I put my hand on his arm and told myself not to choke up too. Scottish pride had been slowly seeping into my own bloodstream.
Finally the main actor told us about Wallace’s death, and it was as gruesome as the movie had said. Wallace had been hanged, drawn and quartered, eviscerated, and beheaded. The manner in which the well-rehearsed actor spoke about Wallace’s unfair trial and death struck my already tender emotional chord, and I sniffed and wiped a tear too.
“He’s a fine lad,” Elias said. I couldn’t tell if he was talking about the actor or Wallace, or both.
As the reenactment came to an end, the main actor pulled back from the others, who stepped forward to answer questions.
“I don’t know where he’s going.” I nodded toward the main Wallace.
“Aye. He might be done for the day,” Elias said.
“Come on, I’d like to talk to him,” I said. I needed to talk to him specifically. His performance had roped me in maybe, but I knew I had to try to catch him.
We hurried around everyone else and caught up with the actor in the parking lot just as he was about to open a car door.
“Excuse me,” I said.
He looked around and then said, “Yes?”
Even with that one word, I noticed the absence of the Scottish accent he performed with.
“Hi,” I said as we stopped next to him. “My name’s Delaney and this is Elias.”
“Okay,” he said. “Can I help you?” He looked behind us. “The others usually stick around for questions.”
“Right. I … thanks,” I said. “I have a question for you specifically if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” he said, but didn’t really mean it.
“William—Billy—Armstrong. He was … I mean, did you know him? Do you know what happened to him?”
“I did know him, and I know he’s dead.” He reached for the car door again. “Who are you?”
“Aye,” Elias jumped in. “Could we buy ye a cup of coffee? I believe there’s a coffee shop up in the monument.”
“I don’t think so. I really do need to get going.”
“Just a moment of yer time,” Elias said. “The coffee will be my treat. We willna keep ye long.”
I had no idea how Elias’s words convinced the man to come with us, but they did, and a few minutes later my landlord was walking up to the counter to get the coffees as the reenactor and I sat at a table in the corner.
“I’m Delaney Nichols. I work at a bookshop in Edinburgh, but I’m from the U.S.,” I said.
“I’m Carl Hooper. I’m from California.” He sent me a conceding smile and extended his hand over the table. “I thought you might be from home.”
“Small world,” I said as we shook.
“Scotland’s home now, but it’s always nice to talk to another American.”
“I get that.” I’d been homesick for Kansas and my family a time or two, but nothing that had lasted more than a few minutes. I felt a little guilty about that. I cleared my throat. “How’d you get the job of portraying William Wallace in Scotland?”
Elias joined us, doled out the coffees, and sat on Carl’s other side.
“My wife. She’s from Inverness,” Carl said. “We moved here a couple years ago so she could be closer to her family. I’m a schoolteacher in Edinburgh.”
“The acting gig doesn’t pay, does it?” I interrupted.
“No, it’s volunteer, not a full-time thing. Well, we get lunch and coffee and a drink or two sometimes but that’s it. We don’t really know what Wallace looked like except that we’re pretty sure he was big and powerful. I love history; I found this group, or really, this group found me. One of the old guys that runs it, Oliver, approached me one night at a restaurant, said I was the right size and asked if I would be interested. It’s been fun.” He shrugged. “Normally, I’m only out here a couple evenings a week, but after Billy’s death—may he rest in peace—I was called in to cover this performance and a few others. He’s … he was the main one, the main Wallace. He loved it.” Carl cleared his throat, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of emotion or for a pause of respect. “We have others to cover, but most of the others you saw today are just here to answer questions. The old guys are scrambling for actors. You knew him, Billy? Do you know what happened to him?”
“We didn’t know him.” I looked at Elias. “My boss knew his family, was friends with his father years ago.”
“Your boss? Did he ask you to come out here?”
“Kind of,” I said before taking a gulp of the coffee. “Carl, do you guys ever have any occasion to use dirks?”
“The weapons? No, not at all. We have some dulled longswords, just props, that we use, but nothing smaller than that. Why?”
“Just curious,” I said.
“We heard that Billy was probably murdered. Was he stabbed?” Carl said.
“No,” I said. “I did hear he was murdered, but not stabbed. The question about the dirk was just my curiosity.”
“I feel terrible for his family,” Carl said. “His father didn’t seem all that friendly, but I’m sure he’s devastated.”
“I thought his father died a couple of years ago,” I said.
“Oh.” Carl’s eyebrows came together. “I might have the wrong person. Maybe. Or maybe I’m confused. As a group, the actors get together socially sometimes and I thought that his father was there one night a few months ago. Maybe not. Billy didn’t want him to stick around. I remember Billy asking him to leave. I must be mistaken, though, if his father died a while ago.” Carl scratched the side of his head and then took a sip of coffee.
“What did the older man look like? Where? What pub?” I asked.
Carl shrugged. “I don’t remember the pub exactly. Somewhere in Old Town, but the guy I thought was Billy’s dad just looked like an old weathered guy, wrinkled face, gray-white hair. Small; yeah, I remember thinking that Billy didn’t get his size from his dad. I don’t remember much more than that.”
