The Stolen Letter

by Paige Shelton

I blinked at the change of subject. “I do, but I will love the house too.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I see you looking around this place. We haven’t left yet and you’re already missing it.”

  “Tom, I will love wherever we are together.”

  Tom nodded. “Me too.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket. I wrestled it free.

  “Hey, Rosie, everything okay?”

  “Aye,” she said. “I just got a call from our new friend. She called my personal mobile. I was surprised.”

  “Who?”

  “Mary Stewart. She wants to talk to you, Delaney. She said you’re the only one who can understand what she’s going through, that you’re soul sisters of a sort. I said I would talk tae ye tomorrow, so ye dinnae need tae call her tonight. But here’s her mobile. I gave her mine at dinner, but she said she neglected tae ask for yours.”

  At least there was a pen close by, but with no paper I wrote the number on my arm. “How was she?”

  “Awful. A mess really. I tried tae console her, but I dinnae think I did much good. I feel bad for the wee lass, but I dinnae really know her, Delaney. Neither do ye. Don’t feel obligated.”

  “I won’t.” I already did.

  I disconnected the call and looked at the number on my arm.

  “Want to call her tonight?” Tom asked, easily overhearing the call.

  I punched in the number, but something stopped me from hitting Send.

  “What?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know. Her husband was killed and she wants to talk to someone she just met. I mean, I felt a connection too, but … something tells me not to call her just yet. Is that cruel?”

  “No. Rosie was correct, you don’t need to feel obligated. Listen to your gut,” he said.

  “I might call her tomorrow, but I’m not sure.” I stopped looking at my arm and gave my attention to the cobalt eyes looking back at me. “Tonight is just for you and me.”

  He smiled and his eyes brightened. “Aye?”

  “Oh, yes, aye.”

  TWELVE

  By the time I headed into work the next day, I still hadn’t called Mary, and someone was at the bookshop to further divert my attention. Considering she’d been wearing some of the crime-scene coveralls when I first saw her, it might have been surprising that I recognized her. But I did. Immediately.

  She was tall, over six feet by a couple inches, and her eyes held the same scrutiny I’d noticed on the Royal Mile. In fact, when I first walked into the bookshop and saw her talking to Rosie, I had an urge to wave when she turned toward me, as though we’d shared more than brief eye contact.

  “Delaney?” she said.

  “Yes, you’re with the police?” I said as I approached.

  She hesitated a beat. “I am. Inspector Buchanan. You look so much like…”

  “Mary Stewart. Yes, I know.”

  She frowned, for some reason not pleased with the resemblance. A scenario suddenly played through my mind. Was there video of someone somewhere doing something they shouldn’t have been doing—like maybe planting a bomb? Did the person look like Mary and me, and was this going to be a problem? In fact, my mind had gone there a couple of times already. It was probably too paranoid a notion as well as part of the reason I hadn’t called Mary back yet.

  I continued, “I just met Mary a few days ago. It was a surprise for both of us.”

  Inspector Buchanan nodded and plunked her hands on her hips. “That was you I saw at the crime scene yesterday. I wondered when Mary said it hadn’t been her and told me about the resemblance between the two of you. Why were you there?”

  For a moment, I felt truly terrible. Maybe that’s why Mary was trying to get ahold of me, to warn me the police might be coming to see me. I felt like a fool.

  Inspector Buchanan hadn’t even asked for a private place to talk. Behind the inspector’s back, Rosie sent me some high eyebrows. Hector, not liking attitude thrown at any of his people, trotted around the desk and to me. He sat at my feet protectively and faced the inspector. We all looked down at him as he panted displeasingly at the tall woman. She shook her head once and then looked back at me.

  “Well?” she said.

  “I’m not exactly sure. The news about Henry was tough to take and I needed some air. I boarded the bus and I realized I needed to see where … where it happened. It was shocking that there weren’t more injuries.”

  She blinked at me, once, twice, and then pursed her lips. “You just met Henry recently?”

