Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

MAR

I f sunshine was a person, that person would be Imogen Q. Barrera. I trudged down the cobblestone street, a black hole of pessimism and somber silence. Imogen bounced with every step, a rainbow of optimism and enthusiastic blabbering. She was everything that I wasn’t, and exactly the friend I needed right now.

We ordered coffee and donuts at a little cafe and sat at one of the outside tables like any two middle-aged women catching up on an average Tuesday morning.

“Happy Halloween!” Imogen thrust one of her duffle bags at me. “Before I forget, here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” I asked.

She smiled and shook the bag, clearly wanting me to take it. “It’s clothes for you.”

Imogen expected me to wear her clothes? The mental image alone left me feeling like a circus clown. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine fending for myself.”

She wrinkled her nose and let her arm drop. “I don’t understand.”

I gestured down to my entirely black outfit. “We have opposing aesthetics.”

“You…” She laughed, hard. “You actually thought I wanted you to wear my clothes?”

Another pause, this time longer than the last, as she cackled. She pressed her lips together between bursts as she worked to compose herself.

I waited.

“Goodness no, silly.” She wiped tears from the corners of her eyes. “I brought you your own clothes.”

My shoulders tightened, a stiffness that crept up my neck. My clothes?

“I figured this adventure could take us time, and I know how terrible it can be not to have a fresh set of clothes to change into.” Imogen leaned in conspiratorially, looking one way and then the other down the empty street. She whispered, “Especially the underpants.”

That was exactly why I’d purchased a package at the general store.

“You dug through my underpants,” I said, my voice flat and betraying none of the frustration I was feeling. “How exactly did you get into my house, Imogen?”

She recoiled, sitting straight as a pin, and blinked. Her cheeks went pink. “Wendy had a key. I thought I was helping? Did I do the wrong thing? Mar, I swear I would never ever do something to purposefully upset you. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

It seemed I hadn’t masked my agitation as well as I’d thought.

A fresh batch of tears sprung into Imogen’s eyes, this time with hurt instead of humor.

“I don’t hate you,” I said quickly. I snatched the bag from her. “I appreciate your help.”

She stared at me, unblinking, like she was waiting for something more. I had no idea what that something was.

“Okay, good,” she said, still looking uncertain. “If you’re sure.”

Sure about what? I wished the two of us could find an equilibrium where she wasn’t terrified that I’d suddenly decide not to like her anymore, and where I wasn’t worried that an involuntary face twitch would make her cry.

“We’re friends,” I told her.

Her stature loosened and a smile spread over her face. “Good, that’s what I want.”

“Me, too.”

She was staring at me, wide grin, eyes searching for approval.

I shifted in my seat and changed the subject. “Tell me about the shelter.”

With the energy of someone who’d already downed three cups of coffee before arriving in town, Imogen regaled me with tales of flood-control efforts and updates on all of the animals. The water was no longer causing new damage. Everyone was safe.

It was no surprise that Wendy had everything under control, but hearing about it was still a relief.

“Did you know that Nevermore is one of only three towns in the entire world that’s off limits to The Library? Like no librarian justice can reach this little blip on the map. The librarians can’t even come here.” Imogen spread books across the tabletop.

The change in subject gave me whiplash.

“How would I know that?” I took a long drag of my coffee. The bitter black liquid burned a little on the way down.

Imogen shrugged. “You know now. I actually just found out, too. I’m sure Lily would have told me, but she’s away on a mission, so she’s unreachable. I actually found Nevermore in one of the books I borrowed from The Library the other day. How lucky is that?”

It wasn’t luck. Imogen spent all of her free time borrowing books from The Library and learning everything she could about all topics even tangentially connected to magic.

“Good work,” I told her. “But I thought we were waiting to contact Lily.”

I said the words as gently as possible, completely without accusation.

“I mean, Rose said no Library, and I said yay to The Library,” Imogen said. “And um, well, I called Lily, not so I could tell her the details of your situation, but just to see if she’d be around. She can be hard to get ahold of. When she didn’t answer, I called Madison.”

Calm, non-judgmental, no snarl, I reminded myself. “Who is Madison?”

