How Heathcliff Stole Christmas: A Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries novella Read online

  “There will be no crimping on my desk!” Heathcliff boomed.

  “Merry Christmas.” A bespeckled face peered around the door. Our accountant, Bertie Robinson, stepped gingerly over the threshold. Bertie had been doing the store accounts for the previous owner, Mr. Simson, since practically the beginning of time. After Mr. Simson disappeared, Heathcliff had kept Bertie on – he acted as a stoic and sensible voice to counter Heathcliff’s impassioned moods. Bertie wore his trademark black suit – the shoulders dusted with snow – and a grey tie decorated with holly leaves. It was the most festive I’d ever seen him. “Mina, Heathcliff, I’ve come to start on the accounts.”

  I raised an eyebrow in surprise. Bertie popped in to collect our ledger on the 25th of the month at 2PM. You could set your watch by him. He was three days and five hours early. What’s going on?

  “I apologize for being early, but I did send an email,” Bertie stammered, sensing my unease.

  “I didn’t read it,” Heathcliff muttered.

  “I’m trying to get a jump on things before the holidays and… well, my wife lost her job at the Post Office and I’ve seven hungry mouths to feed and I could really use the money.”

  “You have seven children?” Morrie looked appalled. “You should be institutionalized.”

  Bertie shook his head as he stepped over Grimalkin, who was still wallowing in her catnip-soaked paradise. “Princess – that’s our golden retriever – gave birth to five in October. We didn’t even know she was pregnant. The puppies need special food and vet checkups, and with Elizabeth out of work, we just can’t afford it. That’s why I was hoping I could do the store accounts early, and maybe get my invoice paid on time for once.”

  Bertie looked like a defenseless puppy himself, perched in the doorway with wide, hopeful eyes. I thought of the receipts and unpaid invoices strewn across the office. I’d tried to start the accounts yesterday but I’d misplaced my favorite sparkly pen and by the time I’d hunted all over for it, Heathcliff was yelling about the display of Christmas storybooks I’d made in the front hall and I had to appease him.

  “I’m afraid things are a bit of a mess,” I said.

  Bertie’s face perked up. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Mina. It would make your life so much easier if you switched to an online system. You’d be able to reconcile accounts and see data in real-time, and—”

  “No, I don’t want it,” Jonie yelled.

  I whirled around in time to see Mum drape a tinsel garland around Jonie’s neck. Tiny dog ornaments wearing Santa hats dangled from the tinsel. As Jonie twisted to try and free herself, Mum wound the end around her body, wrapping her up like a Christmas mummy.

  “This is my range for animal lovers,” Mum explained over Jonie’s protests. “I’ve got matching greeting card sets and advent calendars and—”

  “Heathcliff will help you, Bertie,” I called as I tried to help Jonie untangle herself from the tinsel. “He owns the shop, so he's the one you have to talk to about cloud accounting.”

  Bertie visibly stiffened. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to bother him. I’ll come back later, when you’re free. I’m sure Heathcliff is very busy—”

  “I’m right here, Bertie,” Heathcliff bellowed. “And today of all days, I'd be happy to talk about the accounts. Step into my office.”

  Bertie shuddered. “Last time I did that you slammed my fingers in the ledger.”

  “You can’t still be harping on about that.”

  “Just a moment, Heathcliff.” Mum stepped toward him, brandishing an enormous Santa hat bedecked in red glitter. “I got this for you. I was thinking you’d be perfect to play Santa for the kids at the housing estate youth center this year—”

  “Accounts. Now.” Heathcliff grabbed Bertie’s shoulder and dragged him into the office, slamming the door behind him and leaving Mum dangling a Santa hat in midair.

  “Croak!” Quoth had reappeared in his raven form on top of the door. He flapped his wings to draw my attention to some new customers.

  “Meow!” That was Grimalkin prancing across Heathcliff’s desk, butting the catnip spray bottle over the edge.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” I lunged and managed to catch the bottle before it could smash on the floor. Grimalkin shot me a filthy look and flopped over onto her back.

  “Have we come at a bad time?” A mother and child, holding a stack of wrapped gifts, stood in front of the poetry shelves. “We just wanted to leave our gifts for the animals.”

