Of Books and Bagpipes

by Paige Shelton

  I pulled the large blue key from my pocket, looked all directions in the small hallway—this had become a habit after watching my coworkers do it. I didn’t think any one of us had ever come upon an unwelcome visitor, but you could never be too careful when doors hid rooms full of treasures. I placed the key in the lock and turned it three times to the left, releasing the deadbolt with a metallic thud and echo, and pushed the heavy door open. Edwin followed me inside and I closed and locked the door behind us.

  Other than one shelf full of old but not particularly valuable books, I hadn’t had time to organize much of anything in the warehouse. The task was daunting, to say the least. It was a room with shelves packed with things—the widest variety anyone could imagine. Not only were there books, but I’d recently started cataloguing genuine Egyptian artifacts and some wicked-looking items I’d first thought were turn-of-the-twentieth-century medical instruments but had now concluded were torture devices. Under one of the devises, I’d found a small burlap bag full of arrowheads, things any good Kansas girl would recognize. I didn’t know where they were from and neither did Edwin, but they were on my continually growing list of things to research. And I knew it was only the beginning of many discoveries to come.

  I flipped the switch for the overhead fluorescent lights, giving the room a dungeon-like glow since the sky outside the small windows at the top of the back wall was thick with clouds. Edwin still liked to spend a lot of time in the warehouse so I’d brought in another comfortable office chair. I rolled it from the corner of the room to the other side of my desk and then moved to my chair.

  The warehouse smelled like the best sort of dungeon—old books, ink, wood that had expanded and contracted more than a few times from moisture over the years, cold metal that had become grimy with time, congealed motor oil that had never been cleaned away. The surprisingly pleasant combination of the scents and the old stone building had more than once made me think I could travel through time when I was in the warehouse. I just hadn’t figured out all the particulars yet.

  I unzipped my jacket and pulled out the copy of the Oor Wullie annual, placing it on the desk in between us.

  “Ah, you retrieved it! But why was it in your jacket, lass? And was it this damaged when you received it? What happened?” Edwin said.

  “Things didn’t go quite as planned, and I might have messed up,” I said.

  I’d formulated questions; I’d tried to think of the best way to tell him what had happened and why I’d taken the comic book instead of just leaving it there. But as I spilled the details, I got as far as “dead on the roof” before I had to stop, thinking I might have to get some help for my boss.

  “Dead?” Edwin said as his face drained of color and his knuckles came up to his mouth.

  “Yes.” I stood and hurried over to crouch next to him. “You okay?”

  “I need a moment, Delaney. Please don’t tell Rosie and Hamlet. I’ll come back here when I’ve gathered myself.”

  “All right, but…”

  “Please.”

  I stayed close by him as he stood and made his way to the door. He was sturdy on his feet, but I watched as he climbed the stairs and as his long legs took him down the short upper hallway that led to his official office. I held back from following him. He’d been clear that he wanted to be alone.

  I wanted to kick myself. I hadn’t thought that Edwin might know the dead man. I’d shared the events as if he had simply been an anonymous messenger. There’d been something about the way the transaction had been orchestrated that made me think I was meeting a stranger, someone who sometimes dressed in a costume and had been hired for the task.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I said to myself as I closed the big red door and leaned against it.

  A few moments later I sighed and opened the door again. I couldn’t just wait. I closed and relocked it and then took the stairs to the upper offices two at a time.

  There were only two rooms and a supply closet on this floor. Rosie’s sometimes-used office, and Edwin’s rarely used one.

  “Edwin?” I announced from the end of the hallway when I noticed his door was open. “I couldn’t just let you go.”

  As I came to the opening, I saw him sitting behind his desk, slightly bent over to the side as if he was placing something on the floor. He straightened and sent me a weary smile.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “Come in.”

  I took a seat in the chair across from his desk but didn’t close the door. The small room was way too claustrophobic when the door was closed.

  “What? What happened? Who was he?” I said.

  Edwin sighed. The color had mostly come back to his face, but strain pulled at his glassy eyes. If he’d cried, he’d wiped away the tears before I could see them.

  “I didn’t know the lad well. Of course, he was a grown man now. But I knew his father.” He cleared his throat. “We knew each other when we were young.”

  “Is that who you bought the book from, his father?”

  “No, his father died two years ago, in a fire.” He sighed again and his mouth formed a straight, tight line before he continued. “His father and another friend of ours. It was such a tragedy.” He swallowed hard.

  “Oh, Edwin, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, lass. The man you were tae meet was William Armstrong—Billy. His father was Gordon. I didn’t mean for it all tae be such a mystery tae you, but when Billy called tae tell me about the book that he thought his father wanted me tae have, I asked him not tae come in here. There was a reason, but it’s a story from long ago and not important at the moment.” Edwin paused again but not for long. “I couldn’t meet him, Delaney, I just couldn’t, but I said that I would send someone tae him, and I … well, I don’t know why but I suggested the castle. I guess it was a place I thought you’d like tae see, and it was neutral tae everything and everyone from the past. That was important, but again, now’s not the time.”

  “Why couldn’t you meet him?”

  “Too painful.”

  “Because of his father?”

