“That should hold them off.” Heathcliff dusted his hands.
“Um, guys, much as I appreciate the show of solidarity, how are you going to open the shop with a giant bookshelf in the way?”
“We’re not opening today,” Heathcliff growled.
“Yes, we are. You can’t let what happened put a taint over the shop. People are going to gossip no matter what. If nothing else, it makes us look guilty. I don’t want to see this place suffer just because of what happened. Nevermore is special, and all you need to do is get more people in the door and I know they’ll see it for themselves.”
“Those people just want to gape at a murder scene and get a look at the ___field ripper in action,” Morrie said.
“Don’t ever call me that again. I say let them gape. They might stay and buy things. Trust me, I’m no stranger to people talking shit about me behind my back. I can handle the village gossip mill. Besides, I need something to do, or I’m just going to sit at home obsessing and staring at my mother’s wobbling stomach.”
“Huh?” Heathcliff’s mouth curled back.
“Never mind. Long story filled with visuals you cannot ever unsee, kind of like everything Mrs. Ellis says.”
“You holding up okay, gorgeous?” Morrie took the box of coffee and muffins from me and led me through into the main room. He pulled up a velvet chair in front of Heathcliff’s desk and settled me into it. Heathcliff and Quoth trailed after him. “You don’t look like you got much sleep.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” I replied, wrapping my hands around my warm coffee cup. “Honestly, I’m pretty shaken up. Ashley was my best friend for more than eight years, and now she’s dead. I don’t know who would want to hurt her, apart from myself.”
“Neither do we. But we’re going to find out.” Morrie sat down.
“You said you’d tell me why you know Quoth didn’t do it,” I said. “I’d like to know now.”
“Quoth’s suffers from what we medical folk call ‘vasovagal syncope.’ He faints at the sight of blood.” Morrie said. “That’s why you hardly see him in the shop. Too much risk of a paper cut.”
“Be serious.”
“I am. It’s a real medical condition. I can find you a medical dictionary if you want to look it up.”
“I’ll take your word for it. But if it’s as simple as that, why couldn’t I have told the police!”
“Because I’m off-the-grid,” Quoth said from the staircase, his rich voice caressing my ears. “I’m hiding from people who want to hurt me. If the police look into my background, they’ll notice that I don’t have a birth certificate or any other official documentation, and I’m screwed.”
“I knew it. I knew Quoth couldn’t be your real name.”
Quoth grinned, but there was no mirth in his eyes. That smile almost broke me – it was the smile of someone who’d forgotten what it was to be truly happy. “Thank you for what you did. Morrie shouldn’t have asked for you to lie for me, but it may have saved my life.”
“You can pay me back by not being a murderer,” I said. “And also by kicking Morrie’s arse.”
“My pleasure.” Quoth bowed.
“He’d never dare, not when he knows I was helping him out. Even if the police knew about Quoth, they’d still be looking at you, Mina. And not because you’re hot as sin,” Morrie drawled. From his chair behind the desk, Heathcliff groaned.
“I get it. I’m a suspect because Ashley and I fell out and she showed up in my place of employment.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “Butwhywas she here?”
“That’s what we’ve got to figure out if we’re going to solve this murder. Does Ashley have any enemies?”
“The cops asked me this. I don’t think so, except me.” I slumped back in the chair. “I mean, she could be selfish and self-obsessed, so it’s likely she crossed a few people in the industry, but she’s still too small fry for anyone to bother with. She was trying to become a social media influencer, so maybe she pissed off some Instagram celebrity and this is all about an internet feud.”
“A social Insta-what?” Heathcliff tapped his pen against a legal pad filled with scribbled notes.
“A socialinfluencer. It’s when companies pay you money to take selfies of yourself with their products and post them on the internet. It’s like being a corporate whore, except the pay is worse.”
Heathcliff shot Morrie a look. “And you claim I’m missing out on life by not using the internet.”
“Admittedly, Mina isn’t helping sell the concept.” Morrie tapped away on his phone. “We can have a look through her social media accounts, see if anything leaps out. What about the homeless man, Erin wossisname?”
“Earl Larson. He’s harmless,” Heathcliff said.
