She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, Mina. I’m not going to be able to do the event. With the murderer still running loose, I just don’t feel comfortable in the shop, especially not after all the other deaths. You understand, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. Sure. Of course, I understand,” I said with false brightness, even though I wanted to crawl inside Heathcliff’s enormous coat and cry.
The ladies entertained us with more gossip from the village while we ate lunch. I barely touched my roast beef. How could I enjoy a Yorkshire pudding after someone had been killed in the shop?
On our way back to Nevermore, we passed Mike Whitaker, who owned a local distillery and was going to lead a whisky and book club week after next. He strolled across the green in the opposite direction, flicking through today’sArgleton Gazette.
“Hi, Mike!” I waved. He glanced up and quickened his pace.Did he not see me? Maybe he’s going blind, too…“Mike!”
He turned around, his eyes wide. “Mina, er… it’s nice to see you.”
“And you. I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you about some of the details of your event. I’ve got the perfect book for us to discuss – it’s a history of whisky brewing in England with all these old pictures—”
Mike shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I’m going to have to pull out. I’m sorry, love. My wife’s got a quilting exhibition over in Barchester that night, and I can’t upset the missus.”
What? Why are you just telling me this now?“No problem,” I forced a smile. “I’ll ask Richard to fill in. He was such a hit with the cider last night, I’m sure he’d love the opportunity.”
“Yes, yes.” Mike was already jogging toward the pub. “I’m sure he would. Well, see you.”
“Yeah,” I watched him scurry away.Your wife doesn’t have a quilting meet. You just don’t want to come to Nevermore Bookshop.
Heathcliff squeezed my hand. I stared across the green at our chimneys jutting above the bakery on the corner, and the little swinging sign that read NEVERMORE BOOKSHOP sticking out beyond the buildings on Butcher Street. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to imagine that sign gone, the beautiful old building bordered up… or worse, bulldozed by Grey Lachlan.
“Let’s hope the police solve this murder soon,” I murmured, fingering my father’s note. “Or Nevermore Bookshop is going to be out of business.”
Chapter Ten
Back at my now locust-less flat, I tossed and turned all night. Danny’s bloated, stricken face danced behind my eyelids.He was alive just yesterday, talking about writing his next book. And now, thanks to me, he’s dead.
I took stock of all the upcoming events I’d booked. Florence and Mike canceled and another author – an amazing romance writer named Bethany Jadin – had called in the afternoon to cancel as well. Unlike Ashley’s murder, where villagers crowded into the shop to snoop around the crime scene, Nevermore had remained deserted for the rest of the day.I guess there is such a thing astoo muchmurder in a small English village.
Morrie pouted when I left the shop – he was heading to London the next day on business and wanted to spend some time alone before he left. But I really needed to be on my own to think. Above my bed, I’d pinned a picture of some guide dog puppies. Their dark eyes peered down at me, begging me to take them in and give them snuggles and let them help me.
Nevermore really will be a menagerie when we add a puppy to the mix… but will it even happen now?
All my plans and ideas for the shop seemed further away than ever.
That night, I slept fitfully, haunted by dreams of living in a cardboard box on the town green while Grey Lachlan turned the bookshop into a casino. “Good!” cried Mrs. Ellis, waving handfuls of money at him. “I like gambling much more than I care for dusty old books!”
In the morning, I hit snooze three times before dragging myself out of bed. It definitely wasn’t as much fun waking up without one – or all – of the guys beside me. I pulled on my fluffy dressing gown and headed to the kitchen.
“Coffee,” I muttered to myself as I flicked on the lights. I staggered back in terror as my eyes beheld a wretched scene.
No.
An arc of blood splatter started at the coffee machine and curved across the ceiling before dripping down the cabinets to pool on the floor. Something lumpy stuck out of the top of the grinder. It looked like a piece of meat, complete with a knob of bloody bone.
Someone had been dismembered in my kitchen.
Chapter Eleven
No. No no no no no.
“Jo!” I yelled, my heart in my throat. “JO!”
Where’s Jo? Please let her be okay…
My head spun. I whirled around and emptied my stomach across the floor. As I knelt in the filth, my chest heaving, I noticed a large note pinned to the fridge with a skull magnet. It was in Jo’s handwriting.
