Deadly Editions

by Paige Shelton

  Windows bordered it, and through them I spied dark clouds coming in this direction; rain clouds, not snow, I thought. An old wooden coat cabinet held several umbrellas, but it didn’t feel right taking one.

  The knob turned easily, and I let myself out. After another glance up to the clouds, I hurried toward the drive in hopes of making it to the bus stop before a storm hit.

  Of course, I wondered why the police had wanted to talk to Shelagh, but I suspected it had something to do with the burglaries from the night before. If the burglar and the person Tom and I had come across in the car park were the same, there was now no doubt in my mind that it hadn’t been Shelagh we’d seen. None of the elements fit—the size of the person, the agility. And there really was something distinctly male to the figure, something Shelagh couldn’t even fake.

  I wasn’t worried for her—I didn’t believe she would be arrested, but maybe that was just denial on my part. I would call Inspector Winters later and see if I could ask as well as tell him the things I hadn’t mentioned before.

  As I approached the long driveway, lightning struck somewhere close by, and then thunder rumbled a few seconds later. I sped up to a jog, wishing it had been snow and not rain heading toward me.

  The noise of a car’s engine coming from the direction of the house caught my attention. I looked behind. I didn’t know my expensive car models well, but I was pretty sure it was a Bentley.

  I kept to the side but didn’t stop jogging. The Bentley slowed, and the window rolled down. Findlay Sweet was behind the wheel.

  “Louis sent me to find you,” he said. “I can give you a lift.”

  I fake-smiled at him. “I enjoy walking.”

  “Well, certainly, but the rain’s coming. You’ll be drenched.”

  “The bus stop is just past the end of the drive.”

  “Which is a long way off, and then you’ll have to wait for a bus.” The car was moving at my jogging speed.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Tom told you about our past, didn’t he?” Findlay said a moment later.

  “I’m okay, Findlay. Thank you for offering me a ride, though.”

  “I’m over all that resentment. It was a long time ago, and I only stopped by his pub yesterday because I was in the area and thought I might see if we could bury the hatchet. I was the one driving and delivering the messenger. You were his last delivery, and I waited in the pub to watch and make sure he went inside, and then I just enjoyed being there. It’s a lovely pub, and your coming in gave me a better opportunity to have a brief conversation with Tom. Truly, you’ll be safe with me.”

  Isn’t that what all the serial killers said?

  Lightning struck again, so bright I closed my eyes and held my arm above my head a moment. The thunder followed only a second later.

  “It’s becoming unsafe out there, Delaney. Hop in. It will be fine.”

  “Well, a lift to the bus stop wouldn’t be terrible.” Against about fifty percent of my better judgment, I hopped into the front passenger seat of the Bentley. The other fifty percent was glad to be out of the rain that started coming down in sheets the second I closed the car door. Findlay had to hurry to get his window shut.

  He sent me a quick, somewhat impatient smile. It occurred to me that he probably hadn’t wanted this duty and had only come out in the rain because Louis told him to.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “No problem.”

  “Do you know anything about why the police wanted to talk to Shelagh?” I asked a few long, silent beats later.

  “I’m sure it has something to do with the robberies.”

  “You mean because of her behavior decades ago?”

  “Aye. It seems we might have a new Mr. Hyde, a new monster.”

  I cringed. That moniker was shocking. “That might be overstating.”

  Findlay shrugged. “The name? Oh, aye. It’s what all the newspeople are saying, though. They said it back then too.”

  “Weird timing, huh?”

  Findlay thought a moment. “You mean it’s strange because you just met Shelagh yesterday?”

  “No, it’s strange because Shelagh set up the treasure hunt at the same time someone dressed at least similarly to how she was dressed robbed some homes. The timing feels…”

  “Forced?”

  “No, just strange.”

  He didn’t comment further, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he agreed with me or if he just didn’t want to argue.

  We’d come to the end of the driveway. Catercorner was the bus stop, an aluminum awning protecting a gathering of riders who’d huddled together.

  “I really don’t mind taking you home or back to work or to the pub. It’s cold out there, and you’d have to get in close to all those people to stay warm and dry.”

  He had a point, but still … “I’m okay. Thank you very much, though.”

  Findlay squinted at me. “Call Tom. Tell him you’re with me. I’ll talk to him too. If something happens to you, there’ll be no way for me to hide.”

  I didn’t like this man. I didn’t trust him, but his idea also made me smile with a little embarrassment. Tom knew where I’d gone. Louis had told me to show myself out. Supposedly he’d told Findlay to come get me.

  “I wouldn’t mind a ride to the bookshop. Thank you, Findlay,” I finally said. However, I pulled out my phone. “I’ll text Tom and let him know I’m on my way back.”

  “Aye, that should work.”

  Findlay skillfully steered the car through the heavy rain and busy streets.

  “Do you still fish in the summer?” I asked.

  “Aye. Less and less as the years go by, and Shelagh pays me well to be her driver.”

  “How long have you worked for her?”

  “About seven years. It’s been good.”

  “Did you … ever remarry?”

  He turned to look at me. “No, never did. I enjoy the company of a lovely lass every now and then, but I’m not meant to be tied down. There was a time I would have said the same about your husband.”

