Of Books and Bagpipes

by Paige Shelton

  “Grizel,” I tried to say, but it came out as a croak. “Grizel.”

  She moaned but didn’t speak.

  Good enough, I thought. I couldn’t see that anyone had noticed the ruckus on the side of the hill. No one was coming to our aid; we were in darkness and it was only getting darker.

  I pulled out my phone and somehow managed to call for help.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “Ms. Nichols, wake up.”

  “Tom?”

  “No, it’s Dr. Preston. You fell asleep. Wake up.”

  I’d forgotten I was in a hospital. I opened my eyes wide and shot out of the chair. I’d fallen asleep with my head against a wall in the waiting room.

  “Is she okay?” I asked with a sleep-graveled voice.

  “She’s fine. A concussion, but not a bad one. You probably saved her life.” A short man with Einstein hair and friendly eyes, Dr. Preston had a calm demeanor that must have served his physician role well.

  “I … I’m glad she’s okay.”

  “We’re going tae keep her overnight but she’ll be released early tomorrow morning.”

  “May I talk to her?” I said.

  “Yes. She just finished with the police and asked about you. She’d like to talk to you too, but I wanted to make sure you also talked to the police before they left.”

  “I already did. I’m sorry I fell asleep out here.”

  I’d told the police only about the attack, sticking to a minimum of details, and like the police at the castle, they assumed I was simply visiting the monument as a tourist. I wasn’t trying to protect Edwin or anyone.

  “Fatigue can be a normal reaction to all the stress. You show no sign of serious injury but you’ll be sore tomorrow. You need to get home and get more rest, but it’s okay to take a few minutes with Ms. Sheehy. She’s in room 201.”

  “Thank you,” I said as Dr. Preston smiled and then made his way down the hallway.

  I grabbed my bag and flung it over my shoulder. I’d already confirmed that the Rob Roy letter was still safe inside it. Not that the letter was nearly as important as Grizel’s or my wellbeing, but I was glad I hadn’t lost it in the scuffle.

  The wait for help hadn’t been long, and the ambulance ride had been speedy. I’d been fine once my breathing returned to normal, but Grizel said her shoulder hurt. I’d made her stay still as I covered her in my coat, but we were found and helped off the side of the hill quickly enough that I didn’t have a chance to get much colder. The paramedics had been careful with Grizel, but I was able to walk on my own. They insisted I come with them to the hospital, mostly, I thought, because they knew I didn’t have another ride. I rode in the back of the ambulance and sat next to one of the paramedics, who assured me that Grizel wasn’t badly injured. Once I’d been examined again at the hospital, I sat in the waiting room with the hope I could make sure Grizel really was okay before I went home. I didn’t even remember being tired enough to fall asleep.

  I knocked on the door of room 201.

  “Come in,” Grizel said.

  The window curtains were open wide to the inky darkness outside. This side of the hospital must have faced the countryside since there were only a few lights dotting the view.

  “Lass, thank ye for saving my life, but who in the name of the almighty above are ye and why were ye there?” Grizel said as I came into the room.

  Her cheek was more swollen and bruised than it had been earlier and I held back a gasp. Her arm was in a sling but I didn’t see a cast or any other injuries.

  I closed the door behind me.

  “Well, I’m not exactly who I pretended to be,” I said.

  “No kidding? Tell me what’s going on.”

  I told her. I started with finding Billy Armstrong’s body on the roof of the castle, and then her business card and the dirk; told her he was the son of a friend of my boss’s; wondered if a mystery from long ago had been the reason Billy had been killed. I didn’t tell her Gordon was still alive. I gave her a big picture of the story, not a version with lots of details, but enough.

  “Ye and yer friend pretended tae want some bagpipes? Why didn’t ye just ask me about Billy?” she said.

  “I’d delivered the dirk and your card to the police the night before. Remember the police officer who had just talked to you as we were coming in?”

  “Aye.”

  “He told me to mind my own business, and it truly was none of my business anyway.”

  She smiled and then cringed at the pain in her cheek.

