by Molly Macrae
17
Norman Hobbs dropped by Yon Bonnie Books that afternoon. Janet and Tallie, busy with customers at the counter while surreptitiously sharing the gooseberry hand pie, called hello. He touched the brim of his cap, put his hands behind his back, and walked up and down the aisles of bookshelves as though patrolling a beat.
“On the lookout for errant editions,” Tallie whispered to Janet.
“After receiving reports of villainous volumes,” Janet whispered back.
At one point it looked as though Ranger had decided to follow Hobbs, but when Hobbs came back toward the counter end of the shop, Ranger had disappeared.
“Gone to fetch Rab and tell him their work day has gone on long enough,” Janet said.
“Or maybe to fetch Christine,” Tallie said, nodding in the direction of the tearoom.
Coming toward them were Hobbs, followed by Christine, followed by Ranger. Ranger went back to his chair, jumped into it, and settled back into his nap with a gusty exhalation that sounded very much like one of Christine’s pffts. Christine and Hobbs approached the counter, looking very much like opposing counsel approaching the bench.
“I have a good idea,” Tallie said before either of them opened their mouths. She swirled a finger indicating the opposing counsels and her mother. “Why don’t the three of you troop into the office where you can be comfortable, and the customers won’t overhear anything that makes them uncomfortable?”
Christine took the tall stool with her and winked at Tallie before closing the door. Tallie whispered, “no bribery,” but Christine gave no indication she’d heard.
“Why don’t we all be seated?” Christine said, waving Janet and Hobbs to the desk chairs.
“Won’t you be more comfortable in a chair?” Hobbs asked Christine.
She shook her head, and in extending that courtesy, he lost the chance to sit at the desk with the foundling books. Christine perched on the stool, and when Hobbs sat, she smiled down at him.
“Now,” she said, “I want to know if Norman is here as an ally or a spy.”
“How do you mean?” Hobbs sounded offended.
“I think she means that we know that you know that we intended to talk to Lynsey this morning when we returned her bike,” Janet said, “and she wonders if you’re going to try to winkle out of us what we learned.”
Hobbs looked less offended, but Christine looked betrayed.
“This is a situation where we need to cooperate, Christine,” Janet said. Her friend looked less betrayed but still annoyed. Janet turned to Hobbs. “Ally sounds better that spy, don’t you think? We didn’t see or speak to Lynsey this morning. She wasn’t home or she wasn’t answering her door. Her bike is back at my house again. We aren’t playing cops and robbers.”
“I am happy to hear that,” Hobbs said.
“But we do have a way of collecting information,” Christine said.
“I am well aware of that.”
“And speaking of robbers,” Janet said.
Hobbs had been watching Christine, but whipped his head around to Janet.
“Have you heard that Lachlann Mòr and his father got into a rammy in Lachlann’s front garden Sunday last?” Christine asked.
“No, I have not.” Hobbs moved his chair so that he could see them both easily, and he took out his notebook and pen.
“We’re concerned about Lynsey,” Janet said. “There’s been nothing on the news.”
“A statement is forthcoming. Now, about this rammy.”
“Strong language involved and a mention of something stolen,” Christine said. “Is Lynsey somewhere safe? With family?”
“Do you know who came and picked her up last night after you dropped her off?” Janet asked. “Did you know someone picked her up?”
Hobbs was silent while he made notes, then he looked up. “You understand that I am not part of the Major Investigation Team, and therefore not privy to all their information?”
“That must be frustrating,” Janet said. “Lynsey’s neighbor stepped outside this morning when we went to return the bike. She mentioned the rammy and someone picking Lynsey up.”
“We didn’t tell her anything other than there’d been a death in the family,” Christine said. “That is correct, isn’t it?”
“Lachy?” Janet asked. Hobbs nodded and Janet added, “Shot?”
No one spoke for a few moments. Then Hobbs asked, “Official information has not yet been released. Where did you hear that?”
Again no one spoke. Christine looked at Janet, apparently happy to let her decide what to say, and Janet thought about friends telling on friends. Rat out Ian? Is he a friend? He probably thinks he is. But friends have to help friends, too.
“Ian heard last night,” she said. “He knew it from a text before you and Reddick drove away.”
“Interesting.” Hobbs pursed his lips, making his own decision. “Lachlann Maclennan was shot and killed yesterday.”
“Shot and killed,” Christine said. “Not suicide.”
“Do they have anyone in custody?” Janet asked.
“No.”
“A suspect?” Christine asked.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Do you know where Lynsey is?” Janet asked.
“No. I do know Lachy’s father is in hospital, having suffered a possible heart attack after being informed.”
“What about his mother?” Janet asked.
“Died some years back. His father has lived alone since.”
“The poor man,” Janet said. “We’ll hope Lynsey is with family or friends and that she and Lachy’s father find some measure of peace down the road.”
“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, does it?” Christine said. “Though friends help.”
“I’ll call round to Dr. Murray’s this afternoon, to follow up on your concerns of last night,” Norman said.
“Thank you, Norman,” Janet said. “We worry that Florence is a danger to herself or the dog or the house. The books, if nothing else.”
