“How?”
“A boat. A night’s adventure. Too much whisky.” She shook her head again. “And a girl.”
“I see.” I suspected the girl was Clarissa Bellows, but I didn’t ask yet.
“Aye. The one girl welcomed into SPEC was the object of their affection. All of them. Edwin, Gordon, and Leith loved her. There’s a reason Edwin never married, Delaney. Clarissa, but I cannae remember her last name. She broke his heart. She broke all their hearts.” Rosie looked at the door again. Still no customers. “She’s the one who kil’t the man. It was an accident, but it was her dirk that did the deed.”
“Dirk?”
“Aye, part of being a member of SPEC was the carrying of dirks. They were supposed tae be for show, but the blades were anything but dull. Even many of the souvenirs have real blades.”
“How did she kill him?” I swallowed. “Accidentally, I mean?”
“They were out on the sea, all of them used tae love the sea, and Edwin’s family had boats. They were all sold off, shortly after the accident, Edwin told me.” Rosie sighed. “It was a late spring night, the society members were oot on the boat. Seven young men and Clarissa. Having too much fun, being too young. Edwin couldnae bear tae give me the exact details, but one of the men who had just joined the society was complaining aboot Clarissa being the only female allowed in. His complaints turned intae an argument between him and Leith. It got physical. Clarissa got scared so she pulled her dirk oot of the scabbard and told them tae stop fighting. She meant it only as a threat, maybe just tae get their attention, but as boats will do, this one rocked on a dark wave and the blade went intae the man’s heart.”
“That’s horrible,” I said as surprise tears filled my eyes. I blinked them away.
“Aye, ’twas. The body went overboard. The police found it though.”
“Did the police think he drowned?”
“No, Edwin and the others told the police he’d been accidentally stabbed, but they told the police that it was Leith’s dirk that kil’t the man. They all protected Clarissa, even the men who had just joined the club. No one ever said it was anyone but Leith.”
“What happened to Leith?”
“He served some time in prison. Ye ken he became successful later. I suspect Edwin played a part in his release and his later success.”
“And Gordon was with the victims both times they were killed on the water, the man from back then and Leith. Strange.” I’d heard plenty of people say it, probably read it many times, but at the moment the voice that spoke the loudest in my mind was Elias’s from the night before: no such thing as coincidences.
Rosie shrugged. “Aye, ’tis, and Gordon’s always the common denominator. Edwin thought he was dead. I thought he was gone from the chance to ruin Edwin’s life, and now he’s not. No matter what, he’s up tae no good, Delaney, and the people in his life seem tae be in danger. Ye see why I dinnae like the man? I dinnae trust him, and I think he had something tae do with Leith’s death and that’s why he went into hiding. I dinnae ken how, but many things are amiss, and he’s at the center of them all.”
I’d dropped my bag on the floor. I reached into it now and pulled out my phone, finding the dirk pictures again.
“Does this mean anything?” I handed her the phone.
“’Tis a dirk,” Rosie said as she took it from me. “Where did it come from?”
“I went back to the castle that night with Tom and his father and we found it, close to where Billy’s body had been. Do you think it was Clarissa’s, the murder weapon from long ago?”
“No idea.” She put her glasses on and looked at the pictures again. “It’s lovely. We can research the maker’s mark.”
“I did; a friend at the museum helped. It’s not a valuable piece, but Edwin was bothered by it when I showed him the picture. I took the dirk to the police.”
“Guid! Maybe that will help them tae somehow find Gordon.” Rosie turned the camera and enlarged the picture with her fingers. “Ah, here. Did ye see this?”
She held the phone toward me. Along the top ridge of the dirk’s handle, in very small letters, it looked like “SPEC” had been carved. If the letters hadn’t been on my mind specifically I might have just thought it was a mar.
“It might be S-P, but I cannae tell for certain. Maybe it was part of S-P-E-C, but it’s not easy tae know,” Rosie said.
“Possibly. You don’t remember what the letters stood for?”
