RoseBlood

Two Interesting People

The air is tense and uncertain when Brunsley sets off to leave and make arrangements, none of us knowing what to say, our minds focused on the next day, then the day after that, all the possibilities, the risks and deaths. Being too late, like I had been, time and time again. Too late to see where my parents rushed off to when they were last seen alive, too late to catch the killer leaving the scene red-handed, too late to spot them leaving their rose and note on my pillow when I investigated Clarissa, too late to react to their hands gripping at my neck.

Better late than never.

The boys go off to do their own thing upstairs, Emerson imitating Elias now by barely saying a word, disappearing into the library and his brother going into his room. I go to Edith's room with her, and for the first time I've been at their house, in the middle of this case, I don't work on what to do, how to react to people's questions, precautions for literal murder. We just end up reading books.

An interesting thing I've discovered about Edith Tyrel is that, like Mia, she has a perfect taste in books. Or, specifically, crime novels.

"Most of these are from the main library down the hall," she tells me, "I like the older books."

"Then you've got good taste," I reply, bending down slightly to look at the almost complete collection of Marples and Sherlock Holmes hardbacks. Her bookshelves stand proudly at either side of her desk, and notes written on pieces of square paper are pinned on the wall above her laptop on the desk's centre. "Do you study them or something?"

"Well, they might be stories, but a lot of these kinds of books are inspired by the real world," Edith explains, "and I find them kind of interesting. Elias games, Emerson reads sometimes, usually looking certain behaviours and cases up. He does this intense research on them for the future too. But I mainly like reading and talking to people and stuff. I guess that makes me a bit boring."

"I don't think so," I shake my head, taking one of my favourite Poirot novels down from a shelf and sitting on her bed. "I like reading, and have pretty much all of these at home in my room, actually."

"It's a nice distraction," she says with a smile, pulling a book off the shelf after me and sitting down too. "Which is weird, isn't it, since we're in a whole crime murder mystery ourselves. Only... well, it's pretty real and gritty. I wish none of this had happened."

I nod in understanding, opening the book. "It's all happened. But all things come to an end, right?"

Edith nods with a half-smile, and for the next hour or so, all we do is read, until the afternoon melts into the evening and the brighter blues fade into tired navy shades. Edith notices with a light sigh, bookmarking her page and reaching across her bed to turn the lamp on.

"I think we might have an early start tomorrow," she says, "so I'll go to bed a bit earlier. Especially if I need to be around your place to spread the word about the marvellous detective Holly Cassia that's coming home."

I roll my eyes with a smirk at her words, closing my book after finishing the sentence. "I'd leave out the detective part. Thanks for the reading material, Edith."

"No problem," she says warmly, taking it off my hands and putting them away. "I'm gonna go check on Elias. Is Emerson still in the library?"

"Don't know," I say. "I'll check."

"I think he's just worried," Edith adds, a grin on her face as she lowers her voice. "About you, Holls."

I give her a look of confusion. "Worried?"

"Yeah, of course," she nods in agreement. "I mean, no one's had the smarts to finish off my smartass brother's sentences before you. And I don't know if you've noticed, but he's a bit of a starer."