“I’m so sorry about my behavior at the business-licensing office. I’m still processing my uncle’s murder, and that letter. I was distraught. I’m so sorry if I was rude.”
“No, please, no need to even think twice about it. Did your license get fixed?”
“Oh, yes, it was easy in fact. I just had to pay a small late fee and I was good to go, back in business literally. I had infused it all with too much drama.”
“That’s great news! I really wanted to see your shop.” I looked around. “It’s extraordinary.”
It was a more organized mess than the mess in the warehouse, but it still reminded me of the place where I did most of my work. Old things were everywhere—my eyes glanced over treasures such as swords, uniforms, dishes, and perfume bottles, but they landed on two desks next to each other in the middle and against a side wall.
Ornate, they reminded me of Marie Antoinette. So that we wouldn’t linger on her uncle’s murder, I pointed and said, “Those are French?”
“Aye. I mean oui.” Dina smiled. “One of them is. Come look.”
I followed her as we wove our way around some end tables and an old straight-back chair, more utilitarian than comfortable, a trunk covered in faded travel stickers, and a fireplace grate, the soot well baked on, I thought.
The shop assaulted my senses, in a good way. It was just the type of place I liked to explore, but that wasn’t why I was there today.
The desks were more similar to my desk than Robert Burns’s simple writing desk. These each had a couple of drawers, and, like mine, were too old to have been originally fitted with any sort of hanging-file mechanisms. Dina, trying hard not to sound like she was selling me, pointed out the finely carved markings and the dove-tailed joints. They were undoubtedly old and well preserved.
“The two customers who were in here just before you loved them both, but the shipping to the States would be a fortune,” she said with a sigh.
“How long have you had them in the shop?”
“This one,” she nodded, “for about three months, but this other one for about a year. It’s expensive.” She displayed the price tag.
“Ten thousand pounds?” I said with lifted eyebrows. “Yes, that’s expensive.”
Dina laughed. “Yes, it’s rumored to have been in The Tower of London during Queen Elizabeth I’s reign.”
“Really? It’s in great shape!”
“It’s surprising how furniture can make it over the centuries, particularly if it’s not exposed to the elements.”
“Is there any way to authenticate it?” I asked.
“Well, the maker’s mark burned into the back of the side panel of it fits.” She pointed and I knelt to look at the mark, “As well as the structural style. I have the provenance papers, but they don’t go back all the way. At some point, it became a ‘good possibility.’”
The mark was a simple tree with the letter E underneath.
“E is for Elizabeth?” I said.
“No, I don’t think so. I think that belonged to the person who made the desk. I’m not exactly sure.”
Edwin had told me about my desk, but he had never shown me any papers. I suddenly had an urge to search for and research furniture maker’s marks.
“Fascinating,” I said as I stood straight again.
“I know. I love all this stuff. I love history, and I particularly love a good story.” Dina smiled.
There was a chance she and I could be friends. We were alike in some obvious ways. But I had some questions for her, and even risking our potential friendship wasn’t going to stop me from asking them.
“Dina,” I began. “Do you remember meeting with Edwin MacAlister about some years back when you first opened your shop?”
“The name isn’t familiar,” she said a moment later as her eyebrows came together. She kept eye contact with me.
She seemed to be telling the truth, but I had a hard time believing she neither remembered him nor his name being brought up at the dinner Mary and Henry had hosted. Still, I saw nothing that made me think she was lying. Her expression remained engaged and thoughtful.
“He owns the bookshop where I work.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Anyway, back then, he brought in some coins for you to consider buying. They were Mary, Queen of Scots’ coins.”
Her mouth made a quick O and her eyes opened wide. “Yes, now of course I remember him! Those coins, oh, how I wish I could have afforded them. I didn’t put all of that together. He’s the man who owns your bookshop?”
“Yes.” I paused. I didn’t ask her about why she didn’t contact Edwin again about the coins. Maybe she still couldn’t afford them. Instead, I said, “Yes, it’s the same bookshop that Henry was trying to shut down when he was killed.”
Her expression changed quickly. “What?”
I nodded. “It seems the council wants to close the bookshop, allegedly because it didn’t pass some sort of structural inspection.”
“I’m so sorry.” Dina cleared her throat. “Can’t Mr. MacAlister do what needs to be done to bring the building back up to code?”
“He would, if … do you have a minute? I’d like to tell you about all of it.”
“Of course. Come sit back by the counter. Pick any chair and I’ll gather us some tea.”
She turned before I could protest the tea. I didn’t want her to have time to get her story straight in her head, whatever that story might be. But I needed her. I needed her connections—her husband, a councilor, might be able to help. If they’d all been in this together, all been conspiring to shut the shop, then maybe I could get some answers as to why if I shared my side of the story.
Over tea, and around a few other customers who came in, I told her what had happened. She seemed truly interested and truly perplexed by the circumstances, saying more than once that there must be some sort of misunderstanding, that she and Mikey never really discussed that part of his life, so she hadn’t heard anything about it.
“Of course, I will talk to Mikey,” she finally said. “There has to be a way to fix this. It seems so very unfair.”