“Big, pretentious words, meebe, but I cannae remember what Edwin said.”
“Secrets everywhere.”
“Aye. A paunchie of them, and I dinnae like secrets. I like everything oot there for everyone tae see. I dinnae like secrets, Delaney.”
“Me neither,” I said.
The bell above the door jingled. It was time to put away phones and secrets for now and get to work.
EIGHTEEN
“Hi, yes, I’m looking for—” She glanced at the piece of paper in her hand. “—Hamlet. At least that’s the name I was given. Perhaps it’s some sort of code or something.”
“We do have someone named Hamlet working here, though he’s not here at the moment. May I help you?” I said as Rosie put Hector on her lap and sent a welcoming smile to the customer.
She had an American accent, pretty green eyes, and boyishly short brown hair that looked feminine on her tanned face. Other than the accent, the tan gave her away as not being from Scotland. It was difficult to get a tan in the summer in Scotland, and tans in November were impossible.
“Sure. You’re from the States?” She smiled.
“Kansas. I’m Delaney.”
“Really? I’m from Florida. Ellen.”
“Welcome to Scotland, Ellen.”
“It’s good to be here. Or it will be when I get all the errands done. I’m a nanny and the family I work for is touring the castle up there while I came to get the book Mr. Kramer ordered.”
“I can help. I know where Hamlet keeps the orders. Back here.”
I turned and led the way to the back corner.
“Ooh, this is so perfectly perfect,” Ellen said when we reached Hamlet’s table. “It’s an adorable bookshop in Scotland, next to a castle. Is it all real? I mean, are the books really books or is this just for show, some setup to hook the tourists?” She laughed.
“It’s real,” I said. “And it’s definitely perfect.”
“I’d like to see a few more kilts, you know?”
“I do know. You’ll see some, but there aren’t as many as I expected either, which makes them even better when you do see one.”
“How fun.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Was that a real dog in a sweater and a barrette?”
I lowered my voice too. “It was, and he’s very friendly, likes to be scratched, mostly behind his right ear. I’ll introduce you on the way out.”
“Cool.”
“What’s the book you’re here for?”
“I have no idea.” She handed me the piece of paper. “It’s something I can’t even begin to pronounce.”
Silently, I read the note. Aonghas Pàdraig Caimbeul-An Oidhche Mus Do Sheòl Sinn.
“It’s in some old language,” Ellen said.
“Scottish Gaelic,” I said. No one from the book spoke in my head. I couldn’t read Gaelic, hadn’t even tried to have Hamlet (who actually knew a little Gaelic) help me through a page or two, but I’d heard about the book. “Not many books are published in Gaelic anymore. It’s a big story about a family who lived during the twentieth century. Hamlet was telling me about it just the other day, probably when Mr. Kramer placed the order.”
I looked at the shelf behind Hamlet’s table. A pristine copy of the book sat on the top shelf with a Post-it noting the new owner’s name and the fact that he’d paid in full. It wasn’t an old book, having been published first in 2003, but it would have been difficult to find in the United States.
“The title translated is The Night Before We Sailed,” I said. �
��I’ve heard it’s quite beautiful.” It was rare when I held a book and didn’t even hear a low mumble of the characters inside. The language barrier made them the quietest group of bookish voices I’d ever known. Hamlet wrapped books in brown paper and tied them with string, but I hadn’t had enough practice wrapping quickly yet, so I put it in a brown paper bag and folded the top over.
“Gaelic? Hmm.”
“Not many people speak it anymore, but there’s a school in Scotland trying to revive the language. I’m not sure how that will go.”
“It looks like a jumble of letters to me,” Ellen said as she carefully took the bag. “Thank you.” She hesitated as she looked at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet someone who’s truly named Hamlet. Please tell me he looks like a Hamlet.”
“He looks exactly like a Shakespearean character. You would not be disappointed. You and the Kramer family should try to stop by the shop again. I’m sure he’d love to meet you all.”
