Lost Books and Old Bones

by Paige Shelton

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, but let me figure it out before we get too concerned.”

  “Should you take them?”

  “I don’t think so. Not yet. Hang on to them. You were going tae talk tae Dr. Eban about them?”

  “That was my excuse. I mean…”

  “It’s okay, Delaney, just tell me what you were going tae do,” he said.

  “I wanted to talk to him, see him, see how he behaved. There are so many rumors about the man. I guess I just needed to see for myself if he was as bad as I’d heard, because … I kind of liked him in the few minutes we talked. That’s what I meant earlier. Is he fooling everyone? Is everyone being a gump?”

  A twitch of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You think you misread him?”

  I thought a long moment. “No, I’m worried that he left clues to tell the world that he’s a killer, but that the police are misreading him like I might be.”

  Inspector Winters looked at me a long moment.

  I continued, “I know the police aren’t fools, but I just…”

  “I get what you’re saying. I’ll talk tae Pierce. He might want the books and the scalpels.”

  “Thank you.”

  I put everything back where it belonged and locked up. As we made our way over to the other side, Inspector Winters said, “Did Dr. Carson say anything else about the books?”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything.”

  “No, just that her husband was the one to talk to. Why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  We paused by the front door as Inspector Winters fell into thought.

  “I’ll ring you later,” he said when he came out of the reverie.

  “What did you think of the warehouse?” I asked as I opened the shop’s front door for him.

  “I think it’s overwhelming. I think your boss is daft, but keeping ridiculously valuable items in a back room behind his bookshop is only one of the reasons why. From a security perspective, I think it’s fairly secure, but some alarms would be better. Alarms around the entire bookshop would be helpful.” He looked over my shoulder and into the shop. “And I think it would be a wonderful place tae explore, perfect for someone like you, Delaney Nichols from Kansas.”

  “It is perfect.”

  “Good. Thank you for trusting me tae see it. Thanks tae Edwin too.”

  I sighed. “You might not believe this, but I didn’t like keeping it a secret from you.”

  He looked at me. “Aye? Well, we’ve come a long way then.”

  “Since you haven’t arrested any of my friends, yes.” I smiled.

  “Yet, at least. There have been moments. Thank you again for sharing the room with me. I’ll tell Edwin the same.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I closed the door behind him. After a second’s hesitation, I locked it too.

  The otherwise empty shop was quiet and shadowed without the lights turned on. I walked over to the switch, but didn’t flip it up. Edwin had decided we weren’t going to open; no need to make customers think we had. I could get some work done, but things felt off. Perhaps it was natural to sense discontent after such a tragedy, but goose bumps rose on my arms, and the quiet was too loud for comfort.

  “Anyone want to chat?” I said to all the books.

  No one answered. I decided I didn’t need to be there any longer.

  For the first time ever, I was a wee bit glad to be leaving the bookshop.

  TWELVE

  “Och, gracious, this is … Oh dear, oh dear,” Aggie said as she read the article.

  “I know.” I shook my head.

  I’d taken most of the afternoon the previous day just for me, getting my emotions and head straight again. Tom had been busy, and though it would have been better with him, I’d enjoyed an afternoon to myself. It looked like today wasn’t going to be quite the same, though it looked to also be about me.

  Hamlet had called extra early, about five in the morning.

  “Delaney, sorry tae wake you, but you’ve made the paper. The Renegade Scot, not the Scotsman,” he’d said. “I thought you’d like tae know as soon as possible.”

  I’d sprung out of bed and made my way across the tiny courtyard that separated my cottage from Elias and Aggie’s, and tapped lightly on their back door. I knew they’d be awake.

  “Lass?” Elias had said as he’d opened the door in his undershirt and pants while holding a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Any chance you guys have your copy of the Renegade Scot?”

  “Aye. Aggie’s in reading the papers now.”

  “May I come in and look at it?”

  He stepped out of the doorway and went to put a shirt on as I joined Aggie in their small kitchen.

