“That’s just a hinge… no, wait, I smell something…” Quoth muttered, sniffing as he bent down to pull another box from under the bed. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Quothwaspart bird. It was especially hard when he crouched beside me, completely naked, his long thigh brushing against mine.
Scritch-scritch, scritch-scritch, creeeeeak…
“That scratching is coming from the wardrobe,” I cried.
I’d barely got the words out when the wardrobe door burst open and a tiny ball of white fur barreled toward me, squeaking with jubilation. The mouse streaked across the room and under the curtains. As its hind legs disappeared up the fabric, I noticed an all-too-familiar brown patch above its hind leg.
“It’s the Terror of Argleton! Oh, Quoth, I wonder how he got stuck in Ginny’s wardrobe—”
“Croak!”
Raven feathers exploded across the room as Quoth’s animal instincts kicked in. He dived for the window, forgetting he’d closed it earlier. I cried out as he smashed against the glass and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
“Quoth!” I scrambled toward him, touching the corner of his wing just as he picked himself up and shook out his head, his eyes rolling.
The Terror of Argleton took that moment to streak past Quoth again, squeaking with glee as it rocketed up the dresser and along the picture rail. Quoth lurched after it, his body wobbling and crashing as he chased it around the room.
“No, guys, stop!” I scrambled after them. Something smashed downstairs. Morrie swore.
“Morrie, help!” I scrambled up on the bed to shoo Quoth down before he tore out the chandelier. I couldn’t see where the mouse had got to, but from the way Quoth scratched at the top of the wardrobe, I could hazard a guess.
I threw the window open again and after flapping my arms around madly, managed to get Quoth to fly outside. I sank to the floor to catch my breath.
What was Ijustthinking about having a raven around making things easier?
Morrie’s head appeared around the door. “Time to fly, gorgeous. We’ve already been here too long. Hey, where’s the little birdie?”
I held out a hand and he helped me up. “You shouldn’t call him that. And he’s outside. The Terror of Argleton showed up and he went Full Metal Raven on us.”
Morrie shuddered as he yanked me to my feet. I noticed a stack of papers under his arm. “If that mouse is here, we’re leavingnow.”
He dragged me downstairs and out the open back door, locking it and pulling it closed behind him. We raced down the side of the yard, where Quoth fluttered down from a nearby tree and perched on my shoulder, his talons digging into my skin.
Morrie didn’t stop running until we reached the corner of the street. He checked the legs of his trousers for any resident mice before straightening up again.
“Croak,” Quoth said, his head bobbing up and down as if he was laughing.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t fare any better, did you? Smartarse. While you two were making new friends, I found something actually useful.” Morrie held up his stack of papers. “Records of Dorothy Ingram’s abortion, as well as this doctor’s report of a mysterious death. And an official name-change application. According to these articles and papers, a Mr. Wesley Bayliss died in the old hospital after ingesting hemlock. Shortly afterward, his wife – Sally Bayliss – changed her name and moved from a nearby village into Argleton. Want to guess what her name is now?”
“What is it?”
Morrie grinned. “Miss Sylvia Blume. Which means, Ginny Button was blackmailing our spirit medium.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Istared at the paper in Morrie’s hand, a sick feeling pooling in my stomach. “Miss Blume said she’d never been married.”
“She lied,” he said.
Hands shaking, I pulled out my phone and dialed Jo’s number.
“Hey, Mina. I hope you’re calling to tell me how your date with Heathcliff went.”
“It went… well.” I blushed as Quoth nudged my hand with his head and Morrie brushed his finger over the welt around my wrist, and I remembered what happened last night.I have a lot to catch Jo up on. “But I can’t talk about that now. I need to ask you about hemlock.”
“That’s the poison that killed Socrates. What about it?”
“Do you know anything about it, like how someone might use it to kill?” I paused, trying to think of a plausible reason I might be asking about hemlock. “I’m trying to win an argument with Morrie.”