“Mrs. Jones, even at this sad time, must appreciate having thoughtful friends.”
“Mrs. Jones.” Christine pointed at Hobbs. “Forgive me if I remind you, Norman, but I asked you about Florence’s husband, and you laid on that song and dance about not spreading gossip. Could you not have seen fit to tell us her married name? How would that be spreading gossip?”
“You asked what became of her husband, Mrs. Robertson. Forgive me if I assumed you knew her married name.”
“You’re right.” Christine looked near tears again. “Of course, you’re right, and what kind of friend have I been? And I won’t, I can’t, use being away in America as an excuse.”
“You don’t need an excuse,” Janet said. “She didn’t keep up with you, either. It happens. All the time.”
“Mrs. Marsh is correct,” Hobbs said. “Please also forgive me if I sounded critical.”
“Thank you, both. I will try to focus on going forward and being a friend, if Florence wants that. I’m glad you’re going to see her again, Norman. Now let me put my original question—what became of her husband—another way. What else do you assume I know about Florence?”
Hobbs looked at her steadily, imperturbably, until just before Janet thought Christine might launch herself at him.
But Christine didn’t. She figuratively dusted off her not-quite-smile and said, “You’re very good at your job, Norman. I hope you know that people appreciate that.”
Hobbs stood, literally tipped his hat, and glanced at the foundling books. “Any news?”
“Not yet,” Janet said. “But the books aren’t going anywhere, so there’s no particular rush. At this point, knowing who left them might be more for my own curiosity. If nothing else, I’d like to know if there are more where these came from. I don’t want lots of donations, but I do like looking at old books and dreaming of finding something special.”
“In that case,” said Hobbs, “May I suggest that tracking down the owner is a bett
er use of your time than tracking down armed people who might or might not be going in and out of windows.”
“You don’t really mean that,” Christine said. “Because we do have a way of collecting information, and if we learn anything useful, you know we’ll tell you. You’re leaving now with several pages of notes you didn’t have when you came in. You’re good at your job, Norman, but the fact is, we make you look even better.”
“The box might still be a clue,” Janet said. “There’s more than one place to buy Dalwhinnie and maybe more people who buy it by the case. Restaurants? Small hotels? Or the box might not mean anything. It might have been an empty picked up at the off-license. We could ask Danny, Christine. He might have some suggestions. And maybe the flaps tell us something.”
“What about them?” Hobbs asked, reaching for his notebook.
“That’s kind of you, Norman,” Janet said, “but we can’t ask you to spend more of your time chasing this down. It’s the glue. The fact the flaps were glued shut, and I mean thoroughly glued to the point of being fricking irritating. Pardon my American. Any normal person would tuck the flaps in or tape them. So the glue might be a clue. A fairly useless one, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Hobbs agreed.
“Basant is keeping his ear to the ground about the books,” Janet said, “and I’ll keep an eye out for a fussy fricker with a glue fetish. Again, pardon my American.”
“Very good,” Hobbs said, and took his leave.
Yon Bonnie Books had a visit from another policeman that afternoon. Inspector Reddick of the Major Investigation Team, generally considered a friendly face, nonetheless prompted the combined staff of bookshop and tearoom to be on their best behavior. They knew Reddick from two previous investigations and the time he’d spent in Inversgail while convalescing from an accident. They also knew his collie, Quantum. They had warm feelings for Reddick, but felt more at ease calling Quantum by his first name.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” Janet said when he came through the front door. “How is Quantum?”
“Up to woof, thank you. He’ll be pleased to know you were thinking of him.” Reddick turned in a circle, taking in the changes since his last visit, and audibly filling his lungs. “Book air. Nothing like it. Ranger not in today?”
“Oh, yes, he’s—” Janet looked over at the fireplace chairs. “I guess you missed him. What can I do for you?”
“Hobbs told me about some books you found.”
Janet raised her eyebrows. Tallie raised the question. “Are they under investigation?”
“Sorry?” Reddick appeared taken aback.
“Sorry,” Tallie said. “We’re a little jumpy after last night. Jumpy and jumping to conclusions. We haven’t really let anyone know we have the books.”
“Give us an inquiry from an inspector and we’ll jump to miles of conclusions,” Janet said.
“Understandable. My motives are purely selfish, though. I’m a fan of old books. The few you have in your locked case are a bit dear for my salary. Would you mind terribly if I look at them?”
“Not at all,” Janet said. “They’re in the—”
Tallie cut in. “Just as easy if I bring them out. Be right back.”
She wasn’t immediately back, and while he waited, Reddick wandered over to the crime fiction section and picked up Ian Atkinson’s latest. Janet waited on a customer and was just wondering what her daughter was up to when Tallie came back with the books stacked back in their box.
“This gives you the fun of discovering them one at a time, like we did,” Tallie said.
“Shall I take them over there?” Reddick asked.
“The end of the counter is good. You won’t be in the way.” Tallie moved a display of bookmarks to make room for him.
Reddick rubbed his hands and took the first two books out. “Swallows and Amazons and The Incredible Adventures of Professor Branestawm. I read them both from the school library when I was a lad, but these—are they firsts?”