  “Three nights ago. He cooked us dinner.” My voice cracked. Hector moved closer. I wanted to pick him up but that seemed too frivolous.

  “I see. Can you please tell me about the dinner? Who was there? What occurred?”

  “Excuse me,” Rosie said. “Please, won’t the two of ye take a seat in the back, or perhaps in one of the offices next door? Ye’re sure tae scare away any potential customers.”

  Without a word, Inspector Buchanan glanced toward the table and then made her way to it. I picked up Hector and joined her, sitting down and ignoring her critical expression when she looked at the dog on my lap.

  Rosie didn’t offer to grab coffee or tea, which of course was Rosie code for “let’s not keep her here too long.”

  “Your coworker,” Inspector Buchanan nodded toward Rosie, who was now back at the front desk, “told me her version of the events at the dinner. I’d like to hear about it from your perspective.”

  I told her the details, but just their barest of bones. I didn’t mention what’d I’d seen Mikey do, the expressions he’d shared with Henry and Dina. I would have told Inspector Winters, but I wasn’t ready to trust Inspector Buchanan. I could see that she was suspicious of me too, but not enough to question me in any official capacity. For the time being at least.

  “Who was the woman you were with at the scene yesterday?”

  “Eloise. She’s a doctor, but I’m afraid I never caught her last name. She was introduced to us only as Eloise.”

  “Introduced? At the dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  Inspector Buchanan hadn’t taken any notes, until that moment. She reached into her jacket pocket for a notebook and a pen. “Her name again?”

  “Eloise is all I got.”

  She frowned deeply as if she was highly perturbed that I didn’t know more about the doctor. I held back the shrug that made its way to my shoulders. I didn’t tell her I knew Eloise was Mary’s doctor.

  “But she was at the dinner?” Inspector Buchanan asked.

  Hadn’t I said that? “Yes. Along with her partner, Gretchen. As well as Mary’s niece, Dina, and Dina’s husband, Mikey.”

  “Right.” She tapped her pencil on the paper. “What do you think of Mary’s claim of reincarnation? Do you believe it?”

  I wanted to ask her the relevance of such a question, and then I remembered my attorney. It hadn’t occurred to me to tell the police I wouldn’t talk to them without my attorney present. Inspector Buchanan had made it seem so casual that I’d done what all those people on TV do, just kept talking. As I watched them, I’d roll my eyes and exclaim that “that would never happen to me.”

  “I didn’t not believe, but I wasn’t convinced. Why?” I crossed my arms in front of myself. Hector whined.

  “It’s a curious thing, is all. A very curious thing. All right then. Well, your account of those attending the party is the same as your coworker’s. I guess I just have one more thing.” She looked over at Rosie who was looking at us. The inspector waved her to us.

  Rosie frowned but came over to the table.

  Inspector Buchanan seemed to like the audience. She gave a proper dramatic pause before she continued.

  “At any time that evening, did Henry, the victim, mention that he was working to shut down this place? This bookshop was going to be closed down because it was something he set in motion?”

  There it was. We’d all wondered, and it now seemed so
devastatingly real. Nevertheless, I tried to keep a stiff upper lip.

  “No,” I said.

  “No,” Rosie said.

  At least we both kept it simple.

  “I see. I just wondered if that was something that came up during the dinner Henry cooked for you. That’s all,” Inspector Buchanan said.

  I did not like her.

  “It most certainly did not.” Rosie stood up straight and held her chin defiantly.

  “No, it didn’t. Everyone was very friendly, welcoming,” I said, sadness filling my chest. The question came to me again—had that entire dinner been some sort of setup for something? It wasn’t clear what end result they were looking for, but Tom was correct, something wasn’t right.

  “Is that really the truth? Henry the councilor was trying to close the bookshop?” I asked.

