Deadly Editions

by Paige Shelton

  “’Tis probably that no one was good enough for Shelagh, but I dinnae ken. I’d even forgotten his name.” Rosie stopped dusting.

  I nodded. “There’s not much online.”

  “It’s a shame that we all talk about Shelagh still but the dead man seems tae have been forgotten. I would like tae know more aboot him.”

  “Me too.”

  After Tom and I had told Elias and Aggie goodnight for the second time and then retired to our bedroom, we’d discussed if it might have been Shelagh we’d seen. Tom wasn’t as sure as I had been, but he ultimately agreed that he didn’t think the figure was a woman. We also discussed whether I should tell Inspector Winters about the meeting at Deacon Brodie’s Tavern but agreed that there didn’t seem to be any need to point a spotlight on Shelagh again. At least, yet. Just because it was top of our minds because of the events of the day didn’t mean we needed to make it important to the police.

  But neither of us had been one hundred percent sure of much of anything. After my tour of Shelagh’s library, I thought I might call Inspector Winters back and tell him about the hunt for the book, if there was anything to tell.

  The bell above the front door jingled. Rosie and I turned, feather dusters aloft.

  “Brigid?” I said.

  She stood in the doorway and sent me a scowl I knew I didn’t deserve.

  “What in the world happened?” she said.

  I shook my head. “When?”

  I walked toward her, setting the duster on Rosie’s desk. Hector, sensing the animosity that Brigid wasn’t trying to hide, trotted to my feet and sat protectively—all seven inches or so of him—in front of me.

  “Yesterday. Did you meet with Shelagh O’Conner?”

  It was my turn to scowl, or at least frown a little. “What do you know about it?”

  “I’m the one who told her about you.”

  “You are? Well. Thank you?” I said.

  “And the evening of the meeting, Edinburgh has a new Mr. Hyde roaming around town, stealing and who knows what else?”

  So much for the past staying in the past. “Um … I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Ladies, would ye consider sitting in the back for yer discussion,” Rosie intervened. “A customer could come in at any moment, and I dinnae want tae scare them away right off the bat.”

  Brigid and I did as Rosie suggested and sat across from each other. Rosie offered to cross over to the other side and gather refreshments. I didn’t take the time to acknowledge that she wouldn’t offer treats if she weren’t warming to Brigid.

  Brigid had attempted to remain immune from Hector’s charms, but I witnessed her scowl melt a little as the dog propped himself on my lap. She normalized quickly enough.

  “You told Shelagh about me?” I asked. The scowl had returned, though only at about sixty percent.

  “I did. I wrote a story about her a few weeks ago—”

  “I read it. It was very good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you didn’t mention anything about her long-ago trouble. Did you know about her disguises?”

  “I did.”

  “You didn’t put that part in the article.”

  “No, I didn’t mention it because it seemed wrong at the time. The article was about the good that Shelagh has done over the years, how she’s used some of her wealth to benefit Edinburgh.” Brigid paused and blinked at Hector before she looked at me again. “I don’t know that it mattered. Now, apparently, I might have stirred up the old story anyway.”

  “Because of … what happened last night?”

  “It looks like we might have a new monster, a new Mr. Hyde.” Brigid crossed her arms in front of herself. “Do you really think we would have one if I hadn’t written the story?”

  “Well, who knows? But unless you’re the person playing the part, none of that is your fault. Shelagh’s story from those days isn’t easy to find.”

  “But people still remember it.”

  I thought about Rosie. Yes, she remembered some parts of it, but not all. “It’s not your fault,” I repeated.

  Brigid shook her head once. “No, not my fault, but this is just a prime example of why a journalist should always tell the whole story. I should have mentioned her past problems, Delaney. I shouldn’t have held back. Now I look like I wasn’t doing my job thoroughly.”

  Ah, it was about her. Was she losing her ruthless ways? I didn’t think so.

  “Brigid, it was a great article. Now you just might have more to write about, but good job.”

  “Thank you,” she said with some forced humility.

  “How did my name come up?”

  “As we were talking, she asked me if I’d had any dealings with local bookshops and if there was one I could recommend.”

  “You recommended The Cracked Spine? Thank you.”

  “No, in fact, that’s not exactly how it went. I said I knew people at this bookshop, and though the owner often seemed to be up to something suspicious, there was an employee from Kansas who seemed to always want to do the right thing. Honestly, I didn’t mean to compliment you, but it came out that way.”

  “Well. Thank you again.”

  “She called me two days ago, telling me she’d have another story for me but first she was going to conduct a meeting—that was to be scheduled for yesterday. That happen?”

  “It did. I was invited and I went.” I waited for her to ask me about the specifics of the meeting, but she didn’t.

  She nodded. “Good. But if it wasn’t because of my article, something happened there to turn one of the attendees into the new Mr. Hyde.”

  “I don’t know … seems a stretch.” My eyebrows came together.

  “Someone who was dressed as Shelagh dressed back in the late 1960s story broke into three homes last night and stole valuable items—silver, artwork, money.”