  “Lass?” she said over the paper, the Scotsman.

  “May I see the Renegade Scot?”

  “Aye.”

  Aggie hadn’t looked at that one yet, but it was easy to find the article, right there on page three, above the fold.

  I read through it quickly, and then gave the paper back to her as Elias joined us in the kitchen. He read over Aggie’s shoulder. It didn’t take long for her “oh dear’s” to begin.

  “It says here that ye talked tae the reporter,” Elias said.

  “The only thing I said was that I didn’t want to talk to her,” I said.

  “Says ye were peeking in a window where the victim had been,” Aggie said. “‘Sneaking’ is the word she used, I believe.”

  “Technically I was, kind of, but not because I was reliving the crime, like she implies. I wasn’t behaving as if I was guilty; I was irritated by her!”

  “Weel, she said that ye only looked like ye might be doing such a thing. Not that ye were.” Elias was trying to be helpful. He sent me a hesitant smile.

  “I know, but she made it sound like … oh, my, she made it sound like I could be the killer. The untrustworthy stranger from America!”

  “Those werenae the exact words,” Elias said.

  Aggie sent him an eyebrow lift before she turned to me. “But ye arenae a killer, lass.”

  “The redheaded American come to Scotland to work at the bookshop might now be involved in something unsavory.” I’d read the words only once but I’d memorized them already.

  “Aye, but ye just arenae a killer,” Aggie repeated. She cleared her throat. “This will pass.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I hurried to grab it.

  “I’m on my way over,” Tom said without a hello. “I’m afraid the article is my fault. I’m so sorry, love.”

  “How is it your fault?” I said.

  “I’ll explain when I get there.”

  “I’m in the McKennas’ cottage.”

  “I’m almost there.”

  “Tom says the article is his fault,” I said as I put my phone on the table. “He’s on his way now.”

  “How is it his fault?” Aggie asked.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I suspect it’s because he used to date the reporter.”

  Aggie glanced at the paper. “Bridget Carr?”

  “Yes.”

  “Never heard of her until right now. I read almost all the papers every day. She’s not a big-name reporter,” Elias said supportively.

  “Maybe she’s trying to be,” I said.

  “Aye,” Aggie said. “She sees this as her big break or some such nonsense. Did it end badly for her and Tom? That was a silly question. They arenae together. Of course it ended badly for her.”

  In classic tabloid style, Bridget Carr had taken me down, as well as Edwin and the bookshop. He’d been polite to her, much more polite than I had been, and yet she’d called him the “aloof Edwin MacAlister.” I almost felt worse about that than how she’d made me look guilty of murder. The shop had remained closed and he hadn’t been available the day he’d told her to return. Had she thrown us under the bus—me under twice—just because of that?

  “Ye ken what they say, that all publ
icity is guid publicity?” Elias said as he poured me a cup of coffee.

  “I’ve heard that expression before, but I wonder if this might be the exception. This is not good news for my job security, let alone the reputation of Edwin’s bookshop, a place and a man that don’t deserve a bad reputation, by the way.”

  “No, Edwin does more good than bad,” Aggie said. Her eyebrows came together as if she wasn’t sure she’d said that the way she intended, but she didn’t rephrase it.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  “Must be Tom,” I said as I stood. Elias and Aggie followed hesitantly behind.

  Part of the reason Tom had been busy the day and night before was that his aunt had taken ill and he and his father, Artair, had gone with the elderly woman to the hospital. We’d spoken only briefly, because he’d been pulled away by some doctors who’d come into his aunt’s room.

  We’d ended the call with a “maybe” we’d see each other later, but I hadn’t heard from him again until now. As I opened the door and saw his disheveled state, my priorities realigned.

  “How’s your aunt?” I said.

  “No worse. I’m sorry about the article,” he said. “I didn’t know…”

  “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay,” I said. I looked back at my landlords and then at Tom again.

