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Deadly Editions

Page 17

by Paige Shelton


  “Delaney, Elias, what a wonderful surprise. Do come in.” Birk, dressed in jeans and a simple sweater, held the door open wide.

  The first time I’d been to his house, he’d worn a gold robe. At the time I thought he was just trying to be quirky, but I’d come to know that Birk was naturally quirky in everything he did.

  “Ingy,” Birk called toward the back of the house, “we have guests, please bring refreshments.”

  From where we stood, I thought I heard the rumble of Ingy’s protests. Though she’d worked for Birk for years, she never liked to be asked to do anything, and she would grumble every time a request was made. I was quite fond of her; so was Birk.

  “She’s been with me forever,” he’d once said. “Any crankiness is probably well deserved. I’m not the easiest to be around.”

  “Fine,” she called, a few moments after the grumbles.

  Birk led the way into the drawing room and signaled for us to sit on a golden couch.

  “Birk, we were just talking to Darcy John,” I said. I was watching him closely for recognition or a reaction. There was none. “Her father was the man murdered by the New Monster.”

  “Aye. Do you know her?”

  “Hamlet does, kind of,” I said.

  There was absolutely zero recognition in his eyes. Instead, what I saw was that he was eager to hear the rest of what I had to say. When Darcy told me that her father had worked for Birk, I’d been shocked at first and then a little angry, but the anger had mostly dissipated as we’d made it to his house. I was sure there was a good explanation as to why Birk hadn’t acknowledged that the murder victim had worked for him. However, if after talking to him I suspected he was hiding something important, I was prepared to go back to being angry.

  “I’m so sorry. Is she … all right?” he asked sincerely.

  “Not great, but the real reason I’m here is to ask you about her father, Ritchie John.”

  “Sure, what about him?” His eyebrows came together.

  “Darcy said that her father used to work for you.”

  “What?”

  “With your horses?”

  “Aye?”

  “Yes.”

  Birk fell into thought, but he looked up a moment later. “Lass, do you know anything about my stables?”

  “I didn’t even know you had a horse.”

  “I have twenty.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye. They’re … well, they’re rescue horses of a sort.”

  “Oh.”

  “I have the money,” Birk said, with neither humility nor braggadocio. “I love animals, so I try to help them. I have a stable. I can take you if you wish. I’d actually like to talk to my stable manager about Mr. John. Forgive me for not knowing he worked for me. It’s not that I don’t care, but my stablemen come and go. It can be a transient sort of work. I don’t take as much time as I probably should to get to know them all. I know my manager, and I trust him implicitly.”

  Ingy walked in with the requested tray filled with refreshments.

  “Sorry, love, we’ve got to go. Treats another time.”

  Ingy’s withering look toward Birk was one for the ages, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Apologies,” Elias said to her.

  She shook her head and turned to leave the room.

  “Hang on,” I said. I jumped up and hurried to her. “I can’t resist those cookies. Do you care if I take a couple?”

  Ingy made a noise that might be considered affirmatory.

  “Thank you.” I smiled at her.

  She returned a small, very annoyed smile.

  * * *

  Elias didn’t usually let other people drive him anywhere. I noticed his moment of hesitation as Birk directed us to “hop in” his car, but to his credit Elias didn’t protest. He slid into the backseat, frowned, and nodded at me to get in the front.

  We drove south from Edinburgh for about thirty minutes. The hilly countryside was surprisingly green. All the snow was melted away now, but it was raining lightly.

  Birk pulled his car onto a road marked with a large sign reading BLACKBURN ACRES.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t even know,” I said.

  “I’m not a rider, lass, so you wouldn’t have. I don’t do much here except pay for it.”

  “This place is extraordinary.” I gazed out at the spread in front of us. Without a house on the property, Birk’s stables still reminded me of something that might be used in a television show about a Texas ranch, though nestled in green hills. They would have been adorable if smaller; as is, they were breathtaking and impressive.

