The Cracked Spine

by Paige Shelton

  Agnes explained how two times every day, the citizens of the city on the hill would throw their waste out the windows where it would roll downhill toward the Nor’ Loch, or “lake” as I would have called it. Agnes also mentioned that at one time the loch was where women were thrown to determine if they were witches. If they drowned, they were found not to be a witch. If they didn’t drown, they were determined to be a witch and had to face an even more brutal death than drowning in the place where everyone’s waste ended up.

  The Nor’ Loch and the waste are all long gone, the area transformed into Princes Street Gardens, the park where Hamlet’s play was currently being performed.

  It was neither a clean nor sanitary way to live, and the plague descended upon the city twice, each time taking about three-quarters of the population with it.

  I was so interested in the stories Agnes told, in the short stone walls and unbearably low ceilings, that I forgot why Hamlet and I were there until he gently grabbed my arm and said quietly, “The next room is the cow room. Just past the small milking stall, to your right, you’ll see a low fireplace. That’s where it was.”

  The room still smelled, not of animal, but of something old and wrong. Agnes explained that the smell was genuine, that nothing had been done to either enhance or diminish it.

  Hamlet and I stood toward the back of the crowd. When Agnes led everyone out of the room, we stayed behind and crouched down. Hamlet took a flashlight out of his pocket and shined it toward the fireplace.

  “It’s just a small indentation in the wall,” I said. “Nothing could have remained hidden here for very long. Even as dark as they keep it down here, it would have been seen. This is where Birk found the Folio? It doesn’t seem possible.”

  “Aye. That’s what they—we—all said.”

  Something brushed along the back of my neck and I thought I heard another voice in the room. It was faint, but clear.

  I was pretty sure it said, “Go away.”

  “Hamlet, did you hear that?” I said.

  “Hear what?” he said, his question sincere.

  Had I just come upon my first Edinburgh ghost? I sat still for a long few seconds and listened, hoping for another sensation to travel over my neck.

  And then I got a little freaked out by the whole thing.

  “I think we should go,” I said.

  “Certainly.”

  We caught up with the group and stayed with them the rest of the way, although I did look behind us more than once. By the time we emerged from the underground world and into a world with a menacing gray sky, I decided that I’d probably imagined the whole thing. Who wouldn’t want an old Scottish ghost to visit them their first week in Scotland?

  Yes, I was sure I imagined it.

  TWENTY

  Our adventure only took about an hour, and true to Hamlet’s prediction we were back at The Cracked Spine before Edwin arrived.

  Someone else was there though.

  “Someone in the back tae see ye,” Rosie said quietly to me as a sly smile tugged at her lips.

  “Who?”

  “G’on back and see.”

  I left Rosie, Hamlet, and Hector and hurried to the back, having to look around the wall to find the man holding a book open in his hands and looking intently at its contents.

  “Hello,” Tom said with an almost shy smile. Surely this man never felt shy, did he?

  “You’re not wearing a kilt?” I said, but I put my hand up to my mouth immediately afterward. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t know if that was rude, but it just sounded wrong.”

  Tom laughed. “No. I wore one the past couple of days because I was attending a wedding, and the reception. It was quite a party. Nothing but work tae dress for today.”

  “Oh,” I said. I cocked my head and looked at Tom Fletcher, and wondered again if he was real. When I’d decided to accept the position in Edinburgh, my highly imaginative mind had created scenarios and people attached to those scenarios. There had probably been a handsome Scottish pub owner among the people and scenarios. Was Tom Fletcher a figment of my imagination or was he, in fact, real?

  Tom cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I shook my head. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I hope so. I was wondering if you’d like supper and perhaps a try of that whisky after you’re done here for the day? I have tae work, but there will be others tae tend tae the customers so that I could sit down for supper and we could talk. The pub is directly attached tae the restaurant next door, which happens to be an Irish restaurant, but I can bring some Scottish whisky over there for us. It’s a strange date, tae be sure, but you work mostly during the times that I don’t and the opposite too. I’d like tae have dinner with you, Delaney.”