  “Come through here,” Aggie said. “Go tae yer hoose, Delaney. Ye need some privacy.”

  Tom and I hurried through the McKennas’ cottage and to mine, which was on the other side of a shared deck. As we closed the door to my cottage, I said, “Really, how is your aunt?”

  “She’s stable. Along with her dementia, she now has a heart condition, but she’s being well taken care of. I’m sorry I didn’t call or come over last night; Da and I were at the hospital all night. I grabbed a copy of the paper as I went out to the vending machine for some coffee. I’m … I didn’t think Bridget would take what I said tae her and twist it so.”

  He hadn’t brushed his curly hair except with his hands, his dark beard was a touch beyond stubble, and his cobalt eyes were shiny from lack of sleep and stress.

  “It’s okay. Really, I’m sure. Come on, let’s get some coffee and toast.” I led us into my kitchen.

  The air was too charged with emotion. Moving into roles we’d never defined out loud but had become familiar with, Tom made the coffee and I put bread in the toaster and gathered toppings. The familiar activities gave us the time we needed to find our centers again. Before long, we were at the table.

  “Okay, me first,” I said as Tom ignored his toast but lifted his coffee mug. “I talked to Bridget briefly, as I said. The article wasn’t incorrect, but it was misleading. When I talked to her, it was mostly me telling her I didn’t want to talk to her. She expounded, and technically much of what she said is true. It’s the tone that isn’t.”

  “I suspected as much when she came into the pub tae talk tae me. Yesterday again. I didn’t even think tae tell you she came back. I tried tae say the same, however,” he smiled ruefully. “I’m a wee bit protective, and I didn’t like her accusations when she told me she’d seen and suspected you. I told her you hadn’t killed anyone. She wasn’t happy the shop was closed. She was … she was her normal self, and I wasn’t as kind as I should have been.”

  “Before you go on, just so you know, I love that you’re protective, and so far you’ve not said anything to upset me.” I smiled.

  It was clear we were both feeling better.

  Tom relaxed and continued, “It was when she asked about Edwin … She said something about him being mysterious and asked why he would hire someone from America if he didn’t want tae make sure his newest employee was kept in the dark about his past.”

  “I see.”

  “Aye. Then I defended you and Edwin a wee bit too much. She asked if you and I were dating.”

  “And she was jealous that we were.”

  “I’m not sure ‘jealous’ is the word…”

  “I am.”

  “Anyway, it was when I told her how long we’d been together that I think she became determined tae put you in a bad light.”

  “Your relationship with her didn’t last long?”

  “Just a few weeks, and then … I’m not proud of the way I handled it, but she caught me out with someone else.”

  “Ouch. Well, that would not be good. I’d have to be on her side on that one.”

  “Aye. I wish I had a good excuse. I apologized tae her back then, but it wasn’t enough. If I’d just ignored her when she came into the pub again yesterday…”

  “She still would have written something. The shop was closed and Edwin had said he would talk to her. She’d found a good story, made it better, maybe. It’s too bad she jumped the gun on the details. She might be able to make something of what it’s actually going to become.”

  “Aye?”

  “Well, it’s a big story, for sure. All the media are covering it; she’s just trying to gain an edge, but she might be digging her own grave. I guess we’ll see.”

  “I don’t know,” Tom said. He pushed back his messy hair, and my heart, still beating quickly from the adrenaline, seemed to sigh and beat even more quickly for another reason.

  I smiled.

  He blinked at me, perplexed by my expression, probably. “I’m sorry if I contributed in any way tae any trouble for you or for Edwin,” he continued. “I’ll ring him later this morning.”

  “I’m sure he would appreciate that.” I put my hand over his around the coffee mug.

  My phone buzzed and I looked at the caller ID.

  “It looks like you can tell him over the phone if you want. It’s Edwin,” I said.

  It had been a long time—since my first day in the shop, in Edinburgh, in fact—that I’d been so scared to talk to my boss. But I had to answer.

