by Molly Macrae
“I’ll put the foundlings back in the office and start the cash register.” But first Janet took out her phone and let her fingers run up to their cloud file. She added a third folder labeled “Foundlings,” and then created a document called “book clues” and typed a short list:
Dalwhinnie
glue
Paddington note
publication dates
variety, mix of titles
timing of drop off
Her fingers hesitated before adding one more entry:
Reddick’s interest purely selfish?
“It’s been a long day,” Christine said, coming through from the tearoom with Summer after they’d closed up and locked their front door. “I’m knackered and famished.”
Janet yawned. “That’s nothing new, but I’m right there with you.”
“Please don’t start that,” Summer said. “Do you know what a yawn does to my aim? I don’t have nearly enough days left to practice before the tournament.”
“Boudicca is right,” Christine said. “We should make an effort to take our leave on a more positive note. So, what have we learned today? Tallie, you go first. Think upbeat.”
“The cloud file is up and running.”
“Excellent,” Christine said. “That’s useful and shows we’re working toward a goal. Summer?”
Summer opened her mouth, but her answer disappeared into a sudden word-engulfing yawn.
“We’ll come back to you. Janet?”
“I am so cool and capable. I added a folder about the foundling books to the cloud file.”
Tallie and Summer immediately had their phones out.
“Reddick’s interested in the books?” Summer asked, reading the last item on the list. “Well, I guess I can see that. He’s the quiet bookish type, from the David Tennant school of policemanship instead of the academy for musclebound bruisers. How’d he hear about them, though? Is that what makes you suspicious?”
“He said Norman told him,” Janet said. “That’s probably true. Wondering about his motive is a totally wild projection on my part.”
“And yet,” Tallie said. “I brought the books out to the counter so he had to look at them in front of us.”
“I wondered why you did that,” Janet said. “He enjoyed taking them out of the box, and he seemed genuinely interested in the juvenile fiction, but I couldn’t help thinking there was more to it. Like he wanted us to judge him by his cover and not wonder what was going on inside.”
“That’s the way I felt,” Tallie said. “I’m willing to believe it’s just because of the upright, always-on-the-job cop vibe he gives off, though, because what did we expect him to do? Steal one of them?”
“Oh dear,” Janet said faintly. “Something stolen, from the rammy.” She looked toward the office. “A something? Or a whisky boxful?”
18
The four women looked at each other.
“If Reddick thought they were part of his case,” Tallie said, “they wouldn’t still be here. He’d have packed them back in the box and carried it away. But I agree, he might have been here with that idea in the back of his mind.”
“The Kidnapped we have is the only one of a Robert Louis Stevenson set,” Janet said. “When I told you that, Tallie, you said something about it being kidnapped.”
“You think Reddick made this leap because an odd box of books showed up on a doorstep somewhere?” Summer asked. “Sorry. Sounds kind of random.”
“Maybe not so random.” Janet started ticking points off on her fingers. “Norman told him about the books. He’s working on Lachlann’s case. We told Norman about the argument and the ‘something stolen’ so he could pass that information along. And that’s if Reddick hadn’t already heard about the fight or possible theft as a result of his own investigation.” She looked at her fingers, now splayed, then made balls of both hands and tucked them in her armpits. “So maybe our educated speculations and probing this morning were even more educated than we knew. And then there was Isla. Did you see her, Christine? She must have come in through the tearoom.”
“And went straight through to you,” Christine said. “She didn’t even stop to smell the rose hip tea. What did she want?”
“My phone number, so she could let me know where she and Rhona plan to meet for morning bike rides.”
“Did you notice she waited until Reddick left before she went to the counter to talk to you?” Tallie asked.
“She didn’t want to interrupt, I assumed.”
“That could be. Or she was really there to see what Reddick was up to?” Tallie said. “I saw Reddick pass our windows before he came in. I didn’t know who she was, at the time, but Isla came along soon after. She turned her head, for a very quick look in as she passed the door, but she kept going. The next thing I knew, she was in here pretending to look at books.”