  “Aye,” Edwin said.

  But I sensed there was something else, and I needed more than cryptic answers, or past history excuses. I forged on. “Other reasons?”

  “No.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  “Did you know anything about Billy’s health? Did his father have any sort of problem that might have been passed along to his son?”

  “What did … how did the lad, how did Billy look?”

  “There was no obvious sign of the cause of his death.”

  “No blood?” Edwin said.

  “No. He was in the costume, as you’d told me he would be. That’s how I knew…”

  Edwin nodded. “He loved doing that.”

  “Being William Wallace?”

  “Aye. He took it very seriously.”

  I inspected Edwin closely. “So, you knew him well enough to know that part of him? Had you watched him reenact?”

  A moment later he nodded again. “Aye, I did. A few times. He didn’t know.”

  “Edwin, I don’t understand. Why didn’t you want to meet him yourself?”

  “Gordon and I lost touch many years ago; things ended badly. Somewhere along the way I wanted tae mend our friendship, get tae know his son, but it wasn’t tae be. Then fifty years went by.”

  “That’s how long ago your friendship ended?”

  “Close tae that.”

  And yet he’d been interested or curious enough to watch Billy, keep tabs on him maybe.

  “Delaney, there are too many layers of memories and too many years have passed. It would be difficult tae make you understand the history, but Billy contacted me tae tell me he thought his father would want me tae have the book, that there was some sort of story written inside it that might explain part of what had caused us so much trouble all those years ago.”

  “Written inside it? Like something handwritten, or the strips told the story?” I s
aid.

  “I don’t know. I asked the same question, but Billy didn’t give me an answer.”

  “I didn’t see anything handwritten, but I’ll look again,” I said.

  Edwin nodded. “Tell me what happened at the castle. All of it. I’m ready tae listen.”

  Edwin winced as I told him about Billy’s body, but he didn’t break down this time. He didn’t say anything until I finished.

  “The book must have blown across the roof,” he said. “Perhaps there were other papers tucked inside it.”

  “It’s a possibility,” I said. “Should we go back out there?”

  Edwin shook his head. “No, not right now. I’ll call my contact at the police and see what they’ve found, if there’s any foul play suspected. I’ll tell them I knew the lad and why he was there. Maybe that will help.”

  “Elias and I didn’t tell them why we were there. They just thought we were tourists and we didn’t correct them. Our … lack of details and me taking the comic book were why I thought I might have messed up.”

  “I shouldn’t have made it all such a mystery,” Edwin said. “I don’t know what the police will think about you taking the book, but let me do this one step at a time then. First, I’ll see what they know and if there is any suspicion of foul play, then we’ll go from there. I’m so sorry, Delaney.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry about Billy, and the way I told you about his death.”

  We heard a noise that sounded like someone coming through the door at the top of the stairs.

  “We’re in Edwin’s office,” I said so they wouldn’t go down to the warehouse first.

  “Edwin, there’s someone here tae see you,” Hamlet peered around the door frame a moment later.

  I hadn’t registered it at the time, but now I remembered the distant sound of the bell above the door a few minutes earlier.

  “Who?” Edwin asked.

  “He wouldn’t say, but he’s in a foul mood and … well, he smells like fish,” Hamlet said.

  “Aye? We’ll be right over,” Edwin said as he stood with movements as weary as his smiles had been.

  Hamlet waited and then led the way over. Edwin seemed to be mostly recovered by the time we were on the other side, but his steps held much less forward purpose. Unfortunately, it seemed that it was meant to be a day of jarring surprises for my boss, because his face drained of color once again after we turned the corner to face the man standing at the front of the shop. He was dripping from the rain and smelled of fish and cigarette smoke.

  “Gordon?” Edwin said so weakly that both Hamlet and I hurried to catch him if he fainted. Rosie and Hector both made a small gasping sound, and Regg grumbled a noise that reminded me of Elias.

  Hadn’t Edwin and I just been talking about someone named Gordon, and hadn’t that Gordon died in a fire two years earlier?

  “Edwin. What have ye done tae my son?” the man said.

  “I think I need tae have a seat,” Edwin said.

  A small commotion followed, but before long we’d turned the sign on the door to “Closed” and were all seated around the shop’s back table, waiting less than patiently to hear the dead man’s story.

  FOUR

  “I don’t understand, Gordon,” Edwin said. “It was confirmed. You and Leith died in the fire.”

  “No, it was confirmed that Leith died. It was only assumed that I did,” Gordon said as he pulled a drag on the cigarette he’d just lit.

  Regg had made sure our visitor wasn’t there to do harm and then excused himself to go back to his office. Rosie went to gather coffee from the kitchen as the rest of us sat around the table in the corner of the shop. When Rosie came around the stairs she took the cigarette from Gordon’s hand.

  “There’ll be no smoking in here, Gordon Armstrong, or whoever ye are.” She placed the pot of coffee on the table and then disappeared around the stairs again, the cigarette pinched in her fingers and held away from her face. I grabbed the coffeepot and started filling the mugs that Hamlet had set on the table.

  Gordon blinked and frowned at Rosie and then looked at Edwin. “Weel, I’m not dead, but now my son is and I’ve come tae find oot what ye did tae him.”

