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  I didn’t think Shelagh was a killer either, but I didn’t completely understand her.

  “I just don’t know,” Joshua said. He smiled. “But here’s the best part.” His dramatic pause went on so long that Birk and I shared a look. “We still have the laboratory.”

  “Aye?” Birk said.

  “You do?” I said.

  “Want to see it?” Joshua’s smile was pure Cheshire Cat.

  A few minutes later, we were weaving our way down a staircase and into the basement.

  “Ollie was brilliant,” Joshua said as he led the two of us. “But also described as odd. From what I can gather, I suspect he was on the autism spectrum. The job in the museum was perfect for him. He could hyperfocus his energy in a creative way that spoke to his brilliant, quirky mind. He was happy, and though not very social, he was most definitely well respected. His social challenges did not stop him from having a few friendships—and, it seems, maybe a romantic relationship with Shelagh, though I don’t really know what that meant for them.”

  “Why did the museum keep the laboratory display?” Birk asked as we turned to take another flight downward.

  “The possibility was entertained that we were going to continue with Ollie’s idea down the road, but then when Shelagh became a suspect, the directors kept it for possible evidence. The police found nothing they could use, apparently—it wasn’t the scene of the murder anyway. But then it just seemed too cool a thing to completely dismantle. Ollie built it in four parts, and each one has all its pieces glued down. You’ll see.”

  We finally came to a spot where there were no more stairs to descend. It was cold and dark and unwelcoming.

  “I’m afraid it won’t warm up even when we go into the room. We’ll make it quick, but I really think you’ll enjoy seeing this.”

  Joshua opened the second door on our right. I wondered what was behind all the other doors too, but I’d ask another day.

  We went into an even colder, darker space. Joshua reached around and flipped a switch, illuminating the room with harsh, overhead lights that made us all look gray.

  “Oh, my,” I said as my eyes took in the rest of the deep chamber.

  It was indeed the laboratory of a mad scientist, or at least the representation of one. The display was large, much bigger than I might have imagined, bigger even than I’d imagined Dr. Jekyll’s cabinet when I read the story. The lab tables were old-fashioned wooden versions of what I’d seen in the schools I’d attended. Everything else—the beakers, jars, lamps, and such—were also from an earlier time. Shelves had been built into the walls; all of them appeared to be filled with things that were floating in liquid. Yes, the items in the beakers were spooky, but nothing was overtly ominous. There were no detached eyeballs staring at us, no severed heads. That idea seemed woven into the atmosphere of the display. It might have scared a child, but it probably would have simply been fascinating to most any adult who looked at it, particularly if they’d read the story.

  There was one part, however, that I did find pretty creepy. Huddled over in a chair with its head tucked downward, dressed in a shabby coat and hat, was a mannequin that was unquestionably meant to be Mr. Hyde.

  A chill ran up my spine. “If that thing moves, I’ll beat the two of you back upstairs.”

  “I suspect it will be a lively footrace,” Birk added.

  “It hasn’t moved since I first saw it. I think we’re safe.” Joshua walked to the middle of the display. “There was an ingredient which Dr. Jekyll thought assisted with his transformation. It was the inability to find that substance again that caused him to ultimately have to rid the world of Mr. Hyde. This”—Joshua pointed to a beaker that seemed to be filled with a green liquid—“was going to represent the liquid. Ollie was planning something interactive, but those details are lost to time.”

  “Goodness,” Birk said.

  “I know,” Joshua said. “I don’t think it tells you anything new, but it’s pretty cool.”

  I couldn’t help but imagine Shelagh seeing this—and being both thrilled and intrigued. It would have been a lot to process, but it would have also been right up her alley—or her close, as the case must have been.

  “Does anyone at the museum have any suspicions as to who killed Ollie?” I asked.

