Morrie dropped the object on the desk in front of me. I held it up to inspect it. An earring – an enormous chunk of polished black crystal wound with wire and fixed to a silver butterfly. It looked handmade. And familiar, but I couldn’t think of where I’d seen it before.
“It’s not mine, and I don’t think this was left behind by a customer. No one would have been able to get around that side of the tree without some serious acrobatics. This was dropped by our tree thief!”
“Which means it probably wasn’t Bertie,” Morrie pointed out. “He doesn’t look like an earring sort of guy.”
“Maybe not, but we can’t rule him out yet.” I slipped the earring into my pocket. It was the first serious clue we had so far. “I’ll ask around about it at the market tonight. The village gossip train will be hard at work. I bet we’ll be able to find the owner of this earring and clear Heathcliff’s name.”
Chapter Six
All day, villagers arrived in the shop bearing armloads of gifts for the charity tree. Over and over again I had to tell the story of how the tree had been stolen overnight. Faces pinched. Mothers and children exchanged knowing looks. The accusation hung in the air, unspoken but heard loud and clear –Heathcliff stole the tree. Heathcliff hates Christmas. Heathcliff hates the village.
“You can leave your gifts with me,” I begged David Hyde and his son. “We’re organizing a replacement tree. I’ll make sure everything is locked away and makes it to the animal shelter.”
“Sorry, Mina.” David – a regular customer and British canal history buff who loved to haggle over the price of books so fervently Heathcliff now priced every canal history book £2 more than he expected to profit from it in expectation of David’s protests – shoved his son toward the door. “I think we’ll just deliver these to the shelter ourselves this year.”
Despite the beautiful displays I’d put together and the Christmas book specials we’d advertised in the local paper, we had hardly any sales. I heard people muttering as they left the shop, watched them whisper together out on the street, pointing to Nevermore’s windows with judgmental frowns. Heathcliff didn’t emerge from his study all day. I didn’t know if that was for the best or not. The village had turned on him again. It was vital we put in an upbeat appearance at the market and didn’t do anything to further cast suspicion on Heathcliff.
I thought I’d have a battle to get Heathcliff out the door, but just as I was shutting up the shop, he emerged, looking every bit as sullen and bitter as he had that morning. “I’m showering.” He slipped past me without meeting my gaze and trudged up the stairs.
The three of us gathered in the front hall to wait for him. I was pleased Heathcliff was making an effort to dress up, since everyone else had. For Morrie that meant an exquisitely-tailored black suit with a black wool coat. I donned a crimson bodycon sweater dress I’d studded with glittering rhinestones over black leggings and knee-high laced boots. Quoth remained in his raven form – apparently, feathers were more insulating against the winter chill than anything else in his closet. He’d freshly preened and had even donned a tiny Santa hat for the occasion.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea for Lord Sourpuss to go tonight?” Morrie whispered.
“I think his absence will be noted,” I whispered back. “Besides, maybe the twinkling lights and music and food will knock him out of his Christmas funk and he’ll—”
“He’ll what? Apologize to Quoth? Suddenly express goodwill to all mankind? Be visited by three obnoxious ghosts that help him realize the true meaning of Christmas? That’s what I love about you, gorgeous. Your undying belief in the goodness in people, despite all evidence to the contrary. Heathcliff—”
“What about Heathcliff?”
I glanced up. At first, all I saw was shadow, but then my brooding anti-hero descended the stairs like he was attending his own funeral. He’d donned a pair of black cargo pants that at least had no noticeable holes, a white shirt, red vest, and his black wool coat with the frayed fur trim. With his filthy boots, wild eyes, and unkempt hair (the way it wasstillunkempt after just showering was one of the many mysteries of Heathcliff) he looked every bit like the hellion who’d just stepped off the moors.
“Let’s just get this ordeal over with,” Heathcliff muttered as he helped me wind my scarf around my neck.
“You might not be excited, but I can’t wait.” Every year since I could remember, I’d attended the Argleton Christmas market. Usually, I went with my best friend Ashley and her family, because Mum would be behind a stall trying to hawk smoothie packs or ugly leggings or whichever wacky pyramid scheme she was involved in at the time. I felt a faint twinge of sadness that Ashley wouldn’t be there this year – she’d been murdered only a few months ago. Even though we were no longer friends at the time, I still felt her loss like a punch in the gut.
But it was quickly replaced by a sizzle of excitement. For the first time ever, I’d be going with myboyfriends.I linked arms with Heathcliff and Morrie. Quoth hopped onto my shoulder as we walked out the door of Nevermore Bookshop and were transported to a new world.
Mrs. Ellis and her committee transformed the town green into a Christmas wonderland, with strings of colored fairy lights looped between the lamp posts and bedecking the statue of the town’s founder. Delicious Christmassy smells wafted from a line of food trucks parked opposite the pub, which had a license to serve drinks on the green for tonight only. I breathed in deep the mingled scents of mulled wine, fruit mince pies, hot roasted nuts, roast beef smothered with gravy, and Yorkshire puddings as big as my head.
Stalls around the perimeter sold Christmas goodies – wooden toys, baby clothes, knitted beanies and scarves covered with rows of jaunty reindeer, dollhouse furniture, teddy bears of all shapes and colors, homemade fudge and artisan cheeses. I waved to Mum, who was busy showing off her fancy wrapping papers to a gaggle of excited women. In the stall next to her, my eyes picked up the twinkle of jewelry. As my eyesight got worse, I discovered I derived a kind of visual joy from seeing sparkles and twinkles. I dragged the boys over to the jewelry stand.
“Look at these!” I held up a pendant containing an amethyst set into three bird claws. “This is really cool.”
“I make all these myself,” a familiar voice said. I turned to see Elizabeth, Bertie’s wife, grinning at me from behind the counter.
“Wow, I had no idea. You’re so talented.” I swung the necklace rack in a slow circle, leaning close to make out the details of the intricate pendants.
“Thank you. Can I help you pick out something?” She winked at the guys. “Perhaps whichever one of these lads is your boyfriend might like to buy you an early Christmas present?”
Please, not more presents.
But it was too late, Heathcliff had already pulled out his wallet. Grinning, Elizabeth held a necklace up beside my face.
“I think this brings out the color of your eyes.” She handed me a mirror and unclasped the necklace. “And I’ve got matching earrings, but they’re not on display. I’ll show you after I’ve secured this…”
“Let me.” Heathcliff took the necklace from her hands and draped the chain around my neck. I squinted at the mirror while Elizabeth hunted around in the back of her stall. Morrie spun an earring rack. As colors and stones whirled past, something caught my eye.
“Wait.” I stopped the earring rank mid-spin. “Look at these.”
