The Cracked Spine

by Paige Shelton

  “Did you ask if they heard yelling—specifically yelling? It’s a troublesome building, right? The residents have given you lots of problems?” What had Gregory said? Something about the police not caring about the people in the building because they’ve given them trouble in the past.

  “We asked … wait, that’s not your business.”

  “But the people there. It’s a rough place?”

  “No rougher than some. Better than many others,” he said, his forehead crinkling.

  We were both fishing, but neither of us was catching anything.

  “Did anyone see people there that night that didn’t belong? You know Hamlet was there. But what about other visitors who didn’t live in the building?”

  “Can’t tell you that either.”

  I bit my lip. “Other than Edwin and Hamlet, have you talked to anyone else in Edwin’s circle of friends? Do you suspect anyone like that?”

  Inspector Winters rubbed his hand over his chin. His eyes had lit briefly when I’d asked the question, but he’d done this sort of thing before and he wasn’t going to give away any real secrets.

  “Delaney, I can’t tell you that either, and you know I can’t. Here’s what I can tell you—well, what I’m going tae tell you whether I’m supposed tae or not. I’m only telling you because I’d like for you tae reward me back with an answer tae a question I have. Give and take. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat forward, moving his arms onto the table. The space in the room was so small that I had an urge to scoot my chair backward but I didn’t.

  “We know Jenny was hiding something. What was it? Was it an item or a secret? It had tae do with Edwin, we know that much, but we need more information. We’re certain the answer will lead us tae the killer.”

  “I wish I could tell you, but I have no idea. Really,” I said.

  I thought it was an Academy Award performance. I watched Inspector Winters’s eyes to see if he bought it. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought he had.

  “All right. If you learn what it was, will you tell me?”

  “Yes. Right away.”

  “Is this how you do things in America?” Inspector Winters asked.

  I shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ve never known someone who was murdered.”

  He sat back in his chair again and looked at me. “Why is this so important tae you? You just moved here. You don’t know who your friends really are yet.”

  “I don’t really know why it’s important, except … well, I’m a long way from home and family, and I want … maybe I need … to make Edwin, Hamlet, and Rosie family too. I want them to be okay and they won’t be okay until they know what happened to Jenny.”

  “What if one of them was the killer?”

  “I don’t believe that’s the case, but I’ll deal with it if I have to.” I swallowed.

  “How well do you know them? How well did you know them before you traveled across the sea tae come work with them?”

  “I tend to listen to my gut, and these are good people, Inspector Winters, I’m sure of it.”

  He looked at me a long time and then shook his head again. “Really, there isn’t much at all I can do with your information, Delaney. I’m sorry, but I appreciate you coming in tae talk with me.”

  “You can try a little,” I said.

  His eyes slanted, but then he sighed heavily and dramatically and said, “I’ll do something. I suppose you’d like me tae check in with you later.”

  I smiled.

  “Don’t count on it,” he said firmly.

  “I understand.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll see you out.”

  Inspector Winters escorted me through the station and out the front doors. I thought perhaps he and I might end up being friends, depending upon the outcome of the murder investigation.

  Though I’d started the day early, it was already late afternoon and my date with Tom was on the close horizon. I’d walked to the police station only because I hadn’t wanted to take the time to figure out the bus schedule and hailing a cab other than Elias’s felt disloyal. I wouldn’t have time to go home even if I did grab a cab, but if I hurried back to the shop I’d be able to make myself somewhat presentable. If it didn’t rain.

  But, of course, this was Scotland, and rain was always a possibility.

  TWENTY-TWO

  My adventure back to the shop consisted of a number of step-out-of-the-rain stops into shops along the Royal Mile. I ducked into the End of the World pub, where a bartender who was the spitting image of Princess Merida from Brave gave me an umbrella to get me the rest of the way. I promised I’d return it in the next day or so. She didn’t seem worried.

  Once back at the shop, I hurried to the toilet on the dark side and hoped and, I’ll admit, sent out a small prayer, that my hair would be salvageable. Hamlet was gone for the day but he’d put Rosie in the loop regarding my mad dash to the police station. As I scurried by her she asked how things had gone. She was glad to hear that all seemed well.

  I needed a sit-down with my coworkers tomorrow. It was time for Edwin or someone (hopefully someone other than me) to tell the police about the Folio. I wondered how they’d learned there was a “secret” but that didn’t much matter. The secret needed to be shared. Sooner rather than later.

  The hair wasn’t perfect, but it was passable; a little frizzier than I’d like but it had been much worse. I was dusty and wrinkled. I swiped and smoothed, but it didn’t do much good. I needed to bring a change of clothes to work, as well as some backup makeup. I still hadn’t settled into what I thought would be my real job yet. There were extenuating circumstances of course, but momentarily I envisioned which drawer in my old, ridiculously valuable, touched-by-Scottish-royalty desk I would keep some lip gloss and mascara.

  When I returned to the light side, Rosie and Hector were waiting for me with knowing smiles. Well, I assumed that Hector was smiling too. Those bangs again.

  “What?”

