Deadly Editions Page 8

  A good-size crowd filled the place, which might have been why no bookish voices spoke to me immediately. In fact, I focused on keeping them at bay and sensed it would be fine.

  However, we were greeted by someone we knew.

  “There you are! I’ve switched to coffee so I could manage my way home. Why did it take you so long?” Birk sat at a table just to the left of the front door. “Why is it taking everyone so long?”

  Tom and I shared a look.

  “You figured it out?” I said.

  “Hours ago. Sit.”

  We looked around the pub but then joined Birk at his table. Behind him a television had been mounted up in the corner, similar to how Tom had mounted the TV in his pub. An old American show was playing—Gunsmoke maybe, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked.

  “Since about two this afternoon.”

  “Why didn’t you just call me?”

  “Because I thought everyone should figure out this first clue on their own, see if they all were game. I just didn’t think it would take so long.”

  “I didn’t figure it out. Rosie did.”

  “And here it is, right by the bookshop. Goodness.” Birk tsked.

  “Has anyone else shown up?”

  “No.”

  “Why did you wait?”

  Birk shrugged. “I thought it would be more fun to do this as a group—if everyone else is agreeable, that is.”

  “Really?”

  “Aye. Why not? I think it’s the best way, really. We need to make sure the books get the proper care. I’m here to do my part in making sure that happens.”

  “I agree,” I said, though I hadn’t given the idea of a group effort any real thought. “Sorry it took me so long.” I glanced up at the television. “Have you been paying attention to the news?”

  “I heard about the murder, aye.”

  “Did you know the man killed was our bartender yesterday at Deacon Brodie’s Tavern?”

  Birk’s eyes got wide. “I heard that he might have worked there, but I didn’t put it all together. Gracious…”

  I nodded and then told him about Shelagh’s being questioned by the police.

  “I had no idea,” he said. “But she was released?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who do they think is doing all this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Birk paused and then took a sip of his coffee. “This might all be somehow tied together, but I don’t know…”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. We can probably talk to Shelagh tomorrow. I’d hate to bother her this evening. But if the monster has anything to do with her, maybe we should hold off looking for this book.”

  “Why?” Birk asked.

  “Maybe we’re being set up for something.”

  “I suppose that’s possible.” Birk hesitated. “But I’m not willing to stop searching.”

  “I don’t really want to stop either,” I said.

  A server appeared with another coffee for Birk and two more for Tom and me. I hadn’t seen Birk order them, but my hands were glad for the warmth.

  “So is this the place we’re supposed to be?” I asked. “Is this the answer to the clue? What next?”

  “Aye.” Birk nodded toward the bar. “The barkeep has an envelope with the next clue for each of us. This is mine.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the envelope. “Run and get yours, just in case they’re different. You’ll have to show your identification.”

  I bobbed and weaved a little to make it to the bar. The bartender was an old guy with flyaway white hair and round wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Help ye?” he asked.

  “My name is Delaney Nichols. I believe you have an envelope for me.”

  “Och, just a minute.”

  He finished pouring two pints, deposited them onto a tray, and then, with a hitch in his step, moved to the end of the bar. He reached down to a shelf and pulled out some envelopes. I spied a total of three, which confirmed for me that the other two participants hadn’t been in yet. The bartender put two of the envelopes back on the shelf and walked toward me with mine in his hand.

  “Identification, please,” he said.

  I showed him my ID.

  “Verra good. Here you go.” He handed me the envelope. “What’s this all about?”

  “I believe it’s some sort of treasure hunt. Who brought these in for you?”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’m supposed tae tell ye.” He scratched his head. “But it was an older gentleman. Bald as a billiard ball. Dinnae tell anyone I spilled the beans.”

  Must have been Louis. “I won’t. Thank you.”

  “Ye’re welcome. Good luck to you.”

  I went back to the table, opening the envelope along the way.