  “Three? I saw the video on television last night. I was under the impression that it was one home, and I saw no mention of Shelagh.”

  “The investigation is ongoing.”

  “The face wasn’t clear. Do you know if the police think it was Shelagh?”

  “I don’t think so. Some of the television journalists do remember the story and are using it. They are calling her the old monster and saying we now have a new monster.”

  “Oh. I missed that.” Aggie had turned off the television quickly the night before, and I hadn’t paid any attention to the morning news. “That’s pretty harsh, maybe an overstatement.”

  “It’s not me saying it, and someone was killed back then. Who was at the meeting?”

  “I promised I wouldn’t tell.” Not true, but maybe Shelagh hadn’t wanted us to share. I’d ask her later.

  “I was afraid of that. Care to break that promise?”

  “Not at the moment, but I might. Let me think about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I don’t know Shelagh. I don’t know what’s going on, but if it’s something that’s a threat to the citizens of Edinburgh, I can’t keep her secrets.” I didn’t add that I’d first tell Inspector Winters everything and then maybe call Brigid.

  She looked at me a long moment. She didn’t completely believe me. “Good. Thank you.”

  “What do you think of Shelagh? Do you think she got away with murder all those years ago?”

  “I don’t, but there was a time when she seemed guilty. As I’ve researched, I’ve come to the conclusion that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I don’t know. I didn’t want to rehash false accusations, which was another reason I didn’t mention that part of her past.”

  “What can you tell me about Oliver?”

  “All I know is that Shelagh fell hard for him back then, but he was older than her—in his late twenties—and knew her family would never welcome him. I believe he’s the one who broke things off, said they should go their separate ways.”

  “How do you know that much?”

 
Brigid smiled. “I have my ways.”

  “Was his killer ever caught?”

  “No. Never.”

  “That’s not good. Were there other suspects?”

  Brigid cocked her head and squinted at me. “Any chance you’d ask Inspector Winters for some of those old police records?”

  “No.” In fact, I might ask him, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  “Do you know what her new story for me is?”

  “I have an idea, yes, but I can’t tell you that part either.”

  “Makes sense. She asked me to stop by this evening and we’d talk. Sound about right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can be patient.”

  “You can?”

  She shrugged. “I can try. Listen, Delaney, you need to be careful. I don’t know if all of this is tied together and I don’t know what it will turn into, but I really didn’t mean to get you involved in something dangerous. Please be aware.”

  “I will be. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, though.” I kind of did, but I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, and it would take something pretty big for me to show any fear to Brigid.

  “Okay, then.” She paused before she stood. “Stay in touch.”

  “I will.”

  She started to turn but paused again, “How’s married life? And I’m not asking to find out if there’s something bad. I have grown up, and I wish you and Tom only the best.” She cleared her throat. “Really.”

  I smiled. “Married life is great, Brigid, and we wish you only the best.”

  Rosie made a funny noise as she came around with a tray full of treats.

  Brigid grabbed a couple of cookies off the tray and thanked Rosie.

  “We’ll talk later,” Brigid said to me before she left.

  She sent a quick smile to Hector.

  Rosie set the tray on the table. “Most of the cookies are stale anyway.”

  I smiled and took one too. “Thank you, Rosie.”

  “Ye’re welcome, lass.”

  The bell jingled again as Brigid left and customers entered. We were busy for hours.

  SEVEN

  I took a bus to Shelagh’s house. Elias offered to be available for the day, but I knew that much of his attention would be on his cottages, where the people who’d been working on the electrical system were “daupit.”

  He’d translated the Scots word for me. Stupid. I felt a little sorry for the workers but hoped they’d up their game—not because I wanted Elias and Aggie to leave my house but for the sake of Elias’s blood pressure.

  After I disembarked, I stood on the distant curb and looked up at Shelagh’s mansion. No, I think it would be called an estate.

  An expanse of manicured green and a now only lightly snow-covered lawn—a garden, as it’s known in Scotland—sloped upward toward three buildings. Perfectly round flower beds dotted the ground here and there as if a random design had been at play, but I doubted that anything in this garden had been done randomly.

  The building on the left was a blue, barnlike structure, the one to the right a giant glass-paned greenhouse—or would something that size be a conservatory? A garage was attached to it—four single doors wide. It was the structure in the middle that was the true stunner, though.

  The three-level house had white siding and blue-shuttered windows. Though it wasn’t modern, it had sharp angles reminding me of a stark version of homes built in the 1980s. It looked as if all the windows were uncovered. I glanced along the sloping driveway. From the bus stop down the road, I hadn’t been able to see the property because it was hidden behind strategically planted tall trees; it didn’t seem likely that anyone could peer inside the bare windows from the other side of the treeline.

  The home was beautiful, I thought as I continued up the driveway. I liked stretching my legs and was both grateful for and surprised by the fact that it wasn’t currently snowing or raining. I’d forgotten to grab an umbrella, which meant it would surely do something weathery when I made my way back to the bus stop.

  I didn’t spot any vehicles until I came around a curve at the top of the drive.

  “Oh, hello, Delaney. I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner. I would have come to gather you.”

