A Christmas Tartan Page 3

  Her short, wavy brown hair fell perfectly to her jawline, and she looked so much like the picture of Annabel that I wondered about her mother or father, whichever one had been Annabel’s offspring, and what they looked like.

  “Aye. T’is a good thing she’s still with us.” Branan glanced over at me with a brief smile before he turned his attention back to Moira. He lowered his voice and said conspiratorially, “I have it, lass.”

  “Oh! Show me,” she said, her smile and twinkling eyes telling me she probably felt the same for Branan as I sensed he felt for her.

  Branan reached under the counter and, with a proud expression on his face, lifted out a platter. “It’s etched with trees.”

  “It is!” Moira said.

  I forgot about my treacherous elbows and stepped around Moira so I could better see the platter. “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Ye dinnae understand what?” Branan asked.

  “This platter,” I said. “Where did it come from?”

  “I acquired it,” Branan said as he scooted it back from my reach.

  “I . . . I’m sorry.” I looked at Moira. “Did you have one of these that was misplaced or something?”

  “No, this is something I wanted for Grannie. The trees, like Christmas trees. It’s lovely. Have ye seen one or something like it?”

  “Yes, I have,” I said.

  I hadn’t told her about the box Edwin had found. I hadn’t told her about the picture. At the moment I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t understand what was happening. I needed to get to The Cracked Spine, and I wanted her to come with me. The only option was to show her the items in the box. She simply wouldn’t believe me any other way.

  “It’s a beautiful platter. Annabel will surely love it,” I said.

  “Aye,” Moira said.

  “Aye,” Branan said.

  I looked at Branan, then Moira, and said, “Are you sure you don’t need a serving spoon too?”

  “That would be perfect!” Moira said. “Branan, do ye have something?”

  “I think I do. Not silver, but stainless. It’s lovely though.”

  Branan stepped back to some dark shelves along the rear wall and returned with a spoon. I breathed a sigh of relief when it wasn’t the same spoon that was in the box. I didn’t know why I was relieved, but I was.

  “No, I dinnae like that one,” Moira said.

  My relief reverted back to an anxious uncertainty, and I wasn’t surprised when Branan left and came back again with the spoon I recognized.

  “Aye, that’s the one,” Moira said.

  “That’s the one,” I said.

  They looked at me again. I smiled weirdly.

  I fell into silent contemplation as the transaction was completed, coming out of my thoughts only when Branan said, “I have one more thing for ye, Moira.”

  “Ye’ve been so kind, Branan, finding these treasures, the books ye’ve shared . . .”

  I was about to ask about the books, but got distracted by the item he pulled out of his sweater pocket. It was the Santa Claus ornament from the picture. I bit the insides of my cheeks.

  “Oooh, Branan, it’s so beautiful. Did ye carve it?” Moira said.

  “Aye, Da painted it though. I’m not so good with the paints.”

  Tears came to my eyes, but I didn’t understand the swell of emotion. Why would the sight of that ornament bring tears? It was obvious that Branan and Moira had a great deal of affection for each other. Maybe their mutual attraction pulled at my own romantic notions. Maybe all the weird things that were happening were bothering me.

  “Should we take a picture?” I said after I blinked away the emotions.

  “I dinnae have a camera,” Branan said.

  “Me either,” Moira said.

  “Your phones?” I asked.

  They looked at me like I was speaking another language, and I became more anxious to get to the bookshop. “It’s okay.”

  “Thank you, Branan, for everything,” Moira said.

  “Ye’re welcome, lass. I’ll see ye soon,” he said.

  “Aye, I’ll come by again soon.”

  I was going to come back another day and tell him that if he hadn’t asked Moira out yet, he needed to get right on that. I didn’t care if it was none of my business.

  We stepped outside the silver shop and Moira said, “I adore him and he feels the same. I’m sure we’ll go out on a date someday.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, even more certain I was going to visit Branan when I had the chance.

