“Do you have time to steal away to a private room for a moment?” Mary asked.
“Right this way.” Clayton turned and we followed him.
I was disappointed that the private room was nothing special, just something that had been walled off—not a secret castle cubbie or passageway, just a small, modern semiprivate space.
We sat in boring twenty-first-century office chairs around an even more boring small twentieth-century coffee table.
Briefly, I wondered if I could manage to get my phone out to record the conversation, but I dismissed the idea quickly enough. It wasn’t a task I could handle subtly, and I didn’t even know what was going to be discussed.
“How may I be of service?” Clayton asked Mary.
“Clayton, I need to know if Henry was here the day or few days before he was killed. I need to also know if he spoke to you, what you spoke about.”
“Why? Are you investigating his murder?”
“The police are doing what they do, Clayton, but I need some peace and the only way I’m going to get that is to try to understand what my husband was up to. He talked to you about many things. He told you things he didn’t tell me and I have a theory. I just need to know if my theory is correct.”
Clayton frowned and nodded slowly.
“Henry was here the day before he was killed,” Clayton said. “He came specifically to talk to me. He was upset about something he’d set into place.”
“What?” Mary and I asked together.
“I’m not sure exactly,” Clayton said.
Mary put her hand over his. “This is so very important, Clayton. Please tell me what you know.”
Clayton sighed. “He was going to get you something, though he wouldn’t tell me exactly what it was. He came to me upset that he’d set something in motion with the council that wasn’t going to be reversible. It was going to cause harm to some people who probably didn’t deserve it, people you’d recently met. He needed to work it out in his head, but he’d done it for you.”
“What time was this?” Mary asked.
Clayton thought a moment. “I think it was around two in the afternoon. I’d already had lunch, but that’s as close as I can get.”
“That’s close enough,” Mary said as she deflated.
“What?” I said.
“It was as I was finishing lunch that I rang him. I told him I’d found the most charming of bookshops and that someone there looked so much like me, he was going to be thrown for a loop. I told him the bookshop was called The Cracked Spine, and I’d invited you all over for dinner that night.”
“That one call made him feel guilty?” I said.
“I can see that. He asked me if I liked the shop. He asked me about you, the woman who looked so much like me. And, he said something to the effect that it was some sort of sign or something. I asked him to clarify, but he just laughed off the statement and said he had to go. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already been feeing badly about what he’d done, guilty, and that call with me was the tipping point.”
I turned to Clayton, “What did you say to him?”
“All I said was that whatever he’d set into motion, if it wasn’t already done, then he should be able to stop it.”
“How did he react?” Mary asked.
“He said it was going to be dangerous to stop it, that he could be in trouble.”
“Why dangerous?” Mary asked. I really wished I’d turned on the recorder app.
Clayton frowned and shook his head. “He said that ‘they’ were going to be upset. I asked if he meant you, but he said you had no idea what he’d been doing.”
“Did you talk to the police?” I interrupted.
“No, what was I to say?”
“That he knew he might be in danger,” I said.
“But that’s all I knew. He didn’t give me any further details.”
“So when he began to change his mind about what he’d done, someone killed him?” I said.
“It seems that way,” Mary said.
“Who in the world would that be?” I said.
“That’s what the police need to figure out,” Mary said.
Clayton sat forward and put his elbows on the table. “Mary, you need to tell me what’s going on. I will go talk to the police if I feel I need to, but I need some missing puzzle pieces here.”
In a scattered way, with my intermittent input, we told Clayton what had been going on.
By the end of the conversation, it didn’t take much coaxing to get Clayton to say he would call the police.
Mary didn’t walk with me back to the bookshop. She said goodbye as she hailed a taxi. She said she was going home, that it had been a tiring day, but that she hoped everyone at the bookshop would search for the notes and the letter.
“Do you really think they exist?” I asked her as she got into the cab.
She hesitated and looked at me a long moment. “I don’t know if they’re in the bookshop, Delaney, but, aye, I think they exist. A big part of me hopes so.”
I didn’t tell her as much, but it crossed my mind that maybe we’d find the Burgess Ticket, the old construction approvals, and the letter all together. It was just some more hope bubbling up.
If I were something that needed to hide inside the bookshop, where would I hide?
I have no idea, I thought as I watched the taxi drive away.
TWENTY-SIX
“What are you doing?” Tom asked in the dark. It was the middle of the night, and he hadn’t been home from the pub long before I was up again, getting dressed.
“I can’t sleep,” I said quietly, even though there was no one else in our cottage.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going into the bookshop. I need to search some more.”
I’d stopped by the pub on the way back from the castle and updated Tom. Back at the bookshop, we all took on the search, except Jack. He’d left by the time I made it back. But our search had been interrupted by a tour group of twenty that had been caught out in the rain. We’d invited them inside until the storm passed. They’d been there a couple hours, ultimately buying many more books than they probably wanted. We’d left at five for the day, saying we’d resume searching again the next day. It was the next day, though earlier than the others had in mind.