“Good idea. I’ll ask. Thanks.” She pulled a knit cap out of her coat pocket and slipped it on, covering her short hair except for one end of a curl that stuck out from the side. The moment pinged something in my memory but I didn’t know what it was specifically.
“What?” Ellen asked. “Did I put it on funny?”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s a cute hat. I was admiring it,” I said.
“Okay. Well, thanks,” she said, putting her fingertips on a spot next to her ear. The cap was simple black knit. There was nothing unique or interesting about it. She smiled. “I’m going to go pet the dog now.”
“Sounds good.”
I introduced her to Rosie and Hector, who melted appropriately as Ellen scratched behind his right ear.
“I think this might be even better than all the books,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” both Rosie and I said.
As she left, I leaned into the front window and watched her turn left to make her way up and around to the castle.
“A delightful American,” Rosie said from the desk. “You liked her hat?”
“It was fine,” I said a beat later.
“Delaney?”
“Sorry, Rosie, I was trying to remember something, but it’s not coming back to me.”
“S’awright. Excuse me, Delaney, I need tae grab something from my office. Ye’ll be up front here a moment? I think Regg is bringing some coffee. Can ye watch Hector and the shop?”
“Sure.”
Hector, still on the desk, and ever suspicious of my drifty moments, shifted as he looked my direction. I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the bookish voices this time, but I just nodded instead. He relaxed his head on his paws, seemingly content with my communication.
After Rosie disappeared through the door at the top of the stairs, I looked out the front window again and pushed my mind to work double-time. What had Ellen’s hat reminded me of? I was a breath away from the memory coming clear, but that breath seemed to expand farther away with each passing second. I relaxed and hoped my instincts would kick in. Talk to me.
Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don’t let it spoil you, for it’s wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can’t have the one you want.
“Little Women?” I said aloud, albeit quietly, to myself.
It was Amy talking to Laurie. She knew he would always love Jo, but she didn’t want him to miss the love she had to give him. I hadn’t read anything by Louisa May Alcott in years.
Only after a person has their heart broken does the world appear as it truly is.
I’d read Perfected Sinfulness by British writer Michael Gilbert only recently, a recommendation from Hamlet.
“Okay, I get it,” I muttered. “I’m supposed to be paying attention to the hearts that got broken.”
Sometimes the bookish voices really did dig deep into my subconscious and dredge up something I hadn’t quite zeroed in on yet. I needed to find and talk to Clarissa, I was sure. There was no other answer at the moment. I pulled out the Post-it Aggie had given me and looked at it.
The bell jingled again as two more customers and Regg, holding a tray full of coffee cups, walked in.
I’d have to attend to Clarissa later.
* * *
“I ken ye’d want tae call on Ms. Bellows at the end of yer workday,” Elias said from the driver’s seat. He’d answered his phone on the first ring when I’d called. “I was ready for yer call.”
“It took you a whole thirty seconds to come get me.”
“Aye. I was parked just over there. Had tae pull out into traffic was all.”
“Thanks, Elias.”
“Glad tae be of service. I know the way. Aggie and I looked at the map on the computer before I left, but I ken Edinburgh weel enough tae get there on my own.”
“Aggie likes her computer.”
“She does, even if I think it’s the devil of a thing. It’s been more good than bad though, I suppose.”
Elias was gifted at small talk. He could bring up the most mundane topic and make it seem both interesting and curious at the same time. I credited his accent and his sense of humor. We made interesting small talk about refinishing the floors in the guesthouses as he drove, and by the time we turned onto a narrow street lined with shortish trees, I had a passing desire to sand and varnish something.
“Here we are,” he said as he parked. He nodded across the street.
The bottom of the two-story house was hidden by a large row of mostly leaf-free shrubbery, but the second story was visible above the bushes. About ten feet back from the bordering plants sat a stately, light-colored, squarish home. It was difficult to see it clearly with only the streetlights’ illumination and all the plants blocking the lower story.
