annoyance at sharing his place with me drips behind every harsh word and glare.
Morrie finds me an amusement, but I’ve no reason to trust that he’d have my back in a crisis.
But Mina… I can’t explain it, but I sense something in her that makes me think maybe we could be what the other needs.
Maybe she could be my first real friend.
Although things with her and Ashley ended badly, she’s had a taste of real friendship.
She knows how valuable that is. And if she wanted to be that for me, I’d be so happy to be her friend.
I’d be content with a beautiful friendship with Mina Wilde, even though I wish…
…even though the thought of her with Morrie, or her with Heathcliff, makes my stomach hurt…
I felt wrong watching this private moment, as though I was intruding on the family’s pain.
Mina’s safe in this house, so I swoop off the windowsill and return to the bookshop.
It’s always worthwhile checking if Heathcliff and Morrie are trying to murder each other.
I do wish the two of them would hurry up and kiss, and then they could stop breaking things over each other’s heads.
I arrive home to the unsavoury news from Morrie that Lancelot is on the move again.
He’s made it to Rome. I decide not to point out that Morrie’s brilliant plan hasn’t solved our Lancelot problem but merely moved him to another locale.
Heathcliff has no such qualms. He points this out repeatedly, at great volume, while tossing chess pieces at Morrie’s head – the Heathcliff equivalent of ‘I told you so.’
I hide in my room and work on one of my paintings.
Mid-tirade, I hear a strange PLOINK PLONK noise on my window.
I slide it open and see Mina on the street below, a large envelope tucked under her arm and a bag of caramels in her hand.
She winds her arm back, ready to fling another caramel at the window, so I call down, “Who’s rapping at our chamber door? ”
“It’s Mina. Can you let me in?”
“Sure. As long as you stop wasting perfectly good caramels.”
I stop in the living room to extract Morrie from the headlock Heathcliff’s put him in. “Mina’s back, so you’d better stop talking about Lancelot. I think she’s found something.”
Downstairs, I unlock the door for Mina. “You didn’t stick around,” she says.
“It felt wrong peering through the window at you and Ashley’s mother. It was a private moment. And…” I nod my head in the direction of the stairs. “—It’s usually better not to leave those two alone for too long.”
“Is it just me, or should the two of them just hurry up and kiss?” Mina asks, one eyebrow raised as she steps inside.
“It’s not just you.” I walk beside her up the stairs, my heart doing a skipping thing at her proximity. Her hair falls over one eye, and she swipes it back, revealing the red circles beneath her eyes from where she’s been crying.
“I’m sorry you lost your friend,” I say.
“Thank you.” Mina hugs the envelope against her body. “It’s weird. I hated her at the end there, and what she did has tainted a lot of my memories of her, but she’s been part of my life almost since I could remember. I still can’t believe she’s gone. And I think I have a clue as to why.”
We enter the living room. Heathcliff is slumped in his chair, and Morrie taps away on his computer, whistling under his breath as if he hasn’t just changed his shirt to one without bloodstains on it.
Mina drops the caramels on the coffee table beside Heathcliff, flops down into the chair opposite, and holds up the envelope.
Her eyes widen when Heathcliff turns on the lamp he moved for her, and I’ve never seen literature’s greatest antihero look so enchanted by someone. We crowd around her as she spreads out the images across her lap and explains what they are.
“These are Marcus Ribald’s designs, I’m sure of it. But I’ve never seen these pieces before.” Mina squints at the tiny scribble of Marcus’ signature in the corner, then holds out the drawing for Heathcliff. “Can you read that?”
I snatch it from Heathcliff’s hands. “It says Couture, PFW.”
Mina sucks in a breath. “This is Marcus’ upcoming collection for Paris Fashion Week.
No way would he ever let these drawings out of his sight, let alone out of the studio.
We all have to sign a non-disclosure agreement when we start work for him to keep concept drawings secret from his competitors.
Marcus would never let one of us carry them around like this.
He was too worried about—” she clamps her hand over her mouth.
“What is it, gorgeous?” Morrie leans forward, an evil grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Did you just figure out your friend was selling these to the highest bidder?”
Mina’s mouth opens and closes. She looks like she’s struggling to come to terms with that.
She shuffles through the images, and at the bottom of the stack is a smaller white envelope.
When she opens it and pulls out the contents to look at, she shrieks and drops the stack of hundred-dollar bills.
They scatter across the floor. Morrie surreptitiously pockets a few.
“It’s true,” Mina whispers. “This explains the text message. Maybe Ashley was meeting someone in the shop to exchange the drawings. But why would she meet here—”
“When she came in during the day, you said she was acting weird?” Morrie reminds her.
“Well, Ashley being in a bookshop is weird. The only time she ever came in here was when she hung out with me. She used to say it was so depressing and lonely.”
