safe to say, they were not his favourite customers.
“What’ll it be this time?” He leaned on his desk, sighed and pretended to resume his reading. The rather becoming parting in his slick blond hair was clearly his fiancée Ethel’s touch, as Parnell had about as much idea of how to present himself as a barnacle in a bucket of snot. “I don’t need to remind you we don’t stock those...um, er, you know—”
Sonja plonked her elbows on the desk, facing him. “Say it, Parnell. Say the words.”
He flushed bright red, then almost purple, refusing to look her in the eye. “It’s your genre, not mine.”
“Oh? And which genre would that be?” Meredith copied her sister, practically breathing the poor man’s air as he turned the page of his novel without reading a word.
“You’re both disgusting.” He licked his trembling fingertip and turned another page. “And we’ll never stock that kind of filth.”
“Aw, but they have such nice-sounding titles.” Meredith batted her lashes at him when he glanced up. “You don’t mean to say they were unfit for such innocent creatures as we?”
“Innocent, ha! The devil’s own tormentors—you’d find something to tease in an open-top casket. Now what can I do for you? It’s near on closing time.” He stood upright, checked the time on the shop clock, and sniffed.
“If that’s what you call customer service, no wonder you’re haunting an empty store. Sheesh. Or is that Saint Jerome over there in the corner?” When he swivelled to see, Meredith spun his novel toward her on the chestnut desktop. “Frankenstein, how dreary. But we always did have you pegged as some sort of back-alley body snatcher. Sonja, who are those two you read about—”
“Burke and Hare. Might work well with Frankenstein and Parnell. All the anatomical research they could ever want at their fingertips.” She motioned across the scientific section behind her. “And with old Jerome looking on, quite the ghoulish set-up.”
“Oh, you two are just a riot.” In Parnell’s hand, a book stamp. In his expression, the desire to use it violently on Meredith and Sonja. “Come on now, if there’s nothing you want, I’ve got work to do: closing up and all that.”
“Yes, Frankenstein, we could see how busy you were when we came in.” Meredith slammed his book shut, then chuckled at his pitiful sigh. “So, what do you have on secret societies and such?”
He stared dumbly at her. “You mean historical?”
“No, she means futuristic,” Sonja replied with cutting sarcasm.
“Well, you’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid.” A note of triumphal superiority livened his voice, bringing out his professional tone. “There happen to be secret societies and esoteric organisations in every country, period and walk of life you can think of. The Europeans cornered the market in them, but as long as there’ve been people on Earth, there’ve been secrets shared and kept.”
“What about sub-sects of the Leviacrum Council? Is there anything on those?” Meredith asked.
“By sub-sects, I assume you mean the spy arms tasked to carry out surveillance and infiltration and all that. Those you hear about—” He checked himself, glanced to the front door. “Gosh no, who would be idiotic enough to publish a book on the watchers?” Skimming both their gazes, he added, “Why do I get the feeling this is going to end with my backside polishing the guest seat of a Black Maria?”
“And such a charming backside at that.” Meredith blinked coquettishly at him.
He stared at her, again turning red with embarrassment. “Are you two in some kind of trouble?”
“Actually...” As Sonja approached him, she peered out of the window and quickly ducked behind his desk. “You need to hide. They’re...they’re here!”
He shook his head. “Nice try, Sonja, but you’ve tried that one before.” After thumbing his braces and rocking on his heels, “Fool me once—”
“Not you, you blithering gollywog—Merry, it’s Father. I just saw him pass on the tram.”
Meredith froze, knew it was better to stay put than make any sudden movements. A playful exuberance took hold, shivered her as she imagined them outfoxing Father, a man whose puzzle-solving and attention to detail were practically proverbial in England. “Did he see you?”
“I’m not sure, but he was chunnering a mile a minute, from the looks of him.”
The tram bell rang, but the vehicle’s heavy iron clunking sound continued without break until it faded far past the next stop. He’d missed them.
Sonja popped up, brushed herself off. “I see the coast is clear. Look, not a lick of fog in sight.” She