“Billy wanted him to leave?” I said.
“Yeah, it was weird. He was embarrassed maybe, or … I don’t know. Billy seemed to not want anyone to notice him, maybe that was it. I didn’t ask him about it. He was bothered enough.”
“Did you know any more about Billy, like what he did with his free time?” I said. “He must have had a job somewhere?”
“I thought he must have had one too, or enough money that he didn’t need one. But I never learned what he did. I think I asked a couple of times, but he never answered. We weren’t close though.”
“Did Billy get along with everyone around here?” Elias interjected.
“I don’t know. He was the king of the reenactors. There are a couple other really good ones, but he was by far the best. There’s no real jealousy, though, because it’s all for fun.”
“Did he have any issues with anyone?” Elias asked.
Carl took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah. Well, there was an issue recently.”
“What happened?” I said.
“I told Oliver what I saw and he called me last night to tell me I’d be able to talk to the police this evening at a meeting we’re having. I don’t feel like I should say too much until after that. I had a feeling it had been murder, with the police and everything.”
Elias and I shared a look.
“We’re not the police, Carl, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell us what you observed. We’re here for a friend, someone who cares very much about Billy’s family. It must not be a huge deal or you would have called them instead of waiting until tonight. You can trust us. What happened?” I said.
Elias and I were quiet and still as Carl thought a moment.
“I think it’s a stretch to think that she had anything to do with murder, but there was that bagpipe lady that he dated. She had an odd name … that’s right, Grizel. He broke off the relationship, I guess—it’s hard to know what really happened because, like I said, I didn’t know Billy well—but last week, he and Grizel—she has a b
agpipe shop in Edinburgh—anyway, they were arguing. All I heard was her saying something like he didn’t deserve her anyway. It was uncomfortable and I tried to mind my own business. But … oh, man, this is tough to say now, but she was hysterical and … Billy slapped her. It wasn’t a hard slap, but that doesn’t matter. She ran off and I don’t know what happened after that, but I told Oliver when I saw him about an hour later and he seemed pretty upset.”
“I see,” I said. “Do you suppose Oliver was going to ask Billy not to be a part of the reenactments anymore?”
“I do. Oliver didn’t tell me that, but Billy’s behavior wouldn’t be something the old guys would tolerate.”
“When did this happen?” I asked.
“Tuesday.”
“And Billy hadn’t been back since?”
“No.”
“This happened here?” Elias said, and Carl nodded. “Why was the lass here?”
“For a few weeks, we had a bunch of bagpipes adding to the atmosphere. It was amazing, truly. She was in charge of the bagpipers, I guess. I don’t know if she and Billy met here, but I’m assuming so. They were together a bunch when she was around and he wasn’t acting. She’d watch his performances. Actually, it was kind of cute. Until it wasn’t.”
“You didn’t talk to Billy afterwards?”
“No, and Grizel packed up her bagpipes, told the pipers to go home, and then left. Like I said, it was uncomfortable.”
“Is Oliver here?” I asked.
“I didn’t see him today.”
“Can I get his number?”
Carl thought, and scratched the side of his head again. “I don’t think so. That feels weird.” He paused. “We do have meetings every couple of weeks, and they’re always held in a pub. That’s what I was talking about earlier. There’s a meeting tonight. It’s a public place I suppose, and apparently the police are going to be there.”
“Where?”
“Tonight, it’s King’s Wark. The meeting starts at eight.” Carl glanced at his watch. “I really do need to go.”
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“Ye’re welcome,” Elias said as we all stood. “And, lad, it might not hurt tae give the police a call about what ye saw. They might need the information before tonight even.”
“Right. You’re right. I should have done that. I will do that today,” Carl said.
Elias and I nodded. As Carl turned to go, a pack of cigarettes fell from what must have been a hidden pocket under his belt.
He picked them up and quickly hid them with his hand. “Talk about bad behavior. The old guys know I smoke, but I’m not supposed to let anyone see me with these. Bad for tourists to think William Wallace had such a vile habit. Sorry about that.”
“Your secret’s safe with us,” I said.
He moved quickly now as if the cigarette patrol were close on his heels, but when he reached the door, he paused, turned around, and came back again.
“This just came back to me. Billy had a tattoo on the inside of his wrist.” Carl looked at Elias. “SPEC. Is that a Scottish thing? I wondered.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Elias said.
“All capital letters?” I asked.
“Yeah. My wife didn’t know what it was either. When I asked Billy about it, he turned his hand over quickly and wouldn’t say a word. In fact, he wouldn’t even tell me that it was none of my business or anything. He just went silent.”
I gave Carl my mobile number. I didn’t think he wanted to give me his, but he did anyway. I promised I wouldn’t bother him. He said it was good to meet us both and that he’d enjoyed talking to someone from America before he left for good this time.
I watched him through the window as the wind lightly blew his long tunic. I thought about bagpipe sellers, dirks, and tattoos, and how, if in any way at all, they were connected.
Every man dies, but not every man really lives, William Wallace said in my mind.