  “Aye, none of yer business tae be sure. Nevertheless, there’s not much tae tell. Billy and I dated briefly, very briefly, lass; only two dates. He was a strange lad, but I tend tae like strange. Anyway, I told him I didn’t think it was going tae work. He got angry and slapped me. I got angry at the whole lot of them and took my bagpipes and went home. However, and no disrespect to Billy, I enjoyed being at the monument, so I went back today tae tell them I regretted leaving. I’d left some bagpipes there that needed to be fixed. I grabbed them from a small storage shed and was walking up the hill when I was tackled. It was dark. I assumed it was someone taking advantage of a lone female in the darkness. Thank goodness ye were there tae save me.”

  I cleared my throat. “Why did you lie about the SPEC tattoo on Billy’s wrist?”

  “I didn’t lie! I never saw that tattoo on Billy’s wrist. It was only two dates, and he wore sleeves, I suppose. I just didn’t see it, if there was one there.”

  “But you said you saw it on someone.”

  “Aye, I did. In fact, today I asked about it. Your question had me wondering. When I was talking to the lads, I asked who had the tattoo. None of them remembered.”

  “Do you remember which guys you were talking to? Did you tell the police?”

  “Not specifically, no. It didn’t occur tae me tae tell the police.”

  “Try hard to remember,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have any idea how it all fits together, Grizel, but if one of the reenactors other than Billy has that tattoo, I would not be surprised if he was Billy’s killer. And the one who attacked you too.”

  Grizel blinked and shook her head “I don’t even know all their names.”

  “Just try to remember, and then tell the police. I’m sure they can show you pictures. I’ll talk to the police too. I’ll tell them they need to round up the reenactors right away and look for the one with the tattoo.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t think it was important tae give them that detail.”

  “I think it’s the most important thing now.”

  “All right. I will. I’ll call them right away.”

  I handed her her phone from the nightstand, and then pulled mine out of my bag. I didn’t know exactly who to call first; I chose Inspector Winters.

  TWENTY-SIX

  After a call to Inspector Winters that started out confusing but was ultimately successful, I called everyone else. The only one I woke up was Rosie, but she was just as willing as the others were to meet me for a middle-of-the-night meeting at the bookshop. Inspector Winters would confer with other officers and they would round up the reenactors to check wrists for tattoos.

  We sat around the back corner table as I told Rosie (a sleepy Hector on her lap), Tom, Elias, Aggie, Hamlet, and Edwin (who’d answered the late-night call I’d made probably because late-night calls can’t be ignored as easily as daytime calls) about what had happened in Stirling, and then I rehashed everything else. It was a bigger than normal crowd for the small bookshop, but the members listened with rapt attention.

  * * *

  As I spoke, I couldn’t help but notice Elias as he crossed his arms in front of himself and anger took over his features.

  I knew I should have asked him for a ride. I sent him an apologetic smile and Aggie patted his shoulder. He sighed and shook his head before he uncrossed his arms and blinked away some of the anger.

  Tom was the only one not sitting down. He stood wi
th his hands on his hips, and worked hard to contain his concern, and probably some unpleasant words for Edwin. I smiled at him too, but it didn’t help.

  Rosie cried a little and Hamlet seemed perplexed, but I went through every single detail with them. I thought I’d shared almost everything with them all, but I wanted them there together to make sure I didn’t leave things out individually.

  “Enough is enough,” Edwin said when I’d finished. “I will call the police and tell them everything.”

  “I hoped you’d feel that way. Inspector Winters will be here soon,” I said.

  “Aye,” Edwin said with a nod. “I’m glad ye asked him here.”

  If he was angry he hid it well. For the others, I’d said the magic words, and their anger and tears mostly went away. I hadn’t yet told Inspector Winters all the details. I was leaving that up to Edwin, mostly because I didn’t want Rosie and Hamlet to get in trouble for knowing that Gordon was alive and not telling the police. I knew Fiona had more terrible things ahead, but we’d help her through it. However, if Edwin didn’t tell Inspector Winters about Gordon, I would.

