Much Ado About Murder: Luxe paperback

"Jesters,” Morrie grinned. “Definitely jesters.”

“And fairies.” I smiled as we stepped onto the town green, heading toward the brightly-lit Rose & Wimple.

“And a bloody dagger. And do you think we could make him wear a ruffle?”

“Aarf!” Oscar added his two cents.

Heathcliff rolled his eyes. “My kingdom for a horse to trample me to death right now.”

“C’mon, Sultan of Sourpuss.” Morrie leaned in to pinch Heathcliff’s bum. “Let Mina ruffle you up and later, I’ll do that thing you like with the spatula and the geranium—”

“Lalalalala, I can’t hear you.” Quoth covered his ears with his hands.

“I was only kidding about the ruffle, but we’ve got to bard Nevermore up a bit. The annual Argleton Shakespeare Festival starts next week, and the town will be full of people visiting the bookshop. We need to get into the spirit, or we’ll miss out on potential business.” I dropped to my knees in the grass in front of Heathcliff and clasped my hands in front of me. “Please? Just a small display of books and a jester’s hat in the window—”

Heathcliff glowered. “To quote Hamlet, Act III, Scene III, Line 87, ‘No’.”

“Arf, arf!” Oscar admonished Heathcliff.

“We’re joint owners,” I pointed out. “That means you can’t stamp your foot and make the rules. If I want to bard-up the shop, then it’s happening. So get on board, or off with your head…”

I trailed off as I realized Heathcliff was no longer listening. He stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the town green, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“Ow.” Quoth crashed into him from behind. “Why the traffic jam? Let’s just get to the pub so I don’t have to hear about any more geranium abuses.”

“Heathcliff?” I waved a hand in front of his eyes. The greatest gothic antihero in all of literature didn’t even blink. His haunting gaze was focused on something in the distance, something I couldn’t see.

“It’s finally happened,” Morrie moaned dramatically, placing his hand against Heathcliff’s forehead. “All that internalized rage has loosened his brain cells. He’s lost his noodles. The Stilton cheese has slipped off his cracker. The wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead—”

“What the fuck is that?” Heathcliff growled at the darkness.

“What the fuck is what?” Morrie peered all around, but didn’t seem to notice whatever had Heathcliff so flummoxed.

“That.” Heathcliff jabbed a thick finger across the green. “What the fuck is that?”

I turned to look, but of course that did sweet bugger all because I couldn’t see across the green. Quoth squeezed my hand. “The old flower shop has new owners,” he said. “It looks as though they’re opening a bookshop.”

A bookshop?

My first thought was excitement. I loved bookshops. I have ever since I was a kid and Mum would leave me to read in a dark corner at Nevermore for hours while she went about her various schemes. But then I remembered that I was now coowner of Argleton’s one and only bookshop, which already struggled with paying our bills now that so many people shopped online on The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named.
Having a competitor around the corner, with a prime location right on the village green, could spell disaster for Nevermore.

I swallowed back my concern. “Let’s take a look before we judge.” I grabbed Heathcliff’s arm and directed Oscar to walk us to the new shop. Sun Tzu said you needed to know your enemy, and that was exactly what we’d do.

The lights were off inside the shop, so I couldn’t see a thing through the window. Morrie cupped his hands over the glass, peering into the darkened depths. “It’s an antiquarian bookshop. I see shelves of dusty old volumes in velvet cradles with price tags in the thousands. This joker isn’t going to last a week in a village where people think To Kill A Mockingbird is a how-to guide for rural pest control—”

“Why, hello there.”

Morrie jumped. Oscar barked at a man who poked his head from the doorway. The streetlamp fell across his face, illuminating a viciously hooked nose, thin lips, and chubby cheekbones that looked like they’d been pinched by one too many grandmothers. A pair of piercing dark eyes regarded us with amusement that brought to mind the terrifying, shadowed face of Count Dracula. That wasn’t at all fair as a comparison but then, he was the man lurking about in a gloomy shop.

“Arf!” Oscar greeted the man.

“Who’s this boy?” The man stooped, holding his hand out to pat Oscar.