  “I’m done with my shopping. Would ye like tae come back tae Grannie’s with me?”

  “Oh. You know, we’re not far from the bookshop. There’s something there I need to show you. If you think your grandmother won’t be worried, could you come with me? We’ll make it quick.”

  “I . . . I dinnae think I should,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. I have one more thing I forgot about, but it’s on the way. I think I need tae get home now.”

  “What did you forget?”

  “The butcher shop.”

  “No, you were there. You already got something.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Anyway, I think I should get home.” She pulled the tartan up over her head again, and as the light from a streetlamp reflected in her eyes, I thought I saw something that looked like fear, then it and she faded momentarily to black and white. The color returned after I blinked a few times.

  “Come on, I’ll come with you,” I said.

  “That would be nice,” she said.

  But as we turned to walk back up to Cowgate, a large crowd of people approached us on the sidewalk. They were a rowdy group, probably part of a holiday party. Until they approached, I hadn’t noticed that we hadn’t seen any other pedestrians until then. As the crowd walked around and almost through us I lost sight of Moira.

  “Moira?” I said as I turned in all directions.

  The windows to the silver shop had become dark and I couldn’t make out anything inside. I trained my eyes on the crowd, thinking Moira had somehow become gathered along with them, and she probably thought I was in with them too.

  I also noticed decorations I hadn’t seen before. Cowgate wasn’t as void of holiday lights as I’d first thought. I didn’t take the time to appreciate the festive atmosphere, but thought about what I should do next.

  I needed to go back up to Annabel’s flat and make sure everyone was okay. But I was a turn around a corner and a quick jaunt across Grassmarket Square from the bookshop. I’d run there first and gather the box and my cellphone and call Rosie to tell her I’d be late to the dinner.

  I took off in a run but the wind had picked up again, slowing me and keeping my head down until I reached the bookshop. With shaking hands, I finally got the front door unlocked. I hurried up the stairs and then down the other set, making sure to give myself at least a little light by turning on the switch that illuminated the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  With my big blue skeleton key, I unlocked the heavy door to the warehouse, went inside, and flipped the light switch. I was breathing heavy, but relief washed through me when I saw the box on the desk. Still moving at a fast clip, I went to the box and the desk that had seen the likes of kings, queens, paupers, and princes (for real!), and moved around to its other side, taking a seat to calm myself before I went back up the hill.

  All the contents were still in the box, including the picture I thought I’d taken with me. I was struck again by how much Moira looked like her grandmother. Even their hairstyles had been the same when they’d been about the same age. It was uncanny.

  I gathered the box and went to stand, but my head hit something hard and this time I saw more than stars. Darkness followed the stars and I relinquished myself to it.

  Stupid mousetraps.

  Chapter Four

  “Delaney, lass.”

  Rosie’s voice at the moment was high-pitched and insistent. I trie
d to open my eyes.

  “Delaney!”

  That was Hamlet.

  I worked a little harder and finally they opened. I put my hand to my temple.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “What happened?” Hamlet asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I was on the floor and I turned my aching eyes toward the outward-jutting mousetrap. “I must have hit my head hard on that.”

  “I’d say. Come on, Hamlet, let’s get her up tae the chair,” Rosie said.

  Hamlet moved the trap back farther on the shelf, and they both reached to help me up. Rosie was much stronger than her seventysomething years might indicate, but Hamlet did most of the work in getting me to the chair. I wasn’t too woozy, but there was a definite pain behind my eyes.

  “We should take her tae hospital,” Rosie said as they both crouched, one on each side of the chair, and inspected me.

  “Aye,” Hamlet said with a squint.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I haven’t been out long I don’t think. Give me a minute or two.”

  “Do yen ken what time it is?” Rosie asked.

  “No. How did you find me? Wait, is it tomorrow? I mean . . . what day is it?”

  “Still the twenty-second,” Hamlet said. “When you didn’t show up at Rosie’s we got worried. When you didn’t answer your phone, we came here tae look for you.”