I didn’t know if I’d read the words in a book, heard them in a movie, or perhaps seen them here at the monument sometime today. They might have been written on something in the coffee shop. I smiled at the voice that had sounded nothing like Carl’s. Perhaps I was really hearing the man himself. No better place to find my ghost, I thought.
“Delaney?” Elias said.
“Yeah?”
“Ye’re getting better at this. Asking questions, getting answers.”
“That was the American connection.”
“Meebe,” Elias said. “Why did ye need tae talk tae him specifically, not one of the others?”
“He was the main guy today. I figured the main guy knew the most, I guess. Just a feeling I had. What did you think of what he said?”
“I’m not certain. Do ye think the lass, Grizel, had anything tae do with Billy’s murder?”
“I have no idea. Did you notice any dirks, souvenir or otherwise, in her shop?”
“No. And I leuked.”
“Want to see if Aggie wants to go out to a pub tonight?”
“We’ll ask her. Come along. The clouds are finally coming over. I think the rain’s on its way. Let’s get back tae Edinburgh.”
TWELVE
It turned out that neither Elias nor Aggie could join me at The King’s Wark, but Tom could. I got the impression that my landlords bowed out when they realized Tom was available, on a Saturday night of all things. They frequently extricated themselves from the room when Tom showed up at my house. We were used to their less than subtle ways of encouraging our relationship.
Tom and I could see right through them but we agreed that it was all working out just fine.
However, we had run into a few moments of discomfort of another sort—for Tom, not for me—over the last few months. And those moments had nothing to do with Elias or Aggie.
Edinburgh was a large city, but not quite large enough to keep all of Tom’s previous dates and girlfriends hidden from us. When I first mentioned The King’s Wark as the place I’d like to go and why, he quickly tried to hide a cringe.
“What?” I’d said.
“Well, it will be fine, but I’d rather we went almost anywhere but there.”
“A girl?”
He nodded. “Aye. More long term than anyone but you.”
I’d asked for honesty. He’d been good about it.
I smiled. “I’m the longest term?”
“Aye, you and I have been together longer than I’ve been with any other woman. That’s a ridiculous thing tae discuss, but there it is. And I have no plans tae put the record tae the test.”
“Not ridiculous at all. So what’s keeping us together, I wonder?” I said.
“Your smile. Among other things,” he said seriously, not playing into the banter I thought we might be about to engage in.
I nodded and smiled, staying silent so I wouldn’t risk ruining the moment.
Now, though, as we made our way through the pub, I began to wonder if this might be more than just slightly uncomfortable for Tom. I watched a really pretty woman behind the bar give us the stink eye.
“I’m sorry, Tom, we don’t have to do this,” I said.
“It’s okay, lass.” He winked at me and led us to a small table on the perimeter of what I’d thought looked like the group of William Wallaces. There must not be many secrets in the group if they were so willing to meet in such a public place as a pub, or maybe their meetings were strictly social.
I didn’t spot Carl or any police officers, but the group that had taken over the few tables and the rest of the space in the corner was made up of broad-shouldered men, most of them with longish hair. They didn’t look so much like clones in their street clothes, but there were more of them in the pub than had been at the monument, and the sight of them together was still unusual. The other pub customers sent frequent curious glances over in their direction.
Tom and I sat at a table close to the group with the hope of blending into t
he beautifully carved woodwork and the river view out through the pub’s front windows. We thought our hope was thwarted when the woman who’d been behind the bar approached the table, a fiery march in her steps.
“Tom?” the woman said much more quietly than the melodrama in her expression would dictate.
“Kate, hello,” Tom said. “I know this is a bit unorthodox, but my friend heard about your pub and really wanted tae see the inside of it. She’s from America and I wanted tae be the one tae show it tae her.”
Kate blinked at him and then at me. Her long, straight, almost-black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. The lack of frizz, even with the rainy weather, made me want to smooth my own hair but I resisted. Her blue eyes almost matched Tom’s. Given a few moments, she finally seemed more perplexed than angry.
“I see. I’m Kate.” She extended her hand.
“Delaney.”
“Aye? Like the name of his pub?”
“Yes.”
She smirked. “Weel, welcome to Scotland. It’s been some time since I’ve seen Tom. Forgive my surprise.” She paused, took a deep breath. “I’ll warn ye now, though, he’s not one for settlin’ doon. Be prepared tae have yer heart broken if ye’ve any idea for something long term.”
I nodded.
She held up her left hand. “I married a few months ago.”
“Congratulations,” I said.
“Congratulations,” Tom said.
I thought he might add something like “lucky guy,” but he knew better. The trait about Tom that I’d come to cherish the most was his sincerity. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean one hundred percent. He wasn’t sarcastic. He might have dated more than his fair share of women, but he’d never lied to them, according to the information I’d been given. His honesty was sometimes too brutal, I guess, but never left anyone in the dark as to where they stood in his life. I realized it was a trait I cherished because it hadn’t been used against me yet. If that day came, I might rethink how much I admired it.
“Aye. He’s a wonderful man.” She blinked at Tom again. “Can I get ye both some whisky?”
Of Books and Bagpipes Page 10