“That’s Oscar. He’s my guide dog,” I said, and the man retreated his hand. Obviously, he knew not to pat a guide dog while he was working, which warmed me to him. “Oscar was just saying hello. We didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m Mina Wilde, and this is Heathcliff Earnshaw, James Moriarty, and…er, Allan Poe. We were curious about the new shop, and the lights were off so we didn’t think anyone was inside—”

“Don’t worry, I quite understand,” the man chuckled.
“You’re here to scope out the competition. I did exactly the same thing – I was in your store last week, Ms. Wilde. I know who you all are, and when I saw you heading my way through the window of my upstairs flat, I had to rush down and greet you.”

“Wait, are you saying that you—”

“I must say, you have a curious store policy when it comes to customer service. I asked about the first edition of Ulysses you have advertised on your website, and Mr. Heathcliff here told me that I should go next door to the bakery and eat a whole cheesecake if I wanted something dense. And on my way out the door, your store raven defecated on my shoulder, ruining a perfectly good Gieves & Hawkes jacket.”

Gieves and Hawkes. That’s the Savile Row tailor who holds royal warrants to dress the Queen and the Prince of Wales. This guy is either rich or full of his own self-importance. Or both.

“I remember you now,” Heathcliff snarled. “You’re the smarmy git who was too big for his britches to apologize to Grimalkin for standing on her tail. As far as I’m concerned, fair’s fair. And I stand by my earlier statement. I was trying to save you from a literary headache – reading Ulysses is like unprotected sex; it’s fun at first, but after four weeks you’re praying for a period.”

Great. I was hoping to establish a friendly relationship with our new competition, and we’d got off to a smashing start.

“I take it Grimalkin is the delightful black temptress who shoved a decapitated rat through my mail slot last night. Please extend to her my greatest apologies for any injury caused. I can be awfully clumsy.” The man’s voice oozed fake sincerity. “My name is Jasper Rasmussen. Mina, may I shake your hand?”

I held out my hand, and he took it and shook, squeezing my fingers a little too hard.

I take back my earlier assessment. This guy is a complete prat. I shall tell Grimalkin to leave him a welcome present on his pillow.

“Welcome to Argleton, Mr. Rasmussen,” I said with all the fake sincerity I could muster. “We’re excited to have a fellow bookseller in the village. When will your shop be open? We’ll be sure to tell our customers to check out your stock.”

“The grand opening will be tomorrow,” he said with pomposity. He disappeared inside and returned a moment later with a flier, which he handed to Morrie.

“Rasmussen Books: Rare, Antiquarian, and Fine Literature,” Morrie read aloud. “Specializing in appraisals, inscriptions, and authentication services for the discerning collector.”

“See?” Rasmussen clapped his hands together. “Your little shop has nothing to fear from me. After perusing Nevermore’s selection of popular books, I’m certain our clientele will not overlap.”

He said popular books like it was a curse word, which set my teeth on edge. Oscar growled, tugging on his harness. Oscar was an excellent judge of character.

“It says here that you’re the official bookstore of the Argleton Shakespeare Festival,” Morrie said, a note of accusation creeping into his voice. “That’s not possible. We are the official festival bookstore. It was set up months ago. We have all the stock ready to go.”

“That may be so, but I have something special that will delight the festival attendees,” Mr. Rasmussen beamed. “I’m displaying a genuine Shakespeare First Folio.”

I gasped. A First Folio was a collection of 36 of Shakespeare’s plays, published in folio format in 1623, seven years after his death. (I’d been brushing up on my Bard facts). The First Folio was considered one of the most influential books in the whole history of reading, and was the definitive scholarly source for around 20 of Shakespeare’s plays. Approximately 750 First Folios were printed, and 235 were known to still exist – mainly in private collections. One recently sold at Christie’s for nearly £10 million.

And Rasmussen was going to have one on display in Argleton during the Shakespeare Festival.

How could Nevermore Bookshop ever compete?

Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries
Book 1 - A Dead and Stormy Night
Book 2 - Of Mice and Murder
Book 3 - Pride and Premeditation
Book 4 - Memoirs of a Garroter
Book 5 - Prose and Cons
Book 6 - A Novel Way to Die
Book 7 - Much Ado About Murder
Book 8 - Crime and Publishing
Book 9 - Plot and Bothered
Novella - How Heathcliff Stole Christmas