  “Still the shortest day of the year. I’ve had the craziest evening,” I said. I sat up straighter. “Did the police show up?”

  Hamlet and Rosie looked at each other.

  “No, not while we’ve been here,” Rosie said. “It’s almost ten at night. Did ye expect the police?”

  “They must have been called off when the butcher got ahold of Annabel,” I said.

  “Aye,” Hamlet said doubtfully. “What happened tonight? Perhaps we should get you tae hospital.”

  I took stock of myself. I had sharp pains in and on my head, but they weren’t unbearable—more tender to the touch than anything. I could see just fine, and had no nausea.

  “No hospital, but I really need to run back up Cowgate just for a few minutes,” I said. I noticed my open messenger bag on the desk. My wallet and the paper bag with the book were beside it, as if they’d been dumped out. The picture was there too, in its protective sleeve. I didn’t remember putting anything down. I looked at Rosie. “It’s far too late for dinner, isn’t it? I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s not a problem, lass. I’m just worrit about ye,” Rosie said.

  “I think I’m fine, but I really need to run up to a close on Cowgate. Want to come with me?”

  Again, Rosie and Hamlet looked at each other.

  “Go home, Rosie. I’ll make sure Delaney makes it home,” Hamlet said.

  “No, we’ll all go together. Let’s ring a taxi,” Rosie said.

  “I’ll ring Elias,” Hamlet said.

  “Awright,” Rosie said.

  “I’m sorry to be such a pain, but I can’t go home until I make sure Moira made it home. I don’t know their phone number . . . besides, I have to see for myself. I’m feeling better and better.”

  Again, Hamlet and Rosie shared a concerned look, but Hamlet made the call to Elias.

  I took a good dose of ibuprofen, and about twenty minutes later Elias brought his cab to a screeching halt in front of the bookshop. Hamlet had told him just enough to set off his surrogate-parent alarms.

  “Och, lass, I dinnae understand why ye havenae gone tae hospital. Enough of this foolishness,” he said as he lifted and then replaced his cap, a habit that I’d come to find particularly endearing. He and his wife Aggie had become just as much family as my coworkers at The Cracked Spine.

  “I’m okay, truly. I promise. I could even walk back up Cowgate, but it would be more fun if you drove.”

  He grumbled something probably because he thought he should grumble something, and then he opened the passenger door for me as Hamlet opened a back door for Rosie and then hopped in after her.

  “It’s just on the corner of a close and Cowgate,” I said.

  “A building with flats? Just flats?” Elias said.

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. Weel, awright, We’ll give it a leuk.”

  Though it was later, almost ten thirty, there was more traffic on Cowgate, both vehicle and pedestrian, than there had been earlier. My eyes went to the silver shop, which wasn’t a silver shop at all. A hat shop sat in the place where I was certain the silver shop had been. Even in the dark I could see the name—“Fabhatrix”—and the dimly lit hats in the display windows.

  “Is there a silver shop around here?” I asked.

  “Silver?” Hamlet asked.

  “Platters, dishes, serving things,” I said.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” Hamlet said.

  “I dinnae think so,” Elias said.

  “I dinnae think so either,” Rosie added.

  It wasn’t that I hadn’t already suspected that something was weird. I think the feeling first hit me the second I’d stopped smelling cinnamon and hot chocolate before I left the shop earlier to search for Annabel. But I’d ignored it. But when I saw—no, when I truly registered—the hat shop, the weirdness suddenly seemed gigantic and something that probably could use my immediate attention.

  “I should tell you all what happened earlier,” I said. “Pull around onto the close and park if you can, Elias, but before we do anything else I should tell you.”

  Elias parked the cab around the corner from the building that I’d already noticed was in fact a restaurant, not a building full of apartments.

