Of Books and Bagpipes

by Paige Shelton

  Though he didn’t act put out in the least, I felt like I’d asked too much of my pub owner’s father. It suddenly seemed like I was taking advantage.

  “Artair … thank you.”

  “Ye’re welcome.”

  Unfortunately, it was against policy for Artair to leave me unattended while he got back to work. We cleaned up the mess we’d made, both of us using our precise triple-check obsessive method to make sure we put things back better than we’d found them. I realized Artair might make for a good museum companion and filed away the idea to invite him someday.

  It might not have mattered if Artair and I hadn’t gotten along, but I was grateful that we did.

  With the thick file that held the copy of the article secure under his arm, he escorted me out of the building, telling me good-bye with a promise he’d call me soon with more details. I was torn between begging him to hurry, wanting to sneak back into the sub-basement by myself, and still feeling like I’d imposed. I kissed his cheek and told him thank you before he turned and hurried back inside.

  With no rain falling, I walked back toward Grassmarket. Hopefully my pub owner would be available for dinner. And conversation.

  SIXTEEN

  Instead of heading directly to Tom’s pub, though, I took a detour. Inspector Winters had told me specifically to not ask Grizel Sheehy questions about anything that had to do with Billy Armstrong. I hadn’t forgotten that charge as I took the route to her bagpipe shop. I told myself I was just wasting time, that chances were good that the shop wouldn’t be open on Sunday, and that I would only look from afar—definitely from across the street—for whatever it is I thought I needed to see, before I went to find Tom at his pub.

  Gray clouds filled the darkening sky and the cold temperatures made me again think of a Kansas winter, but without the snow. It was almost four in the afternoon and the sun had mostly set. For a moment I missed the way the sun set on the distant flat Kansas horizon and longed for the smells of snow.

  I wouldn’t be going home for Christmas, but my family had planned a trip to Edinburgh to visit me sometime early next year. My heart ached at the thought of not spending the holiday with them, but I tried not to think about it too much.

  Tom wouldn’t be in Edinburgh for the holiday. He and Artair were traveling to Germany to visit friends. They were taking Tom’s aunt, whose dementia was almost to the point she wouldn’t be able to travel any longer. I’d been invited, but had declined, and looked forward to creating new traditions with Edwin, Rosie, Hamlet, and Hector. But, I’d miss Tom.

  I’d become so lost in my thoughts that I arrived across from the bagpipe shop quickly, warmed through from my speedy pace. I did as I told myself I would do; I looked across the street at the shop.

  It was open, the light from the window warm and bright. Grizel was arranging a few bagpipes behind the window. She must have sensed she was being watched because she looked up, did a double take, squinted, and then smiled with a wave, signaling me to cross over and go inside.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  “Hello, lass,” she said as I came through the front door. “Did ye wonder if the shop was open?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m here all the time, except when I’m not,” she said. It was similar to what she’d said the first time I’d been in the shop. “Now, what can we do tae find some pipes for yer friend’s wife?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “All right. Is she a beginner? Or does she have some experience under her belt? I dinnae carry the cheap ones; they’re unplayable. I have some that can be played with a good tone, and then some that have the best woodwork ye’ll find anywhere. Those are the ones that sound the best and are by far the most expensive.”

  I stared at her without answering. She blinked and waited.

  “I think I figured out how I know you,” I said. “I didn’t put it together when I was last here, but after we left I remembered seeing you in Stirling at the Wallace monument.”

  “Aye, she said. “As I said, for a short time, I did help them with some bagpipes. I’m not doing that anymore.”

  “Small world, huh?

  “Aye. So what about the pipes? Is the lass a beginner or does she have some experience? Do ye ken their budget?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. I’m unprepared, I’m sorry, but I’ll tell Elias the things he needs to know before he comes back in.”

  She nodded, clearly disappointed that she wasn’t going to make a sale today.

  I forged on. “You know, I met someone when I was at the monument who was so interesting. I didn’t get his name, but he had a tattoo on his wrist. Letters, S-P-E-C, I think, but can’t be sure. Would you by chance know who I’m talking about?”

