He nodded.
“Does it… bother you?”
“Do you want us to have a duel for your virtue? I’d win, obviously, but from what Morrie tells me there’s not much virtue left to claim.”
“No, I…”
Heathcliff patted my hand, the most intimate gesture he’d ever given me. His eyes glistened with something like awe. “We’ll get you out of this first, Mina. And then we’ll see what happens.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Heathcliff stayed by my side while the officers finished their interview. Not that they got much out of me with him barking “no comment!” after every question, his resting his hand on my knee, his fingers curling over the edges of the table.
Finally, Inspector Hayes terminated the interview. He explained that he’d be taking me back to a cell, where they’d hold me for questioning before making an arrest.
Visions of shivs slicing up my skin haunted me, but when I arrived at the cell I was grateful to discover I’d be sleeping alone. As if I’d get any sleep on the narrow wooden cot in a bare room that reeked of urine. Red stains had soaked between the tiles on the floor. Was that blood?
I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to two male prisoners chatting in the other cell and police officers responding to calls. Outside, a dog barked. Cars drove down the road. I counted them. I was so fucking bored.
My mind rebelled against the stagnation of the cell. I searched every nook and cranny of my memory for faces and names of people in the fashion industry, or everyone Ashley had contact with, who might want to destroy Marcus Ribald.
Was it Holly? She had an alibi for that night, but she might have hired someone. Was it Roger Cox? But it didn’t fit with his story. I didn’t think it was Earl Larson, either. But who had entered the shop and killed Ashley? Earl said no one had walked past him, so had they been hiding in the shop the whole time?
And murder aside, there was an even bigger mystery afoot. What was going on in Nevermore Bookshop? Heathcliff. Morrie. Quoth. How were they real? How could a person step out of the pages of a book and become flesh-and-blood? Three smokin’ hot characters from the pens of three of my favorite authors.
It was almost as if someone chose them especially for me.
A female officer delivered me dinner – a ham and cheese sandwich on stale bread, and some watery orange juice. I ate every morsel.
I lay back on the bed and watched the light outside change from the grey to a pale-blue shaft of moonlight.Scritch, scritch, scritch.Something sharp scraped against the concrete. I stood on the bed and peered up at the window. “Quoth, is that you?”
“Croak,” the raven replied. My heart thudded. A pair of keys dropped through the bars and onto the bed beside me.
“That’s great, but how am I supposed to get past the guards?” I hissed out the window.
No reply. “Quoth?”
Still nothing.
I guess I’m just supposed to make a run for it. Why did they think this was a good idea?
Because I made the instagram post, and if the killer is from the fashion industry I might be the only one who can identify him. I’ve got to be there, for Ashley’s sake. She deserves that much.
Great.I stared at the keys in my hand.I guess I’m doing this. I’m going to get in so much trouble.
By fumbling around in the dark, I managed to wrap my hand around the bars and insert the correct key into the lock from the outside. It turned easily, and the cell door swung open with a creak that shattered my eardrums. I held the door shut, my heart pounding.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds.Nothing stirred in the hallway. The guys in the cell beside me continued to snore.
I rushed back to the bed, pulled off my hoodie and jeans and arranged them and the pillows under the threadbare blanket so it looked as though I was sleeping. I pushed open the door just wide enough to slip through, then rested it back on its hinges and locked it.
I crept down the hall, pausing outside the door to the other cell. Sucking in my breath, I darted across the doorway, slamming my back into the wall. The snoring didn’t change.
One obstacle down, now for the guards.
The hallway ended in a stairwell. At the top was the on-duty officer. I crept up the first flight of stairs, flattened myself against the wall, and peered around the corner. The officer sat behind his desk, poring over paperwork. He stopped to take a sip of coffee. A shadow moved behind his head.
What the—
