Hayes didn’t even crack a smile as he scribbled notes. “Did Heathcliff enter the World History room at any time while you were setting up the meeting or while it was in progress?”
I shook my head. “No. Heathcliff didn’t want anything to do with it.”
“Why not? It’s an event in his shop. I would think he would want everything to be in order.”
“Hosting the meeting here was my idea. Heathcliff was against it. You’ve met him. He doesn’t exactly like customers or anything that encourages more of them.”
“Did you leave the room unattended at any time before or during the meeting?”
“No. Quoth and I arranged the furniture, and then Greta showed up with the food, and the ladies arrived after that – Mrs. Ellis first, then Mrs. Winstone, followed by Ginny Button, Sylvia Blume, Cynthia Lachlan, and Mrs. Scarlett was last.”
“Who’s Quoth?”
Shite.“Oh, that’s what we call Allan. It’s a nickname, because his last name is Poe and he’s so goth.”
Hayes made some more notes on his pad. “Thank you for your cooperation. We may return with further questions. In the meantime, if there’s anything you remember about the meeting, no matter how unimportant it might seem, please give us a call.”
He met Wilson in the living room, and they clattered back down the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, Quoth fell into my arms. “That was scary,” he said.
“I know. It’s one of those times I’m glad Morrie is… who he is.” I wiped a strand of hair from his face. “You did good. You didn’t even sprout a single feather.”
“I need to go do bird things for a while,” Quoth ran a hand through his hair, which turned to feathers under his touch.
“Don’t let me keep you. Go. Do what you have to do.”
Quoth dived for the hallway. He grabbed the balustrade, his knuckles white as he half crawled, half hopped up the stairs.
“Quoth?”
He froze, his body stiffening. He turned back to me. Feathers stuck out of his cheeks. His nose had already fused to his upper lip as his beak formed.
“I’m so sorry I pushed you to show off your art and interact with people. It’s my fault you had to go through that.”
“Don’t be sorry.” His words rasped as his lips dried into a beak. “You are the best thing to happen to me since I arrived in this world.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” Quoth backed down the staircase until he could reach out and touch me. He wrapped his fingers around my arm, his skin hardened, the tips of his fingers already sharpened into talons. Sad brown eyes bore into mine. How was he so utterly perfect and yet so, so broken? “I thought hiding was the only way I’d be able to survive in this world. I thought at least as a bird I had some semblance of freedom. But now that I met you, I don’t want to hide anymore.”
“Good.” I nuzzled my head against his feathered chest. “I don’t want you to hide either.”
Quoth let out a sad croak. The air between us sizzled. I listened through his chest at his heart beating, faster and faster. His feathers tickled my skin. He should have transformed by now, but something held him in this half human, half bird state.
Me.
“Quoth,” Heathcliff’s heavy footsteps clattered on the stairs. “There’s a customer who wants to know if I’ve got any pop-up books on sex education. I need you to defecate on his head.”
And just like that, the spell broke. Quoth drew away, his eyes sad. “Duty calls,” he said, andpoof, his clothes crumpled to the floor and a black raven disappeared down the stairs.
Chapter Eleven
The SOCO team finished up their examination around lunchtime. Inspector Hayes even took our rubbish bin away for sorting (I pity the officer who got that job) and questioned me some more about the position of each of the women in the room, and if I knew anything else I thought might be important.
I hesitated, remembering Mrs. Ellis’ horrified face as I mentioned telling the police about Mrs. Lachlan’s grudge against Mrs. Scarlett for the lost development contract. But if someone in that room reallyhadpoisoned Mrs. Scarlett, the police needed to know. That didn’t mean I couldn’t keep looking for my own explanation.
“Cynthia Lachlan and Gladys Scarlett had a falling out,” I blurted out. “It was over the King’s Copse development. Mrs. Scarlett told the town planning committee about Cynthia’s husband’s old debts and she thought that swayed their decision to refuse his latest planning application.”
Hayes scribbled this information down. “Thank you, Mina.”