  “Thank you. I keep this place simply so some animals might have somewhere to live and be taken care of. None of these are Thoroughbreds. In fact, many of them are on their last legs. But they make good steeds for young children or perhaps children who might be otherwise unable to ride.”

  “That’s lovely, Birk,” I said.

  “Och, not at all, lass. You realize how rich I am? If I didn’t do some good with my money, it would be a terrible shame. Of course I hope it’s a good thing for others, but it’s a good thing for me too—better, in fact, for me than for anyone else.”

  “Aye, Birk, ’tis a good thing,” Elias said from the backseat.

  Birk looked at Elias in the rearview mirror. “If Ritchie John worked for me, I have no recollection of knowing the man, which makes me less altruistic than you’re giving me credit for.”

  “No, it’s not your job tae ken everybody’s name. If everyone’s treated all right, that’s what matters,” Elias said.

  “Oh, I do hope everyone is treated all right. It’s my number-one demand.”

  Birk pulled his car into a spot that was marked specifically for him. I could tell he was somewhat embarrassed by the primo golden sign, but he didn’t say anything. He and Edwin were both very good at not hiding from their wealth, and at the same time not flaunting it. They were genuine.

  “Come along. I’m going to try to find my man, but you’re welcome to look around on your own. If anyone asks who you are, just tell them you’re with me.”

  Birk hurried out of the car and away, leaving Elias and me standing beside it in the cold wind and wondering where to go.

  “I say the corrals,” Elias decided as he brought his collar up around his chin.

  I did the same. “Good idea.”

  The corrals were bordered by the numerous stables and a row of wide bleachers. Once we found our way inside, the wind seemed to become more bearable and it was drizzling only just enough to frizz my hair. We wouldn’t get drenched if we weren’t out for too long.

  We couldn’t see Birk, but we were happy to find some horses and a few riders. The horses weren’t in bad shape, but true to Birk’s word they weren’t Thoroughbreds either. The riders couldn’t have cared less. Young children smiled and actually squealed as they were guided around corrals. The children all wore thick coats and hats under their helmets as they held on tight to the saddle horns.

  “Goodness,” I said, taken in by the heartwarming sight.

  “Ye ride?”

  “I’m not a rider, no, but I’ve ridden. I grew up around a lot of horses. I love all animals, but I didn’t take to horses like some of my friends did.”

  “Horse people are horse people.” Elias said as he and I leaned on a bar of the corral fence.

  “That’s what my dad says.”

  “He would know.”

  “Yes.” Homesickness pinged in my gut. I missed my parents and brother all the time, but the moments when I really felt it, when it shook me some, were now few and far between. I loved my new home, but I wished the rest of my family weren’t such a big ocean from me. I cleared my throat and blinked away the surprise tears that filled my eyes. I recovered quickly enough.

  We could have watched the riders for a long time, but a moment later we spied Birk and another man walking toward us.

  “Delaney and Elias, this is my stable manger, Mort Littleton.
Mort, this is Delaney and Elias, two good friends.”

  “Aye, a pleasure,” Mort said as we all shook hands.

  Even with only those few words, I could tell I was going to have a hard time understanding this older man’s accent. I suspected he’d also pepper his sentences with some Scots. I was glad Elias was there to help translate.

  “Mort did in fact confirm that the murder victim, Ritchie John, worked here,” Birk said. “He worked here a few years.”

  “Aye, he most certainly did,” Mort said. “The man up and quit his job three weeks ago. I tried tae stop him.”

  I got most of the words.

  “Did he give a reason for quitting?” I asked.

  “No, but he was upset, so much so I worrit about him.”

  “Mort, tell them exactly what you told me,” Birk said.

  “Aye, he said he was to quit. He behaved afraid, fearsome in a way I havenae seen in a long, long time. He wouldnae tell me.” Mort frowned, looked at Birk and then seemed to conclude he would keep talking. “A couple weeks earlier we had an event. The box that we keep the money in for snacks was stolen.”

  “I didn’t know about this,” Birk said.