  THIRTEEN

  “Delaney?” someone said as I stepped off the bus.

  I jumped in my skin as I searched for the person attached to the voice coming from my left.

  Rena walked purposefully toward me, a copy of this morning’s Renegade Scot clutched in her hand. For a smallish paper, a lot of people sure did read it.

  “Rena,” I said. “Hey. How are you?”

  “Not good at all. We all read the paper this morning. Is there something you didn’t share with us? Did you know Mallory before?”

  Edwin had called to send me his support. He’d told Tom not to worry, that he, I, and the shop were all going to be okay. I had the best job in the world, I’d been thinking on the bus ride over, anxious to disembark and get to work.

  But amidst the morning traffic, the vehicles and the pedestrians on the sidewalk, I had a sense that we were being watched. It was probably unwarranted, but Bridget Carr had made me paranoid, Rena’s words just now even more so. As many times as I’d read the article, I hadn’t picked up on anything that sounded as if Mallory and I had known each other before Friday night.

  “Can I buy you a coffee? Maybe a muffin?” I said as I started walking toward the bakery next to the bookshop.

  “Uh…” she said as though she had more to say and my plans had interrupted hers. Nevertheless, she walked with me to the mostly empty bakery.

  Once we were inside, I turned to her. “I didn’t know Mallory before. That article makes me look guilty, but I’m not. The police don’t think I am either.” I hoped, but I wasn’t so sure. “Have a seat, I’ll grab us some breakfast.”

  I motioned to a small table in the corner and then walked up to the counter for coffee and muffins.

  I hoped a small break would help Rena’s state of mind. Mine too.

  “Delaney! Hello,” Bruno said. With his gruff voice and his wide chest and large arms, he was not what you might have expected to find behind the counter of a patisserie, but he was one good baker. “How’s the crew next door? I heard about the terrible … the tragedy over the weekend. I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded, waiting for him to say something about the Renegade S
cot article, but he didn’t. “We’ll be okay, but we’re sorry for the victim and her family.”

  “Aye. Let me know if any of you need anything at all.”

  “Thanks, Bruno.”

  I wasn’t hungry and I’d had more than enough coffee, but I ordered coffees and muffins for Rena and me.

  “I’m sorry about that article,” I said as I put the items on the table. “It happened mostly because I wouldn’t talk to the reporter. She’s a bulldog, which might be a good trait for a journalist, but to me she has teetered on the edge of unethical with that article. What she said happened didn’t happen exactly that way.” I sighed. “There was no way to talk this through without sounding defensive, but basically I told her that I didn’t want to talk to her.”

  Rena ignored the muffin but took a shaky sip from the coffee. “You didn’t know her? Mallory?”

  “No,” I said. “What made you think I might have?”

  “It just … This article makes you sound so suspect. I wondered if you … I wondered if Sophie and I set her up by bringing her to the pub that night. You two acted like you didn’t know each other, but I wondered if we put her in harm’s way.”

  I took a slow sip of coffee. There was something—or there were a number of somethings—wrong with what Rena had just said. Of course, I could’ve chalked it up to the trauma and tragedy that she’d been through, but something told me that wasn’t it.

  There will be time, there will be time

  To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet.

  I was glad for the bookish voice’s words. They’d come from poetry this time. T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”—a poem, oddly for the moment, about seduction and intellectualism, though I interpreted the words I’d heard to mean something about creating an illusion for the world to see. What illusion was Rena working on?

  “I didn’t know Mallory,” I said. “Why would it matter anyway? What are you afraid she told me, Rena?”

  She blinked and then moved her shaking hands under the table to her lap.

  “Okay,” I said. I took another sip of my coffee, stalling.

  “Nothing,” she said a long moment later. “It’s not that, Delaney. It’s just that a fellow student was killed and the reporter talked to you.”

  “Just because I was there, Rena. I was looking in the window—not like Ms. Carr made it sound, but, nevertheless, I was there. I didn’t tell her anything because I didn’t know anything.”