  “It seems he had proposed a vote, scheduled to take place next week, as to whether or not the council would agree to an inspector’s findings that this building should be torn down, that it was beyond repair.” Inspector Buchanan looked around with an odd twinkle in her eyes. Schadenfreude came to mind. Was she enjoying our misfortune?

  “There’s been no inspector to visit us,” I said.

  “No,” Rosie added. “We’ve had no inspector.”

  Inspector Buchanan looked back and forth between us. She was either perplexed or thought we were lying, and was determined to figure out which it was.

  “Well, that’s certainly most interesting,” the inspector said. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course we’re sure,” Rosie said.

  Hector decided Rosie might need him more so he hopped off my lap and moved to sit at her feet. Inspector Buchanan rolled her eyes at the dog.

  “Well, I’ll have to look at that more closely,” she said.

  “In fact,” I smiled, but it probably seemed faked and forced, “we would very much like it if someone would. If there hasn’t been an inspection, there can’t be a vote, right?”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. Signals have been crossed, that’s apparent. I’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  She stood and smoothed her slacks over her thighs, pulled once at the hem of her jacket. I realized she wasn’t dressed in a uniform. I’d talked to her, done as she’d wanted me to do, and she didn’t even look official. I was now one of those people on TV.

  “Thank you for your time,” she said. She looked around. “I heard this place was dangerous, not a safe place to be at all, that no repairs would be possible. You all might want to consider shutting it down anyway.”

  “Does it look dangerous?” I asked.

  “No. It looks old though and that might be the same thing.”

  I stood. “You’ve seen the report?”

  She didn’t like my question, but she couldn’t lie either. “Well, no, but I heard about it. I’ve spoken to some other council members.”

  “Please, Inspector Buchanan, if you see it, may we see it too?” I asked.

  “I will follow protocol, whatever that might be. But you all should consider that you’re in denial here.”

  I opened my mouth but she turned and marched away. Rosie put her hand on my arm and shook her head. I closed my mouth.

  Inspector Buchanan didn’t even look back as she opened the door and went through. She was gone, but she’d left a hell of a wake behind.

  THIRTEEN

  “Oh dear,” Edwin said after Rosie and I gave him and Hamlet the news.

  Rosie had sent them both a 999 text, not bothering to ask me to do the honors as she usually did when it came to mobile technology.

  However, she’d looked at her phone seriously before she’d sent it.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s a real emergency. At least we have more information.”

  She’d nodded and hit Send.

  I was by far the most riled up of all of us. Rosie had been upset briefly but Edwin had remained cool. Hamlet was bothered by the police inspector’s methods and wanted to tell her as much. I bit down on my anger when Edwin’s demeanor wasn’t as heated as I thought it should be.

  I was ready for a fight. I didn’t know who I was supposed to fight, but I wanted the rest of my coworkers to feel the same.

  “What should we do?” I asked.

  Edwin sat up straighter and nodded. He heard my desperation. “I haven’t heard from the Lord Provost, but I know others in his office. I will call them too, see if I can get more information. Surely, the vote will be postponed.”

  “Wait, can we go see the Lord Provost? Just stop by his office? Maybe he’d see us.” I shrugged.

  “No, probably not.” Edwin fell into thought and looked up an instant later. “However, we can visit someone else, I think. Someone who works for the city. Would you like to try?”

  “Yes!” I said. Hell to the yes. “Let’s go.”

  Edwin stood. “We can walk there.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll grab the umbrellas.”

  * * *

  The business licensing division for the city of Edinburgh was located on the Royal Mile, another bus ride or, as we’d chosen today, a quick walk past Tom’s pub (we stuck our heads in and said hello), up Victoria Street, and then not far down the Royal Mile, the street that led to the sea, the street that had seen the terrible recent tragedy of Henry’s murder as well as so many other tragedies over the centuries. It was once the whole city, the place where all of Edinburgh used to work and live back in the days when people were far too crowded together and things like the Black Plague could easily have its way with the population.

