“Why? He’s the craven one suspecting me of high crimes. He should be the one apologizing to me.”
“You know he’s sensitive about the animals, and yet you’ve been sniping at him about the tree ever since we put it up.”
Heathcliff waved his arms around his head. “That’s because it was bigger than the bloody shop. You know what? Go after the tree thief if you want, but leave me out of it. Thanks to this burglary I’ve finally got some peace and quiet, and I intend to enjoy it.”
Before I could protest, Heathcliff grabbed up his prize whisky, swung around, and stumbled through to his office.CRASH. The door slammed behind him – the sound slicing through my fractured heart.
I stared at the cracked wood of the door. A tear escaped the corner of my eye. I couldn’t believe Heathcliff would steal from the town, from me, and especially from Quoth. But between his horrible mood and the fact he wouldn’t help clear his own name… was I wrong?
Did Heathcliff steal Christmas?
Chapter Five
Islid into Heathcliff’s chair. The glass baubles stared up at me, mocking me with his secrets. I shoved them aside and pulled over a notebook and pen.
Time to get to work.Detective Mina is in.
“Does anyone else have a key to the shop?” I asked Morrie, who was busy picking needles off his favorite velvet chair.
Morrie sat down. He winced. Reaching under his arse, he pulled out a particularly long needle and tossed it aside in disgust. “So youaretrying to solve the theft.”
“Of course I am.”
“Even though it might reveal Heathcliff was the thieving bastard who took all those donated gifts?”
“It’s not going to reveal that, because Heathcliff wouldn’t do such a horrible thing,” I said with more conviction than I felt. I truly believed Heathcliff was innocent, but so much evidence had mounted against him and he was refusing to help himself.
He was acting guilty. Ihatedit.
Morrie brushed needles off the edge of the desk and leaned across to fix me with his icicle eyes. “You know I can’t refuse a good mystery. What do you have so far?”
I doodled names on the page. “It wasn’t Heathcliff, and it wasn’t Quoth or you or I. Grimalkin lacks opposable thumbs, so it can’t possibly be her. It had to have been someone outside the shop. I’ve checked the bedroom upstairs and it’s locked tight, so it wasn’t someone who’s come from some other place in time. We haven’t seen any new fictional characters around. Judging by the fact the thieves absconded the tree out the front door, I think we’re looking at ordinary, human crooks from this century, probably one that now smells like catnip. Since the burglar didn’t break any locks or windows, they must have a key. Do you know if Heathcliff has given anyone a copy of the key?”
“Are you kidding? He won’t even give Quoth and I keys. I wouldn’t have stood for it except that he doesn’t know I can pick the lock in about two seconds flat. You’re the only one who has one. Oh, and Bertie the accountant.”
“He does?” That seemed weird.
“Sure. One day a few years back, Bertie needed to collect the account ledger, but Heathcliff was passed out drunk. Rather than have his client face a late payment fee, Bertie broke a window, climbed inside, collected the ledger, and left a note stuck to Heathcliff’s forehead saying he either needed to move to cloud-based accounting software or give Bertie a key to the shop.”
I couldn’t resist a smile at that. “Heathcliff would never agree to voluntarily use the computer.”
“Exactly. Hence, Bertie got his key. Just as well, too – he cut up his abdomen pretty bad on the broken window. There was bloodeverywhere. I think he’s been a bit afraid of Heathcliff ever since – he keeps hinting that Heathcliff finds another accountant, but you know how much that guy likes change. Heathcliff is by far Bertie’s most bothersome client, so maybe he thought if he could frame Heathcliff for the robbery he’d be able to get out of their contract, but that seems a pretty feeble reason to steal the tree.”
“Except that Bertie’s dog just had puppies!” I exclaimed. “He said his wife lost her job and he was struggling to feed them. If you were desperate, and you knew where some pet supplies were, and you had a key and a guy you didn’t like took the fall for it, that sounds like an ideal solution to me.”
“Clever girl.” Morrie grinned. Figuring out motive was his favorite part of solving crimes. He loved delving into the seedy and easily corruptible minds of humans.
I underlined Bertie’s name three times. On the rug in front of me, Grimalkin darted and danced between the two catnip-soaked spots. Even though Quoth had scrubbed the stains with industrial cleaner and the place no longer smelled like a sewage-treatment plant, Grimalkin’s sensitive nose was still attracted to the lingering residue. She’d roll around on the carpet for a few minutes, then shoot up one of the bookcases, knock down an avalanche of hardcovers on our heads, tumble off the end, land on her feet and start the whole cycle again.
“Anyone else with a key?” I asked, dodging a falling Dickens as Grimalkin tore along the Classics shelf.
Morrie shrugged. “Not that I can think of. Didn’t you give a key to that lady making the calendar?”
“That’s right!” I scribbled Tabitha’s name. “We’ll have to find out where she was last night, see if she has an alibi. She also heard Heathcliff bitching about the tree, so she knew he’d be the perfect person to pin the robbery on. But what I don’t get is her motive—what are you doing? You’re disturbing our crime scene!”
Morrie had risen from the chair and was scrambling around under the windowsill on his hands and knees. He held up something between his fingers that glittered in the light. “What I’m doing is finding the clue that will blow this case wide open. Will you look at this?”
“Bring it over here. I can’t see.”
