Quoth nodded to the staircase, where the sounds of Fiona’s keening wail echoed up through the attic, joined by Heathcliff and Morrie bickering and random thumps and yells that could be…absolutely anything now that Puck was in residence.
“Okay, fine. I get it. This place is chaos on toast. But youliedto me.” I sniffed back the sob that threatened to consume me. “How can I trust anything you say now?”
Quoth’s bottom lip quivered. “Mina, I—”
I held up my hand. “I can’t do this right now. I’ve got Dracula to worry about, and Fiona downstairs, and Jo’s upset, and new fictional characters showing up every day, and a bunch of occultists showing up for a lecture, and Heathcliff and Morrie being…Heathcliff and Morrie. I didn’t think I had to do this alone, but you’ve made it clear where you stand. So go, Quoth. Justgo.”
He said nothing. His shoulders trembled as he bowed his head, retreating into his own mind to shield him from the harshness in my voice. He didn’t move from the bed. I snatched my clothes from the floor and stormed toward the door. I hated hurting him. I hated every step I walked away from him, but I needed him to know that he’d hurt me, too.
* * *
“Excuse me.” A white-haired lady glowered at me. She looked familiar, although I felt certain I’d never served someone who looked quite this irate before. “I want to return this book. And I demand a refund, plus extra for damages. In fact, I shall be suing you for emotional distress.”
“Um, sure, you can try. What seems to be the problem?” I peered at the North Staffordshire Railway book, which looked perfectly fine to me.
“I purchased this book for my husband’s retirement present. But look at the filth I found inside.” She flung open the cover and tossed the book down on the counter like it would burn her fingers if she held it any longer.
I leaned in close to see what she was so upset about. I gulped as the pictures came into view. Instead of scenic photographs of LMS rolling stock, I was greeted with woodcut images of naked women interlocked in the mostacrobaticpositions.
“My husband had to open this…thisfilthin front of all his friends,” she screeched. “What must they think of us? Father O’Sullivan was there, and he fainted right into the custard creams. You ruined my husband’s retirement party, and Idemandcompensation.”
Oh, no. Bertie must’ve forgotten to change the covers back on this one. “Sure, ma’am. I’m so sorry about the mixup. If you hold on a moment I’ll be able to locate the actual interior of this book for you—”
I reached for the offending volume, but she snatched it out of my reach. “I refuse to allow you to expose other innocents to this degradation. I’m giving this book to Dorothy Ingram and she’ll burn it along with the others.”
“What others?” I cried out, but the woman was already stomping toward the door, nearly bowling over Jo in her rush to escape my depraved presence.
“What was her problem?” Jo handed me a breakfast sausage roll. “Did she make the mistake of quoting The Raven to Quoth?”
I told Jo what Bertie had done. She nearly choked on her coffee with laughter. “Hearing about your customers always makes me happy mine are so quiet and well-behaved. Well, except for Fiona…”
She trailed off, her eyes turning toward the ceiling as Fiona’s cries wafted down from upstairs. Jo stiffened.
“I’m sorry.” I squeezed her shoulder. “At least she’s safe here. We’re telling customers it’s a spooky Halloween soundtrack.”
“Right.” Jo swallowed. “Are you up for a little crime scene re-enacting?”
“Explain.”
Jo held up a stack of papers. “I hold in my hand the ill-gotten police report for Jenna Mclarey’s murder. It includes a map of the exact location of the body, as well as the SOCO report and statements from the police interviews. All Jenna’s friends say her husband Connor was a sleazebag who tried it on with each of them at least once, but that he was fiercely jealous of her talking to other men. Sounds like a real winner, not that it’s much help to us. Althoughthisis.” Jo pulled out a paper and waved it at me. “I thought we could head over to the cemetery tonight with this handy crime scene map and see if any brilliant ideas occur to us.”
“I’d love to, but maybe you should take Morrie instead. You know I don’t see so well at night and—”
“Nonsense. Mina, if I’m going to be sneaking around a cemetery in the middle of the night trying to hunt a vampire, then I want my best friend by my side.” Jo grinned. “I’ll be back for you after closing. Wear your best cat-burglarizing catsuit, and we’ll see if we can trap this mouse.”
Chapter Eighteen
“…seven, eight, nine…here it is.” Jo stopped in her tracks. “This is where Jenna was killed.”
I dropped my hand from Jo’s arm and bent down to inspect the grave. I had to press my nose against the cold stone and hold my phone right next to my face to read the name – GEORGE HACKSTONE – I CAME HERE WITHOUT BEING CONSULTED AND LEAVE WITHOUT CONSENT. “Sounds like old George was the life of the party. Not a relation of hers?”
“Not as far as I can figure,” Jo said. “I don’t think the placement of the body at this grave is significant. Jenna’s murder wasn’t like the others. She was killed first, then he drained her blood afterward. Left quite a bit behind on the grass, too, the messy bastard.”
“What?” I stood up, dusting off my hands. Oscar sniffed around the headstone. “That wasn’t in the papers.”
“With serial killers, we try to keep back certain information. Sometimes you don’t want the killer to know what you know.”
“So she didn’t die from exsanguination?”