  Rosie was back a moment later without the cigarette, and Gordon’s question, along with heavy anticipation, hung in the air until she was seated on the other side of Edwin. Nobody was interested in the box of day-old pastries that sat in the middle, but the coffee was popular. I was chilled, probably from both the weather and the strange turn of events, so I held my hands around my mug to warm them.

  “I didn’t do anything tae your son, Gordon. I would never. You know that,” Edwin said.

  The fishy-smelling man was, in fact, the same Gordon that Edwin had been telling me about perhaps at the exact moment he’d been walking through the shop’s front door. I compared him to the body I’d seen on the castle roof and saw no immediate resemblance. Gordon was a small man with steely gray hair, and no sign that it once might have been auburn—no telltale freckles or fair complexion. The man on the roof had been tall, broad-shouldered, with a filled-out chest and auburn hair that was a few shades darker than my own.

  “What happened tae you?” Edwin continued, his eyes still wide with remaining grief, confusion, and perhaps fear. He was disheveled, a state I’d never seen him in. Even when his own sister had been killed I hadn’t noticed him run his hand through his short hair once. He’d done it a few times just since we’d sat around the table. His tie was off-kilter and his dress shirt seemed to have suddenly become wrinkled.

  “Doesnae matter, does it?” Gordon said as he reached for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. Rosie shook her head and he reluctantly pulled his hand away. He took a deep breath and in a voice strained with emotion continued, “What’s more important is what happened tae Billy. What happened, Edwin?”

  “We’ll not tell you one other thing until you tell us why you pretended tae be dead these years. The fire? Leith?” Edwin’s voice raised in volume and pitch.

  It wasn’t just Edwin and Gordon; the air was thick with sadness and confusion, and distrust hung tight and heavy in the room. Hamlet had been silent, but kept his eyes on Gordon. Rosie had seemed the least surprised of everyone, but now her mouth puckered and her eyebrows came together as she waited.

  My bookish voices and I had come to an agreement. I’d wanted to keep their interruptions under control, and they’d gone along with the plan, only filling my head when I let them in, when I needed my instincts or intuition to help me through something, maybe help my subconscious move me in the right direction. Since I’d moved to Scotland and wrangled them some, I’d found my odd memory trick sometimes more useful than annoying.

  For an instant I let them talk.

  I only know that it was and ceased to be; and that I have written and there I leave it.

  David Copperfield from Dickens’s book of the same name spoke the words, his voice rising above any others that might have contributed. I couldn’t understand exactly how the words applied to the moment except that perhaps what these two men had shared ended a long time ago and there should be no reason to bring it up again. But these things weren’t always clear at first. I’d keep the words in mind as I returned my full attention to Gordon.

  “Awright, I’ll tell ye, but ye willnae like it and ye may never forgive me, but ye’ll also see how I had no choice.”

  The rest of us might have blinked in tandem as we still waited silently.

  “I thought I’d killed Leith, Edwin. I thought I’d murdered him. I had tae fake my death or I would have been arrested, or so I thought. It was an accident, but the law wouldnae have seen it that way.” Gordon sighed and shrugged with one slow shoulder. “Later, when I learnt the truth, I had tae stay away or my wife wouldnae have kept the insurance money, and I would have been arrested anyway.” He slumped into himself. “It was one mistake after another, and I couldnae see a way oot of it.”

  “Why did you think you’d killed
Leith?” Edwin asked.

  Gordon shook his head slowly as he looked at his old and calloused hands folded on the table, deep with cavernous wrinkles and thick, uneven nails. He was not a young man, and his hands showed his age even more than his deeply wrinkled face. “It’s all in that book, Edwin. The Oor Wullie that William was tae give tae ye. I wanted tae let ye know that I was alive, but I was afraid tae be caught. But I wanted ye tae know. I wrote it down, thought that would be easier than telling ye in person. I thought Billy would give it tae ye himself and he could be there tae explain. What happened?”

  “Hamlet, the book is on Delaney’s desk, I believe,” Edwin said. I nodded. “Will you retrieve it for me?”

  Hamlet hurried away reluctantly. No one wanted to miss the rest of this story.

  “I’ll look through the book, but you need tae tell me what happened, Gordon. In your own words. Cameron House, Loch Lomond. What happened that night?”

  Gordon stopped himself from reaching for the cigarettes again but I saw the twitch of habit in his fingers. He sighed again, a raspy breath, before he told us what happened. Or, as Rosie later called it, his version of what happened.

  “We were on holiday, Leith and I, just the two of us. I left my wife at home, and as ye probably ken, Leith’s wife had died some years ago. It was just the boys.” He looked at Edwin as if for a moment he thought of when Edwin was part of that camaraderie, but though both of their expressions told me they remembered that decades-ago time, neither of them seemed to be melancholy about it. “Leith had almost more money than ye, Edwin, and he wanted tae fish on Loch Lomond. Wanted tae stay in the beautiful house, Cameron House. Aye, and ’twas beautiful. We had a wonderful time. Until that night.” He looked up as Hamlet came around and put the book on the table. He thumbed through it. “Is that all?”