“Should we wait for Lydia?” I asked weakly. “I’m worried about what she’ll say—”
“No,” both boys said in unison. Heathcliff picked up his pace, as though anxious to place even more distance between us and Lydia Bennet.
“Mina!”
I turned my head. Jo stood up from behind the red chair and ran over to the edge of the tape.
“Hey,” she wiped a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her PPE crinkled as she leaned in to pat my shoulder. “I heard you found him. At the rate you trip over corpses, your friendship alone is going to keep me in business for the rest of my life. I’d give you a hug, but I don’t want to get crime scene goo on your pretty dress.”
I backed away, holding up my hands. “Please no.”
“You look smokin’, by the way.” Jo winked at Morrie, who gave her a thumbs up and a wicked grin. “I’m sorry your ball was ruined. Are you doing okay?”
“It washorrible. There was so much blood – I thought the white rug had been replaced with a red one.” I gave a strangled laugh. “I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Not really. But I do appreciate a civilian’s perspective of the crime scene. Anything else you noticed?”
“Yeah. He had this awful expression on his face, frozen mid-scream like some hideous Edvard Munch painting come to life.”
Jo nodded. “The dead do that, especially if they expire in a sitting position. Immediately after death, the muscles in the body relax, and the mouth falls open. If the body remains in the same position when rigor mortis kicks in, the open-mouthed expression is frozen in place. In funeral homes, they have to wire their mouths shut for viewings.”
I shuddered. “I didnotneed to know that.”
“Sorry,” she grinned. “I forget you don’t find this stuff quite as fascinating as I do. In this victim’s case, his open mouth was the expression on his face when he died. Apparently, whoever killed him took him completely by surprise. As for the blood, the sword severed one of his main arteries. I’ll know more after the autopsy, but it looks as though he died from blood loss—” Jo waved over my shoulder. I turned and squinted at a throng of people walking toward us from the ballroom. The police must’ve released them after giving their statements. Alice Yo waved back before returning her gaze to her phone screen.
“You know her?” I asked Jo.
“Sort of. She’s Alice somebody-or-other. We go to the lesbian film club over in Barchester,” Jo replied. “In small communities like this, us queer folk stick together.”
“Alice has been assigned to do a story on the Jane Austen fan community, but apparently she’s really snooping after another story, something to do with Professor Hathaway.”
“Interesting. I’m surprised to see her here. She was saying last month that she was thinking of leaving journalism for corporate copywriting. Her boss is a complete homophobic creep who keeps giving her the worst assignments and cutting her hours. She’s been trying to find another job, but journalism is a hard sell these days. If she can’t break a big story or find something new by the end of the month, she’s going to lose her flat.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. She was asking around the movie night last month if anyone had any ideas for a worthwhile story, especially one on a trending topic like #metoo. We kept telling her to do an expose on sexism and homophobia in journalism, but she said that if she exposed her boss she’d never work in the industry again.” Jo picked up her crime scene bag. “I’ve got to head back to the lab. I’ll text you with what I can reveal when I know more. If you need someone to talk to, you know where to find me. But I know you’ve got those boys to take your mind off things.”
“I do. Thanks, Jo.”
She waved goodbye and followed the rest of the SOCO team outside. Morrie and Heathcliff dragged me toward the hall. Quoth hopped from Heathcliff’s shoulder onto mine, croaking softly as he nuzzled my neck.
“Do you want to go home, gorgeous?” Morrie asked.
Home.Odd that as soon as he said that, I thought of Nevermore Bookshop instead of my dingy conservatory room back at Mum’s flat.
My bones ached with weariness and shock. I pulled my phone out of my cleavage and noted the time (and the string of unanswered texts from Mum). “It’s already late, and who knows what time it will be when the police finally let us leave the building. Let’s just stay the night here and we’ll go home in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Heathcliff swept me into his arms, grunting as he carried me up the sprawling staircase. Along the way, we passed Mrs. Maitland hauling a large pink suitcase down the stairs and one of the erotica writers struggling with a large box of books. Apart from a few people calling for rideshares, it looked as if the majority of guests were planning to stay. The prospect of a scandalous murder was too good to give up. As Heathcliff carried me through the crowd, I caught snatches of rumor flying madly about.
“I heard he was stabbed through the heart with his very own sword—”
“Well,Iheard that his head had been nearly severed from his shoulders.”
“…he clutched a bloody handkerchief in his hand.”
“—according to this search I just did on my phone, in order to deliver that thrust, you would need exceptional skill with a sword…”