  Mort shook his head. “The box was never returned but the money reappeared the next day. I just thought the person who stole it felt guilty. It wasn’t much, but enough that we should have been more careful. A couple hundred pounds.”

  “Do you think Ritchie was the thief?” Birk asked.

  “No, not a t’all. The day it went missing he and I were together all day, from the moment we walked inside, throughout the event, and then when it was discovered the box was missing. I ken he had nothing tae do with it, but I couldnae help but wonder if he ken something about it that bothered him so he quit. I couldnae think of anything else—all was well. I … I went to his flat the next day tae check on him, I was that worrit. He wasnae there, but the door to his flat was open a wee bit. I heard two voices, angry, aye. I couldnae get the exact words, but I felt wrong aboot listening. I hurried out of there a moment later. After he was kil’t, I called the police, I did, but I dinnae think they wanted tae hear what I had tae say. None of them came oot tae talk tae me in person.”

  “Male or female voices?” I asked.

  “Lad and a lass.”

  “Young, old?”

  Mort shook his head slowly. “I couldnae tell.”

  “You told the police that exactly?” I asked.

  “I did. On the phone I told them he used to work here too. They didnae come see me,” he repeated.

  “Mort, have you ever heard of or did Ritchie ever mention anyone named Findlay Sweet or Louis Chantrell?”

  “No, but he and I didnae have such conversations, lass. He was quiet, kept tae his job. I’m the boss and not meant tae be personal friendly with everyone. It’s just that he worked here so long that I felt a fondness for him. He was a hard worker, and I really liked working beside him.”

  “If I call a police inspector I know, would you mind telling him everything you just told me?” I pulled out my phone.

  “No, I’d be gled to.”

  I talked to Inspector Winters first and then passed the phone to Mort. I listened to his side of the conversation as intently as I could.

  Mort told Inspector Winters that Ritchie had been quiet and a good worker. I got the impression that Inspector Winters didn’t know that Ritchie had recently worked at the stables, and he didn’t know if the inspectors on the case did or not. Mort said that no one had been out to talk to him.

  Mort said that Ritchie had been great with the horses; the animals loved him, the riders did too. Everyone else at the stables thought he was a good man. He would be missed.

  When it appeared Mort was finished, Birk took the phone.

  “Inspector Winters, Birk Blackburn here. I had no idea the man worked for me. I apologize that we didn’t speak to you sooner about any of this.… Uh-huh.… Aye. Well, I ask Mort to hire men and women somewhat down on their luck if it’s at all possible. I believe Ritchie was one of those men, but neither Mort nor I was privy to reasons for it and he was hired a long time ago now. Again, apologies, and we’ll let you know if we remember anything else.… Aye, and please send anyone out to ask us questions at any time. We’ll all speak with you.… You’re welcome. Good-bye.”

  “Och, lass, thank ye,” Mort said as Birk ended the call. “I believe he listened tae me.”

  “I’m sure he did,” I said.

  Birk nodded and then looked at me. “I’m glad you discovered that he worked here, and I really hope we can help.”

  I nodded. “Did either of you ever meet Ritchie’s daughter, Darcy?”

  “Oh, aye, I did!” Mort said as Birk shook his head. “She came tae the stables a couple of times.” A frown suddenly pulled at his mouth.

  We all waited for him to continue. Finally, Birk said, “What’s on your mind, Mort?”

  “Last time she was here, when I came around the corner, and when I saw her, I didnae recognize her at first. I’d seen her afore. She’d visited her da a couple times when he and I were working together. She’s lovely as a rose, aye. But this last time when I saw her, it took a minute.”

  “So?” Birk said.

  Mort looked up at him, “It was the day of the event when the money was stolen. Ritchie was with me when we came upon her, and he seemed surprised it was her too, but we were so busy, we both just moved on. I just remembered.”

  “I don’t understand,” Birk said.

  “She was dressed in an old shabby coat and hat.”

  “Like the New Monster?” Birk asked the question that surely came to all our minds.