“Definitely pretending,” Janet said. “But we can’t call the police on everyone who does that. She took mild interest in the foundling books, though. She picked up one of them and looked in the box before she left.”
“She’s a district nurse,” Tallie said. “Like Lachlann. Lynsey texted her and the charge nurse when Lachy didn’t come home yesterday.”
“Okay, so not so random after all,” Summer said. “What about this, then? One of the theories you put in the cloud this morning has Lachlann and his father thieving together. Maybe it wasn’t them. Maybe it was Lachlann and Isla.” She looked at the time. “I need to scoot. Do you want me to take the books up to my flat for the night for safekeeping?”
“I don’t know if we need to go that far,” Tallie said.
“Book people love looking at old books,” Janet said. “They’re like old photographs, like magnets. You’re drawn to pick them up. Norman had no ulterior motive when he first saw them. He fell in love with that copy of Kidnapped as soon as he laid eyes on it.”
“But from the way you described her, Isla isn’t a book person,” Summer said. “And if you start adding up the little connections and coincidences—there’s nothing wrong with an abundance of caution.”
“Book people who love looking at books also like owning them,” Christine said. “One way or another.”
“Oh, yes,” Janet said. “There are famous cases of people who stole priceless books—lots of them—from libraries and collections. These aren’t likely to be priceless, though. Too well-loved over the years.”
“Have you looked at them that carefully?” Christine asked.
“Not really.”
“Why don’t we each take some?” Christine said. “Summer needs to run—”
“Good idea. Split them up,” Summer said. “Leave mine in the office and I’ll get them when I come back. I haven’t really looked at them at all. Who knows? Maybe fresh eyes will see something you’ve missed. See you all tomorrow.”
“Keep your eye on the target and your arm loose,” Christine called as Summer let herself out the front door.
Summer relocked the door, mimed taking aim and launching a dart, and took off up the street at a trot.
“I know Summer’s careful and capable,” Janet said, “and I’m not trying to be the mom. But if we’re considering the safety of the books, we should consider our own safety, too. Should we worry about her out on her own after dark?”
“In light of Malcolm and Lachlann, it’s a fair question,” Christine said. “A fair worry, too. My feeling at this point, though, is no. We have a lot of unknowns, but not much else. Do you feel differently?”
Janet waved off Christine. “What do you think, Tallie?”
“I agree with Christine. Not yet and maybe not at all. But this isn’t a majority rule situation. We’re still gathering information and evaluating.”
“Because none of us likes not knowing what’s going on,” Christine said. “That’s why I don’t mind adopting the slur with which the late, not-so-dearly departed Daphne graced us. We personify the Shadow Constabulary of Nosy Eavesdropping Snoops. Although I thin
k we’re more sophisticated than that.”
“Goes without saying,” Tallie said. “So, Mom, do you feel differently? What’s your evaluation telling you?”
“I do feel differently, but that’s all it is. A feeling,” Janet said. “It isn’t based on anything concrete. Not concrete enough, anyway. Not yet. So I agree with you, and I’m glad we’ve all reached the same place.”
“We’ve also all been in a place of critical danger,” Tallie said. “Traumatic danger.”
“I’m sure that’s part of the feeling,” Janet said. “I’d be daft not to recognize and admit that. The other end of that, though, is letting our questions—all the whys and the wondering—eclipse good sense. We can’t let that happen.”
“We don’t appear to be,” Tallie said, “but I’ll be happy to snap at the first person who slips.”
“The problem with you, Tallie,” said Christine, “is that I can’t always tell when you’re seriously being serious.”
Janet studied her daughter’s face and then nodded. “She’s absolutely serious. Thank you, Tallie. The four of us are good at watching out for each other, but having a designated snapper is added insurance.”
“I was hoping for the title Snapper in Chief,” Tallie said.
“I think that’s appropriate.” Christine brought out her phone. “I’ll put it in the cloud to make it official.”