  Grizel thought a moment. “I think so, but I dinnae ken his name either. I remember seeing that tattoo though.”

  She was the best liar I had ever seen. There was nothing that gave her away; not a twitch nor any strained eye contact, no telling look up to the left. She must not have thought that Inspector Winters might have shared with me that she’d known Billy. The police usually don’t share that sort of information with civilians, and she didn’t know my real motive for asking her questions anyway.

  “Really?” I said. “Do you know any of the guys who act the William Wallace role?”

  “Oh, I ken a few of them,” she said. “But not the one with a tattoo on his wrist. I’ve seen him, but I didnae get his name. He wasnae all that friendly,” she said in a tone of warning.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye, lass, I’m sure. Now, I have no interest in talking about that group of people. Ye’ll have tae get yer own dates. If ye have any bagpipe questions, let me know.” She turned and lifted a set of bagpipes from a display and then walked to the back of the store, disappearing though a dark doorway.

  “Okay,” I said, but I doubt she heard me.

  She’d probably be back out in a minute, but I couldn’t think of anything else to ask her. The brilliant last-minute idea I’d had—get around to asking her if she knew what “SPEC” meant—had been thwarted by her lies of denial before I could get to the real question. Even if she didn’t know the words behind the letters, she certainly knew Billy Armstrong.

  I looked around the shop. Bagpipes and some of the things that go with them: tartans, sporrans, and one small rack of kilts filled the store, but nothing else. Reluctantly, and without any more conversation with Grizel, I left the bagpipe shop and made my way toward the pub.

  As I turned the corner that led into Grassmarket I was glad to spy customers inside the pub. Sunday wasn’t usually the busiest day for Tom, but some patrons would have been sad to miss their Sunday ritual if Tom hadn’t been able to fix the pipe. It looked like this Sunday was a little more popular than others.

  I crossed the street and then the square and looked inside the front window. Rodger was pouring tumblers of whisky, and Tom was leaning on the bar talking to one of the regulars. As I walked inside, Tom smiled briefly and waved at me before turning his attention back to the customer.

  There wasn’t much space to cover to make it to the bar, but a group of three men suddenly spread to fill a big chunk of the small space in the middle of the pub. I was behind them as another man approached from the corner. The three men hadn’t taken up the space on purpose, but their wall made me feel trapped.

  “Hey, I ken ye,” a voice said when the man in the corner made it around the three men.

  “Oh! Hello,” I said, my mind falling into one of those moments when it tried to connect dots it didn’t know were there.

  “Weren’t ye just in the fish market today?”

  “Yes, small world,” I said to the man Gordon had said was his boss. His voice was deep and rough, from all the cigarettes I guessed.

  He wasn’t holding a drink and I couldn’t determine if he was with someone else. He looked toward the bar and then back at me. “What was yer business there?”

  “I was shopping, but I ran into
Barclay and we’re family friends. I was surprised to see him. I hadn’t seen him in years.” I stopped myself from continuing to talk too much more.

  “Aye?”

  I nodded.

  He didn’t tell me his name, but his eyes softened a little before he said, “Excuse me.”

  He walked around me and then moved hurriedly out the door.

  I was left unsettled, but I wasn’t exactly sure why. I shook it off and made my way to the bar.

  “Who was that?” Tom said as he handed me a glass of water. I might switch to soda, but that’s as crazy as I got on school nights.

  “Someone I saw at the fish market today. I think we surprised each other here.”

  “Aye. I don’t know him, but he was familiar,” Tom said.

  “The pipe’s all fixed?” I shook off the weird moment.

  “And it’s even better than it was before. I’ll have tae replace a wood panel or two back behind there because the leak came on slowly and ruined a couple, but all’s well.”

  “Glad to hear it. You’re going to be busy for a while, huh?” I said.