  Second Clue:

  You always have to pay, perhaps with your very soul.

  I read it aloud after I sat down again.

  “Well, that’s creepy.” I looked up at Tom and Birk.

  “‘You always have to pay, perhaps with your very soul.’ Mine said the same,” Birk told us.

  “Make anything of it?” Tom asked.

  “Not offhand,” Birk said.

  “I have no idea.” I handed Tom the note.

  He read it again and then looked up at me. “It sounds ominous—or just purposefully mysterious.”

  “Yeah.” I fell into thought.

  “What, lass?” Birk asked.

  “Do you think there is any way at all that Shelagh truly is a burglar, a killer?”

  Tom put his hand over mine. “Lass, you can just walk away from this at any moment.”

  “I could … but I truly don’t want to.” Tom nodded as I turned to Birk. “What do you think? She’s no spring chicken. Could one of her people be doing her bidding? You knew her before, right?”

  “I knew her some, a long time ago but I don’t know her people well, but she would never instruct them to do any of what’s going on. I’m sure,” Birk said.

  I looked at Tom again. “I don’t want to stop searching. It’s not just that I want Shelagh’s library—though don’t get me wrong, it would be wonderful—but what if she’s in danger too? I’ll talk to Inspector Winters.”

  “You’re concerned about Findlay?” Tom said.

  “Who?” Birk asked.

  Tom and I told Birk about Findlay Sweet and Tom’s past with him. Birk didn’t like hearing what had happened all those years ago, but he stuck by his guns that Shelagh would never ask anyone to do anything illegal or even somewhat harmful. If Findlay was behaving badly, he wasn’t doing it because Shelagh had told him to.

  “We’ll work together, lass,” Birk said. “I don’t need the library either, or the money, of course, but I’m curious too. We’ll do it together, the two of us. If the others want to be included, we’ll welcome them also.”

  “I like that,” I said.

  “So do I,” Tom added.

  The door opened, and in unison the three of us glanced toward it. Tricia came through. She stood in the doorway a moment and looked around. Her eyes didn’t land on us until after she’d scanned the rest of the pub.

  I waved. She didn’t wave back. She didn’t smile either but walked toward us.

  “Hello,” she said. “I see you’ve all figured it out.”

  “Your envelope is behind the bar. Grab it and come join us,” I said.

  “You’ll need identification,” Birk said.

  When Tricia returned to the table and I introduced her to Tom, she sat and read her message aloud. It was identical to the others.

  “We’ve been discussing the robberies and the murder from last night,” I said, trying to gauge if she also thought the events might be somehow tied together and if she was as hesitant to join in as she’d seemed the day before.

  Tricia nodded. “It’s terrible, and I didn’t like what was going on, so I called Shelagh a wee bit ago. The police questioned her but let her go. She’s pretty sure they
don’t think she was in any way involved in robberies or a murder. She said she wasn’t. She told me the solution to the first clue, or I might not have ever figured it out. I’m not good at these sorts of things, but I’m going to keep trying. My school could use the funds that selling her library would give them.”

  We looked at her. I hadn’t wanted to bother Shelagh, but that hadn’t mattered to Tricia. She seemed different from the day before—either bolder or more comfortable, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was as simple as the idea of a new library being motivation enough for her to jump in with both feet now, but it was an interesting change.

  “Delaney and I are going to work together,” Birk said. “Want to do this with us? If we find the book, we’re willing to figure out something fair.”

  In fact, I’d ask Birk if we should just let Tricia have the library if she did something good with it, but kept that to myself for now. I didn’t tell Tricia about the fact that Louis seemed to know the murder victim either. For some reason I was glad Birk also chose not to.

  “Oh. Well, I like working alone,” she said. “That sounds rude, I’m sure, but I do prefer to work alone, even if I don’t succeed. I’m not a team player at all. Go ahead and do what you want to do, though.”

  “Aye, all right,” Birk said, no offense to his tone.