“Maybe that’s what made her think of it as a good place for the exchange. But why would she come in here beforehand and…” Morrie clicks his fingers. “I’ve solved it. I’m a genius. Follow me.”
“Do I have to get out of my chair?” Heathcliff growls.
“Yes. Come on!”
Mina threads her arm through mine. The warmth of her skin sends a delicious tremble through my body. I feel like I’m floating as we follow Morrie downstairs. Heathcliff brings up the rear.
Morrie stops in front of the Sociology shelf, right where Ashley had been standing the other day. He scans the spines.
“This should be easy. There’s a layer of dust on the shelves because Heathcliff is a disgusting human who never cleans.
Since people don’t shop in this section, the dust line is completely undisturbed.
Unless someone pulled out a book recently and left a mark—Ah!
” Morrie points to a trail across the dust and pulls out a book. “Here’s our culprit.”
Morrie hands the volume to Mina. High Fashion and the Culture of Excess, reads the title. As Mina flips open the book, a brown envelope falls out of the dust jacket.
“Look at this.” Morrie holds up the frontispiece, running his finger over two tears in the corners. “I’ll bet the secret code to my safe deposit box that these correspond to the paper under the tape on your other envelope.”
“I bet you’re right. So what’s this?” Mina turns over the envelope.
It’s of a different type from the one Mina showed us upstairs.
She slips her finger under the tape holding it shut and pulls out another one of Marcus’ drawings.
This one is a ballgown – panels of leather and lace fixed to a metal frame.
Mina turns to me, her eyes wide. “This is the proof we need. Ashley was killed over these drawings. This explains everything. We have to tell the police.”
“On the contrary, this only raises more questions.” Morrie takes the image from Mina and holds it up to the light.
“You’re thinking the buyer killed Ashley, yes?
Perhaps so he or she could get their hands on this drawing without giving up any more cash?
But then why did they not take this drawing with them? ”
He has a point.
“Perhaps they were intending to, but Quoth interrupted before they could grab it,” Mina says. She squeezes my arm, and my stomach starts a mosh pit.
“Yes, that could be the case.” Morrie fingers the spine of the book.
“But if they were in such a hurry, why stop to rob the till downstairs? Unless they took the till money first… Or it was the other way around. Maybe Ashley was the one paying for the drawings. Maybe this Marcus Ribald of yours can’t actually design for shit, so he’s hiring other people to create his designs for him, and they have to exchange them in secret so the fashion world doesn’t discover the truth. ”
“That’s ridiculous. I worked with Marcus for a year. I’ve seen him draw. He’s a genius. He definitely drew these.” Mina jabs her finger at the envelope. “We should take this to the police. It would help clear my name.”
I don’t know if we can trust the police.
“Wrong move, gorgeous.” With a quick glance at me, Morrie swipes the envelope from her hands and tucks it into his jeans pocket.
“All you’ve got is some drawings and a wad of cash, both of which you took from the victim’s suitcase and the crime scene, and both are now covered in your fingerprints.
If anything, it’s just going to make you look more guilty, because you knew exactly where to look for these items.”
“But if I don’t do something to start them looking for Ashley’s buyer, they’re going to arrest me.”
“Ah, but you forget one thing – you have the Napoleon of Crime on your side.” Morrie waves his hand at Heathcliff and me. “Also, those two fellows might be of some use.”
“Forgive me if I’m not filled with confidence.”
“It would help if we could identify the end buyer,” I suggest.
Moriarty flips the envelope over, studying it from every angle. “Agreed. I’d bet my vast and considerable fortune that whoever committed this foul deed was an agent working for someone who wanted to keep their hands clean.”
“This has happened once before.” Mina explains about a rival designer named Holly Santiago. “She was in New York preparing for Fashion Week when she released that first design. Ashley could have easily met her or an agent at one of the Fashion Week events.”
“Where is Ms Santiago now?”
“She has a fashion house in London.”
“Perfect.” Morrie taps the name into his phone.
“We have our first suspect. I’ll dig around in her finances and see if I can’t find anything to connect her to Ashley.
Heathcliff, you’re on your own tomorrow.
Contact this Marcus Ribald and figure out if he really is in Martha’s Vineyard.
Mina and I are going to pay this fashionista a visit.
That is,” Morrie turns to me, “if Mina doesn’t mind disobeying a direct police request to remain in the area. ”
Of course Mina doesn’t mind. She squeezes my arm in excitement. “As the title of my favourite Pennywise album says, ‘Fuck Authority.’ I don’t mind at all. Let’s do this.”
“We’re going to London?” I ask, nerves fluttering through me. I’ve never left Argleton before. London exists for me only in the books I’ve read and dreams I haven’t dared to dream.
“We’re going to London.”