“I’ll come with you,” Tom said as he swung his legs off the bed.
“No, you need sleep.”
“I won’t sleep now anyway. It’s all right. It’s my day off. I’ll catch some rest later.”
I hadn’t meant for him to go, but it would be much better having him along.
I loved Edinburgh, during the daytime and at night. At night, particularly after it had rained though, when puddles glimmered and streetlights and dimmed shop lights shone differently. There was a sense of magic in the air, that sense of history that the older Scottish men in my life: Edwin, Elias, and Tom’s father, Artair, held onto with a fierce stubbornness. They weren’t stuck in the past, but they carried it with them, always. I understood them more at night.
Tom drove us through town and toward Grassmarket. The rain had only recently stopped, and steam came up from gutters as people moved along the streets. Like so many bigger cities, Edinburgh didn’t really sleep, but it rested well. Still, night people, tourists, artists, and restless residents could always find something to do, and something to eat.
Plenty of takeaway restaurants stayed open. A couple of theaters played movies all night long, usually older American films. I’d even come upon one that hosted Rocky Horror interactive shows.
Early on in my time here, I’d spent a few nights making my way through the streets and back to the bookshop in order to work on a project that wouldn’t let me rest.
The warehouse was mine now, no doubt. Mine slightly more than Edwin’s. I thought he wanted it that way, but sometimes I wasn’t sure. Sometimes I saw that look in his eyes, the one that glances back at the way things used to be. He never kept his gaze there long
. He was also a firm believer in life going on.
“Delaney, after talking to Clayton, do you still want to talk to Grace Graham?” Tom asked as we made our way.
“First thing, when the sun comes up, I’m going to try to reach her,” I said.
“Not confident that there’s enough to cancel or postpone the vote yet?”
“Oh, no, not yet. I’m not going to stop until we know for sure.”
“Did Mary think even for a minute that Clayton might be responsible for Henry’s murder?” Tom asked.
“I don’t think so. I admit it crossed my mind, but only because I’m suspicious of everyone. I’m still wondering about Mary,” I said.
“An interesting couple. Interesting lives, a tragic death,” Tom said.
“Do … did you like them?” I hadn’t asked him that yet.
“Yes, particularly Henry, until I heard he wanted to shut down the bookshop.”
Tom pulled to a stop in front of said bookshop. Over the last year, I’d come upon people and packages that had led to other surprises. Now, I took a good look at the shop and its surroundings before entering.
“All clear?” Tom asked me.
“Looks good.”
It was unusually warm outside as we sidestepped the puddles along the cobblestone walkway. After I unlocked the door and we were inside, I relocked it behind us. All the while, Tom watched me and we nodded at each other, confirming we both saw the lock go into place.
Using the light on my phone, we made our way over to the dark side and down the stairs. It was colder on the dark side but not unbearable.
I turned the oversize blue skeleton key in the lock three times to the left before we pushed through the big red door, shutting and locking it behind us.
I flipped on the overhead fluorescents and Tom and I shared another nod and a smile. We were there, the place that even more than the city, more than McKenna’s cottage, I’d lived in since moving to Scotland. More than Tom’s blue house by the sea, this place was my home. Wherever Tom lived was my true home now, but if he wasn’t part of the equation, this warehouse, this space was where my soul truly danced.
“Where do we begin?” Tom asked.
Tonight, the moon shone through one of the high windows, and I took in the rare sight. It would move behind a cloud or away from my view soon, but for an instant, it was lovely. Shelves lined the walls—and they were all packed with things, a wide variety. Need a Fabergé egg? Hang on, there was one here not long ago. How about some things that came from ancient Egyptian tombs? Right over there. Books filled some shelves but there were fewer books than one might think would be in storage in a bookshop. Mostly, the shelves overflowed with Edwin’s collections, and the things he’d hired me to organize. I would never be done, there was no end to the project. For someone who liked to tick things off on their to-do list, it would be a surprise to most that I was thrilled I had a job I would never finish. But when it’s the best job in the entire universe, who would want it to be over?
“There’s a file cabinet under the bottom shelf on that wall. There are hundreds of documents inside it. I looked through it briefly twice today, but another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”
“All right.” Tom pushed up his sleeves.
The wood file cabinet wasn’t valuable, but it was old, having seen its better days about a hundred scratches and dings ago. As I’d done earlier, we unwedged it from next to the wall.
I pulled open the top drawer. “There’s so much in here. Lots of interesting notes, a couple of maps that would get my attention if I wasn’t looking for something else, but I saw no letter that might have come from Elizabeth I, no notes hinting at a letter, no Burgess Tickets, and no construction paperwork.”
We peered in at the packed drawer.
“No place to begin but the beginning.” Tom reached into the drawer and carefully lifted out the top bits and pieces and carried them to the worktable.
I moved to the tapestries I’d been looking at a few days earlier. They were the real reason I couldn’t sleep. I’d forgotten that I’d discovered what I thought was Queen Elizabeth’s crest on one of them. I’d looked many places earlier today, but I hadn’t taken a closer look at the tapestries. I didn’t know what I might find, but it had suddenly seemed important that I investigate.