  Today, clouds above threatened rain, but no raindrops fell. I figured that was because I’d made sure we were well prepared with the umbrellas. If I’d forgotten them, as I frequently did, it would have surely rained. And that was an official observation.

  Along the walk, we talked about Edwin’s lady love and the new menu she was incorporating into her restaurant. Until he’d dated a restaurant owner, Edwin hadn’t been interested in food. Now it was one of his main topics of conversation. We’d probably had more conversations about spices and food preparation techniques than we’d had books over the last little while.

  I was pleased to have something to talk about other than all the horrible things we’d talked about at the bookshop.

  “Here we are,” Edwin soon said.

  The business licensing division was housed in another beautiful, old, historical building, on its bottom floor, adorned only with a calligraphed sign in the window announcing the office’s hours. Edwin pulled the door open and waited as I went through.

  The inside was contemporary. The office was just like any other government office I’d been inside in the States—gray and brown and generic. If it was a busy place, we managed to hit a lull in the traffic. Only one person stood on this side of the counter as three others looked up at us from behind it.

  “Help you?” A young man said as he moved toward his side of the counter.

  “Aye,” Edwin said. “Is Lyle in?”

  “Um, well, I’ll have a look. May I tell him who’s inquiring?”

  “Edwin MacAlister.”

  “One moment.”

  I watched the man disappear through a doorway and down a hall. Like Mikey, he also reminded me of my friend at the museum, Joshua. Tall, thin, topped off with glasses with big, black frames. I sensed I needed to pay Joshua a visit.

  “Lyle doesn’t get much company?” I quietly asked Edwin. “That guy seemed surprised you asked for him.”

  “He likes to remain hidden. You’d be surprised by the level of vitriol some people can have regarding their business licenses.”

  I blinked at him. “No, Edwin, I don’t think I would be.”

  Edwin’s mouth made a straight line as he nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Come through, Mr. MacAlister,” the clerk said as he reappeared from the hallway.

  Edwin and I looked at each other. That was easy.

  We were led down the hallway to the last office on t
he left. I was always surprised when something in an Edinburgh building was so normal. Even now, after I’d been in the country long enough to see both spectacular architecture and boring, normal buildings, I pushed away some disappointment at the plain walls and common linoleum floor.

  The clerk pushed open the door and then stood back out of our way.

  “Edwin, what a lovely surprise!” The man, Lyle, I presumed, stood from behind the desk and extended his hand.

  It wasn’t a tiny office, but it wasn’t roomy either. If he was the head of business licensing of the entire city, the position didn’t come with a luxurious office.

  “Lyle. Pleasure’s all mine.” They shook. “This is Delaney Nichols. She’s a good friend and an employee at the bookshop. Delaney, this is Lyle Mercado.”

  Lyle wasn’t as old or as distinguished at Edwin. Maybe in his sixties, he was rough around the edges, scruffy beard and wrinkled clothes, and above a friendly smile his eyes glinted with disapproval or discomfort. His accent was lighter than Edwin’s, similar to Tom’s, but, again, I knew I didn’t hear them the same way anymore. Before long, I might actually speak some Scots.

  “Nice to meet you, Delaney.” We shook, and his tight smile melted as he looked at me. He withdrew his hand and looked away from my eyes and downward as his eyebrows came together. He recovered somewhat, but not all the way, giving me another quick smile.

  “You too.”

  “Have a seat,” he said. “Coffee machine’s broken. I can’t offer you anything at all. No, not true. I have gum in my desk.” He pulled open the top drawer and rummaged around nervously. “Would you like some gum?”

  “No, thank you,” Edwin said.

  I said the same, but then I looked over at Edwin. His demeanor had changed. He now looked at Lyle suspiciously.

  “Lyle,” Edwin said. “We’ve come to ask you a question and it might seem an odd one, but we’ve heard something recently and I knew the only way to get the answer was to come right to a source who might know.”

  Lyle sighed and sat back in his chair. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “You have?”