  Wow, oh wow, oh wow. He wasn’t real at all, couldn’t be, but I suddenly decided that was just fine.

  “I would love to,” I said, not even skirting along the edge of playing hard to get.

  “Perfect. You’re done here about five o’clock?”

  “Probably about five thirty or so. But, how about I just get there on my own. I’d hate for you to wait if something holds me up here. I’ll get there as close to five thirty as possible.”

  “I look forward tae it.” Tom smiled and his cobalt eyes lit brightly.

  “Me too.” I wanted to dive into those eyes and traipse through the thoughts behind them. I hoped they were as fun as the thoughts I was having about him.

  Tom nodded, placed the book back onto the shelf, and then stepped toward me.

  “I’ll walk you out,” I said.

  The store wasn’t deep so the trip to the front was quick. Hamlet, Rosie, and Hector watched unashamedly. Tom smiled at them and scratched behind Hector’s ears before he left.

  Once he was gone, I sighed and turned to my coworkers. “I’m not usually so pathetic. He’s just a little bigger than life, and well…”

  Hamlet laughed. “No need tae explain. He seems tae think the same of you. The sparks in here with you two might have burnt off my eyebrows. He was quite bold, I thought.”

  “Is that the Scottish way?”

  “Only if a girl turns a fella’s head enough. I believe that’s what’s happened here.”

  “That’s never happened to me before.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I laughed. “That sounds like I’m fishing for a compliment, but I’m not. Really. I’ve dated and had a boyfriend or two, but never gone out with someone like … like Tom.”

  “You don’t know him. Maybe he’s a terrible person.”

  “You know him. What do you two think?” I said, but I was oddly nervous to hear their answers.

  “Tom’s byous, wonderful, Delaney,” Rosie said. “He’s neither mean nor terrible. I know he’s currently single, but I’ve never seen him sae … smitten. I’ve seen him date a fair amount and I’ve never seen him give any of them that kind of a weighty look.”

  “Is he a womanizer?”

  “No, not at all! He’s just never settled down, yet. Maybe he just hasnae found the right woman. Or maybe he has,” Rosie said.

  Hamlet smiled and looked both youthful as well as old and wise.

  “I’ll let you know how it goes,” I said.

  “I think you’ll have a great time,” Hamlet said.

  I shrugged, trying to look much more casual than I felt.

  “I’m not sure if Edwin has a specific task for me to do today,” I said.

  “You’ll have many moments like that,” Rosie said. “You’ll get in a rhythm, but Edwin doesnae give much direction. You can help Hamlet find some art.”

  “I can do that.” I’d wished for a chance to close myself in the warehouse, maybe make some calls or do some online research of the Fleshmarket members, but the tasks for the shop were, of course, first priority. “What kind of artwork?”

  Hamlet led us to the back where he unearthed two file cabinets that were in the corner, hiding underneath some old, dusty, folded
throw rugs.

  “A couple years ago Edwin decided tae build our maps and prints collections. It won’t come as any surprise tae you that our acquisitions haven’t been well organized. You’ve inspired me, though. I’m going tae help you get this place in order, Delaney. You can guide me, but for now we’re searching these files for some pen and ink drawings of Doune Castle. It’s not far from here. You’d enjoy seeing it.”

  “What’s so special that someone wants drawings of it?”

  Hamlet smiled. “Aye, they are Monty Python fans.”

  “Oh?”

  “Monty Python and the Holy Grail was filmed there.”

  “I definitely want to see the castle now.”

  As we rifled through the messes in the file drawers I inspected Hamlet. He was earnest in his search, seemingly not distracted by anything else. Nothing terrible seemed to be weighing on his mind. I thought I’d seen guilt when I first came into the store, but maybe that was just more grief. He might have come upon the picture of Jenny and didn’t want me to see his sadness. Was he the “good kid” I sensed he was, or was his past bad enough to control his actions? What could a bad childhood drive a young man to do?