“Cool,” Tallie said. “I’ll get the box.”
“We’ve made the right move coming here,” Janet said to Christine as Tallie disappeared into the office. “We’ve surrounded ourselves with good people. Well, with the exception of the ones who’ve turned out to be murderers.”
“It happens to the best of people, I’m sure.”
“But we have Tallie and Summer. Danny, Rab, Basant.”
“Stodgy Porridge and Reddick,” Christine said. “Maida, too.”
“All of them, and Sharon at the library. And don’t ever call Norman that to his face or I’ll sic the Snapper in Chief on you. Here she is. Snap those books up onto the counter, Snapper, so we can get home to our tea.”
“How do you want to split them up?” Tallie asked.
“Any way you want. Four stacks as they come out of the box or choose the ones that interest you.” Janet started taking the books out and spreading them across the counter.
“You take the ones that are most likely to be valuable,” Christine said.
“I’ll take the Cold Comfort Farm,” Janet said. “But really, until I do the research, I don’t know. Even worn first editions of some books are worth oodles.”
“That’s secret bookseller slang,” Tallie said.
“There’s a good sampling from the Kailyard School here,” Christine said. “A Doctor of the Old School by Maclaren, A Vexed Inheritance by Swan, The Little Minister by Barrie. Calling them Kailyard or humble kitchen garden novels is just as rude as calling us S.C.O.N.E.S. Literary snobs thought they were overly sentimental, but they probably outsold anything the literary snobs were peddling.”
“Genre fiction of the time?” Tallie asked.
“And quite enjoyable, aye. I’ll take those in my stack. Mum and Dad will get a kick out of them. I still have the other book at home. The Culpeper.”
“Did you say one of them is by Swan?” Janet asked. “Basant is reading a book by her. He found it on the Bring One, Take One shelf at the library. I wonder why our foundlings didn’t get dropped off there?”
“Maybe the donor was spreading the wealth,” Tallie said. “We should check with Sharon. See if they’ve had similar donations.”
“Oh, joy,” Janet said. “But you’re right. We should.”
Sharon Davis, director of the Inversgail Library and Archives, was very good at her job—in part because she was so very good at inveigling community members into donating time to various library projects. “Time” often ended up operating to a loose definition. Janet had learned that the hard way and tried to limit her exposure to Sharon.
“Now, now,” Christine said. “I see the look on your face, Janet. We were going for upbeat and that’s not it.”
“Why don’t you talk to Sharon, then?” Janet asked.
“Because I know my strengths,” Christine said. “Ignoring suggestions like that is one of them.” She picked up The Bell Rock Lighthouse. “Danny might like this one, if the books end up being ours to sell. Do you know the Bell Rock Light? It’s off the coast of Angus. It’s the oldest surviving sea-washed lighthouse in the world.”
“That’s the book Isla picked up,” Janet said.
“May I?” Tallie put her hand out and Christine passed the book to her.
“It’s one of the lighthouses our statue’s grandfather built,” Christine said. “RLS, who stands at the harbor, forever gazing at the Inversgail lighthouse and thinking his granddad could have made it look more impressive.”
Janet started looking through the stacks of books Tallie had made. “Isla said Gerald Murray would like the Bell Rock book because he has pictures of lighthouses on his walls.” She found Kidnapped and Records of a Family of Engineers. “We have a trio of Stevenson-related books.”
“Isla notices the pictures on people’s walls?” Tallie said. “No, forget I said it like that. There’s nothing wrong and everything normal about noticing things about where other people live. It doesn’t mean she’s casing her patients’ houses.”
“We’re learning that suspicion is like seasoning, don’t you think?” Christine said. “Too much, too little, or just right—it can make or break a recipe, or scuttle a line of inquiry. We can call the search for that balance the Goldilocks Quest.”
“Who knew being a member of the S.C.O.N.E.S. would be such a folkloric learning process.” Tallie glanced at Christine. “I was being serious just then, too, in case you were wondering. Really, who knew?”
