“State your business,” he demanded. “I’ve already toldVanity FairI won’t be giving any interviews.”
“Oh no,” Morrie tsked. “We’re not here for an interview, at least, not the sort you want printed anywhere. Good evening, Mr. Cox. My name is Professor James Moriarty. I presume you’ve heard of me, being a fine, well-read gentleman such as yourself.”
“James Moriarty, as in the villain from the Sherlock Holmes stories? Is this some kind of joke?” Cox peered around behind us. “Is this one of those stupid telly shows where my brother jumps out from behind the topiary and yells boo?”
“Not at all, sir. No cameras present here, just a friendly chat between gentlemen. Speaking frankly, since I don’t wish to waste your valuable time, my sources have noted you’re doing a spot of blackmailing, and I thought I’d come to offer my expert services.”
“Blackmailing?” Red spots appeared on Cox’s cheeks. I almost believed his outrage until I noticed him shove a trembling hand into his trouser pocket.Got you, you bastard.“I’m a fashion writer, not a bloody Baker Street crook. Just who do your sources claim I’m blackmailing?”
“The designer Marcus Ribald. That is why I’m here to offer my services as the world’s foremost consulting criminal. I believe you’re being shortchanged by Ribald, and I can secure you additional funds. For a nominal fee, of course.”
“That’s the most preposterous claim I’ve ever heard,” Cox snapped. “Marcus Ribald is a no-talent hack who’s spent his entire career making a farce of everythinghaute coutureshould stand for. I have no reason to blackmail him because any day now he’ll fall flat on his face from sheer incompetence. The fact that youdareset foot in my home and accuse me of such an act is ludicrous. Get out and take your stupid bird with you, before I release the hounds!”
“Croak!”
“Ah, well, of course that clears everything up.” Morrie pushed me back down the steps. “We must have the wrong information. Sorry to take up your time, must be getting on, plenty more potential clients to meet, pip pip!”
“Well, that worked super well,” I muttered when we were safely outside the gates. “I can’t believe you tried to drum up business from our murder suspect, and that he threatened to unleash the hounds on us like some cartoon criminal.”
“Croak,” added Quoth.
“You all have such little faith in my abilities.” Morrie clicked on his phone, and a recording of Roger Cox chastising us started playing back. He tapped a few buttons, breaking the message down into specific sounds and notes and feeding it through some kind of loop. A couple of moments later the phone clicked the word MATCH. “Now I have the key to the voice recognition lock on his secret underground vault full of secret underground things, which I discovered by downloading the floorplan of his house. Quickly now, there’s an entrance around the back we can sneak in.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Why are we doing this?” I hissed as Morrie led us through the scratchy hedge that wound its way around the perimeter of the property.
“Think of what he could have in that safe!” Morrie grinned. “Counterfeit diamonds! Blackmail ledgers! The Ark of the Covenant! If we can get evidence to prove Cox is involved in nefarious deeds, we’ll be able to solve this murder mystery before the police think to question your story.”
“Any evidence we find is going to be tainted by the fact we broke in to retrieve it.”
“Who said anything about breaking in?” Morrie held his phone up to Quoth, who grabbed it in his talons. “I was simply taking a walk in the country when this raven flew off with my phone. I can’t be responsible for what a stupid bird chooses to do with it.”
Quoth bobbed his head, and flew off toward the house with Morrie’s phone dangling beneath him.
“See? Sometimes the little fiend comes in handy,” Morrie grinned.
My chest ached for Quoth. Morrie was right – he couldn’t get in trouble because he technically didn’t exist, which made him awfully handy for this particular outing. But I hated that Quoth didn’t get to do normal human things because he had to hide. Didn’t he want to learn how to drive or go travelling or eat out at a nice restaurant?
“I estimate it will take him fifteen minutes to get inside the vault, provided he isn’t caught.” Morrie rested his hand on my thigh, sliding his fingers between my legs. “However shall we pass the time?”
My body snapped to attention, my skin prickling with desire as his fingers danced closer… closer… I closed my eyes, dredging up every ounce of self-control I possessed, and drew away, shaking my head. Morrie froze, his hand poised in midair.
“You regret yesterday,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
My cheeks flushed. “That’s not true. It’s very much not true. I just… I need to think about some things.”
“What things?” Morrie perked up. “I’m an excellent thinker. Perhaps I can assist?”
“Things like that fact that you’re a criminal mastermind who’s committed acts of great evil – not exactly the sort of suitor I had in mind.”
“Only in a book. Since I got out I’ve reformed, somewhat. I’ve only ever stolen from the rich to give to the poor. Well, the poor and the moderately-wealthy-by-western-standards. I do need to keep Heathcliff in fresh toilet paper and adequate wine.” Morrie patted himself on the shoulder. “I’m basically Mother Teresa.”
“In that case, you’re definitely out. I don’t date Catholics.”
“Who said anything about dating?” Morrie leaned closer and growled against my ear. His voice rumbled through my body, and it took all my self control not to melt against him. “I’m talking about two beautiful people, coming together in a rage of lust, swapping bodily fluids in mutual ecstasy, and then going about their business while one of them secretly pines for the tortured bookstore owner.”
“Hah, I knew you had a thing for Heathcliff,” I cried triumphantly.