  “Hamlet, guess who I ran into last night?”

  “I couldn’t guess.”

  “Gregory Heath.”

  “Who?”

  “He lives in Jenny’s building, right across from the manager.”

  “The man who’s always in a robe?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Where in the world did you see him?”

  Briefly, I recounted that I’d befriended a cabdriver and he’d given me a tour of the city the night before.

  “We ran into him in a pub,” I said, changing the story a little.

  “Of all people,” he said. “Was he in his bathrobe?”

  “No, it was strange. He seemed different in regular clothes. Really different.”

  “I can imagine. Did you talk tae him?”

  “I did. Well, Elias, the cabdriver, and I did. Gregory said he knew Jenny well.”

  “He did?” Hamlet sat up straight, leaning back from the file drawer. “How well did he know her?”

  “He said they were friends for a long, long time.”

  Hamlet nodded. “She lived there a long time. Jenny had a lot of friends, many of them undesirable, but I never knew her tae talk tae him, mention him. I didn’t know him.”

  “He’s interesting, but not someone I’d want to spend a lot of time with.”

  “Probably not. There aren’t many in that building who you would, I promise you that.”

  I nodded. “He said something that’s been bothering me since the moment he said it.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said that Jenny was never sober. Not really. That she’d never had a stretch of more than a day or so of sobriety. Hamlet, is that true, do you think?”

  Hamlet took the question seriously. He frowned and thought hard.

  “I saw her sober, Delaney, and it was for more than one day at a time. I wasn’t ever really with her for twenty-four hours in a row. But I probably saw her many days in a row, and she was sober. There was an obvious difference when she wasn’t. It was easy tae see, and I saw that plenty too.”

  I nodded and tried to act like it was no big deal. Except that it seemed I’d made him mad, or something. I could hear resistance in his tone.

  “Did she get angry at you the night before she was killed?” I said.

  “Mad? No, not even a little bit. Not happy I was there, but not mad.”

  I nodded again. “Was she a yeller? I mean did she yell at people when she was upset?”

  “Jenny? I’m not sure I ever heard her yell. I might not have ever seen her that upset, maybe,” Hamlet said, offended even more now.

  I also sensed that he wasn’t telling me the truth.

  “No?” I said. “Gregory said he heard her yelling the night before she was killed. That he was walking in the hallway and he heard her from there.”

  “That doesn’t sound at all like Jenny.”

  Nothing that Gregory had told me seemed to be sounding like the version of Jenny that Hamlet knew. Were there two versions of her or was one of the men lying? The inconsistency was part of the reason I didn’t mention the tuxedo-clad potentially red-haired man Gregory claimed to have seen. I also didn’t want to shine the light of suspicion on anyone based upon the account of someone who’d been under the influence of altering substances. Not yet at least.

  We were both silent a moment, but Hamlet spoke next. “Delaney, if Jenny was yelling, arguing, there was something wrong and someone else there. I’d like tae call the police and tell them that. They need tae be asking neighbors about that.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye. I’ll have tae talk tae them even if they become more suspicious of me. That doesn’t fit at all. Maybe someone else was seen or a voice could be recognized. I have tae try. Jenny wasn’t yelling at me. It was someone else.”

  As sincere as his concern was, I cringed inwardly. That was the last reaction I expected. I’d been fishing to see if Jenny and Hamlet had been arguing. I didn’t expect for my news to actually be important news to Hamlet too. Gregory’s reaction regarding me talking to the police had been loud and clear. Elias had mentioned that I might be in danger for doing as much. Hamlet was right, though, something needed to be said to the police. I’d known that much when Gregory had mentioned what he’d heard and what he thought he’d seen. Just because Hamlet claimed it wasn’t him didn’t make it less important. In fact, it suddenly seemed much more important. Perhaps I could handle the police without including Gregory.