  “No, no, come on in.” As I ushered them toward the tree, I noticed more people in the hall behind them. I mouthed to Morrie to deal with my mother and the bloody cat, plastered on my best customer service smile, and went out to speak to my customers. Self-consciously, I touched my hand to my hair. I’d tried to create a festive look by pinning a string of tinsel through my hair, but several of my sparkly bobby pins had disappeared, so my ‘do kept drooping.

  “Look at these lovely Christmas storybooks!” a woman cooed, picking one up from the display.

  “And these leatherbound editions.” A man wearing a hideous Christmas sweater peered at a set of the complete works of Jane Austen. “This is the perfect gift for my wife.”

  “These decorations are lovely.” Cynthia Lachlan fingered the strings of tinsel I’d used to line the bookshelves in the hall. “I must get some for Lachlan House. It’s great to see Nevermore Bookshop finally embracing the Christmas spirit.”

  I glowed with their praise. Ever since I started working here, I’d wanted everyone in Argleton to realize Nevermore Bookshop was special and magical, and that its surly proprietor was actually a big soft teddy bear on the inside. If I could make the first thing happen, then surely the second was right around the corner?

  The gifts piled up under the tree as more and more villagers filed into the shop. Morrie managed to wrangle my mother into working the ancient till, and she chatted merrily with customers as she upsold them on expensive wrapping paper and ‘Bedazzled Gift Caddies,’ whatever those were. Quoth perched on Morrie’s shoulder, tugging books from the shelves with his beak and handing them to customers while Morrie talked up the merits of giving the gift of reading this Christmas. Heathcliff and Bertie remained locked in the office, which was probably for the best since I’d never seen the shop this full. Grimalkin was still wriggling on the catnip-soaked rug. My stomach flipped in a giddy, happy dance.

  As I helped a little boy find a place under the tree, Tabitha O’Shea walked in. Tabitha was a posh friend of Cynthia Lachlan, and she looked the part today in a figure-hugging coat of fine cashmere, leather trousers, and Louboutin heels. Her husband was a diplomat and was usually overseas on business, so Tabitha filled her time by sinking her perfectly-manicured nails into a million community projects (and also, according to Mrs. Ellis, several of the community’s eligible bachelors). She volunteered at the housing estate youth center with Mum as well as at the animal shelter with Quoth, and she was also responsible for organizing the charity tree every year. “Mina, I can’t tell you how happy we are that you’re in charge of the charity tree this year.” Tabitha beamed, clutching my hands as she gazed at the mounting present stack and majestic tree in awe. “Nevermore Bookshop has never participated before, but I can already see this will be the best tree yet. Those animals are going to be so spoiled thanks to the town’s generosity.”

  “Thanks. I was worried the tree was a little too big, but everyone seems to be loving it.”

  “Nonsense. A Christmas tree can never be too big, and yours is simply majestic!” She circled the tree – well, as much of the tree as one could circle without crashing into a wall – and fingered Mum’s glitzy baubles. “And those decorations! They’re absolutely stunning. It's a Christmas wonderland in here. It will be the perfect location for the calendar photo shoot!”

  “The… what?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Her eyes sparkled. “Every year the village puts together a charity calendar for the New Year. Local personalities
are the models for each month, and we pose them in front of the charity tree or with different Christmas-themed props. All the businesses contribute props and logo-ed G-strings. It’s all good, harmless fun. We’ve booked the shoot. We’ve got a famous photographer coming all the way from London – Roland Crabapple.”

  “Roland Crabapple is shooting the Christmas calendar?” I nearly choked. I knew his work from my fashion industry days. He was famous for shooting the more… shall we say, risqué editorials and celebrity BDSM parties. “Is this calendar going to be… PG?”

  “Oh, of course, of course! Just a little bare chest, maybe a few cheeky cheeks. A little something to titillate the Argleton housewives.” Tabitha glanced around the room, her eyes resting on my mother behind the desk. “I was actually wondering if I could talk to Mr. Heathcliff. I thought he’d like to model—”

  “HELL NO!” Heathcliff bellowed from behind the closed office door.

