Plaid and Plagiarism

by Molly Macrae

  “We don’t have to find the answers to all our questions,” Christine said. “The value of some questions might only be that they beget more questions. But it’s all grist for the mill. Some of the notes will do that, too.” She scrolled down the screen. “Like this one that you posted this morning.” Christine adjusted her glasses and read, “‘Pamela said if Kenneth had been on the committee, Una might still be alive.’” She turned to Janet. “She said that?”

  Tallie echoed Christine. “Pamela said that? When were you going to tell us?”

  “You just read it. That’s the same as me telling you. Isn’t that the point of the cloud? Central location, no need to repeat information and risk distorting anything, no worries about someone missing important notes, time-saving efficiency. All of that? And then some, too, I’m sure.” Janet knew she was babbling, but the looks on the others’ faces were unnerving. “And now I really do need to go. Dratted meeting at the library, remember? And if I come back—”

  “If you come back?” Christine asked.

  “Let me finish. I didn’t mean it like that. If I come back with more leads to follow, or more information or questions, I’ll add them to the cloud, and you’ll all know. The magic of the Internet and the beauty of clouds, right? I can even add notes during the meeting.”

  “But is it safe?” Tallie asked.

  “You’re the one who set it up for us,” Janet said. “What makes you suddenly think it isn’t?”

  “She’s talking about your meeting, not the cloud doc,” Summer said.

  Tallie looked at Christine. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “It’s at the library,” Janet said. “Of course it’s safe. And the meeting will be safe, too. Even if the murder does have something to do with the committee or the contest, I’m a new member. I don’t share the history. In fact, Ian Atkinson’s a new member, too. Sharon Davis is the only original member. So, really, it has nothing to do with me.”

  “Except for the fact that the murder happened in your shed,” Christine said. “And except for being the victim of vandalism by rancid household rubbish, more than once, at your house and your business. And except for the fact that you are now a member of the esteemed and possibly homicidal judging committee. Aside from those minor points, you’re right. It has nothing to do with you.” Christine turned to Tallie and Summer. “Tell me honestly, was she in there nipping at that bottle of whisky?”

  “I’m actually not worried,” Janet said.

  “I am,” said Tallie.

  “But we already talked about this. Taking a larger part in the literary festival will benefit the business.”

  “But only if you’re still alive to be part of the business,” Tallie said. “Dead booksellers don’t sell books. They also don’t make good mothers. Aggravating ones, yes, but I’d rather have the pleasant, intelligent mother I’m used to. So how’s this for a compromise? I’m going to crash the committee. You tell Sharon Davis that because of the short notice she gave you, you’re amending your agreement to be on the committee. Your answer is yes only if we can be on it together, acting as one voice. If nothing else, I’ll be able to help you get through all those entries.”

  “They might have bylaws that won’t allow it.”

  “Then they’ll have to ask someone else to be on the committee.”

  “I don’t want to argue about it,” Janet said.

  “Being worried and cautious—”

  “And pointing out the folly and the danger in a situation,” Christine said, jumping in on top of Tallie, “are not the same as arguing.”

  “Think of it as negotiating,” Tallie said. “Except that I am going with you, and that isn’t negotiable.”

  While the other three discussed nuances of vocabulary, Summer read through the rest of the notes and questions Janet had posted that morning. “I have a suggestion,” she said during the moment of strained silence following Tallie’s refusal to negotiate. “It’s based on what’s in the cloud doc so far. Or, frankly, it’s more than a suggestion. I think it should be a rule. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Of course we do,” Christine snapped, “because we are nothing if not reasonable people.”

  “Good. In that case, I’ll start with the reasons. We’re talking about vandalism and murder—a nuisance crime and a serious crime. And we’re talking about threats—perceived, implied, veiled, blatant, it doesn’t matter what kind they are; we need to take them seriously, too. And we’re trying to figure out the connections between some or all of these things. For instance, whoever’s responsible for dumping the garbage seems to know the connection between Janet’s house and the bookshop. The problem is we don’t know what the connection is or what it means. We don’t know if there’s a threat or where it’s coming from. We don’t know where or to whom it’s directed. So here’s the rule. Until the murder is solved we don’t go out alone. We travel in pairs.”