“Should I just go and knock on the door?” I said.
“Aye. Cannae think of a better way,” Elias said. “I’ll come with ye.”
There was no other traffic to impede us, no rain. As we searched for an opening in the wall of plants no cars drove by, no pedestrians spotted us. It was dark and cold and quiet.
We found a short gate at an opening on the side of the property around the corner. Elias swung it in with a squeak and then let me lead the way into the small front garden, now cut back for winter, but showing signs that there would be an abundance of flowers and plants come spring. The garden spread back and around the main focal point—a tall, now empty concrete fountain and birdbath.
“Charming,” I said.
“Aye,” Elias said suspiciously.
“What?”
“Not a fan of the funtains. Something jubous about people with funtains.”
“Jubous?”
“Suspicious.”
“Suspicious, how?”
“Dinnae ken.” He shrugged. “Just how they make me feel.”
“Okay.”
“Help ye?” a voice cracked from the dark corner on the other side of the fountain.
Elias and I both jumped.
“Och, sairy I scairt ye,” she said as she came into view. She was older than time maybe, bent over and shriveled. Even though the dog on the end of the leash she held was a small poodle, I thought the animal could pull her over if it tugged too hard.
“We should have announced ourselves better. Clarissa Bellows?” I said.
“Heavens no, I’m not Clarissa,” she said as she peered up from under the brim of a straw hat that seemed more appropriate to summer gardening than winter nights walking the dog.
After a beat of strained silence, Elias spoke. “We’ve stopped by tae pay a visit tae Ms. Clarissa Bellows. Does she live here?”
“Aye, Clarissa Bellows McIntyre does reside here. Shall I gather her for ye?”
Elias and I shared a look before I said, “Can we help you inside?”
“No, not a’tall,” she said as she shuffled toward the door, the dog keeping his steps slow and even with watchful sideways glances at her feet.
A long few moments later she stepped through the front
doorway and turned toward us.
“Names?” she said.
We gave them to her.
“Ye’re with?”
“Uh. I work at a local bookshop.”
“Wait here.” She shut the door and disappeared.
“We could be here a long while,” Elias said quietly as he lifted and then replaced his cap.
I smiled and wrapped my arms around myself.
Much to our surprise, the door swung open only a couple of seconds later.
“Do I know you? Please tell me you’re not here tae sell me something, because I would have to shoot you if that’s the case.”
There was no mistaking that this was Clarissa Bellows, now McIntyre. The woman looked almost exactly like the version of herself I’d seen in the university newspaper picture. As my Kansas grandmother would have said, and though it was an expression that always got under my skin, it seemed wildly appropriate at the moment: this woman was “well preserved.”
“We’re…” I began.
“You dinnae ken us,” Elias said as he put his hands up in a surrender gesture. “But we’re not here tae sell ye anything. Just here for a moment of yer time.”
Clarissa cocked her head, squinted, seemed to like what she saw, and then smiled. “All right. Come in. Mind yourselves though. I can still shoot you if you make me mad enough.”
“Will do,” I said.
I followed her inside and Elias followed me as I became transfixed by the wavering hem of her blue silk robe and the authoritative noise her hard-soled slippers made on the polished wood floor. She moved quickly, giving me no real time to peek into the two rooms we passed. She finally turned into a room on our left and reached around the wall to flip a switch.
“Have a seat and make it quick. I have a good book on my nightstand that’s calling tae me at this very moment.”
“Okay,” I said as I sat on a red-and-yellow-floral-patterned wingback chair. Elias sat next to me on a matching one as Clarissa took a seat on the spotless white Victorian couch. She sat with such a flourish of her blue robe that I sensed she’d taken on the pose for a photograph at one time.
The room was homey, complete with a fireplace mantel and a baby grand piano, both covered in family pictures. Considering what I knew about all the men who had been in love with her in the past I wished for the chance to look over the pictures, or better yet meet her husband. Who had won this beautiful woman’s heart?
Of Books and Bagpipes Page 15