A Christmas Tartan Read online

  I’d formulated questions, I’d tried to think of the best way to tell him what had happened and why I’d taken the comic book instead of just leaving it there. But as I spilled the details, I got as far as “dead on the roof” before I had to stop, thinking I might have to get some help for my boss.

  “Dead?” Edwin said as his face drained of color and his knuckle came up to his mouth.

  “Yes.” I stood and moved to the other side of the desk and crouched next to him. “You okay?”

  “I need a moment, Delaney. Please don’t tell Rosie and Hamlet. I’ll come back here when I’ve gathered myself.”

  “All right, but . . .”

  “Please.”

  I stayed close by him as he stood and made his way to the door. He was sturdy on his feet, but I watched as he climbed the stairs and as his long legs took him down the short upper hallway that led to his official office. I held back from following him. He’d been clear that he wanted to be alone.

  I wanted to kick myself. For whatever reason I hadn’t thought that Edwin might know the dead man. I’d shared the events as if the man had only been a messenger. There’d been something about the way the transaction had been orchestrated that made me think I was meeting a stranger, someone who sometimes dressed in a costume and had been hired for the task.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I said to myself as I closed the big red door and leaned against it.

  A few moments later I sighed and opened the door again. I relocked it and then took the stairs to the upper offices two at a time.

  There were only two rooms and a supply closet on this floor. Rosie’s sometimes-used office, and Edwin’s rarely used one.

  “Edwin?” I announced from the end of the hallway when I noticed the door to his was open. “I couldn’t just let you go.”

  As I came to the open doorway, I saw him sitting behind his desk, slightly bent over to the side as if he was placing something on the floor. He straightened and sent me a weary smile.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” he said. “Come in.”

  I took a seat in the chair across from his desk but didn’t close the door. The room was way too claustrophobic when the door was closed.

  “What? What happened? Who was he?” I said.

  Edwin sighed. The color had mostly come back to his face, but strain pulled at his glassy eyes. If he’d cried, he’d wiped away the tears before I could see them.

  “I didn’t know the lad well. Of course, he was a grown man now. But I knew his father.” He cleared his throat. “We knew each other when we were young.”

  “Is that who you bought the book from, his father?”

  “No, his father died two years ago, in a fire.” He sighed again and his mouth formed a straight, tight line before he continued. “His father and another friend of ours. It was such a tragedy.” He swallowed hard.

  “Oh, Edwin, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you, lass. The man you were tae meet was William Armstrong—Billy. His father was Gordon. I didn’t mean for it all tae be such a mystery tae you, but when Billy called tae tell me about the book that he thought his father wanted me tae have, I asked him not tae come in here. There was a reason for this, but it’s a story from long ago and not important at the moment.” Edwin paused again but not for long. “I couldn’t meet him, Delaney, I just couldn’t, but I said that I would send someone tae him, and I . . . well, I don’t know why but I suggested the castle. I guess it was a place I thought you’d like tae see, and it was neutral tae everything and everyone from the past. That was important, but again, now’s not the time.”

  “Why couldn’t you meet him?”

  “Too painful.”

  “Because of his father?”

  “Aye,” Edwin said.

  But I sensed there was something else.

  “Other reasons?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I didn’t believe him, but I’d already been insensitive enough.

  “Did you know anything about Billy’s health? Did his father have any sort of health problem that might have been passed along to his son?”

  “What did . . . how did the lad, how did Billy look?”

  “There was no obvious sign of the cause of his death.”

  “No blood?” Edwin said.

  “No. He was in the costume, as you’d told me he would be. That’s how I knew . . .”

  Edwin nodded. “He loved doing that.”

  “Being William Wallace?”

  “Aye. He took it very seriously.”

  I inspected Edwin closely. “So, you knew him well enough to know that part of him? Had you watched him reenact?”

  A moment later he nodded again. “Aye, I did. A few times. He didn’t know.”

  “Edwin, I don’t understand. Why didn’t you want to meet him yourself?”

  “Gordon and I lost touch many years ago; things ended badly. Somewhere along the way I wanted tae mend our friendship, get tae know his son, but it wasn’t tae be. Then fifty years went by.”