  “None whatsoever that Angela knew of. Before the photo became public, everyone mostly thought he was randomly accosted one dark early morning as he was coming to the museum, a robbery gone wrong. From what I’ve been told, Ollie wasn’t the kind of man to just hand over his wallet. He might not have fought, but he certainly would have been confused, maybe argued, refused, stuck by the fact that stealing was wrong.”

  “And when the photo became public?” I asked.

  “Well, maybe some around here thought about Shelagh, but it all died down after a while.” Joshua shrugged. “With what’s happening now, everyone is trying to remember the details, but it was a long time ago and most of the people who were around then aren’t still here.”

  “Would you know if Ollie was in any way connected to the current murder victim, Ritchie John? Did Ollie work with horses? Or in any pub?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Delaney, but I’ll ask around. Maybe someone remembers.”

  “Thanks, Joshua.” I shivered as I leaned over and looked at the mannequin; it was faceless, but dressed so much like the figure Tom and I had seen in the car park and in Grassmarket the night before, and in the pictures on the news. Maybe the garb wasn’t too surprising—shabby was shabby—but it felt more uncanny than that.

  “Lass, are you all right?” Birk asked me.

  I stood straight. “I’m fine. This is fascinating. Thank you for showing us, Joshua.”

  “My pleasure.”

  I was glad to better know Oliver McCabe through his work, but now I felt deeply sad about the loss of his life. He was talented, and seemingly kind.

  “I’m going to tell Inspector Winters about this. I don’t know if he’ll want to see it or not, but the police should know, I think,” I said.

  “No problem. I’ll happily show them,” Joshua said. “In fact, I really wonder if we shouldn’t try to resurrect Ollie’s idea—I mean, once everything calms down.”

  I was glad to leave the cold basement laboratory, and I soaked in the light as we emerged from the stairway. Birk and I thanked Joshua as he let us out the door we’d entered through.

  Once he’d gone back in, I paused on the outside stairs and looked back at the building.

  “What, lass?” Birk asked.

  “That was creepy. Another time, under other circumstances, it might have been deliciously creepy, but today it was just creepy.” I looked at Birk.

  “Aye.”

  I took a cleansing breath. “Okay, what’s your surprise?”

  Birk smiled. “I figured out the next clue.”

  “Why didn’t you say so?”

  He laughed. I’d been so anxious to see Joshua that I hadn’t given Birk a chance to say much of anything.

  “Let’s go!” I hurried to the car.

  NINETEEN

  Though I told Birk about the events of the previous evening—the coat Tom and I had followed and Tricia’s surprise visit to the pub—he remained mysterious, not telling me anything else except that we were going to a whole different kind of pub this time.

  We came to a stop in front of one in New Town.

  “This is definitely different from the Old Town pubs,” I said as we looked at the black-painted exterior. It stood out from the lighter-colored stone buildings around it.

  “Exactly. Starbar.”

  “You think the poster we saw of the galaxy last night was a clue?”

  He sent me a wry smile. “I know it was. I went back after I dropped you off. I’d been in Whistle Binkies a time or two over the years. The spot where we saw the poster used to have another poster in there, an old cigarette ad. It took me a while to remember that—I just knew something wasn’t right.”

  “
Okay.”

  “Anyway, I went back and talked to Sprout, asking her what had happened to the old poster. She was perplexed, so much so that she came out from behind the bar to investigate with me. She said she had no idea where the galaxy picture came from, that the old poster was something Whistle Binkies was actually known for, and she was sure that the rendition of the galaxy hadn’t been there that morning. She wasn’t happy. She took it upon herself to peel back a corner. The top poster came off easily. She was angry enough to wad it up and drop it in a bin. I grabbed it, thanked her, and left.”

  “So you think that poster was put there to tell us to go to this bar?” I tried not to sound overly doubtful.

  Birk smiled knowingly. “The poster is in the backseat. Reach around and grab it. Read the writing on the back.”

  I did as he instructed.

  You are almost there. You have almost found the book. Keep going, keep shooting for the stars.

