A Dead and Stormy Night by Steffanie Holmes

Author:Steffanie Holmes [Holmes, Steffanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bacchanalia House
Published: 2019-01-15T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

I stared at all that money in my hands.

It’s true.

Ashley was selling Marcus Ribald’s upcoming designs to another designer, probably Holly Santiago. Either that, or Marcus Ribald had given her one hell of a bonus.

That might explain why Ashley came back to Britain, but it still didn’t explain how she ended up dead in the shop.

“The text message,” I whispered. “Maybe Ashley was meeting someone in the shop to exchange the drawings. But why would she meet here—”

“When she came in during the day, you said she was acting weird?” Morrie asked.

“Well, Ashley being in a bookshop is weird. The only time she ever came in here was when she hung out with me. She used to say it was so depressing and lonely.”

“Maybe that’s what made her think of it as a good place for the exchange. But why would she come in here beforehand and…” Morrie clicked his fingers. “I’ve solved it. I’m a genius. Follow me.”

“Do I have to get out of my chair?” Heathcliff growled.

“Yes. Come on!”

I followed Morrie down the stairs, curious as to what he’d uncovered. He stopped in front of the Sociology shelf, right where Ashley had been standing the other day. He scanned the spines. I could practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

“This should be easy. There’s a layer of dust on the shelves because Heathcliff is a disgusting human who never cleans. Since people don’t shop in this section the dust line is completely undisturbed. Unless someone pulled out a book recently and left a mark—Ah!” Morrie pointed to a trail across the dust, and pulled out a book. “Here’s our culprit.”

Morrie handed the volume to me. High Fashion and the Culture of Excess, read the title. A little on-the-nose, but that was Ashley. As I flipped the book open, a brown envelope fell out of the dust jacket. I handed the book to Morrie and bent to pick it up.

“Look at this,” Morrie held up the frontispiece, running his finger over two tears in the corners. “I’ll bet the secret code to my safe deposit box that these correspond to the paper under the tape on your other envelope.”

“I bet you’re right. So what’s this?” The envelope was brown, different from the one in Ashley’s luggage that contained the cash. I couldn’t see any writing. I slipped my finger under the tape holding it shut, and pulled out another one of Marcus’ drawings. This one was a ballgown – panels of leather and lace fixed to a metal frame. I knew it was intended as the centerpiece of Marcus’ show.

My hand trembled as I realized that in my hand I held the proof we needed. Ashley Greer had been killed over fashion.

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