  “Maybe. Goodness, I’m not sure. I hadnae given it a thought until right this minute, but she looked … less like herself, almost unrecognizeable.”

  I pulled out my phone. “We’d better call Inspector Winters back.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Do ye think it’s that? Do ye think Darcy killed her own da, that she’s the Monster? That she has Shelagh?” Elias asked after we dropped off Birk and were again in Elias’s taxi.

  The ride to Birk’s hadn’t been nearly as talkative. Birk was bothered that he hadn’t remembered Ritchie John, and he’d been thoughtful and silent for almost the entire thirty-minute drive.

  “But why?” I said to Elias.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? She certainly didnae behave as if she was a killer, but who knows?”

  “Mort did say that the coat and hat weren’t exactly like the ones he’d seen on television, but it’s all strange. Even he didn’t want us to jump to the conclusion that it was Darcy.”

  “But of course we did.”

  “Of course.” I paused. “It would be a gruesome turn of events. What am I saying? It’s already a gruesome turn of events. And who was in Ritchie’s flat—the time Mort stopped by? I wish my mind would quit conjuring Findlay Sweet’s face.”

  “Aye, and his ex-wife is such a delightful lass.”

  I sat up straight. “What?”

  “His ex is lovely.”

  I shook my head. “How do you know his ex-wife?”

  “Lass, ye ken her too. Well, in a manner.”

  “I do? I mean, I found her picture online and thought she looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.”

  “She’s a server at Vanessa’s, Edwin’s lady love’s establishment.”

  “Wha—Oh! Of course she is. We know her as Jolie, not Jessica. Maybe a nickname. She is the sweetest of all the servers.”

  “Aye.”

  “How did you figure this out?”

  Elias nodded knowingly. “Aggie has been spending some hours researching on her laptop. After ye told us aboot Findlay, she wanted tae know everything she could know aboot him. She found his ex-wife and showed me the picture. She couldnae place her right off either, said she just looked familiar. Ye, Aggie, and I had all been oot to dinner a week or so ago. Jolie was our server.”

  “Yes, she was.” I was embarrass
ed I hadn’t been able to identify her quickly. But to be fair, the picture I’d found on the internet was a ten-years-younger version with curly, windblown hair. Jolie didn’t necessarily look much older now, but she always had her hair pulled back in an efficient ponytail. And Tom didn’t recognize her; because of his previous schedule, he hadn’t gone out to as many dinners as the rest of us had.

  “It’s late, but we missed lunch,” I said. “You hungry?”

  “Aye.”

  We didn’t know if Jolie would be at work, but at least we’d be able to enjoy some good food and maybe say hello to Vanessa.

  Vanessa had come to Edinburgh from Ireland, bringing the food of her homeland with her. Her restaurant, located in Old Town, wasn’t far from Grassmarket. Elias pulled the cab onto the long driveway that would take us to a parking lot behind the building.

  During the summer Vanessa would set up some tables and chairs just outside the restaurant’s back door. A sturdy blue awning kept diners safe from any light rain. Anything heavy and the rear patio would have to be closed. I’d only eaten outside one of the many times I’d been to the restaurant.

  We spied Vanessa’s car as Elias parked and we headed for the back door.

  “Two?” a young woman asked as we went inside. It was crowded, but there were a few seats left, and we didn’t know the greeter.

  “Hi, is Vanessa in?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Can I tell her who’s asking?”

  “Delaney, Elias!” Vanessa dodged her way around a couple tables. “They’re friends of Edwin’s.” Vanessa put her hand on the greeter’s arm. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of them. Susan is the newest member of our team.”

  Vanessa’s long gray ponytail always fell perfectly down her back. Her bright eyes only seemed to get brighter the busier she became. I’d—we’d all—become very fond of her.

  Once introductions were made, Vanessa led us to a table in a quiet corner. We were there to get lunch, but I felt a little guilty about our ulterior motive.

  “Stew?” Vanessa said.

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “It’s your favorite, and it’s cold outside. Elias?”

 

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