  “I will tell him everything, Rosie,” Edwin said. “Everything.”

  “Aye,” she said with a sniff.

  Ten minutes later Inspector Winters joined us. He wore jeans and a dress shirt and a demeanor of grave seriousness.

  “Evening,” he said as his focus landed on me, bringing his eyebrows together. “You okay, Delaney?”

  “Fine. You get people rounded up?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  Inspector Winters declined the offer of coffee, and pulled out his notebook and pen as Edwin began talking. I was pleased that Edwin did, in fact, tell him everything. Kind of. He did say that Gordon was not dead and had come into the bookshop, but he didn’t mention that Hamlet, Rosie, and I had been there too. He also talked about SPEC and a long-ago boating tragedy. He said that finding the man with the SPEC tattoo might lead to the killer and Grizel’s attacker, but the decades-ago tragedy was fuzzy in his memory. He promised to try to remember more clearly.

  No one could figure out why another reenactor might want to kill Billy Armstrong, but the pieces of the puzzle certainly seemed to lead to the distinct possibility. For their part, Inspector Winters said the police had some difficulty finding someone to give them the names and addresses of all the reenactors, but they’d finally found a board member who was mostly helpful. He didn’t know how long it would take, but the police would be inspecting wrists until they found what they were looking for.

  I’d been inside the shop, the warehouse, at midnight before. Grassmarket always saw some pedestrian activity at this time of night, but rarely were the lights on this late in this part of the bookshop. The glow from the old fixtures was warm and welcoming and invited passersby to peek inside. We were all mostly hidden in the back corner, but Elias sat off to the side and could see out the front window. Every now and then he’d send glares that unmistakably told anyone looking in that the shop was closed, and not to bother knocking.

  “Edwin, when you were contacted about the Oor Wullie annual, are you sure it was Billy Armstrong who contacted you, not Gordon Armstrong?” Inspector Winters asked.

  “I don’t think it was Gordon. He has a distinctive voice, and though I might not have recognized it at the time, I would have known it was an old man calling me. He claims he’s sick, possibly dying. You can hear the decades of cigarettes in his voice,” Edwin said.

  I noticed one of Inspector Winters’s eyebrows rise before he wrote another note. He rested the notebook on the table and looked at Edwin again.

  “I heard about the boating tragedy and I did some research. Your clothes weren’t wet,” Inspector Winters said.

  He’d seen the same picture I had. I hid my surprise with a swallow and by crossing my arms in front of myself.

  “I didn’t go into the water,” Edwin said, nonplussed.

  “Everyone else seemed to have.”

  “I was the only one who didn’t go into the water all the way when the lad went over.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Inspector Winters asked.

  “Because I was busy trying to keep someone else from jumping in. I succeeded until we were almost ashore. My shoes were in fact wet, but barely any of the hem of my pants. The police questioned me specifically about that—was my answer not in the file?”

  Inspector Winters didn’t answer, but waited patiently for Edwin to continue.

  Edwin shrugged and sent me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. “There was so much happening that night.”

  “Who were you trying to keep from going into the water?” Inspector Winters asked.

  “Clarissa Bellows.”

  Inspector Winters wrote in his notebook. “Who was she? Why didn’t you want her to go into the water?”

  “She was the only woman invited into SPEC, and I knew she was pregnant. I was the first one she told. She was pregnant with Billy Armstrong, Inspector. She gave the baby to Gordon and his wife Fiona to raise, and they named him.”

  “I see.” Inspector Winters looked at me briefly. I had no idea what to say or do so I just looked back at him silently. He turned back to Edwin. “But ultimately she did get in the water to try to get the man who’d gone overboard?”

  “Aye. As we were close to shore, she managed to get in all the way, I managed to stay on my feet and help her out of the water.”

  “Excuse me, Inspector Winters,” Rosie said. “Whose knife—dirk—killed the man?”

  “There was no knife. He fell overboard,” Inspector Winters said.

