Of Books and Bagpipes Page 4

  “Aye?” Hamlet looked at me.

  “Yes,” I said. “That was all.”

  “I dinnae understand,” Gordon said. “Who are ye?”

  I wasn’t quite sure what to say, wasn’t sure he deserved an answer, but Edwin jumped in.

  “Delaney is the newest member of The Cracked Spine, and I sent her tae gather the book. Delaney and her friend found Billy. They called the police.”

  I nodded once and looked at Gordon. He wasn’t looking at me.

  “Ye didnae go?” Gordon said to Edwin.

  “No, I sent Delaney. I couldn’t, Gordon. I just couldn’t.”

  “Ye’re a fool. It’s been … so long.”

  “I won’t deny that I’m a fool, but you’ll just have tae try tae understand. Or not, it’s up tae you.”

  Gordon’s eyebrows came together. He thumbed through the book again, slowly this time. His eyes jumped back to mine. “Ye’re sure this was it?”

  “Yes.”

  Gordon shook his head. “I dinnae understand.”

  “What was in there?” I asked.

  “The story of what happened,” Gordon said.

  “If you inserted other pieces of paper inside it, they might have blown away,” I said. “The book wasn’t exactly with … Billy. It had gotten caught under a piece of the castle roof.”

  Gordon looked at me, his eyes unbelieving at first, but they transformed in less than a blink. It was as if he suddenly registered that I was really there and a part of the tragedy he was going through.

  “The police called me,” he said when he finally looked back at Edwin.

  “I don’t understand,” Edwin said.

  “I was Billy’s emergency contact. It’s not my name listed on his mobile, of course.”

  “Who did they think ye were?” Edwin asked.

  Gordon shrugged. “I go by the name of Barclay Sheraton.”

  “What did the police tell you?” Edwin asked Gordon.

  “That William Armstrong’s body was found on the roof of Castle Doune and foul play was tae be suspected. They were investigating but asked if I was William’s next of kin. I told them I wasnae and gave them Fiona’s number, which they already had but hadnae called her yet.”

  “Foul play?” I interjected. “How? What did they say?”

  “That he’d been hit over the head with something hard enough tae kill him, a blunt object.” Gordon’s voice cracked with emotion. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “There was no indication of anything like that. There was no … blood.”

  I wondered silently if the police were mistaken about possible foul play. But if he’d hit his head on the corner or edge of a piece of the castle jutting out, there would surely have been blood from a cut. I thought about how the body lay backward down the stairs. Maybe he had tripped. I knew a police officer, but I didn’t know if he would give me more information. It couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “Tell me what ye saw. Tell me everything,” Gordon said.

  “Delaney, I do think that Gordon has a right tae hear what ye’ve got tae say,” Edwin said, “but I have more questions for him tae answer before you go on.” He looked at Gordon. “You were telling us about the trip to Loch Lomond, Gordon. And Fiona, I’m sure she’s devastated. What can I do for her?”

  “I … she doesnae ken I’m alive, Edwin. I thought it was best that way. She’d want tae give back the money. It wasnae a good idea, what I did. I only got in contact with Billy aboot six months ago. I’ve … I’ve got a cough. I’m not going tae a doctor, but it’s only getting worse. I think there’s not much time left anyway. I wanted a little more with my son, and I took the chance. Fiona doesnae know.”

  “I will check on Fiona,” Edwin said, no sympathy in his voice. “Tell us what happened with the fire.”

  “Aye. It was a mistake, all of it, but again, I didnae ken until it was too late. We’d been oot all day on the water, fishing, drinking, we were enjoying ourselves. No harm meant tae anyone. We docked the boat and stayed there. I dinnae remember many of the details, but I ken that we stopped for a rest. The night was strangely warm, the sky bright with stars. There was no need tae leave the boat and go back up tae the room, at least for a wee bit.