  “Ha,” Tallie said. “Told you.”

  “You can carry the entries, then,” Janet said, handing Tallie the bag. “And you can buy lunch.”

  18

  Do you feel bullied?” Tallie asked.

  “By you?” Janet took her daughter’s arm as they headed down the High Street toward the library. “No. I feel fortunate to have family and friends who care about me. And I think we might have been talking at cross-purposes back there. Do you know why I said I didn’t want to argue about you coming with me?”

  “Because you’re a nonconfrontational peacenik?”

  “Because I misspoke. I meant that you’d get no argument from me. I was about to correct myself when you and Christine jumped all over me. And then Summer stepped in with her rule—which I think is a good rule. A smart one. No, dear. I’m delighted that you’re coming with me. Also that you’ll be reading half the entries. And I’m especially delighted that you’re buying lunch. Win, win, win.”

  They crossed the bridge over the Sgail, stopping briefly to let a photographer snap pictures of a kissing couple.

  “Did Allen and Nicola have engagement pictures made on the bridge?” Tallie asked.

  “No, the garden parties and romantic pictures went by the wayside when they eloped. All those grand plans would’ve been fun, wouldn’t they?”

  Tallie touched her hair. “I was looking forward to wearing a fascinator. And to seeing Allen in a kilt.”

  “Oh, that, yes. His knees have always been adorable. Maida’s insistence on the kilt might’ve been the straw that broke the wedding’s back, though. Here’s our chance to get by.”

  They hurried past while the photographer and the young man tried to convince the young woman to sit on the wall gazing at the river and the bluebells.

  “That’s a picture I’d skip, too,” Janet said. “It’s a good fifteen or twenty feet over the edge into the water. I’d rather face Maida’s disappointment over the elopement again than get up on that parapet.”

  “Or face the killer committee.”

  “Ten killer committees.”

  Basant Paudel greeted them warmly when they stopped in his shop for a takeaway lunch. While Tallie bought bridies—delicious minced steak pies with flaky pastry—and a couple of apples, Janet went looking for rubber gloves. She called the library as she scanned the aisles. A cheerful young woman answered the phone and offered to put Janet through to Sharon Davis directly, but Janet declined and asked her to pass along her apologies for running late. She might be brave enough to face a killer committee, but she saw no reason to face disappointment in her time management skills any sooner than she needed to. She picked up four sets of bright pink rubber gloves and went back to the counter, arriving at the end of a story that left Tallie laughing.

  “I’ve given you the two finest bridies I’ve seen all week,” Basant said. “And these are very good-quality latex gloves.”

  “Basant,” Janet said, “you might be able to answer a question for us.”

  “I always try to answer questions, and if I don’t know the answer, I will
make one up.”

  “You should’ve been a librarian,” Tallie said.

  “You would make a fine librarian, Basant,” Janet said. “This is more of a phone directory question. Do you know who was renting our house most recently?”

  “That I can tell you with no trouble. For several years a nice young couple lived there, Lauren and Neil Pollard. He works for CalMac Ferries and she’s a weaver. She also works in the wool shop. They enjoyed living in your house.”

  “Thank you. I felt bad about not extending their lease, but . . .”

  “But,” Basant said, echoing her verbal shrug and adding his shoulders and a sigh.

  “Do you know if they’re still in the area?” Tallie asked.

  “I believe they are, although I don’t see them as often as I used to.”

  “I should stop by the wool shop,” Janet said, “and thank her for looking after the house so well.”

  “And for starting the garden,” Tallie said. “Maybe she’d like to come pick lettuce.”

  “A nice thought,” Basant said.

  “One other thing, Basant.” Janet looked over her shoulder to see if she was holding up other customers—and to make sure none were close enough to overhear. “What do you know about rats?”