“It does.” A tiny bit of hope bubbled inside me. “Thank you. I would appreciate any help you could give.”
Dina looked at me and nodded and then shook her head. “So very unfair.”
The bell above the front door jingled and a large group of customers walked in. Dina had expected them.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Delaney, I’ve a meeting—these are some costume people. I’ll have to excuse myself.”
“Thank you for your time.” I stood.
“Don’t worry, Delaney, I will get on this.”
Dina walked me all the way to the door. Once there, I decided to ask her one more question.
“What does Mary think about you having one of her past-life-foe’s desks?” I smiled.
But Dina didn’t smile back. She glanced toward the customers—they weren’t in hearing range—and said, “Delaney, Mary is sure the desk came from Elizabeth’s time, and place. She told me she’s sure it’s real. She touched it and could sense Elizabeth’s presence.”
“Really?” My smile stiffened. That sort of prediction went beyond past life stuff, didn’t it?
“Yes, really. She’s more fascinated than bothered about it though.”
I couldn’t be sure if she almost rolled her eyes or not before she excused herself again to help the costume people.
I stood outside the shop and looked up at the awning. Dina had been friendly, offered to help. That bubble of hope grew a little bigger. I listened hard for a bookish voice to tell me things were going to be okay. None were talking. Maybe my intuition was off.
Or maybe I still didn’t have quite enough information yet.
NINETEEN
“Even if she’s here, I’m not sure we’ll be able to see her,” I said as I kept my arm threaded through Rosie’s. It was too crowded to let her go.
The museum, including the courtyard we were curr
ently walking through, was much busier than during my first visit. A lot of people were interested in past lives.
“Maybe not,” Rosie said as she looked around at all the people. She didn’t like crowds, but I didn’t realize until this moment that they actually made her uncomfortable and anxious.
“Are you okay?” I veered us out of the flow of people and stopped walking. “We don’t have to do this.”
I’d wished I hadn’t asked her to go with me from the moment she’d opened her door. Her expression had been drawn and distracted. If she had lived past lives, I sensed she’d said goodbye to them a long time ago. She wasn’t interested in getting reacquainted with any of her old, possible selves. And, the crowd made it even less worth it.
Rosie took a deep breath and let it out. “No, lass, I’m fine. I’m sorry if I seem like I’m not. I’m fine. I’m not a fan of so many people, but I can get past that. I can’t find that paperwork and that’s on my mind. I ken I will find it though.”
I frowned. “Why don’t we go back home. I’ll help you search.”
“No, lass, I need tae get out a bit, and I need tae search for it by myself, later. I would worry someone else would miss it and I’d end up searching everything anyway. I’m truly fine.”
Her eyes weren’t saying the same thing.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll just swoop through. If I don’t see Mary right off, we’ll get out of here.”
The museum was much different at night, as most places in Edinburgh were. Night brought out the ghosts, if you believed in that sort of thing. Again, I didn’t not believe.
Laila was nowhere to be seen. And this crowd had no interest in any of the artifacts inside. They might have interest in the writers being honored by the museum, but only if they thought they might have once been one of them.
We merged back into the crowd and were herded inside, through the main lobby and then back to a room I hadn’t noticed before. Set up as a meeting room, the building itself wasn’t very big so the meeting space felt cramped. Chairs were set up in tight rows, but by the time we made it in, most of them were taken. I ushered Rosie to an empty seat on the end of a row and stood next to her.
“I can see better if I stand,” I told her.
“Aye.”
Only a few seconds later, the doors were shut. I scanned, but didn’t see Mary anywhere. It didn’t make sense that she had come to this event so soon after Henry’s murder. I should have thought it through better, but I hadn’t predicted it would be such a big event. In my mind, I’d seen a group, seated in a circle, sharing the stories of their lives. I’d wondered if maybe Mary would have received support from the circle.
Hello, my name is Mary, and I used to be Mary, Queen of Scots.
Hello, Mary.
I rolled my eyes at myself. This was nothing like that.
A woman appeared at the front of the room and the crowd quickly fell into a whispering hush.
“Hello, everyone,” the woman said. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. Do we have a treat for you all tonight.” She smiled and clasped her hands together, causing the crowd to cheer and applaud. I obligingly clapped too as I looked at Rosie. She smiled, but she still looked uncomfortable. I was going to reach for her arm and tell her we should just go when the woman continued. I’d wait for more applause or cheers before I snuck us out of there.
“My name is Tia Zevon, and I am thrilled to be your host for another night of royalty. I look forward to this every year. And, I know all of you do too. It’s good to see that the crowd only continues to grow. We are closing the doors on this evening’s attendance. If you aren’t here yet, you won’t be allowed to enter. You may leave at any time, of course, but doors are closed the other direction. No one else is coming in, even by royal order!” She smiled.
The crowd laughed and clapped again.
Well, maybe we’d leave in a bit.
