“Mina Wilde, chief suspect.” I held out my hand. At first I’d wondered if Jo was Morrie’s girlfriend. They’d certainly make a striking pair, with his impressive height and sharp cheekbones and her LA model looks and matching ice-blue eyes. But the way she spoke about him, like he was some annoying little brother she secretly adored, made me think they were just friends. That shouldn’t have made a difference to me, but it did. I wanted to like this woman, and I wanted her to like me and also not convict me of murder.
Jo held up her own hand, clad in a silicon glove, in a wave. “Jo Southcombe, medical examiner. I do dead bodies. Sorry, I would shake but I don’t want to contaminate the evidence, and I’m guessing you don’t want that, either, Miss Chief Suspect?”
“Not in the slightest. So how much do I have to pay you to plant evidence to make me look innocent?”
Her mouth faltered.
“Kidding.I’m kidding. Please, ignore what I just said. I’m a little freaked out.”
Jo turned to Morrie. “I can see why you like her.”
Like me?Jo spoke as if the two of them had talked about me before. But I’d only known Morrie for two days, and we’d only had a couple of conversations and some flirty texts. In between his company losing all that money and going to London to see his banker, when had he found the time to talk to Jo about me? And what did she mean bylikeme? Was it as a friend, or…or…
“Have you found anything interesting?” Morrie asked, avoiding commenting on Jo’s observation.
“Always, but I can’t tell you anything. Not while you’re on our suspect list, too.” Jo picked up a box filled with evidence bags. “I need to head to the lab. Have fun, you two. Don’t mess up my crime scene. Mina, if you’re not heading to jail, I hope I’ll see you around.”
“Tomorrow I’ll ply her with alcohol and she’ll tell me all about the autopsy,” Morrie whispered to me as we watched Jo’s swinging ponytail disappear out the door. “We’re going to figure this out, gorgeous. You’ll see.”
Morrie squeezed my hand. I tried to focus on what the SOCO team were doing. It was interesting seeing them dust for prints and bag up fibers from the carpet. But my brain kept circling back to how only an hour earlier, Ashley’s body had been lying in that very spot, dead.
And now I was the chief suspect in hermurder.
Chapter Twelve
All I wanted to do was lie in bed all morning and scrub my eyeballs until I could no longer see Ashley’s body with that knife sticking out of her back. But I was a responsible employee now, and I wanted to talk to Heathcliff and Morrie without the police around. I dragged myself out of bed, pulled on a pair of cuffed tartan pants and a red silk shirt, choked down a chocolate, blueberry, and beetroot smoothie (it tasted like dandruff mixed with dirt), and walked across the estate into the village.
When I ducked into the bakery for our morning coffees and pastries, I was surprised to see the place empty. Greta – the young German baker who owned the shop – was a culinary genius, and there was usually a line out the door as workers tried to buy up the Cornish pasties and mince pies fresh from the oven.
When I rounded the corner onto Butcher Street, I found out why. A crowd of people had gathered outside Nevermore Bookshop, peering in the windows and scrabbling about in the overgrown planters. The local gossip mill had already worked its dark magic. As I pushed my way through the crowd, whispers followed me.
“That’s Mina. She’s the one who found the body,” Mrs. Ellis leaned out her window to tut to her friend. “Good on her, I say. It’s time we had a little excitement around here.”
“I heard she used to be friends with the victim, but they had a falling out.” Mrs. Ellis’ friend stage-whispered back.
“So she was the murderer, the little minx! I always knew she had it in her. Her mamma’s name ain’t Wilde for nothing.”
“I heard she lives on the council estate,” another old lady sniffed. “It just goes to show, doesn’t it? They’re breeding criminals out there.”
“Iheard she just came here from New York City, which has the most stabbings per capita of any city in the world. That’s not a coincidence, you know.”
“I knew that gypsy was up to no good. Now here he is, hiring criminals to work in his shop. What would Mr. ___ think? No wonder this village has gone to the dogs.”
My cheeks burning, I pounded on the door. “Heathcliff, open up, or someone else is getting stabbed today.”
Distasteful, yes, but it made the gossips step back. My neck crawled from their accusing eyes as I waited. The door pulled back an inch, and Heathcliff’s glowering face appeared above the chain.
“That better be the strongest fucking coffee in the world,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. A loose curl of dark hair flopped over his cheek, and it was so a-fucking-dorable my fingers itched to flick it back. But there were more urgent matters to attend.
“Good morning to you, too.” I growled back. “Hurry up and get this chain off. I’m stuck out here with the village gossips.”
Heathcliff pushed the chain off and flung the door open. I tumbled through, right into Morrie’s arms. Behind me, Mrs. Ellis cheered, and regaled her friends with an anecdote about the time she had sex in the bookshop.
“Shut the door!” I yelled, before I had an image in my head not even bleach could scour away.
“We’ve closed,” Heathcliff yelled, slamming the door. Silence descended – sweet, blissful silence. I steadied the coffee in my hand and stared up at Morrie’s glacial eyes. On the staircase behind him, Quoth crouched in the shadows, his flame-ringed eyes like two pricks of firelight in the gloom.
“Out of the way.” Morrie shuffled me aside as Heathcliff shoved a heavy bookshelf in front of the door, leaning it against the wood. They’d be able to see the barrier through the glass inserts in the door.