  “Okay. You’re right. Let me, Hamlet. I’ll talk to them.”

  “Why you?”

  I stood and brushed off my pants. “I think it would be better. I think I should go talk to them in person.”

  “I believe a call would be fine.”

  “No, I want to go. I’ll go now,” I said.

  “Want some company?”

  “No, keep looking for the print.”

  Hamlet was still sitting on the floor. His eyebrows came together as he looked up at me. “All right. Let me know.”

  I hadn’t expected to make another trip to the police station. I hadn’t expected Hamlet’s reaction. I was thrown. But he was right. This was something the police needed to know, no matter how Gregory would react.

  I decided that the best part of my surprise redirection was that if Hamlet was so intent on wanting to inform the police, he couldn’t have possibly had something to do with Jenny’s murder.

  Could he?

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Hi, is Inspector Winters or Morgan in?” I said to the officer sitting at the reception desk.

  He looked up with bored eyes and said, “Who wants them?”

  “My name is Delaney Nichols,” I said.

  “And who’s Delaney Nichols?”

  “I work at The Cracked Spine,” I said.

  The officer picked up a phone and mumbled into it. I was standing right in front of him and I still didn’t catch the words.

  He hung up and said, “Through there, down the hall tae your right you’ll find Inspector Winters. If you get lost, yell ‘fire’ and someone will help you.”

  I blinked. “Okay.”

  The officer’s attention moved back to whatever he was reading on his desk.

  “Delaney, hello,” Inspector Winters said as he leaned out through a doorway not far down the hall. “Right in here.”

  The room was small, trimmed and framed in old wood like the rest of the inside of the building. The table and three chairs were also old wood, but were surprisingly comfortable as I took a seat and propped my arms onto the wide rests.

  “What can I do for you?” Inspector Winters said as he set a notebook on the table and held a pen at the ready. He was dressed in civilian clothes, business casual, but his smile seemed much more welcoming today. I also noticed that though his shoulders were, o
f course, still thick and wide he didn’t seem to be holding them in an intimidating way.

  I got right to it. “What would you say if I told you that I recently learned that Jenny MacAlister was heard yelling, arguing loudly, with someone shortly before she was murdered, and that some people I’ve spoken with have told me that wasn’t her way? That she wasn’t a yelling type of person. And Hamlet is adamant that she wasn’t arguing with him when he visited.”

  Inspector Winters frowned briefly. “I would say that everyone yells at one time or another, even the quietest, gentlest. I would also ask you tae give me the names of all the people who might have heard such a thing so I can get further details, just in case Jenny’s yelling might lead us tae some clues about her killer. And I would wonder why Hamlet hasn’t brought this news tae me instead of you.”

  “I can’t give you their names. Hamlet wanted to talk to you, but I said I would instead,” I said.

  “Then your information is fairly useless, hearsay. Just something you came in tae tell me, maybe just because you wanted tae waste some time,” he said as he set the pen on the table next to the notebook. “Why can’t you tell me who told you?”

  “Because I said I wouldn’t.”

  “Why wouldn’t someone want that information given tae the police? I would think that unless they’re involved in the murder or the argument, which in turn might lead tae the murderer, they would want the police tae know everything they could know tae solve the crime. Do you see my problem, Delaney?”

  “It’s not that simple. Honestly, I don’t think they were involved,” I said.

  Inspector Winters shook his head slowly. “All right, what were they yelling about?”

  “I can’t be exactly sure.”

  “I see.”

  “I have a suggestion.”

  Inspector Winters’s mouth quirked. He sat back and crossed his arms in front of his barrel chest. “I’d be happy tae hear your suggestion.”

  “I suggest you talk to all the residents in the building, particularly those on Jenny’s floor, to see if they heard the yelling, or perhaps saw someone other than Hamlet go into her room.”

  “We have talked tae the residents on her floor, others in the building tae.”