  I noted to myself that though Inspector Winters had seen the picture, he must not have seen all the articles. I said to Rosie, “What made you think there was a dirk?”

  “I thought that’s what Edwin told me long ago,” she said absently, zeroing in on whatever past moment that conversation had taken place.

  “Edwin?” Inspector Winters said.

  “No dirk,” Edwin said. He smiled wearily but supportively at Rosie. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

  “Och, it was long ago when ye told me. I’m sorry I’m not remembering it correctly.”

  “In the police report, there’s no mention of a weapon of any sort,” Inspector Winters said to Rosie. “Stories change over time, even sometimes in our own minds.”

  “Aye,” she said doubtfully. “Aye,” she repeated with confidence this time. “I’ve heard so many a story over the years that I probably confused it with something else.”

  Her words didn’t seem to send anyone else a big wallop of suspicion, but she had spoken with too high a pitch for me to think she believed what she was saying. If he caught it, Inspector Winters didn’t give any indication. I worked hard not to slant my eyes toward her. I was just about to mention Artair’s sub-basement research when a voice sounded in my mind.

  Then you shouldn’t talk.

  It was the Mad Hatter from Alice in Wonderland responding to “I don’t think…”

  I had no idea why my intuition suddenly and adamantly told me to keep quiet, but I listened to it.

  “The next step for the police is tae find someone with a SPEC tattoo and tae track down Gordon Armstrong. Do you have any idea where he lives?” Inspector Winters asked.

  “A room near the fish market,” Edwin said. “But I don’t know exactly. I was at the market today, but no one would tell me where he lives. My questions might have put him in a bad position, and the manager might not be pleasant tae him the next time he sees him. If you don’t get tae him soon, I might have scared him away.”

  I looked at Rosie and remembered that I hadn’t told anyone about someone possibly from the fish market stopping by the bookshop. She nodded.

  “Excuse me,” I said, but I waited a moment to see if any bookish voices wanted to suggest that I keep quiet. I didn’t hear anything. “It seems like there is something I forgot.”

  Tom had been silent, but took a supportive step closer to me as
Rosie and I told everyone about the customer who’d purchased The Old Man and the Sea as well as the meeting I’d missed that evening. Hamlet had put the note into the drawer in the back table. He gathered it and gave it to Inspector Winters who held it so I could read it too.

  “I guess it’s not clear that it’s from Gordon,” Hamlet said. “I’m sorry, but I just assumed.”

  The note might have been signed with a quickly scrawled G, but it was difficult to know. Inspector Winters asked Edwin if he would recognize Gordon’s handwriting. He said that after all these years, he wouldn’t.

  If the bookish voices hadn’t told me to keep quiet about Artair’s research, I could have added that he might be able to round up a sample of Gordon’s handwriting, at least from long ago. I filed away the idea for later.

  “I’m taking this,” Inspector Winters said as he put the note into his pocket.

  I nodded. Inspector Winters also said he’d follow up with a conversation with the manager but he was glad that I hadn’t attempted to meet Gordon on my own.

  “Edwin,” Inspector Winters said. “Do you find it strange at all that the fish market is close to the place where your young friend fell from the boat years ago? And then perhaps a man who ‘died’ is living close by there too?”

  Edwin blinked. “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  He and Edwin held a gaze for a moment, before Inspector Winters continued, “Well, I need tae attend to the matter of Gordon Armstrong. If ye’ll all excuse me.” He stood.

  “Edwin’s not in trouble for keeping the secret about Gordon being alive?” Rosie asked.

  “I wouldn’t say that, but he’s come clean now. That’s a good start. I’m sure we’ll talk again though.”

  His voice was stern, but he reached over and scratched Hector’s ears as he spoke. I didn’t think he realized how likable and un-stern that made him. Tom and I shared a small knowing and slightly relieved smile.

  “I’ll walk you tae the door,” Tom said to Inspector Winters.

  The door wasn’t far away, but as they stepped away from the rest of us, it seemed they’d gone miles away.