“I know you all know our guest this evening. She’s one of our regulars and she’s always ready to share a story or two. However, tonight is the first time she has agreed to be hypnotized.” Tia then took a step closer to the crowd and pulled a serious expression. “Ladies and gentlemen, our special guest is here this evening after an unthinkable tragedy has happened this week. We shan’t discuss that tragedy, even if we’ve heard about it. All right?” She looked out expectantly, like a teacher laying down the law. The crowd murmured their okays. “Very good then. Our own Mary Stewart, our Mary, Queen of Scots, is here tonight. Is everyone ready?”
The cheers and hollers came again. This was more like a revival than a support group. I understood Rosie’s discomfort. It felt like we were going to end the evening being asked to fork out $19.99 for something. And that’s not all!
I wasn’t leaving yet. I did, however, angle myself so that I was mostly hidden by two people standing in front of me. I could peer around them, but I didn’t want Mary to see me in the crowd. Rosie was just part of the sea of people sitting. Mary wouldn’t notice her.
“First, I’m going to introduce our hypnosis expert. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to Mr. Lyle Mercado.”
As the applause came again, I blinked and then moved back to a spot I could better see.
Lyle Mercado was the name of the man in charge of the business-license office for the city of Edinburgh. Beyond the fact that the man’s jobs or hobbies or whatever they all were made a strange combination of ingredients, it was just plain weird that I’d recently met him too.
It was only a moment later that it was confirmed. Definitely the same man.
“What the hell?” I muttered quietly. Only Rosie looked at me. I bent over and whispered in her ear. “Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Edwin took me to meet him. He’s in charge of the city’s business licenses.”
“Aye?”
I nodded and stood up straight again. Rosie sat up straighter and removed any hesitation from her face, replacing it with determination and question. I liked those much better than the worry and discomfort that were there before. She was now in the game.
Lyle stood front and center, commanding the space better than he commanded his small office. Of course, Edwin wasn’t with us, so maybe he wasn’t as intimidated.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you, Tia, for welcoming me. I’m so very excited to be a part of the festivities this year,” Lyle said.
From the sidelines where she’d removed herself to, Tia nodded and then bowed slightly toward him, her hands in a prayer.
“Oh, boy,” I said.
One of the women in front of me turned and sent me a frown. I smiled apologetically and she turned around again.
“Now, without further ado, let us welcome our very own queen, Mary Stewart, once and forever held in our hearts, Mary, Queen of Scots.”
Mary approached from behind the trifold that had been set up to signify “backstage.” She did, indeed, look as if she hadn’t slept for a few days. And I was pretty sure she looked thinner, as if she hadn’t eaten either. But she was a trooper, with a forced smile, excellent posture, and a good layer of makeup to attempt to hide dark circles under her eyes.
Or was she just trying to look like a trooper? I was feeling so many levels of untruth that I was suspicious of everything, every single action, almost every person in the room.
When the applause died down again, Lyle continued, “Many of us know our very own Mary Stewart, but for those who aren’t aware, she is a reincarnated soul, having once been the martyred Mary, Queen of Scots.”
Lyle paused momentarily to let the information soak in. There were a few ooohs and ahs, but no one yelled out in shock. This wasn’t news.
“All right. Mary has agreed to allow me to hypnotize her for the crowd. She’s susceptible, both she and I know, meaning that hypnotism works on her. She and I have had a few private sessions.”
I inspected them both. Was there some other meaning behind “private sessions”? I didn’t see any expression or shared
glances that made me think there was. Was this Mary’s next husband, the one who might be accused of killing Henry? Or was that just the past life? I gritted my teeth and watched closely.
Lyle continued, “Are we ready?”
The crowd was ready. Briefly, I thought that Lyle and I made eye contact. He hesitated, but not for long.
“Do you have any words for the audience before we get to work?” Lyle asked Mary.
She frowned and then shook her head.
Rosie and I looked at each other. She signaled at me. I leaned over so she could whisper in my ear.
“What in the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph is going on?” she asked.
“It looks like we’re going to see some hypnotism.”
“Lass, this isnae right. Her husband was just kil’t. I dinnae ken if the police suspect her or not, but I sense that this is being staged for something other than the entertainment of this crowd. We’re all being set up for something, maybe to sway some suspicion or something. I would bet Edwin’s money on it.”
“I think that’s possible.”
Rosie thought a moment and then reached into her purse. She kept her hand hidden inside. “I’m going tae record. I know they said no recordings allowed. I dinnae care. Someone needs a record of this.”
“I agree. Good idea.”
I wondered if she knew how to work the recording app on the phone, but she didn’t fumble or seem confused.
I stood back up and watched her. She sent me a pursed lip, confident nod.
“The only person susceptible to my words will be Mary Stewart.” Lyle took a step toward the audience, keeping his hands clutched together in front of himself.
He cut quite the figure. Had I just walked in tonight, I would never have guessed his day job was in government. With more casual, carefree clothes, his scruffy appearance had transformed into artistic.
But it wasn’t just that Lyle seemed to be two different people. It was everything combined. There was a weird mix of things and people happening. I just had to figure out how the bookshop and Edwin fit into the mix.
The Stolen Letter Page 13