I lifted one over to my desk.
“You’re more comfortable working on the desk than you used to be,” Tom said.
The best we could date it was back to the seventeenth century. Edwin had said it had once resided in the castle I’d visited with Mary earlier today, maybe right next to the royal scepter and crown. At least, that’s what I liked to think.
“I still cover it with paper, but I’m not as intimidated by it. Did I tell you about the desks at Dina’s antique shop?”
“No.”
I shared the details and added, “Edwin thinks this one is even more valuable. Yeah, I’m not as intimidated, but I’m aware.”
“You’re looking at a tapestry?” Tom asked.
I’d found a magnifying glass and held it over a corner. “Yes, I think Elizabeth I’s crest is embroidered on it.”
“You think it came from her time?”
“Possibly. I didn’t double-check these earlier today.”
“Are you looking for a hidden pocket or something?”
“I’m not really sure.”
“Well, I have just come upon a receipt for some internal organs.”
“I think I saw that receipt.”
“It looks as if Edwin purchased a sarcophagus back in nineteen seventy-eight. The internal organs are listed as a separate line item.”
“I’ve heard the stories about the sarcophagus. As you might imagine, it was quite a thing back then. Rosie wasn’t happy because Edwin wanted to keep it in the front part of the shop.”
“What?”
“I know. And she won. It was gotten rid of shortly thereafter.”
I put on some gloves and ran my fingers along the tapestry. I was looking for a pocket or some place where the alleged notes or letter might be hidden. But I found nothing. I put that tapestry back and gathered another one; this one was a cat. I was reminded of Mary’s comments about the queen enjoying tapestry and a cat being one of her first subjects. I hesitated. This wouldn’t be Mary’s tapestry, would it?
“What?” Tom said.
“I’m not sure.” I slipped off the gloves and opened my laptop. “I need to look up something.”
It didn’t take long. In fact, it only took a few minutes, but that might have been because I knew my way around the internet.
I found exactly what I was looking for. Yes, Mary, Queen of Scots, did like to embroider. It was easy to find a picture of a cat she had, indeed, created.
I sat back in my chair.
Tom joined me, crouching to see what I was looking at. “What’s going on?”
“This was easy to find,” I said.
Tom inspected the screen. “A wee cat?”
“A cat that Mary, Queen of Scots, embroidered. It’s not the same one I have here.”
“Aye?”
“I wonder if it’s all this easy to find though. I mean, what if Mary, the one we know, is making it all up? I’ve thought it was a possibility this whole time, but what would that mean? That she’s a liar or something more nefarious?”
“Or simply something else,” Tom said. “Some people are compelled to lie, make up stories for attention. Sometimes it’s not ill intended.”
“You know those dreams where you’re chasing something that just keeps getting farther away?” I said.
“Aye.”
“That’s what this feels like.”
Tom stood and then leaned on the corner of the desk. “It’s going to be fine, love, I know it. The truth is coming out little by little.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
“I would expect nothing less. It’s going to be fine.”
We continued searching but didn’t find one note
from Elizabeth I. We didn’t even find anything that mentioned her. After we finished with the warehouse, we moved over to the other side to search Hamlet’s files. We found nothing there either.
The sun had started to rise, but we’d kept working until we heard the key in the front door and the bell jingle as someone came in.
“Hello?” Rosie called.
“It’s me and Tom,” I said back.
“What’s going on?” Rosie asked as she joined us.
I told Rosie what we’d been up to.
“I havenae found the construction paperwork, and I’m sick aboot it. But, there’s good news!”
I really wanted some good news.
“Jack says he can find the inspection paperwork if it exists. He said it had to be filed with the city and even if someone destroyed copies of it, he can track it down. Somehow, some way,” Rosie said.
“When?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“Oh, that is good news,” I said, feeling another bubble of hope.
And then I started feeling guilty. If the bookshop hadn’t been on the chopping block, I thought I would have thrown myself into trying to figure out who killed Henry. If he hadn’t been the one to want the bookshop closed, he might have been a good friend. He had been delightful at dinner. We’d all liked all of them, and it had seemed mutual.
“Delaney?” Rosie asked.
I hadn’t been listening to my bookish voices. I’d been listening to the sound of my priorities shifting, perhaps toward the direction they should have already settled. It was a deafening noise.
“Who killed Henry?” I said aloud.
“I dinnae ken, lass,” Rosie said.
“Well, we need to figure it out,” I said.
No one argued.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The answer wasn’t going to be found in the next few minutes. In a brief moment of discomfort—that shouldn’t have been because we were all grown-ups, for goodness’ sake—Brigid walked into the bookshop just as Tom was leaving.
I sensed we all wanted to get past the fact that she was upset about Tom breaking up with her. It had been a long time ago, but some snark filled the air for a moment or two.
The Stolen Letter Page 19