  I looked at Birk. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, lass, I am not.”

  “That’s incredible,” I said.

  “It’s about paying attention, I guess.” Birk shrugged.

  “Well, good work. You think they’re open?”

  “I think the door will be unlocked and there will be someone in there to give us the next clue.”

  “Okay. You’re way ahead of me, aren’t you?”

  “Well, I had to make sure someone would be here, and I did wonder if I was on the right track. I rang them and we spoke. I asked about a clue of any sort, and received an encouraging answer. Let’s go.”

  The inside of Starbar confirmed we’d found a whole different kind of place, and I loved it. Furnished with simple chairs and tables—stark and dark was the best way to describe the interior.

  “You the one who rang me at the crack of dawn?” a woman said from behind the bar.

  She was wearing a housedress, something like what my grandmother would wear only around her home, and her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun. A large woman with an older but strikingly pretty face, she gave me the fleeting thought that Birk might have finally met his match.

  “I am,” Birk said. “Birk Blackburn and Delaney Nichols at your service.” He extended a hand over the bar.

  She shook it, though she didn’t smile. “I’m Delta. If you were at my service, you would have let me sleep a wee bit longer. I closed last night.”

  “Our apologies.” Birk smiled. He probably wasn’t charming her like he hoped, but he kept trying.

  “Well. I suppose it’s all right. I’ve been waiting for you for a week or so. It will be good to get this over with.”

  “You have?” I asked.

  “Aye. I’ve got this book.”

  Birk and I both took in our breath, gasping as Delta reached underneath to some shelves. Had we found it?

  She lifted it and let it slap down on the bar as if it weren’t a treasured item, something that had come off a printing press over a hundred years ago.

  Birk and I looked at the book, then at each other, then back at the book. He nodded at me to reach for it.

  I picked it up, ever so slowly, so slowly that Delta scoffed.

  “It’s just a wee book. What’s the biscuit?” she said.

  I didn’t know the phrase, but I assumed she meant What’s the big deal?

  The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde was written in Times New Roman on the otherwise bland cover. I didn’t need to see the date on the inside, but I looked nevertheless. This was not a valuable book. It was printed in the ’90s, the 1990s, and hadn’t been well taken care of. It was not the book we were searching for but a later, newer, much less valuable edition. It wasn’t the priceless first edition—the print date inside and the green cover told me we weren’t looking at the treasure.

  “No big deal,” I said. I glanced at Birk and then handed him the book.

  “It’s a clue, though, of course it is.” Birk opened the front cover.

  “A clue?” Delta asked.

  “Can you tell me how you got the book and how you knew it was for us?” I asked her.

  “A week or so ago, a woman came in and gave it to me. She said someone would be by asking if I knew about a clue of any sort, and I was to give it to them, give it to the first one who asked. There might be others, and I was to inform them they were simply too late.” She squinted. “She didn’t tell me that I’d be awakened in the middle of the night. How did you get my number anyway?”

  Birk smiled. “I have my ways, but I do sincerely apologize. This was important to my friend and me. Thank you for taking my call this morning and for coming in.”

  Birk handed me the book again and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. “Do you have a tip jar?”

  “No, sir, I don’t feel right taking money twice for one task. That would surely be jinxing me in some way. I’ll just be glad to have it gone. I don’t have a lot of shelf space back here, but I didn’t want to risk missing giving it to the person who came in for it.”

  “Would you mind telling us how much you were paid?” I asked.

  “I was told not to tell. I’m a superstitious one, lass. I’ll keep my word on that one too.”

  I nodded.

  “Well, there you go, then. Do you need anything else from me, or can I go home and grab a nap?” she asked.

  “This is wonderful,” Birk said “Thank you kindly. We’ll be back sometime soon to enjoy the drinks during the proper hours.”

  “See you then. I’ll show you the tip jar at that time.”