“She’s another friend at The Library.”

“Mmm,” I said.

“Don’t worry, I swear I didn’t tell her anything about what’s going on with you. I was totally chill and aloof and didn’t tell her anything.”

Imogen was repeating herself.

When I didn’t respond, she licked her lips and continued, “I think I told you about the jackalopes, with their humming antlers and the cause of death toe tags. I did, right? Yeah, I definitely told you. Well, they can tell you how someone died. I wasn’t sure if they’d help since we don’t have Nie’s toe, but I asked Madison if it would be possible for me to use them for a personal matter.”

That would be helpful. “What did Madison say?”

“She said no.” Imogen wrinkled her nose and frowned.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Imogen nodded.

I’d have to make the most out of the knowledge Imogen had accrued from The Library. I thought back to what Levi had said about Nie, that her injuries were frozen.

“Do you think Wendy’s magic could have frozen Nie’s injuries?” I asked.

“You mean like being undead keeps her from decaying? Sure.”

“What about the fact that her wound is so clean? There’s no blood at all.”

“That happened before Wendy touched her.”

True. “Could that be caused by a curse?”

“What kind of curse?”

I pulled out my phone and showed Imogen the photo I’d taken in the bathroom of the train station, of the vine-like markings Rose had captured in the blacklight.

“Anchorbriar Chains,” Imogen said.

That was exactly what Andrew had said.

“I don’t think a binding curse has anything to do with freezing wounds,” Imogen said. “Maybe Andrew could tell you more.”

I shook my head. “Did you bring the disgruntled client list?”

She blinked her thick lashes at me and formed an oh with her full lips before popping a finger into the air. “I nearly forgot.”

I took another drag of coffee. This time it didn’t burn at all.

Imogen dug through her bag, pulled out a crumpled paper, and flattened it on top of one of the books. It was a printed sheet of names and contact information with red ink scribbled all over.

“Wendy compiled all the adoption applications that you had a hand in rejecting from the past year, because who murders someone for a grudge after a year?” Imogen barked an awkward laugh. “None of them live in New Jersey, so we narrowed them to the fishiest characters, the ones Jayden or Wendy had stories about. I also gave a copy of the list to Brock before I left, so he could check into things, but it’s too soon to know anything that way.”

Of course it was too soon for her police officer boyfriend to complete background checks. This whole mess had only begun a day ago.

I had no idea how Imogen had managed to help Wendy with the flood, gather her books along with clothes for each of us, and talk through the entire list of adoption applicants in such a short time. She must not have slept last night. That made two of us. How much rest had I actually gotten before the reaper broke into my room? Two hours? Three?

“What are the red markings?” I asked.

Imogen continued, “Suspicion ratings.”

I looked more closely at the paper. There were numbers and face doodles scattered throughout the handwritten bits. It seemed Imogen’s rating system was numeric and emoji.

I found the angriest looking face, drawn with a thick V for eyebrows, steam coming from the sides of the circle head, and devil horns on top. The doodle was accompanied by the number one hundred one and a note that read: broke the steps with a sledge hammer.

I knew who the note referred to without needing to read the name—Anous Brown. It wasn’t easily forgotten, nor was the man the name belonged to.

Imogen leaned closer to see where I was looking. “The one hundred one is for one-hundred-one percent suspicious.”

The choice in listing percentages was definitely a Wendy touch.

A one-hundred-one-percent suspicion rating for Anous Brown was fair. Still, I said, “It’s not him.”

“His name is Anous.”

“I know.”

“He committed a violent attack on the shelter.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“While screaming get out here, Marnie, so I can kill you.”

“Quite damning, I agree.”

Imogen waved her hands in the air. “Then why are you so sure Anous isn’t the killer?”

Interesting how she’d whispered the word underpants but had no qualms about practically yelling the word killer.

A sensation pinged at the tips of my ears, one of being watched. I looked around, but saw no one. I shook it off.

“After mandatory anger management, Anous came by the shelter and apologized,” I explained.

Imogen squished up her face in suspicion. “If they forced him to say he was sorry, I don’t think that rules him out as our prime suspect. He probably wasn’t sorry at all.”