  “We fell asleep, or at least I did. I was struck awake by the fire that was engulfing the boat. It wasnae a big boat but there was so much smoke. I yelled for Leith, reached for him, but it was all so hot and smoky.”

  “They found Leith’s remains. I thought they found yours too,” Edwin said.

  “There wasnae much left of Leith. I … I guess my shoes were off and they and my wallet went into the water. The fire was so hot that they thought I’d burned like Leith had or the rest of me went into the water. Maybe it was bad police work, but the next day they declared two victims, Leith and me.”

  “Where did you go? Why did you leave the scene?”

  “Two reasons, Edwin. First and most important, I swear tae all that is holy, I left tae look for Leith. I hoped he’d gotten away, and I jumped oot of the boat to search, but I couldnae find him. I went tae his room and searched there too. I was never where the emergency people were. We kept missing, and then I hid.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I’d caused the fire. At first they said it was suspicious.” He patted the pocket with his cigarettes. “The drink and the cigarettes. My lighter. Leith and I had had a lot tae drink. He might have been passed oot. Meebe my cigarette caused the fire and he couldnae wake up. I didn’t know. I was scared. I was so scared, and heartbroken of course.”

  “You were a coward,” Edwin said.

  “Aye,” he conceded quickly. “And then I knew Fiona and Billy could use the money. It was the insurance policy ye bought for them, Edwin. In a strange way I thought ye’d be pleased.”

  Rosie made a gurgled sound that punctuated the fact that Edwin would never be pleased about the circumstances. Hamlet sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of himself. I knew they hadn’t met Gordon Armstrong before, but I wondered if they knew much about Edwin’s past with him. I made a mental note to ask later.

  Edwin just shook his head and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I couldnae get myself oot of the mess,” Gordon said. “Not without getting in other trouble, meebe not without getting Fiona in trouble. I weighed the options, all of them.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Here, weel, close tae Edinburgh. I work at a fish market. I have a small room close tae there. I work and go home. I…” his voice cracked again. “I was enjoying my time with my son.”

  “Oh,” Rosie said as tears suddenly started to fall down her cheeks. “I didnae ken yer son, and ye’re an unlikeable man, Gordon Armstrong, but I’m sad for yer loss. So sad.”

  Hamlet grabbed a box of tissues from a shelf and handed them to Rosie.

  Edwin swallowed hard and then continued, “I’ll help Fiona get through this.”

  “Thank ye,” Gordon said.

  “Who would have wanted Billy dead, Gordon? Who would have killed him?”

  “I dinnae ken. He didnae do much but play William Wallace and keep his mother company. There are others who play the Wallace character and I wonder if he angered one of them. Recently, there was a lass.…”

  “Och, there’s always a lass in the way,” Rosie said.

  “Aye,” Gordon said. “He said recently that he was going tae break things off with her.”

  “What’s her name?” Edwin said.

  “He wouldnae tell me her name.”

  “You need tae tell the police about Billy’s William Wallace friends and about the lass. Fiona might not know,” Edwin continued.

  “Aye. I s’pose I do.” He didn’t commit to sharing the information with the police, but sniffed and then looked at me. “Now, please, tell me the details of what ye saw.”

  I nodded, but before I spoke I looked at the Oor Wullie on the table. Edwin had glanced at it like it w
as much more than a book of two years’ worth of comic strips. The fact that Gordon had used it as a means to communicate with Edwin must have meant something too. I noticed Edwin’s brief but real longing toward it and filed that to the back of my mind with all the other questions that were accumulating. There was nothing sentimental about the main character, Wullie. It seemed he always got the short end of the stick, but he was cute and lovable with a good attitude. Or that’s what I thought. I’d only researched enough so I’d recognize the book when it was given to me.

  Curiosity is not a sin.… But we should exercise caution with our curiosity, yes indeed.