  How did he hear her? Heathcliff must have supersonic hearing when it came to people suggesting his involvement in Christmas community events.

  “Don’t mind him.” Morrie materialized at my side, grinning that dangerously sexy smile of his. “Heathcliff may be one hot piece of ass, but he’s basically the sexy Grinch who stole Christmas. He’s the last person you’d want on your calendar. I, on the other hand, would be happy to assist…”

  Tabitha looked Morrie up and down, biting her lower lip in barely-concealed lust. What Morrie lacked in Heathcliff’s imposing bulk and muscle, he more than made up with his impressive height, wiry muscles tense with excited energy, and those glacier eyes that seemed to strip any woman bare.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Tabitha purred. “And who are you?”

  “James Moriarty, at your service.” Morrie took a deep bow. “I’m Heathcliff’s flatmate, and the only thing I like more than taking my clothes off for a good cause is making sure I do everything I can to be on Santa’s naughty list.”

  “Oh, yes. You’ll do nicely.” Tabitha ran her manicured nails along Morrie’s arm. “I’m sure I must’ve mentioned the shoot to you, Mina. It’s all been arranged. Roland’s booked to come up from London, and he wants to start the shoot day after tomorrow at 7AM sharp to capture the early morning light. That means we’ll have to at the shop at 5AM to set up the lights and get everything ready.” Her shoulders sagged. “Oh, no. That’s really too early to ask you to accommodate us when your friends live upstairs.”

  “Kinda, yeah.” My eyes flicked to the closed office door. 5AM? Not bloody likely. Not Christmas Eve, the morning after the village Christmas market. I planned to get very drunk on hot toddies, stay over at the bookshop, and shag my boyfriends all night.

  Morrie gestured to his body. “Sorry, luv. All of this needs eight hours solid shut-eye.”

  Tabitha lowered her gaze. “Forget I said anything. We’ll find another location for the shoot. Perhaps Richard over at the Rose & Wimple pub will let us use the pool room—”

  An idea occurred to me. “Not to worry.” I dug into my pocket and produced my shop key. “I’ll give you this. It unlocks the front door. Just let yourselves in and do what you have to do, then return it to me when we drag ourselves out of bed.”

  Tabitha’s face brightened. “Are you sure? We won’t disturb you?”

  “Nah, we sleep pretty soundly.” Especially after all the alcohol and shagging.

  She eyed the table with the nativity scene. “Can we move a few things around? Roland will love the tree – he’s obsessed with foliage, but he’ll want to get the lighting just right. Even with all the lamps, it’s a very dark shop.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Even with the lamps blazing all day, I still tripped over things and banged into shelves. “Sure. Just put everything back before you leave. Bring some tape to make a note of the furniture alignment, because if the table is even a few inches from where it should be…”

  Tabitha’s gaze settled on Heathcliff’s locked office door. She gulped. “I promise. Thank you, Mina. It means a lot to me, and the village, how much you’ve turned this shop around.”

  A lump rose in my throat. I came back to Argleton in a cloud of shame and depression after I got my diagnosis and lost my amazing fashion industry job. I felt like a failure, and I’d wanted so bad to prove that I could make a success of something in my life. To know that the work I’d done at Nevermore had been noticed and appreciated made me choke up. “That means a lot. I honestly thought I’d hate being back in Argleton, but actually it’s—Grimalkin, no!”

  I leaped across the room, my fingers narrowly missing Grimalkin as she scrambled up the tree. The bloody cat tore off with the string of tinsel and flung herself through the air like a bungee jumper. Customers scrambled out of the way as Grimalkin landed on her feet on the rug and took off into the stacks, dragging the tinsel behind her.

  “That catnip has made her crazy.” I ducked into the stacks just as Grimalkin shot up the side of a bookcase.

  “Croak!” Quoth swooped the cat and grabbed the other end of the tinsel. Grimalkin dropped to the floor, rolled over onto her stomach, and kicked at the tinsel with all four paws. Sparkly paper flew in all directions.

  “Mina, they’re ruining the decorations!” Mum cried.