  “Rats?” Tallie asked, and Janet realized she hadn’t told her about the rats yet.

  “I’m just wondering if you’ve heard of a particular problem with them in town.”

  “It’s hard to find something to like about rats,” Basant said. “The best I can do is recite Browning’s ‘Pied Piper.’

  Rats!

  They fought the dogs, and killed the cats,

  And bit the babies in the cradles,

  And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

  And licked the soup from the cook’s own ladles,

  Split open the kegs of salted sprats,

  Made nests inside men’s Sunday hats,

  And even spoiled the women’s chats,

  By drowning their speaking

  With shrieking and squeaking

  In fifty different sharps and flats . . .

  “Well, you get the idea.” Basant took a cloth and wiped the counter, looking thoughtful. “Rats will always be with us, but no, I haven’t heard of a particular rat problem in Inversgail.”

  “That was wonderful,” said Janet. “We should have you do a poetry reading at the shop during the literary festival.” She nudged Tallie with her elbow. “What do you think?”

  “A literary evening of classic poetry—would you do it, Basant?”

  “You flatter me,” he said, “and I have thought of one more thing about rats. The ancient Egyptians were of two minds about them. On the one hand, they bring utter destruction. On the other hand, they possess excellent judgment. The Egyptians knew this to be true, because rats will always choose the best bread. And I know it to be true, because I have seen it myself. Rats never eat the scones from the Shop Which Shall Not Be Named in the next street over.”

  As soon as they left Paudel’s, Tallie attached her hand to Janet’s elbow. “Rats?” she said. “Really? I knew you were keeping something from me, but I thought it had something to do with those letters. Mom, you can’t keep things like this from me. From any of us.”

  Janet remembered the contrite face Tallie used to make when she was three or four and had been caught—head bowed, lower lip out, eyes big. She decided against trying that face herself. Instead, she picked up her pace so that Tallie had to drop her elbow and adjust the bag of contest entries on her shoulder. “You’re right, dear,” Janet said. “I should have told you. My only excuse is that there are so many other things going on, besides the fact that even the thought of rats is horrible. I’ve been pushing them as far from my mind as I can.”

  “Where are the rats?”

  “Before I tell you, I want you to do something. Close your eyes and try to picture the places you’ve been since arriving in Inversgail.”

  “I’m walking. I’m not going to close my eyes.”

  “All right. Bad idea. But have you seen signs of rats anywhere that you’ve been? Have you smelled them? It’s okay to take your time and think about it. In fact, the harder it is for you to answer, the better I feel.”

  “I don’t like rats any better than you do. I think I’d rather just hear the answer.”

  “No, that’s all right then, dear. We’ll forget about them for now. Oh, but look at the new library building, will you? All those windows looking over the harbor—think of the beautiful light they must have inside.”

  The library Janet and Tallie remembered from their summers in Inversgail had been dark and crowded into the ground floor of a retired shipping warehouse built in the early part of the nineteenth century. Except for the musty smell, the building had given the library a wonderful vaultlike atmosphere. As children, Tallie and Allen had spent many rainy afternoons there, calling it “The Dungeon of Lost Legends.” A statue of Robert Louis Stevenson stood nearby looking across the harbor toward the lighthouse. The statue was one of Inversgail’s landmarks, beloved by tourists, seagulls, and the knitters and crocheters who occasionally dressed it in their bright woolen creations.

  There had been talk, over the years, of moving the library or raising funds for a new building. Thanks to a substantial Bricks for Books grant, that finally happened, but not until after the Marsh family had stopped visiting Inversgail. Janet and Tallie passed the old warehouse on their way to the meeting, noting that “The Dungeon of Lost Legends” had been transformed into an upscale seafood restaurant called R. L.’s.

  “Looking jaunty, R. L.,” Janet called to the Stevenson statue. It wore short trousers made of crocheted granny squares and an oversized purple tam, thanks to a recent yarn bombing by a group calling itself “Your Local Knit Wits.”