“It’s another connection, though,” Janet said. “Isla knowing what Gerald has on his walls, these books, and ‘something stolen.’”
“Not enough seasoning,” Tallie said. “Tenuous at best.”
“How about this, then,” Christine said. “We wondered if the books belonged to Malcolm. What if they belonged to Gerald? Not stolen from him, though. Maybe Malcolm’s death made him think about the decades and decades of accumulated stuff in that house they grew up in, and it prompted him to have a clean-out.”
“The books showed up here the morning after he was in Nev’s,” Janet said. “How does that taste to you, Tallie?”
“Better.” Tallie pulled The Sword in the Stone and The Incredible Adventures of Professor Branestawm from a stack. “These and Swallows and Amazons are old enough that he could’ve owned them as a child.”
“Easily,” Christine said. “The Bell Rock Lighthouse is part of a series for schools, so that fits in, too.”
“If they’d belonged to him when he was a kid, then you’d think Florence might have recognized some of the titles,” Tallie said.
“If she knew what books her brother owned,” Christine said. “But after all this time? Maybe and maybe not.”
“I didn’t list all of them,” Janet said. “She didn’t recognize the ones I did, so listing more struck me as useless. She said she didn’t pack the box or bring it. Malcolm might have packed it, but he certainly didn’t bring it.”
“Does Florence strike either of you as someone who quotes Paddington Bear?” Christine asked.
“Easiest question of the evening to answer,” Janet said. “No. Well, let’s each take a stack and put one in the office for Summer.”
“What are we looking for with our fresh eyes?” Christine asked. “Do you want us chasing down prices for like editions in comparable condition?”
“You sound like a bona fide bookwoman,” Janet said. “Sure, you can do that. Or just flip through them and see what you see. We’re shy on seasoning at this stage, so any information helps.”
“I wonder if that’s all the note was asking,” Tallie said. “For us to do the digging? Probably no
t, though. That would have to be someone who’s too cute to be efficient.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Christine, you never told us what you learned today.”
“Didn’t I? Och, well, mine’s more what I might have learned while we were not bribing the constable.”
“Is it upbeat?” Tallie asked.
Christine considered the question, her eyes focusing briefly on the ceiling, then the floor, and then the two waiting for her answer. “In fact, it’s a lot of ‘mights’ and ‘could bes,’ and regarded in the right light, they can be seen as positive, so yes, let’s say it is upbeat. This could be something else that moves us forward. Norman might have let something slip. Did you catch it, Janet? In his warning about not spending our time tracking down armed people who might or might not be going in and out of windows.”
“There’s an upbeat image for you,” Tallie said.
“I’m not sure I did catch it,” said Janet.
“And I might just be projecting my upbeat attitude onto it,” Christine said. “But what if Norman, or someone else officially in the know, sees the two cases as one? Malcolm and Lachlann? Norman could have said tracking down armed people and people going in and out windows, but he didn’t. He left out the conjunction.”
“Interesting,” Janet said. “Very.”
“But we did a boatload of educated speculating and probing about the rammy and something stolen this morning,” Tallie said. “And when Norman said that, hadn’t you’d just told him about all of that? Maybe he combined everything to be stodgy and efficient.”
“We told him the scant bit we heard from the neighbor,” Janet said. “A rammy, strong language, something stolen, and nothing more. We didn’t elaborate.”
“Your mum’s right,” Christine said. “That possibly inspired, possibly in-the-know combo is down to Norman. We didn’t burden him with our ESP about Lachy the thief.”
Janet and Tallie walked home together, each carrying their stack of books, feeling like schoolgirls with an evening of homework ahead. As they passed the cheese shop, their noses waylaid them and led them, helpless, inside. They came out again with an aged Dunlop so they could have toasties for tea. Halfway up the hill to Argyll Terrace, their phones alerted them to texts. They stopped and Tallie juggled hers from her pocket first.