  “Naughty kitty. You don’t play with that.” I risked life and limb to claim the tinsel back from Grimalkin. “There are plenty of other cat toys around the place. Find one of those.”

  “Meow!” Grimalkin shot me a glare. She leaped into the air, landing spread-eagled in the tree, which teetered on its stand. I lunged, but I wasn’t fast enough. A gasp rose from my throat as the tree toppled sideways, just as Heathcliff stepped out his office door. Tinsel and needles and large glass baubles battered his head as he struggled to hold the weight.

  “I hate this bloody tree,” Heathcliff growled, his eyes flashing. “I wish we’d never agreed to do this stupid charity thing. Let someone else be the Christmas elf so I can drink in peace. What the fuck are all these people doing in my shop?”

  Silence fell.

  “Sorry, folks.” I plastered a smile on my face. “Heathcliff is just kidding. Of course he—”

  “I’m not kidding.” Heathcliff’s face was a storm. “I hate Christmas! I wish it didn’t exist!”

  The children’s faces fell. Their mother shot Heathcliff a reproachful look and ushered them away. Tabitha shook her head sadly and tsked under her breath. Jonie looked like she didn’t know whether to applaud or run for her life. Mum tried to recover herself by explaining the decorations could be used all year round to ‘create a disco effect in your living room.’

  Ah, Christmas. The most wonderful time of the year.

  Chapter Two

  “Is Heathcliff like this every year?” I asked Quoth as I watched him swirl his brush in red paint and dab it on the canvas. He’d turned the painting away from me and banished me to one corner of the room so I had no chance of seeing the image, which made my anxiety about finding his perfect Christmas gift so much better.

  Not.

  “He’s usually worse.” Quoth didn’t look up from the canvas. “He never allows decorations in the shop, and he barks at anyone who says Merry Christmas or hums ‘Jingle Bells.’ It shows how much he cares about you that he let us put that tree up in the first place.”

  “Well… he didn’t so much let us put it up,” I smiled, remembering. “Morrie and I erected it while he was passed out drunk.”

  “I wish it didn’t have to be like that.” Quoth looked away. “I wish he wanted to help the animals, and he didn’t just agree to make you happy.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t mean to upset you.”

  “He does,” Quoth didn’t turn around. “Thank you for sticking up to him, Mina. It means a lot to be running the charity tree. I meet all kinds of animals at the shelter, and their stories make me so sad. It gets worse every holiday. Do you know how many people give pets as Christmas presents to family members who aren’t ready for them? It’s horrible. And then the
animal gets neglected and abandoned and it’s not their fault…”

  Quoth shook his head. His shoulders shuddered. Blatantly ignoring his rule of staying on my side of the canvas, I went over and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close and breathing in his earthy chocolate and fresh herbs scent. Quoth still struggled with his place in the world – he wasn’t entirely human, and yet he wasn’t just a bird, either. He was so much more. To me, he was special and unique and wonderful, but when he looked at himself, he didn’t see that. He saw a freak who had to hide away. Being involved with the animal shelter was one small step toward Quoth being happy in his own skin.

  I knew running this tree meant the world to him – it wasn’t just about saving neglected animals. It was about showing in a small way that he was part of the village. That he didn’t want to hide away anymore. That he considered this his home enough to put down roots here.

  Quoth burrowed his head into my shoulder. Although I itched to peek over Quoth shoulder at the canvas, I didn’t want to ruin his surprise. I tipped his head back and kissed him – using my lips and body to speak my feelings for him because it was Christmas and Quoth was beautiful. He was my family. He didn’t have to be alone.

  Quoth melted into me. Paint-covered fingers grazed my cheek, featherlight and reverent. Warm lips brushed mine, tentative but laced with need.

  We slid together, our bodies drawn to each other like punk rockers to safety pins. Quoth kissed with his eyes open – those dark orbs of his boring into me as if he were trying to commit every moment of us to memory.

  I planned to give him something to remember.

  I nudged Quoth toward the bed, flicking open the buttons on his shirt. I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath his skin. Somehow, inside him existed bird parts and human parts all meshed together. He shouldn’t exist, and yet he was here, flesh and bone made real and wonderful. He was a miracle.