  “That’s how long ago your friendship ended?”

  “Close tae that.”

  And yet he’d been interested or curious enough to watch Billy, keep tabs on him maybe.

  “Delaney, there are too many layers of memories and too many years have passed. It would be difficult tae make you understand the history, but Billy contacted me tae tell me he thought his father would want me tae have the book, that there was some sort of story written inside it that might explain part of what had caused us so much trouble all those years ago.”

  “Written inside it? Like something handwritten, or the strips told the story?” I said.

  “I don’t know. I asked the same question, but Billy didn’t give me an answer.”

  “I didn’t see anything handwritten, but I’ll look again,” I said.

  Edwin nodded. “Tell me what happened at the castle. All of it. I’m ready tae listen.”

  Edwin winced as I told him about Billy’s body, but he didn’t break down this time. He didn’t say anything until I finished.

  “The book must have blown across the roof,” he said. “Perhaps there were other papers tucked inside it.”

  “It’s a possibility,” I said. “Should we go back out there?”

  Edwin shook his head. “No, not right now. I’ll call my contact at the police and see what they’ve found, if there’s any foul play suspected. I’ll tell them I knew the lad and why he was there. Maybe that will help.”

  “Elias and I didn’t tell them why we were there. They just thought we were tourists and we didn’t correct them. Our . . . lack of details and taking the comic book were why I thought I might have messed up.”

  “I shouldn’t have made it all such a mystery,” Edwin said. “I don’t know what the police will think about you taking the book, but let me do this one step at a time. First, I’ll see what they know and if there is any suspicion of foul play, then we’ll go from there. I’m so sorry, Delaney.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry about Billy, and the way I told you about his death.”

  We heard a noise that sounded like someone coming through the door at the top of the stairs.

  “We’re in Edwin’s office,” I said so they wouldn’t go down to the warehouse first.

  “Edwin, there’s someone here tae see you,” Hamlet said a moment later as he peered around the doorframe.

  I hadn’t registered it at the time, but now I remembered the distant sound of the bell above the door a few minutes earlier.

  “Who?” Edwin asked.

  “He wouldn’t say, but he’s in a foul mood and . . . well, he smells like fish,” Hamlet said.

  “Aye? We’ll be right over,” Edwin said as he stood with movements as weary as his smiles had been.

  Hamlet led the way over. Edwin seemed to be mostly recovered, but his steps held much less forward purpose. Unfortunately, it seemed that it was meant to be a day of jarring surprises for my boss, because his face drained of color once aga
in after we moved down the stairs and turned the corner to face the man standing at the front of the shop, who was dripping from the rain, and smelling of fish and cigarette smoke.

  “Gordon?” Edwin said so weakly that both Hamlet and I hurried to catch him if he fainted. Rosie and Hector both made a small gasping sound, and Regg grumbled a noise that reminded me of Elias.

  Hadn’t Edwin and I just been talking about someone named Gordon, and hadn’t that Gordon died in a fire two years earlier?

  “Edwin. What have ye done tae my son?” the man said.

  “I think I need tae have a seat,” Edwin said.

  A small commotion followed, but before long we’d turned the sign on the door to “Closed” and were all seated around the shop’s back table, waiting less than patiently to hear the dead man’s story.

  About the Author

  PAIGE SHELTON had a nomadic childhood, as her father’s job as a football coach took the family to seven different towns before she turned twelve. After attending Drake University in Des Moines, Iowa, she moved to Salt Lake City, Utah. She thought she’d stay only a few years, but fell in love with the mountains and a great guy who became her husband. After a couple of decades in Utah, she and her family recently moved to Arizona.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Author’s note:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Excerpt: Of Books and Bagpipes

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  “A Christmas Tartan” Copyright © 2016 by Paige Shelton.

  Excerpt from Of Books and Bagpipes © 2016 by Paige Shelton.

  All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.stmartins.com

  Cover Design and Illustration by Crystal Ben

  Author photo © Jacqueline Hanna Photography

  eISBN 978-1-250-13265-9 (ebook)

  First eBook Edition: October 2016

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