  The new Inversgail Public Library and Archives, making plans to celebrate its fifth year, stood on the headland at the northern edge of the village. The library’s architect was a young woman who’d grown up in the Gorbals, an area of Glasgow known more for its high-rise public housing and hard men than for producing women architects. As the architect had explained in her winning bid, she’d visited Inversgail and was spiritually moved by the confluence of water and land, light and air, rain and sunshine, and harbor and homes that make Inversgail what it is. At a dedication ceremony for the new building, she told the audience that she’d done her best to bring all those elements together to create a modern interior within a traditional skin. She’d likened the finished product to capturing a selkie—one of those graceful, possibly mythical creatures who swim as seals in the water but can slip out of their skins and walk as humans on land. The citizens of Inversgail enjoyed the delight she took in their town. They loved the amount of glass in the new building. They thought perhaps she hadn’t actually heard or read any of the stories about selkies, but they appreciated her enthusiasm.

  Janet and Tallie climbed the hill to the library but didn’t take the time to admire the view before hurrying inside. They asked for Sharon Davis at the circulation desk and followed a woman to a small conference room behind the scenes on the first floor. The room was empty.

  “The others will be along shortly,” the woman said. “With any luck. You were smart not getting here on the dot. The rest are never on time for these meetings.”

  “In that case, I’m sorry I called to apologize,” Janet said after she’d gone. “And I worry about her familiarity with the habits of ‘these meetings.’ There was only supposed to be one meeting. ‘These meetings’ aren’t supposed to exist.”

  “Neither are selkies.” Tallie was looking out the window. “But there’s one coming out of the water, down there, right now. Nope, just a guy in a wet suit. She probably meant ‘these meetings’ in the history of the festival, don’t you think?”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I hope I don’t turn into a fangirl in front of Ian Atkinson.”

  “He’ll fall all over himself, if you do,” Sharon
Davis said. She came into the room with the inquiring eyes and smile of someone who didn’t expect to find an extra person at her meeting. But there was nothing tentative about her manner. Or about her choice of color or cologne. Her fuchsia jacket was assertive. Her scent did not hesitate. By comparison, Janet felt unassuming yet comfortable in her khakis and cardigan.

  Tallie crossed the room with her hand extended. “Hi, I’m Tallie Marsh, Janet’s daughter.”

  “Delighted,” Sharon said, taking Tallie’s hand. “I would have known immediately had I seen you standing together. Wonderful to meet you. If you’re hoping to catch sight of Ian Atkinson, he should be here any minute. Did you bring a book for him to sign?”

  “Actually, there’s been a change of plans,” Janet said. “Tallie is joining me on the committee as my co-member.” She turned to Tallie. “Is there such a word?”

  “Let’s call ourselves a team with one voice,” Tallie said.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what we are,” Janet said. She and Tallie moved to the conference table, stood shoulder to shoulder, pulled out chairs, and sat in one fluid movement, as though they’d been practicing synchronized powerposition seating for weeks. They had Sharon’s attention, so Janet explained the change they wanted to make, keeping it simple and to the point.

  Sharon listened without comment. Then she went to the door, looked left and right, came back, and sat across from them. “If it were up to Ian,” she said quietly, “the answer would be no. He seems to enjoy being the big fish in the small pond. I hadn’t realized, when I asked him to take Kenneth’s place, that he would be such a prima donna.” She leaned toward them. “And please don’t ever tell him I said that. But he’s not in charge. I am.” She sat back again. “If the only way we can have you on the committee is for the two of you to come as a package deal, then welcome aboard, Tillie.”

  “It’s Tallie, and thank you. When do you expect Mr. Atkinson?”

  “Oh, please, don’t call him Mr. Atkinson, or the meeting will take even longer, because of the endless preening.” She leaned closer again and made a face as though she’d swallowed something nasty. “I thought getting the local celebrity author was such a catch for the committee. The man has enough hot air to blow two sets of bagpipes at once.”