  “Do you mind if I order something to eat? I’m starving, and … I could move to another table, but I need to eat something,” Tricia said.

  “Certainly,” Birk said. “Good idea. Let’s eat and see if our fourth arrives. If he does, we’ll make it a grand party.”

  We ordered food, and as we ate, we discussed Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and the secrets men (and women) keep. People could be so many different things, in secret or not. It turned into a more philosophical conversation than I think any of us intended, but it sure seemed that though we all held the second clue inside our envelopes, we should consider the story more, think about those secrets and about possible clues within it.

  We didn’t stay too late, and our fourth never did show up, but I decided I’d find Jacques the next day and tell him he could join me and Birk.

  There was safety in numbers, after all. Wasn’t there?

  TEN

  “I suppose the good news is that there hasnae been another murder,” Rosie said as she came through the bookshop’s front door the next morning. She held Hector over one arm and a book in her other hand.

  “Yes, that is the good news,” I said.

  But there was plenty of bad news.

  There had been another string of robberies overnight, but the perpatrator, now officially dubbed “The New Monster” or “The New Mr. Hyde” by almost everyone in the media, had been caught on only one camera. Shelagh’s past exploits were also mentioned, though not with much detail, and I heard one newsperson call her “The Old Monster.”

  The police suspected that the perp had broken in and stolen items from three different places, but he’d managed to duck and hide from nearby CCTV cameras at two of the locations. The one picture that was captured was even grainier than the first group of images.

  However, it did seem that no other murders had been committed, which was undeniably good news.

  “The city is going to become terrified.” Rosie set Hector on the floor.

  As he trotted toward me, the weight of the stress lifted a little. Everyone should have a Hector in their life. I picked him up and let him kiss my cheek.

  “The newspeople aren’t helping much.”

  “Aye.” Rosie walked toward one of the bookshelves. “Do we have any copies of Robert Louis Stevenson’s books? We’ll need to gather them. I think people will be thinking about him and his books—they might be all the rage today.” She waved the book she carried. “I found this one at home. I’ve had it for years and am not willing tae give it up. But I read it again last night.”

  Still holding Hector, I walked toward her and looked at the book. It was an old copy of Jekyll & Hyde, but not rare or overly valuable. The cover picture was illustrated with a well-dressed, dapper man and a monster’s shadow looming behind him.

  “What did you think?”

  Rosie shrugged. “I thought the same thing I thought when I read it the first time. The language is stunning and beautiful, even with the older style. I enjoyed it, but my impressions haven’t changed over the years despite all the other influences—the movies, the television. It’s good but not my favorite.”

  I nodded. “Shelagh told me that when she read it the first time, she hadn’t heard of it beforehand, so she read it without knowing anything about it. It fascinated her, and she fell in love with it.”

  “Aye. I cannae imagine not knowing something about the story before reading it. It’s a part of our culture.”

  “Me either, and I wonder if we missed out on the best experience because it has been such a well-known story for so long. Imagine the ‘twist’ being a true surprise.”

  “Aye, and with no computers, all the secrets werenae spilled as quickly as they can be now.”

  “It spoke to her back then, and she hasn’t been able to let go of it.”

  Rosie frowned. “Do ye suppose she has a laboratory in the gigantic house? Maybe she’s come up with a potion.”

  “The laboratory is certainly a possibility. It’s a huge place, but I don’t see her as the potion type.” I shrugged, thinking about her father and his potions—but those were created a long time ago. “Who knows, though?”

  “Do we have any other Stevensons?”

  “We do. I’ve already arranged them on a single shelf.” With Hector in the crook of my arm, I walked in that direction.

  “How many Jekyll and Hydes?”

  “None, unfortunately.”

  “Aye? I was sure we had at least one.”

  “Not that I could find, but I’ll keep looking if you want.”

  “Och, lass, I’m not sure of anything anymore. How long have ye been here?”