  “Aye. A wee bit,” Tom said. “Sorry about that. Some of the customers are making up for the few hours of lost time since we were closed, but it’s Sunday so the crowd will probably clear in a couple of hours. Late dinner?”

  “How about a late dessert? I need to talk to Elias and Aggie. I thought I’d make them dinner, which will probably turn into Aggie making dinner, but I’ll try.”

  “Dessert it is,” Tom said with a smile. “I look forward tae it.”

  “Me too.”

  I weaved my way out of the pub again and hurried to the bus stop. I had to pass the bookshop on the way, and I glanced into the now-darkened windows, wondering what Rosie and Hamlet had done with their Sunday just as much as I wondered why Edwin hadn’t gone to talk to Gordon. I’d tried to call him again, but there was still no answer. I thought about going inside the shop, but wanted to catch Elias and Aggie before it got too late.

  The light from a streetlamp glimmered off a spot next to the window, and I stepped closer to take a look.

  A shot glass sat on the tiny corner of a brick that happened to jut out slightly. I grabbed the glass, remembering Hamlet sweeping up one he’d broken the other day. It was just a plain shot glass, the kind used in pubs everywhere, including Tom’s. I decided someone must have created some sort of ritual of taking a shot glass and leaving it at the bookshop on their way to their next destination. It seemed harmless enough, and glasses of all sorts were taken from pubs or broken all the time. I knew Tom was always ordering more.

  I put the glass in my bag and made it to the stop just as the bus arrived.

  * * *

  “Lass, ye’re verra good with the pancakes,” Elias said as he grabbed another one from the platter in the middle of the table.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Aggie smiled at me. She made pancakes that I’d wake up early for, but Elias liked my grandmother’s recipe that included lots of vanilla. I’d given Aggie the recipe, but she vowed not to make grandma’s cakes until I went back home to Kansas, a thing she hoped might never happen.

  I wasn’t much of a cook or a grocery shopper, but I usually had breakfast ingredients on hand, so dinner tonight was pancakes and eggs. I’d improvise dessert later when I saw Tom.

  I told them both everything, which meant repeating some things and noting too many details that were probably irrelevant, but I hoped they’d offer me a new perspective or an idea. I wasn’t disappointed.

  “I’m certain that SPEC was a secret society,” Aggie said. “But I havenae had much of a chance tae leuk up what it was about. Many of the secrets are probably still secrets. Ye could try tae find Clarissa Bellows. If she’s alive she might talk tae ye. It all sounds suspicious, but it could have just been young people making their lives more adventurous than they really were. Artair will remember more in time. That will help.”

  “Do you think the old secrets could be tied to Billy’s murder?”

  Elias chewed thoughtfully a moment, swallowed, and said, “Aye. No such thing as coincidences.”

  I didn’t disagree, but it was all so long ago and seemed unlikely now, no matter the coincidences.

  “All right. After dinner, we’ll look her up,” I said.

  After dinner, Aggie parked herself in front of my laptop on the coffee table and got to work while Elias and I did the dishes.

  “She’s alive, Delaney,” she said from the front room. “At least I think that’s the Clarissa Bellows ye’re looking for. She seems the right age.”

  I hurried from the kitchen and sat next to her on the couch. She’d written the address on a Post-it and handed it to me.

  Elias had followed me out, a dish and drying towel in his hands. He looked over my shoulder at the paper. “Brilliant. She’s in Edinburgh. Not close tae here or the bookshop, but I will take ye there this evening if ye like.”

  “As much as I want to, I don’t think we should go over this late, do you?”

  Elias shrugged.

  “Maybe wait until tomorrow. Ring her first if we can find her number,” Aggie said.

  “No! Dinnae call her first,” Elias said. “Dinnae let her prepare. Catch her off guard, so she cannae be ready with a lie.”

  Aggie and I looked at him.

  “He might have a point,” Aggie said.

  “Just let me know,” Elias said as he turned and headed back to the kitchen. “The cab will be available.”

  SEVENTEEN

  “Hello, lass,” Rosie said as she worked to unlock the bookshop door.