Another fair point. I said, “Later that day in a fit of road rage he tried to flip a bus.”

“That’s…wow. Not good.”

“Also not smart,” I said. “It ran him over.”

“So he’s not our guy because he’s dead?”

I nodded and took another long drink of my coffee.

Imogen pulled out a pen and crossed Anous Brown off the list. She flashed one of her blinding smiles my way. “I was really feeling Anous.”

I choked on a bit of coffee.

“As a suspect.” Imogen laughed.

Because she laughed, I was starting to believe her innuendos were purposeful. This one, with “feeling” Anous, and how she referred to bodysnatching as “being inside someone.”

“All’s well that ends well, though. I mean I’m kinda glad not to have met him,” Imogen said. “Anous’s behavior sounded scary.”

“Anuses are terrifying,” I said.

Imogen squinched up her face in disgust, which amused me.

“Okay, so if we rule out Anous, do we walk around looking for the other four suspects?” Imogen asked. “Is there a better way to find out if they’re in town? Do you remember them all?”

Charlie Davis, Guy Jones, Ryan Taylor, and Anne Moore—I honestly had no recollection of any of them. None had left the kind of impression Anous had.

“Unfortunate we don’t have photos,” I said. Their names were all fairly generic, meaning an online search would lead to pages and pages of the wrong people.

“So you don’t remember them?” Imogen asked.

“No.”

“That is unfortunate. Wouldn’t it be nice if this whole thing was a misunderstanding?”

“If we misunderstood someone having murdered me?”

“I mean, it’d be good if it was an accident, and there was no bad guy. You never know.”

That was a ridiculous idea. I pressed my lips together so as not to say something that would make Imogen cry.

Instead, I pulled out the list of passengers Rose had gotten me from the train station.

“What’s that?” Imogen asked.

“Everyone who was on the same train as Nie.” It must have been a packed ride compared to the near-empty train I’d ridden on. Why was that exactly? It had been a similar time of day, and the exact same day of the week.

I found a match.

Guy Jones was on both lists.

The address printed for him on the ticket registry was outside Piccadilly, not inside Nevermore, just as Imogen had said.

I looked at Imogen’s notes. Guy had a straight face next to him, the lowest level of suspicion. The percentage was listed as eighteen. The note read threw a toddler tantrum.

“What can you tell me about Guy Jones?” I asked.

“Uh….”

She didn’t remember specifics. I couldn’t be mad at her for it because I didn’t remember him at all.

She said, “I could message Wendy. I’m sorry. I was so set on Anous, I pretty much blanked out on the rest.”

“It’s fine.”

Imogen adjusted in her seat. “Did you have fun with Rose?”

“Fun?”

Her smile dropped. “I mean…how did it go yesterday and everything?”

“Wendy’s magic worked, or at least it was starting to.”

Imogen grabbed my hands and squeezed. The sudden movement caught me by surprise. I forced myself not to pull away.

“That is the best news,” she said. “I’m so proud of her, embracing her gift. Magic is awesome, isn’t it? So did Nie tell you everything that happened? Was it a waste of time to do my suspect ratings? I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask—does Nie need something to eat, too? I could get her a donut. Where is she?”

Imogen bent down and checked under the table.

A knot formed in my stomach.

Unsure how to respond to her barrage of questions, I said, “Someone broke into my hotel room and took Nie’s head.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh no. Did you see who did it?”

“I saw a shadowy figure on the balcony. Almost like living shadows, if that’s possible.”

She scrunched her lips together. “That almost sounds like a reaper. But it’s not Birdie.”

“Bernadette is on the passenger list, Imogen. She rode the same train as Nie from Piccadilly to Nevermore. She lives here. The real one-hundred-one percent suspicious suspect isn’t Anous. It’s Bernadette.”

“You’re right,” Imogen said softly. “Of course she’s suspicious. But I really think she didn’t do it.”

“Only one way to find out.” I’d been waiting for Imogen to do this. I tossed back the last of my coffee. “Ready?”

“No. Definitely not.” Imogen repacked her bag full of books, zipped it, then turned to me. “Okay, still mostly not ready, but let’s do it anyway.”