  I told them everything as I remembered it. The only glitch in my memory as far as I could tell was the middle bookshelves in The Cracked Spine. I remembered they were somehow different in the earlier darkness, but I couldn’t remember what had made them different. Other than that, I think I managed to be spot-on with each and every detail of what I’d experienced, or thought I had.

  “Ye hit yer head,” Elias said. “Ye’d been looking at all those mystery things in the box and yer mind formed a story.”

  “That’s the most likely explanation,” I said.

  “I agree with Elias,” Hamlet said as Rosie nodded. “But let’s take a look at this building. No matter that you realize that your mind made up the story, we need tae convince it that nothing bad happened tae anyone named Annabel or Moira.”

  “Aye,” Elias said as he opened his door, got out, and came around to open my door.

  The four of us approached what were now the side doors to the building. The doors were like I remembered them when I visited Annabel, but they were markedly older—the wood faded and the glass panes scratched and foggy. The doors were locked, but we could look inside.

  Where there had been a hallway that led to the bottom-floor flats, there was now a hallway crowded with mops, buckets, a few chairs, even a chalkboard on a stand.

  “The restaurant folks just use this as storage,” I said.

  “Aye,” both of the men said.

  “Messy,” Rosie said.

  I pressed my face even closer to the glass and tried different angles to attempt to see the spaces on each side where the doors to the bottom-floor flats were located. I thought I could, but I wasn’t sure.

  “The restaurant is closed, huh?” I asked.

  “Aye, it looks like they close at ten on Wednesday nights,” Hamlet said.

  “Just missed them,” I said.

  Elias rattled the door. “I could get this open, lass, if ye want.”

  “No, that’s okay.” I smiled at Hamlet and Rosie; they both smiled back.

  As I’d come to learn, the only one of my Scottish friends who seemed to have a truly clean slate when it came to criminal behavior was Rosie. However, most of them now lived a crime-free life. I didn’t want us all to get in trouble just to check out whether or not I’d dreamed (or whatever it had been) the correct location of a couple of doors.

  “I’ll come back when they’re open if I need to,” I cont
inued.

  “Aye,” Elias said, slightly disappointed.

  We turned to head back to the cab, but I remembered something and turned back again, switching on the light on my phone. I held it up to the wide frame on the right side of the doors.

  “Buzzers,” I said, my throat tightening with the word. “Look, this is a panel where buzzers for flats used to be, I’m sure of it.”

  The panel was still there but the buttons for the buzzers had been removed, leaving small, dark holes in their place. I moved even closer.

  “Elias, do you have your reading glasses with you?” I asked.

  “Aye,” he said. He reached into his pocket and handed me the glasses.

  I didn’t need them to read, but they magnified things that were close up, and I thought I saw something next to the hole where Annabel’s buzzer button had been that a little magnification could help confirm.

  “Oh, my,” I said as my fingers traced along a few leftover, incomplete, but raised letters. “This could have been a C, an R, a U, and an I, the first part of ‘Cruickshank,’ but that’s where the letters end.”

  Hamlet and Elias took turns with the glasses, but Rosie used her own pair.

  “I think ye may be right,” Rosie agreed.

  “Maybe,” Hamlet added.

  “It could be.” Elias was doubtful.

  “I know. Maybe,” I said.

  “Ye could have been here before, mebbe seen that and ye’re harn brought it into the story it made up,” Elias said.

  “Harn?” I asked.

  “Yer brain, yer mind.”

  “I don’t think I’ve been here before, but I will definitely try harder to remember.” I bit my lip and looked at the doors again. “No matter what, what I thought happened didn’t happen. It couldn’t have.”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  Then why did it feel so real?

  Chapter Five

  I dodged three people carrying wrapped gifts and a man in the most decorated Christmas sweater I’d ever seen as I made my way to the shop from the bus stop the next morning. The air was still crisp, but since Rosie had told me not to come in until at least nine o’clock, the sun was up, infusing the pedestrian traffic on Grassmarket Square with an urgent holiday energy.