“Some are first editions,” Janet said. “Some are early editions. 1940s, ’30s, and before. They’re all well-loved. That will make some difference when or if we put prices on them.”
Reddick pulled out a paperback of Cold Comfort Farm. “Not familiar with this one.”
“Find it and read it. You’ll love it,” Janet said. “But not that one just yet. We should probably put it aside where it won’t get knocked around.”
“Dear?” Reddick asked.
“More fragile than a hardback.” Janet moved closer and spoke quietly. “Being such an early paperback, possibly quite dear. If and when they’re ours to sell, we’ll need to research them before we set prices. But I don’t feel we can discuss that until we know more.”
“Hobbs told me a little about the mystery surrounding them.”
“Any thoughts?”
“Not really. You’re the bookseller and should do as you’re comfortable and see fit. Are you sure you don’t mind me looking? Carefully?”
“Go right ahead.”
Business had slowed to a trickle again, as was typical toward the end of a quiet Thursday. Tallie went to straighten and tidy before closing. Janet sat on the stool and enjoyed watching Reddick unpack the box. He seemed most taken with the children’s books, stopping to marvel over the early edition of The Sword in the Stone. When he found Records of a Family of Engineers, he thumbed through it looking almost cross-eyed, suggesting either no affinity or absolute awe for that kind of work.
As he came to the last few books in the box, Janet caught sight of Isla, in her blue nurse’s tunic, browsing the gardening section. Or pretending to browse. Janet knew the difference between serious and sham browsing. Bored spouses often performed the latter while they waited. Janet wondered who Isla was waiting for. She must have come in through the tearoom. Janet hadn’t seen her come through Yon Bonnie’s front door.
Reddick put the last book down on the counter. “Thank you, Janet. Time well spent.” Then he looked at the time on his phone. “And now it’s time to be away.” He started packing the books back in the box.
“It’s okay. I’ll get them,” Janet said. “You go on.”
“You’re sure? Aye, well, thanks again. Will you let me know if and when?”
“Deal. I’d like to picture you reading Swallows and Amazons to Quantum.”
Isla waited a few moments after Reddick left and then made her way to the counter, stopping at the postcards and touching the calendar display on her way past. Janet thought that if she asked Isla to describe anything she’d just looked at, Isla would come up blank.
“Hello, Isla. It’s nice to see you.” Janet spoke a little louder than she usually did. Tallie hadn’t met Isla, and if she heard, maybe she’d swing back around to the counter to catch a glimpse.
“Such a jolly American greeting. Nice to hear a shout of welcome.”
Prickly as ever, Janet thought. “Did you find what you wanted?”
“Sorry?”
“While you were browsing. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Whilst I was browsing? No, that’s all right. No worries. I just thought I’d come in and have a look round. It’s my short day and I found myself with time to kill.”
An expression I would just as soon never hear again, Janet thought. Aloud she said, “That’s fine, then. Let me know if I can help you,” and started putting the books back in the box. She saw that Tallie had come to the end of the aisle nearest the counter, behind Isla. Tallie caught her eye and then stayed there quietly doing a bit of sham straightening.
“I should have let you know the invitation stands,” Isla said. “To ride mornings. I could phone or text you to let you know where we’ll meet next, how far we’ll go. If you like.”
Is this what Lynsey meant by don’t mind Isla? She’s just awkward at making friends?
“I’d like that,” Janet said. “I might not make it every morning.”
“Och, well, no one’s asking you to.”
Wheesht, Isla, Janet thought.
“What’s your number?” Isla had her phone out.
Do I want this prickly thistle to have my number? Wheesht, Janet. She told Isla her number and watched her enter it. Isla hadn’t said anything about Lachlann. Is that curious or does it mean the official statement still hasn’t been released?
“Do you ken who’d like this one?” Isla picked up The Bell Rock Lighthouse. “Gerald Murray. Malcolm’s brother.”
“Do you know him?”
“Do you?”
“No,” Janet admitted. “I saw him Monday night in Nev’s, but I didn’t know him or his brother.”
“You met them both on the same day, then.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.” And I don’t want to think of it that way, but now I’ll probably never get it out of my brain. Thank you, Isla.
Isla idly flipped the book from front to back on the counter. Over and over.
“May I?” Janet took the book from her and put it in the box. “How do you know Gerald would like it?”
“He’s one of our patients. Typical vet. Bit of a head case.” She didn’t seem to have the same feelings about patient confidentiality as Lachlann, if Lynsey’s view of him was accurate. “Does a wee bit of farming. Pictures of lighthouses on his walls. Harmless.” Isla pulled the box flaps back and peered in. She let them close again without comment. Then, with no particular expression on her face, she said “Cheers,” and left.
“You hesitated before you gave her your number,” Tallie said, coming over to the counter.
“It was that noticeable, huh?”
“Probably not to her. She’s probably not the best spokesperson for the bike riders club, either.”
“I don’t think it’s a club in any formal sense,” Janet said. “Rhona and Lynsey both keep saying ‘don’t mind Isla.’ You can see why.”
“You did a good job of not minding, though. And you can always block her if it turns out you need to mind her after all.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“I’ll finish the straightening.”
