“It certainly does, Mr. Earnshaw.”
I whirled around. Inspector Hayes and DS Wilson stood in the doorway, coffee in hand. Behind them a small SOCO team pulled on protective gear.
“I bumped into Mrs. Ellis this morning and she told me Mrs. Scarlett was poisoned,” I said quickly, to avoid getting Jo in trouble. “I’ll show you the room, but I’m afraid we cleaned up after the meeting, so there might not be much of use.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wilde. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Wilson’s expression was stormy. She was still fuming after we solved the last murder before her.
I stood in the doorway of the World History room while Wilson and Hayes inspected the scene. “She was sitting in that red wingback chair when the mouse darted across the floor. She wheezed and heaved and clutched her stomach, and then she fell into the Victoria sponge cake.”
Hayes inspected the surface of the table. “We’ll get the team to go over this whole area. Did you vacuum the rug?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. We’re all shocked to discover this was a murder.” Hayes inspected the windowsill while Wilson crouched to peer under the table.
“I can’t believe any of the Book Club ladies would do something this malicious,” I said quickly. “They seemed like such good friends—”
“My colleague and I will do the detecting this time, Miss Wilde.”
“Found a feather,” Wilson announced, holding up a black plume between a pair of tweezers.
“That’s from Heathcliff’s pet raven,” I said. “He was watching the meeting, but when the mouse ran across the room he dived after it. He hit the bookshelf at one point, so you might find more feathers over there.”
The SOCO team roped off the door with crime scene tape and started making a systematic grid to search the room. Hayes peeled off his gloves. “Where are the dishes you used for the food?”
“I’ll show you the teacups upstairs. We washed them, though. The platters belonged to Greta from the bakery. I can also introduce you to Allan. He was helping me at the meeting.”
Hayes and Wilson followed me upstairs. I showed them the rows of teacups and saucers lined up in on the drying rack. “Mrs. Scarlett had that one,” I pointed to the cup covered with hyacinths. Wilson slipped it into an evidence bag.
I went to the stairs in the hall and called up. “Allan? The police are here. They want to talk to you about the Banned Book Club meeting.”
A few moments later, a muffled voice called back, “I’ll be right down.”
“He has his art studio up there,” I explained to DS Wilson, who was frowning at the steep steps. “He likes the solitude.”
Quoth appeared at the top of the stairs, his hair streaming down his back in glorious waves. DS Wilson’s eyes widened. Even she wasn’t immune to his beauty. Under the dim hall light, his skin appeared to shimmer, and the paint splatters across his sharp cheekbones only enhanced his allure. Quoth gave a shy smile, which I knew covered his nerves. He’d have to get through the whole interview without shifting.
“If you’ll come through to the living room, Mr. Poe, we can corrupt the intercourse… I mean, conduct the interview.” DS Wilson’s skin burned a deep scarlet. She spun on her heel and stalked out. Quoth gave me a shaky smile and followed her.
“What’s in this room?” Hayes asked, jiggling the locked door at the end of the hall.
My heart hammered.Just a wormhole through space and time, no biggie. “It’s extra storage for the bookshop.”
“Can I see?”
No, no you can’t. I had no way of knowing what we’d be looking at when I opened the door. Would it be the dusty, empty room from our current time, or the Victorian master bedroom, or the Tudor reading room, or any of the other permutations of the shop’s history?
I shook my head. “The floorboards are rotting. Heathcliff’s under strict orders from the HSE inspector that he’s not to allow anyone in there. You’ll need to speak with him about it.”
Hayes dropped the doorknob. “Mr. Earnshaw doesn’t strike me as the conscientious type.”
I shrugged. “He’s been a fine employer. A little surly, but perfectly above board.”
Except for that one time he kissed me.Hayes didn’t need to know about that.
“Do you know anything about Mr. Earnshaw’s history? He hasn’t been very forthcoming.”
“As far as I know, he was an orphan found on the streets of Liverpool, raised in a farmhouse in the North, and he’s not aware of his own heritage beyond an Eastern-European origin. Ask around the village, people have all sorts of tall tales about him they’d love to impart.” I forced a laugh. “Hell, I’ve even heard people say he’s really the Heathcliff ofWuthering Heightscome to life.”