  * * *

  It was at once the most obvious and the most mysterious clue of them all, but what it was meant to tell us was a mystery. I still wanted to go to Shelagh’s house again. As we drove in that direction, Birk and I tried to figure out what we were supposed to make of this latest clue.

  There was no superfluous writing anywhere in or on the book. No ink marks, no erased pencil marks that I could see.

  “Maybe there’s something stuck in the binding,” Birk suggested.

  I investigated that avenue from every angle too but couldn’t find anything. I couldn’t bring myself to tear at any corners, but I probed enough with my fingers to confirm that there probably wasn’t anything hidden under the cloth that enveloped the cardboard cover.

  “I’m sure it’s the clue,” I said. “How could it not be?”

  Birk pulled in to Shelagh’s driveway, and we made our way up slowly to the top.

  Clouds filled the sky; they weren’t dark, but there was still something ominous about the house, the entire grounds. Even the patches of flowers seemed somehow sad and wistful.

  “Goodness, you feel that chill?” Birk asked. “Why are we here, lass?”

  “I’m not sure. I felt compelled.”

  “The house misses her.”

  He parked, and we exited the car. We didn’t even knock on the front door, but I led us around back. Even the golf cart seemed sad, as if it missed Shelagh too.

  The back of the house was livelier, but only slightly. I was relieved to see someone, even if it wasn’t someone I expected.

  “Jacques,” Birk and I said in unison.

  Jacques was in the corral with one of the horses. He held the end of a tether and guided the horse in circles. He exuded a gentleness I hadn’t noticed before. He waved and frowned when he saw us. We’d disturbed something that was giving him peace. It felt intrusive, but I wasn’t ready to leave. I was, however, glad I’d left the book in the car as we made our way toward him.

  He brought the tether closer and held on to it as he guided the horse to the edge of the corral.

  “Jacques. Hello. How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Oh, no worse for the wear. I’m fine.” He waved away the question. “How’s the hunt going?”

  “Nothing new,” Birk said easily. “Have you been searching for the book?”

  “No.” Jacques petted the side of the horse’s face. “Not interested. I just want my aunt to come ho
me.”

  “I’m sure. We’re so sorry. Are you staying here?” I asked.

  “Not really. Just stopping by. Now that she’s not here, I thought someone should watch the place. I’m her only family in town.”

  “Where are Louis and Findlay? Winston?” I reached up and petted the horse’s nose. My heart swelled a little when she leaned into my hand.

  “Louis is around, though not here at the moment. I haven’t seen Findlay.”

  “Is Winston here?” Birk asked.

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Just curious,” Birk said.

  Jacques petted the horse’s nose.

  “Does Winston have the day off?” Birk asked.

  “I told him to take some time away. I decided I would see to the horses for a while. Gives me something to do,” Jacques said.

  Is this what Shelagh would have wanted? I didn’t know the family dynamics, and it wasn’t my place to question Jacques, but I was suspicious of everything.

  “What do you know about Winston?” Birk asked.

  Jacques shook his head. “Nothing, really.” He squinted and thought a moment “I recently learned that he and Findlay are brothers.”

  “What?” I said with way too high a pitch. I cleared my throat.

  “Aye. They share a flat near Holyroodhouse.”

  Did that mean anything? It probably shouldn’t be a surprise. Family members helped other family members get jobs all the time. It was just something I hadn’t known before, and it felt like it could be important.

  I hadn’t considered their similar look—older and weathered. I’d liked Winston right off—his smile. I hadn’t sensed that he’d spent a night drinking instead of taking care of Gin like Shelagh had wondered. Even over the few short days, I’d spent much more time around Findlay than Winston, though. I didn’t know either of them well at all, but learning they were brothers certainly put a different spin on everything.

  Once I moved past being somewhat thrown by the news, I said, “What are your impressions of Findlay?”

  “Don’t know him at all.” Jacques’s attention was on the horse. He regarded me. “I know he was arrested and then released, but I don’t know anything else about that. Can I help you two with something?”