  “Weel, I jest want ye tae know that while Tom is a good man, and a handsome one tae boot, he’s had a number of girlfriends. I want tae remind ye that he’s broken a heart or two.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Rosie.” I held up my right hand, palm outward, and continued, “I promise I won’t immediately fall in love with the very handsome Scottish pub owner who looks amazing in both a kilt and pants.”

  Rosie laughed. “He’s a fine handsome one, that is for certain. Awright then, now that I’ve told ye tae be careful with yer hert, I’d like for ye tae have some fun too.”

  “I will. Where was Edwin today? Will he be in tomorrow?” I wanted the sit-down to be with everyone at once.

  The concern that flashed over her face was brief, but real.

  “I’m sure he’ll be in tomorrow,” she said as her fingers moved to the spot at the bottom of her neck.

  “Where was he today?” I said. “Something wrong?”

  “Och, ’tis nothing, Delaney. Sometimes, Edwin doesnae check in with us. He gets busy, perhaps gets distracted.”

  “Have you called him?”

  “Aye, of course. He’ll call when he has a moment.”

  “What would he be doing?”

  “Working, I believe.”

  I didn’t believe that’s what he was doing, but that was based upon lots of assumptions that weren’t backed up by many facts.

  “Could he be hurt? In danger?” I asked.

  “No,” Rosie said, but she was worried too; I could hear it in her voice.

  “Rosie, should we call the police?”

  “No! No, Edwin wouldnae like that no matter what he’s up tae. He’ll call. He always does.”

  I thought about calling the police myself but Rosie probably still wouldn’t tell me enough to make it a concern worth checking out, and I’d already given the police too little information once today.

  “Will you call me if he calls you?”


  “Of course. Go. Have fun.”

  “I will be trying my first real Scottish whisky.” I didn’t count the small sip I’d already taken.

  Rosie straightened and Hector lifted his head.

  “Ye’re not a drinker?” Rosie said.

  “Not really.”

  “Oh, dear, perhaps I should go with and act as chaperone.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll only try a sip or two.”

  The concern remained.

  “Really, I’ll be okay. I know how to control myself.”

  It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people.

  I didn’t hear the words as if the character Jordan Baker from The Great Gatsby was speaking them, but I thought them. Forced them. I could tell the difference. I’d heard them before and the moment seemed appropriate to hear them now.

  “Don’t we have a copy of The Great Gatsby in the shop?” I asked.

  “I think. Do ye need tae see it?” Rosie said.

  “No, thanks. Sorry. I got distracted. Strange.” What was going on?

  “Aye?” Rosie said. “Ye awright, lass?”

  “Fine.” I smiled.

  As Rosie and Hector bid me good-bye I had the sense that they felt as though they were also saying good-bye to my innocence.

  Did I really seem that untarnished? I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

  I made my way the short distance up the hill and stopped outside the open door to the pub. I peered inside. If it wasn’t as advertised—the smallest pub in Scotland—it was at least one of them. Including the bar along the back wall, the space couldn’t have been ten feet by ten feet. And it was currently very crowded.

  There were no chairs or table-chair sets, but there were posts along the side wall that held small tabletops. Most people inside held their drinks, as they looked up at the television that had been placed on the wall over the door. I stretched my neck and peered upward to see what had everyone’s attention—it was a soccer game.

  “Football. It’s called football here,” I muttered to myself.

  “Delaney.” Tom came through the crowd and greeted me. “Welcome tae the pub named after my great-great-grandmother, but tonight we’ll name it in your honor. Come along. We’ve got a table next door, but I’d like tae introduce ye to Rodger.”

  Tom grabbed my hand and led me the short but crowded distance to the back.

  “This is not ideal, I know,” he said as we stopped at the end of the bar. “I promise tae take you out on a real date next time.”

  I suddenly wondered if this was how he handled all his first dates. It was a convenient way to get to know someone without worrying too much about awkward silences, because there wasn’t going to be a moment of silence in the bar for many hours ahead. If this way turned out to be a bust, we wouldn’t have to try again in a more intimate setting. It wasn’t a bad idea.

  “Hi, ye’re Delaney from America. I’m Rodger.” A young man from behind the bar wiped his hands on his dirty white apron and extended one my direction. He spoke loudly, but quickly. He was skinny and somewhere in his forties, I thought. His smile was charming in an overbite way and the cowlick above the right side of his forehead was maybe the best cowlick I’d ever seen.

  “Nice to meet you, Rodger,” I said.

  “Tom’s been awfully nervous since he told me ye’d be coming over.”

  “Really?”

  “No telling house secrets, Rodg. Get back tae work,” Tom said good-naturedly.

  Rodger sent me an exaggerated wink and turned to greet a customer.

  “Sorry about that,” Tom said.

  “Not a problem. Were you really nervous?”

  “I was actually,” he said. “It’s been some time since I’ve been nervous for a date. I’m going tae blame it on the fact that you’re not from here, and I was worried I might do something so Scottish that I would offend an American.”

  I laughed. “That would be very difficult. The view from America, well, I suppose I should speak for my view only, is that everything Scottish is fascinating. The accent, the clothes—well, kilts and such”—dangit, here came the blush—“the bagpipes, the Scottish attitude, though I must admit that I’m not really sure exactly what the Scottish attitude is other than it appears to be somewhat carefree and happy, though very patriotic.”