  Shelagh O’Conner sat in the driver’s seat of a golf cart that had been threaded with feather boas around the top roof panel. “That’s a steep walk”

  “Hello,” I said, glad I wasn’t breathless. “I enjoyed it.”

  “If I had security cameras, I would have caught your arrival. Apologies. I’m not a fan of all the things we do to watch everyone all the time.”

  “No problem.” Of course, I wondered if she might not be a fan of the cameras because a picture had once exposed her strange behavior. But surely I was reading too much into the moment.

  “I’ve been tending to one of my horses. She was a wee bit off last night. I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Is she?”

  “Right as rain.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Since you’re the last one to visit, we have some time. Would you like to meet my animals?”

  “I like animals and books almost equally. I would love to meet yours.”

  “Climb aboard.”

  Even the golf carts in Scotland had steering wheels on the wrong side. I hopped into the passenger seat next to Shelagh, and she told me to hang on.

  She pressed on the gas pedal, and we quickly veered over and around more shrub-lined asphalt pathways until we came upon a giant pasture and another blue-and-white barn set even farther back from the front structures.

  “I’m fond of the color blue, if you couldn’t tell,” Shelagh said.

  She had a lead foot, and I was holding on to the front pole for dear life.

  “You like many different shades of blue,” I said.

  She laughed. “I like all blues. Do you know what my family did, how I became so ridiculously wealthy?”

  “I do know.” I’d found out about the roots of her fortune online. “Manufacturing.”

  “Yes, but specifically manufacturing something called Magic Blue.”

  I looked at her but still held on as we approached the barn. “It’s quite a product.”

  “Aye, lass.”

  Magic Blue was a product I still saw on store shelves, one my family back home in Kansas probably still used. You poured it down your drain every month or so to prevent clogs and buildup. Afterward, blue foam came up through the drain. After a few minutes, you turned on the water for approximately thirty seconds, and then you could be practically guaranteed to have clear pipes for at least a month. My parents used it religiously, and I suddenly had an urge to buy some to use at the house by the sea. The blues would complement each other.

  “You must be rich beyond comprehension,” I said.

  Shelagh laughed. “My bank account does not suffer. My father was a chemist. He invented the product, patented it. It’s not just snake oil—it really works.”

  “Oh, I know. He must have been brilliant.”

  “He was.” Shelagh smiled sadly. “Not the kindest of men, though. He wasn’t abusive, but he wasn’t affectionate either. My life as an only child was lonely and quiet.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Distant, addicted to some drug or another that they gave back then so women would remain in their place—docile and without opinions.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “A long time ago now, and I found ways to amuse myself. Not all of them got me in trouble with the law.” Her smile transformed into something wry.

  I nodded as she steered the golf cart into the barn, wood chips snapping under our wheels as we came to a stop.

  Three horses were inside, each in its own stall, along with one tender, a man with a quick smile.

  He patted a horse on the nose and then hurried to give Shelagh a hand out of the golf cart. I watched her as an image of the person Tom and I had seen in the car park popped into m
y mind. Yes, that person had definitely moved like someone younger, someone who wouldn’t need help getting out of a vehicle. Someone male.

  “Ta, Winston,” Shelagh said. “This is my stable man, Winston. Winston, this is Delaney Nichols. She’s from America.”

  “A pleasure tae meet ye,” he said as he extended a hand my direction.

  He wore an old brown-billed cap. Its fit over his thick gray hair made me think he’d had the cap for a long time. Along with his big nose and thick, wrinkled skin, the friendly light in his blue eyes made me smile.

  “Nice to meet you too,” I said.

  He nodded politely and then turned and walked to a narrow storage closet in between two stalls. He crouched and busied himself with taking things out of his pocket and putting them into the closet. I couldn’t help but notice the key ring he used to lock the closet; it was a big round one with a macramé tail. There had to be at least fifty keys on it.

  “She’s still doing all right?” Shelagh nodded toward the horse Winston had been tending to.

  “She’s grand, ma’am,” he said.

  “Good.” Shelagh walked toward the stalls, and she and the horse greeted each other over the half wall, cheek to cheek.

  “This is Gin. Well, she has a much longer name, but we just call her Gin,” Shelagh said to me. “The other two are Willa and Bouquet.”

  “May I pet them?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  I hadn’t been around horses in a long time, and their brown-eyed wisdom was like food for my soul. They were beautiful and friendly. My heart swelled, and I cooed at the animal. Winston stood and smiled at me again.

  “Do you ride much?” I asked Shelagh.

  “I ride, though not as much as I used to. Do you?”

  “I grew up on a farm, and we had a couple horses at one time or another, but I haven’t ridden for years.”

  “You are invited to ride any of these lovelies at any time you would like.”

  “That’s very kind,” I said. “I would enjoy doing that someday.”

  I looked at her as she kept her attention on Gin. She adored these animals. Anyone who loved creatures as much she did couldn’t be a bad person. That was one of the rules, wasn’t it?

  “She does seem fine,” I said.

  “Aye,” Winston added.