  “We’re fine.” I wished I’d just ignored the bait.

  “Well, time will tell.”

  I nodded.

  A text came through on my phone. It was Tom.

  Let me know the SECOND you get back.

  Will do, I texted back.

  Yikes, he was genuinely worried.

  Anxiety clenched my jaw. Was there really a reason to be concerned here? For someone who lived by her instincts, either I wasn’t listening well or they weren’t speaking loud and clearly enough.

  I knew my way around this part of Edinburgh well enough that when Findlay turned left when I was certain that he should have taken a right, my anxiety ramped up even more.

  “Are you bringing me back to the bookshop?”

  “Aye. This is a shortcut. You’ll see.”

  I put my hand on the door handle. Findlay angled a side-eye but kept driving.

  “Are you familiar with the closes?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “You really don’t drive though any of them, but there is a wider one this direction, one that Shelagh always has me take to get her to downtown or to Grassmarket.”

  “Okay.” It didn’t make sense, but I wasn’t ready to jump out of a moving vehicle yet.

  “You know, Tom never did apologize to me. I had come to accept that he wasn’t sorry for what he did.”

  “I don’t think he was. I think he cared about your wife.”

  Findlay laughed. “Aye, I think so too.”

  I didn’t like the insinuation, if that’s what I was hearing. It had all happened a long time ago, and I wasn’t interested in hearing his side of this story.

  “I’m good here, Findlay. Stop and I’ll hop out.”

  “We’re almost there.”

  I didn’t think we were. “It’s okay. Please stop.”

  “One more turn.” Findlay took another right.

  And suddenly we were bac
k to the world I knew. The statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the infamous dog who’d guarded his person’s grave after he’d died was right there—how had I not known about this “shortcut”?

  We were also next to Grassmarket. It was still raining, but we were almost to the pub, which meant we were also almost to the bookshop.

  “There we are.” Findlay nodded toward Tom’s pub as it came into sight.

  The car stopped at an intersection.

  “I’ll get out here. Thanks for the ride.” I was out of the car before I could register any response from him.

  Relief washed through me as I hurried toward the pub. The rain hadn’t stopped, but it was no longer blinding.

  My reaction was probably ridiculous, but I couldn’t help being glad I was out of that car and safe from whatever frightening things my imagination had conjured. I wished I hadn’t gotten into the Bentley, but I had.

  I stepped into the pub, grateful for the small crowd so that Tom didn’t spot me immediately. I normalized my face, took a couple deep breaths, and finally wove a path to the bar.

  Relief lit his eyes when he saw me. “Ah, lass, there you are.” He put down bottles he was using to pour a mixed drink and came around the bar. “Happy you’re here.”

  “Were you truly worried about Findlay doing something or just generally concerned?” I took a towel that Rodger handed me over the bar.

  Tom saw his own anxiety mixing with the remnants of my own and sighed. “I’m sorry, Delaney, but I was truly worried. I’ve seen a side of Findlay that isn’t pleasant. My issues with him are from a long time ago, though, and maybe I shouldn’t judge anyone by what happened then. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “It’s okay.” I smiled. “I shouldn’t have gotten into the car.”

  “All’s well that ends well.”

  “Hush, hush, everyone. There’s been a murder!” A customer’s voice rose above the noise of the crowd, his words silencing us and directing our attention to the television set.

  A newscaster was on-screen, a picture to his left.

  “Police have just released a statement regarding last night’s robberies by this man.” A CCTV shot of the same person in the shabby coat and big hat we’d seen on the television the night before expanded to fill the screen. “It seems that the burglar is now under suspicion of murder as well. The victim is an Edinburgh man recently known to tend bar at our world-famous Deacon Brodie’s Tavern. Ritchie John was last seen alive at the pub yesterday afternoon, though it’s unclear if he was there as an employee or a patron. CCTV caught the burglar making his way into Mr. John’s flat. A couple hours ago, police went to the flat to investigate and found Mr. John’s body.”

  “Oh, Tom, I met him.” I steadied myself by grabbing on to the bar.

  “Aye?” Tom stepped closer to me.

  “I need to call Inspector Winters,” I said.

  He held on to my arm as my knees buckled a little. “Take a minute, then we’ll call from the back.”

  NINE

  “A book?” Inspector Winters said. “She’s sending people on a treasure hunt to find one of her books?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And this has been set in motion just as a new threat has come to Edinburgh?”

  “I know, it seems odd timing, but I don’t know if it’s related or if it’s all just coincidence. I can’t imagine Shelagh’s a murderer. Is that why she was taken in for questioning?” I’d asked the same thing more than once now, but he still hadn’t answered.

  This time he just shook his head, but I didn’t think it was in response to me.

  We were inside The Cracked Spine with Rosie, Tom, and Hector. The rain had given way to a cloudless, starry darkness so cold it seemed like a bad idea to go out there, even with the twinkling sky.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all this before,” I’d said at the beginning of the conversation. This time around I even mentioned the part about Louis seeming to know the victim but Ritchie behaving as though he didn’t know Louis.