  It was just yesterday that someone had come into the shop and dropped their worn copies of the Harry Potter series on the front desk. The young woman and her husband were moving to France and had to leave many things behind. Even though The Cracked Spine was packed with books that might be considered more difficult to find than the recent classics, Rosie had looked at the books, seen the wear along the dust jackets where hands had spent many loving hours, and agreed to give the woman a small amount for them. Though I’d adored the books I hadn’t thought much about the characters since they’d come into the shop with the recent acquisitions, and though I couldn’t totally understand his cautionary warning, I would take Dumbledore’s advice—guided by my intuition—seriously.

  I nodded again, this time toward the stack of books still on the front desk. I’d tell Gordon the story, and I’d eventually ask all the questions I wanted answers to, but I’d be careful with everything I shared and everything I asked. I was sure the old wizard nodded back his approval.

  FIVE

  Tom blinked and placed the chip—which I’d call a French fry—back into the paper boat, next to a large piece of fried fish. “You found a body?”

  “I did.” I nodded and then put my piece of fish down. It seemed like the polite thing to do.

  “And his father was supposed tae be dead, but isn’t? I don’t understand, Delaney. Tell me again what happened, but from the beginning.” Tom wiped his fingers on his napkin, pushed his food back on the narrow counter, and then turned a little on the stool to give me his full attention.

  His cobalt eyes reeled me right in. They always did. I’d tried desperately to think of them as normal eyes. We’d been together for a few months now and it was high time to find his eyes much less fetching, maybe take them for granted a little, and not let them speed up my heart rate. But I hadn’t gotten there yet. I still blushed when he looked at me the way he sometimes did. To his credit, he’d pretended not to notice, most of the time. Every now and then I caught an amused smile pull at his lips when I blushed, but he’d look away quickly.

  And don’t get me started on his lips.

  We were having dinner at one of our favorite spots, a place close to the bookshop and Tom’s pub; a small takeaway restaurant where I’d had my first proper fish and chips, and many more orders since. Though most customers ordered their food and took it with them, there were a few stools and a counter—well, a ledge-like counter along the front window—for those who wanted to stay and eat. Tom and I frequently ordered our dinners from Mica, the owner and an immigrant from Russia who was there whenever the shop was open. We enjoyed our usual meal of fish and chips as we sat on the stools or, if the weather was agreeable, on one of the benches in the Grassmarket Square, the shared common space for both our places of work. It was too cold to sit outside this evening and the stools inside had been vacant.

  As customers moved in and out, ordering everything from fish and chips to fried haggis and fried hamburger, I quietly told Tom what had happened earlier that afternoon, slower and with more details this time. If there was anyone I would tell the whole story about almost anything to it was Tom. Our relationship had come out of the blue for both of us, and it had been a surprisingly easy transition into “couple,” so far at least. He’d known my coworkers for years, so he knew how wonderful they were but he’d also sensed Edwin’s secrecy. He never asked me much about that part of my boss’s life, and there were parts of it I wouldn’t be willing to share even with him, but Edwin had given me full permission to show Tom the warehouse, just as long as he agreed not to tell anyone else about it. He had.

  “Gordon’s been living and working in Edinburgh, at a fish market?” he asked.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “It’s a big city, but that’s a pretty risky move for someone who was pretending tae be dead.”

  “I thought so too, everyone did, but his family was close by. I get that. He’d been watching them and said he only recently made contact with his son. He says he’s sick with a bad cough that he won’t see a doctor about so he wanted another chance to see his son before it was too late. Sad story all the way around.”

  “Aye, but…”

  “I know. It’s risky.”

  “Did Edwin want tae tell the police about Gordon?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think Gordon’s secret is safe with him, even if he didn’t like what Gordon had done. I don’t know, maybe the story needs to soak in. Edwin was pretty shaken up.”

  “I can imagine. Did Edwin call his police contact tae confirm if Billy had been murdered?”

  “I don’t know. Shortly after Gordon left, Edwin did too. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him again.”

  Tom looked out the window and rubbed his chin as he thought a moment. “What’s their history?”