  “A few hours. I woke up early.”

  “Ye didnae send an update last night. What happened?”

  I told her the events of the evening, including the newest clue in the hunt for Shelagh’s book. “You always have to pay, perhaps with your very soul.” Surprisingly—Rosie’s very superstitious—she was more intrigued than bothered. I thought she’d encourage me to pull out of the hunt, but she didn’t. She did, however, think that it was a good idea for Birk and I to hunt together.

  “Tricia’s an odd one, aye?” Rosie said.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe she’s just not overly friendly, which is okay. We ate, shared lots of small talk, discussed the book some, and then left. She had no desire to work with either us or Jacques, Shelagh’s nephew.”

  “Jacques didn’t show?”

  I shook my head. “Our first time was cut short. I’m going to visit Shelagh again to check on them both. He’s from France, so he might not know Edinburgh enough to get the clue, but Shelagh told Tricia. She would have surely told Jacques too, you’d think.”

  Rosie fell into thought. “I think ye should take Birk tae visit Shelagh this morning. Talk tae her in person.”

  “Birk’s busy until late this afternoon. We were planning on brainstorming later.”

  “Take Edwin. He’d enjoy visiting with Shelagh.”

  I thought a moment. “Good idea. I’ll call him right away.”

  But then the front door opened and customers poured in before I could gather my phone. I couldn’t remember a morning as busy as that one. Bookshops all over Edinburgh were probably experiencing the same; those with copies of Jekyll & Hyde were ringing up some extra sales. Rosie had been correct in predicting that many people would be looking for any Robert Louis Stevenson book. And once we ran out of those, many people just wanted something good to read. We had plenty of that in stock.

  Hamlet arrived at ten, just as the rush slowed. His eyes were wide and bothered, but we couldn’t ask him what was the matter until the bookshop emptied. I managed a quick call to Edwin, who
said he would be at the shop to pick me up soon, but my immediate concern was for Hamlet. Something was wrong.

  “What is it, lad?” Rosie asked when it was just the three of us and Hector. The dog had hurried to Hamlet’s feet and panted up at him expectantly.

  “I think I met the murder victim,” he said as he pulled his laptop from his backpack and opened it on the table. “I knew the name was familiar, but I didn’t remember the details until this morning. He spoke in one of my classes last year—an introduction to veterinary medicine, something for those of us who just wanted a little more information. He knows horses—knew horses.”

  “Oh, Hamlet, I’m so sorry,” I said. “How did he know about horses?”

  “He worked with them, but he didn’t tell us any more than that. Just that he’d been around them all his life. He spoke about their personalities, their strengths and frailities, lovingly.”

  “Sorry, lad,” Rosie said.

  “Hamlet, I met him briefly two days ago, at Deacon Brodie’s pub. He was a bartender.”

  “You did?”

  I nodded. I hadn’t seen Hamlet for a few days, but that wasn’t unusual. He was a student, so his schedule was flexible.

  “I don’t remember him talking about tending bar.”

  “I’m sorry, Ham,” I said. I wanted to say something complimentary about Ritchie John, but other than his kind smile I didn’t know him at all.

  “It’s okay.” He looked at us, tried to blink away the unsettling tears that had brightened his eyes. He picked up Hector. “I’m okay. It was strange to remember him, though. He was funny.” Hamlet scratched behind Hector’s ears. “His daughter was in the class too. I saw a young woman who appeared to be upset today. We passed each other. That’s when Mr. John’s talks came back to me. I’m pretty sure it was her. I’m going to double-check.” He nodded at the laptop.

  We sat around the table just as the front bell jingled again.

  “I’ve got it,” Rosie said. “Ye two see what ye can discover. And tell Hamlet the new clue, Delaney.”

  I told Hamlet the clue as he arranged Hector on his lap.

  “You always have to pay, perhaps with your very soul.”

  “That sounds ominous.” Hamlet’s eyebrows came together.