The Death of Mercy Willow by Amy Cross

Author:Amy Cross [Cross, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

“I've had the same sign since I started,” Horace says a few days later, as we stand outside the office and watch two men working on the front of the building. “The same dependable, old-fashioned, boring sign. And I'm not saying it's a bad sign, from from it, but I finally decided it was time to jazz things up a bit.”

“It looks very... modern,” I reply, tilting my head slightly to get a better impression of the sign. “What's that font? Is it Comic Sans?”

“I wanted something jolly,” he tells me. “Sometimes that makes us seem a bit more fun. We're well into the twenty-first century now, Mercy, and estate agents have to move with the times just like everyone else. Do you know what I was up doing until almost midnight last night?”

I turn to him.

“Social media,” he continues. “We can now tweet, and we can upload videos to TikTak or whatever that site's called. We've had a social media page for a while, but I revamped it, and I've got this plan to really engage with people in the online sphere. I even... hang on, look at this.”

He fishes his phone from his pocket and brings up a smiling cartoon image of a bald man.

“It's me!” he says brightly. “It's my avatar!”

“I can see that,” I reply cautiously, although I'm not sure that the avatar looks very much like him. Then again, I'm completely out of my depth when it comes to these things. “Did it take you long?”

“Not really. Well, I keep changing its clothes, but that's just basic common sense. You should get one as well, Mercy. I'm going to give you the details so you can log in and post updates. We both need to push this social media revolution if it's really going to gain traction.” He sighs. “I must admit, though, I'm pretty tired. I had so many ideas, even after I went to bed I felt like my head was swimming.”

“I know the feeling.”

Hearing footsteps approaching, I turn and look along the street, and I'm shocked to see Jen hurrying this way. She looks upset, and I can immediately tell that something's wrong.

“Hey,” I say as she reaches us, “what -”

“Can we talk?” she asks, sniffing back tears. “I'm sorry to disturb you when you're working, but...” She hesitates, as if she's about to break down entirely. “Mercy, something really awful just happened.”

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