  “Good morning,” I said as I took Hector from her so she could use both hands. He wore a blue knit sweater and a gold barrette in his bangs. “Hector, you look particularly fetching this morning.” I smiled as I held him up to kiss my cheek.

  “Hamlet had a test tae study for and Edwin’s traveling to Glasgow today. It will just be us for a while.”

  “You talked to Edwin?” I asked as I followed her inside. “When?”

  “No, he left a message. Must have called me in the dead of the night. Gracious, it’s a cauld one today.” She put her bag on the front desk and hurried to the light switch and thermostat on the wall next to the stairs. “There. We should warm up soon.”

  “Why is he going to Glasgow?”

  “He didnae tell me.”

  That was the first time I’d ever heard a bitter tone in her voice when she spoke of Edwin. She’d been angry at him before but never bitter.

  “You mad at him?”

  “Aye, I’m wicket angry. I dinnae understand his loyalty tae that liar. Why hasnae he gone tae the police? I guarantee that that … man had something tae do with his son’s death,” she said as she went back to the desk and sat.

  “Edwin hasn’t gone to the police because of Fiona, but I think he should go to the police too. It’s difficult for us to understand though. Their history together, I mean,” I said as I tucked Hector into the crook of my arm so he could warm up until the temperature in the shop rose.

  Rosie tented her fingers on the desk as she leaned forward. She looked up a moment later with pursed lips.

  “I’ve thought about it, lass, and Fiona wouldnae be in any long-term trouble, and … weel, I make it a habit not tae advise Edwin on his personal finances, but he could pay back the money for her and he wouldnae even notice it was gone. I ken, I’m terrible tae even say it.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “Maybe that’s what will happen. We’ll see. But do you really think that Gordon had something to do with Billy’s murder?”

  “I dinnae mean that Gordon kil’t Billy, but something Gordon did caused his son tae be murdered. There’s no doot in my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  “I dinnae ken.”

  I bit my lip and scratched behind Hector’s ears.

  “Rosie,” I said a moment later. “Do you know anything about a secret society at the university, S-P-E-C?”

&nb
sp; “Aye, I might remember something.” She said it so quickly that I wondered if she’d been thinking about it specifically, maybe waiting for me to ask or at least the right moment to slip it into the conversation.

  “Can you tell me more about it and if Edwin ever mentioned any trouble with it?”

  Rosie removed the scarf from around her neck. It was red and orange and she’d crocheted it herself. She folded it and put it on the corner of the desk. Hector squirmed so I put him on the desk, and he trotted over to the scarf, where he curled and blinked up at me. Rosie removed her coat and let it fall over the back of the chair. She rubbed her arms but it was already warming up.

  “Aye.” She looked at the front door. There would be no customers this early. “There was trouble. It was a muckle—a lot of trouble—and Edwin, Gordon Armstrong, and Leith Stanton were at the center of it all.”

  “Okay.” I was afraid to move. I didn’t want to give her too much time to reconsider telling me stories she’d originally said she wouldn’t, couldn’t.

  She sighed deeply and said, “Grab a chair, Delaney. I’ll tell ye.”

  In the spirit of not breaking her stride, I hurriedly got a chair from the back corner table and brought it up to the front desk.

  Hector stood, considered his options, and then jumped to my lap as Rosie began.

  “They started the society, the three of them. Edwin, Gordon, and Leith. I dinnae remember what the letters stood for, but Edwin told me. Anyway, it was their idea. They were proud of themselves and their silly, youthful need tae be exclusive and secretive. Edwin admits now that they were stupid, or he did back when he told me aboot it when he thought both Gordon and Leith were dead. Back at university they thought they were something special. They thought they would create something that others would want tae be a part of, something that would automatically make anyone special.” She shook her head.

  “They were that arrogant?” I said.

  “They were, aye, but mostly young and without life experience.”

  “What happened that was so terrible?”

  “Someone got kil’t, Delaney. It might have been an accident tae be sure, but it was a tragedy just the same.”