  Tom looked at me a long moment with a small and amused smile. I tried very hard not to look away from his questioning cobalt eyes. I was pleased with myself that I managed to hold his gaze.

  “You know, I can’t say I’ve come tae know many Americans,” he said. “The few ones I have met were tourists making their way through town. One had clearly had more than enough whisky. I think I put him in a cab and wished him well. One was here in search of his ancestors. He was an old man and he leaned on the bar for hours and hours, three or four days in a row. He didn’t like tae talk much and didn’t want my conversation, but he was friendly enough.”

  “That’s it? Just two that were memorable?”

  “No, many others. Those are just the ones that made the biggest impressions on me.”

  “Ye’re the first American he’s asked on a date, though,” Rodger added.

  “How can you hear us? You should be taking care of customers,” Tom said.

  Rodger shrugged and lifted two liquor bottles, turned them upside down, and poured from each bottle into a glass. “Yer voices carry right tae me.”

  “I’m truly sorry about this,” Tom said to me. “This is a lousy first date, but I didn’t want tae wait another day tae ask you. Rodger’s got everything under control, but he might need some help during the matches. They’ll be over soon and we can head right next door tae the restaurant.”

  “I think it’s fun. You did mention that you’d serve me my first true Scottish whisky.”

  “Of course.” He leaned over the bar, grabbed a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of whisky. After pouring and giving me my glass, he held his up and said, “Cheers! Let me know what you think.”

  I lifted the glass and sniffed. It was most definitely strong; even the whiff burned the back of my throat. I took a small, way-too-ladylike sip, but bigger than the one I’d taken in the other pub.

  It burned, but not in an altogether unpleasant way, as it slid down my throat and landed softly in my stomach.

  Tom had waited until I’d tried it before he quickly downed his.

  “Confession time,” I said. “I’m not much of a drinker so I imagine this will last me all evening, but it’s pretty good.”

  Tom smiled again. “I typically don’t drink at all when I’m working, so we’ll be mostly even.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Well, I must admit, I enjoy my whisky as much as any good Scot, but it’s a good plan tae lay off the stuff when the bar’s open. Did you like it?”

  “I didn’t hate it,” I said.

  Tom laughed so genuinely that I forgot we were really on a date.

  The next couple of hours sped by like something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. The crowd expanded and contracted, cheered and booed the soccer … football game, and interjected a song I didn’t recognize every now and then. Before long, the football matches were over and we moved to a table in the Irish restaurant that was not just next door to Tom’s pub, it was attached to it, a walk-through hole in the wall separating the two places.

  I told Tom about my family. My parents and my brother and my numerous relatives spread throughout the Midwestern United States. I told him about growing up on a small Kansas farm, about Wichita, and about the museum I’d worked at since college. He thought my preserved buffalo was as interesting as Edwin and Birk had thought it was.

  I learned about his life with his single father, the original owner of the pub but who was now a librarian at the University of Edinburgh, the death of his mother when he was barely a couple of months old, and his aunt who turned out to be the major motherly influence in his life and was still alive, ecce
ntric now to the point of him worrying about her mental health.

  “I think she needs tae be … monitored—I dislike that word very much. But I’m not sure how much longer we can leave her alone. I work, my dad works. We stop by her house every day, but we’re starting tae be concerned about her eating and caring for herself in between those times,” Tom said.

  “I’m sorry. It’s tough to watch our loved ones grow old,” I said.

  He waved away the comment. “Och, I’m sorry. Let’s not be melancholy about that. Anyway, how’s Edwin? I’ve stopped by a couple of times tae check on him but he hasn’t been in.”

  “He’s sad. Everyone’s sad. The police are still searching for the killer. I think they have some suspicions about Edwin.” I didn’t think it was appropriate to mention that it seemed none of us had heard from him that day.

  “That’s not too surprising.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Sure. Jenny put Edwin through hell more than once. She was a mess. Though I doubt very much that Edwin had it in him tae kill his sister. Hamlet, Rosie under suspicion too?”

  “Not Rosie as much, I don’t think.”

  “But Hamlet?”

  “I think so.”

  “His past is checkered tae say the least, but he couldn’t kill anyone, unless…”

  “Unless?”

  “That was just me talking without thinking, but he was a pretty good little thief, particularly for a young lad. Do you know his story?”

  “I know some, about being orphaned and Edwin taking him in,” I said.

  “If the police know his past, they might suspect him just because he’s an easy person tae suspect, someone who was up tae no good at one time. A lot of no good. I don’t know. Even though Edwin’s taken care of Hamlet, they’ve had their tough moments. Jenny gave them all tough moments. I don’t want tae think any of them could have killed her though.”

  “You know them fairly well, don’t you?”

  “We’ve been neighbors for many years. Edwin opened The Cracked Spine when I was just a wee’un. I like tae read. I would come tae the pub with my dad, and when I got bored I escaped tae the bookshop. It was a good place tae go, and Edwin always welcomed me, found me books.”