  Inspector Winters’s phone dinged. He read a text message silently to himself and then put the phone back into his pocket. “In answer to the question you’ve asked a number of times now, it looks like Shelagh wasn’t arrested for anything. The officers who came to talk to her simply wanted to discuss what might have been behind her behavior all those years ago and if she could think of anyone who might want to repeat her actions. They do not think she killed anyone.” Inspector Winters scratched his head.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I need more clarification as to why they don’t think that, but I’ll ask in person. According to the text I just got, she’s been released and was of very little help.”

  “I’m glad she wasn’t arrested,” I said.

  “Will you still hunt for her book?”

  “I think so.” I shrugged.

  Inspector Winters sat on the corner of the front desk and rubbed his chin. “I’ll meet with the officers on the case this evening and tell them what you’ve told me.”

  “Okay.”

  “How is this treasure hunt supposed to begin?”

  “Oh, I was given a clue.” I reached into my pocket for the piece of paper with the clue that Shelagh had given me. I’d already shown it to Tom and Rosie.

  Inspector Winters read it and shook his head once more. “I have no idea.”

  “May I see it again?” Rosie asked.

  Inspector Winters handed her the paper.

  “H-A-R-T, not H-E-A-R-T?” Rosie said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I should have realized it before, then. Och, ’tis verra easy,” she said.

  We all, even Hector, blinked at her.

  “Aye. The White Hart Inn. The spelling is the key. H-A-R-T, and ‘a white kiss’ is from a poem that Robert Burns wrote when he visited his lady at that verra place long ago.”

  En masse we moved from the back of the bookshop to the front and looked out the window. Multiple businesses had storefronts on the bottom level of the buildings all the way up and down the long part of Grassmarket. The pub at The White Hart Inn was one of those establishments; so was Tom’s pub. Tom and I had joked a few times that if I’d first stopped inside a pub closer to the bookshop than his, I might have met a different pub owner and I’d be married to someone else. It was just a joke, but every time we laughed about it, the hairs on my arms rose, as if the Fates were reminding me of how good they’d been. I didn’t want to do anything to offend the Fates.

  Besides, I had visited The White Hart Inn, but only once, though I hadn’t met the pub owner. My bookish voices had been noisy in there.

  “Really?” I said as we all looked toward the lit windows of the now busy establishment.

  “I think you’re onto something, Rosie,” Tom said. “It seems obvious now.”

  “I wonder how many others have already figured it out,” I said.

  “Shall we go see?” Tom asked.

  “I think we should,” I said. “Want to come with us?” I looked at the police inspector and Rosie.

  They both declined but wanted an update later. I promised I would let them know what we found.

  As Tom and I grabbed our coats, I decided I was going to have to share something with him on the way. I should have shared it a long time ago, but now it might become important, depending upon how noisy my head found the pub this time. Hopefully the crowd of real people inside would drown out the imaginary ones that lived in my mind, but it made perfect sense that they would have lots to say inside The White Hart Inn.

  Wooden beams hung along the pub’s ceiling. Robert Burns’s words had been painted on them. I’d read everything Burns had written, starting back when I lived in the States. I loved his work. The words on the beams had come together with the voices in my mind and made my first visit to the pub loud and almost unbearable.

  As we hurried toward it and the cold bit at my nose, I said, “Tom, you know how sometimes I seem a little spacey?”

 
“Aye.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s an endearing trait.”

  “I’m not sure my mother would agree, but I’m glad to hear you think so. Anyway, something is going on inside my head when I appear to be zoning out sometimes.”

  “Aye?” Tom stopped walking, so I did too.

  It was too cold to stand still for long, but we both sensed it was the right thing to do. We faced each other, our breath fogging around us.

  “Words from books come to me. The characters speak to me. It’s the way my intuition works—using the words I’ve read, with voices that seem appropriate, to tell me something I should be paying attention to.”

  “Aye?” Tom said again.

  “Yes. Aye.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Again, probably not how my mother would describe it.”

  “Different voices?”

  “Yes, some male, some female. Of course, I’ve never heard most of the real voices, but my mind gives them all unique qualities.”

  He smiled. “I think it’s wonderful.” He reached up and ran the back of his index finger along my jaw. “Lovely.”

  “Well, thank you, but now you know, and there’s a chance it will happen in there tonight.” I nodded toward the pub.

  Tom’s eyebrows came together, but he continued to smile. “Was that something you were afraid to tell me?”

  “Not afraid, really. Okay, maybe a tiny bit. It’s a little odd.”

  Tom laughed. “Delaney, you could tell me you’re the new monster and I couldn’t love you any less than more than everything.”

  I closed my eyes tight and then opened them a moment later. “Nope, not a hallucination. You’re still there.”

  Tom laughed again. “I will be forever. Come on, it’s cold. Let’s get to the pub.”

  I’d noticed the carved white stag above the front door many times as I’d walked by. I glanced up at it tonight as we entered. The well-stocked bar was at the back, on the left, and tables and chairs filled the rest of the homey, smallish establishment. A black-and-white rendition of the Grassmarket of old, along with the castle on the hill, had been painted on the green wall to the right, above a long, floral-cushioned bench.