  “I’m not sure. Hamlet had never heard of him, but Rosie had, though she wouldn’t tell us anything today. I do know that whatever happened between Edwin and Gordon, it happened a long time ago. There were bad things, bad memories, but it’s been about fifty years. I think Rosie wants to be extra cautious about what she shares. That’s not necessarily like her, so I get the impression that it was all pretty serious.”

  “An Oor Wullie comic strip book? The story was in the book?”

  “That’s what he said.” I shrugged. “An annual. In good condition, the book itself was one of the more valuable annuals, but not worth a fortune.”

  Tom rubbed his stubbled cheek. “Lots of Williams in this.”

  I blinked.

  “William Armstrong—Billy—William Wallace, and Wullie—Willie, William.”

  “I didn’t even think about Wullie being William. I haven’t spent much time reading the strip. I should have put that together. It must mean something.”

  “It’s a good name. Maybe that’s all.” He glanced out the window again toward a boisterous group of teenagers passing by. “There’s no similarity between Edwin and the comic character, the lad Wullie, but maybe there’s something similar with Gordon or their other friend, Leith. I don’t know. Just a guess. There must be a good reason for that specific book tae have been used.”

  “Probably. I don’t know what Gordon did before he went into hiding, but is Wullie a fisherman?”

  “No,” Tom said. “School lad who sits on a bucket and often seems down on his luck. If he’s fished in any of his stories, he’s never caught anything, or it got away. Cute, lovable, but probably a challenge to his parents.”

  He looked at me with a half-smile and one raised eyebrow.

  I half smiled and raised one eyebrow back. I was sure I also blushed, but that couldn’t be helped. “Oh. Well, Gordon’s none of those—cute or lovable—might have been a challenge to his parents though.”

  “It doesn’t sound like something Edwin would find himself caught up in. Old news, men pretending tae be dead.”

  “I don’t think he wants to be caught up in anything that has to do with Gordon. It was forced on him today. There are many secrets there,” I said.

  “I bet you’d like tae know what those secrets are, some of them at least.”

  “Of course.”

  He wiped his fingers on his napkin again. “Shall we drive out there tonight?”

  “Drive out where?”

  “The castle. I suspect you’ll want tae go on your own tae see if you can fi
nd that paper with the story written on it. I’d rather we went together, and our days are always so busy. The weather’s not too terrible. Now’s a good time.”

  “Tonight? It’s so dark,” I said.

  “And a wee bit cold but not too late. It’s only six. It’ll be fun. It’s not too far away. I’ll keep you safe and warm, I promise. Maybe we’ll find you a ghost.”

  “Well, the idea of a ghost is irresistible.”

  “I bet.”

  “And, I’m sure I’ll be pretty cold. You’ll have to work hard to keep me warm.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  We threw away our paper boats and bid Mica good night. As he always did he sent us an enthusiastic “do svidaniya” as we went through the doors.

  Tom helped me with my coat and then glanced up at the partly cloudy, dark sky as he swung his jacket on. “Let me make a quick run into the pub. I’ll let Rodger know I won’t be coming back this evening.”

  We crossed the street and covered the short distance over Grassmarket Square. I waited outside as Tom made his way inside. I wondered if our trip out to the castle would be canceled because of the large crowd, but Tom weaved his way back out again only a few minutes later. As he came out through the doorway, he and a patron going inside bumped shoulders. It looked to me like the man ran into Tom on purpose, leaned and veered that way, but maybe he’d just already had too much to drink.

  “Excuse me,” Tom said. He turned toward the man he’d run into. But the man kept his cap-covered head down and his coat collar up high as he mumbled something before melting into the noisy crowd inside.

  “Weird,” I said as Tom looked in after him.

  “A wee bit, but it happens. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  The drive in the dark along the motorway didn’t seem all that different from the ride with Elias, but once we’d exited onto the narrow road that seemed to hide itself and its travelers from civilization, all we could see clearly was the light from the car’s headlights, broken by the shadows of the trees that lined the road.