If Books Could Kill (11 page)

“Mom! Not helpful.”

She pointed to the middle of her forehead, to her third eye. “Justice is blind and the truth hurts, Pumpkin.”

Huh? I caught Derek grinning and I glared at him.

“Okay.” I waved my hands in defeat. “I just didn’t think it would be that big a deal. I mean, the Scots aren’t all that enamored of the British monarchy, are they?”

“To most Scots,” MacLeod surmised, “it would be more of a killing offense to besmirch the memory of the beloved poet Rabbie Burns than the English monarchy.”

“I know, right?” I said, grinning, but the grin was not returned and I groaned inwardly. It would help if I remembered whom I was talking to, namely, a cop who might want to drag me off to jail. Nice.

With some reluctance, I said, “Okay, I suppose I might’ve gotten an eensy bit too close to the real story, and that must’ve upset Perry.”

“You think so?”

I exhaled resignedly. “Okay, it definitely maybe did.”

He tipped his head, accepting my answer, however much I’d tried to obfuscate it.

“But,” I added quickly, “the only reason I mentioned the Burns book in the workshop was that it was a perfect example of a story that could be exploited in order to raise the price of the book.”

Dad gave me two thumbs-up, as though I’d made a wickedly smart move in a game of checkers. Dad’s standards were overly generous where his kids were concerned.

“Yes, so you’ve said,” MacLeod said.

“Well, it’s true.”

“That’s all well and good for the purposes of your presentation,” MacLeod said philosophically, shutting his notebook and sitting back in his chair. “But who’s to say your words didn’t inflame a killer? You might want to consider that, and perhaps think before you speak next time.”

I bristled at first, hearing only his insult-which was so unfair. I often thought before I spoke. Then a chill speared my shoulder blades at the thought that at this very minute, Kyle’s killer might be roaming the book fair, looking for me.

It took another beat before the meaning behind his words hit me. He thought the killer was still out there. “Wait. Does this mean I’m no longer a suspect?”

“No.” He shoved his notebook in his pocket and handed me the Burns.

“Uh, no, I’m no longer a suspect?” I asked hesitantly. “Or no, I’m still a suspect?”

He smiled indulgently. “You own the murder weapon and you have no alibi, Miss Wainwright. What do you think?”

My shoulders slumped. “Right.”

“You’re free to go for now,” he said, then stood and held out his hand to help me up. “But don’t leave town.”

“I think that went well,” Mom said as we walked down the hall to the escalators. Dad and Derek were trailing behind, deep in conversation.

“He thinks I’m capable of murder, Mom.”

“Oh, no,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss my fears. “His sixth chakra was practically glowing indigo, which means he’s highly intuitive and clear-sighted.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“And in combination with his rather stunning Martial essence, he’ll make a passionate lover for some lucky woman.” Mom winked at Robin, who made a strange gargling sound.

“Do you need a Heimlich?” I asked her.

“Stop looking at me,” Robin said between gasps.

I grinned and turned back to Mom. “I’m happy for that lucky woman, whoever she may be. But the fact remains, he still thinks I’m guilty.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Mom said with perky assuredness. “He let you go, didn’t he?”

“He knows where to find me,” I muttered, stepping onto the escalator. When we reached the lobby, Mom and Robin went to the pub, Derek left to take care of dinner reservations and Dad went off to talk to the concierge to get directions for their trip tomorrow. I headed for the front desk to put the Burns book back in the hotel safe.

As I crossed the lobby to join Mom and Robin in the pub, I saw Perry talking to three other men near the entrance to the shopping arcade. So I guessed the police hadn’t detained him, either. He didn’t see me, and I planned to keep it that way.

Mom and Robin had already grabbed a table and ordered our beers, so I sat down and filled them in on some of the details about the murder, such as why I was the prime suspect. When I mentioned the bloody hammer, Mom shrank in horror.

“Honey, you’re attracting some awfully bad juju lately,” she said in a worried voice. “I recommend a spleen wash PDQ.”

“Mom,” I started, just as the waitress brought our beers. I guzzled mine down as Mom studied me.

“Or maybe you should get a cat,” she said finally.

“Cats fix bad juju?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “But they make such sweet companions.”

I glanced sideways at Robin, who looked as baffled as I felt. I took another sip of beer. “Thanks for the suggestions, Mom, but that’s a big ‘no way’ on the spleen wash.”

“You say that now, but it’s obvious that your chi is stagnating, and nothing clears that up like a good old-fashioned spleen wash followed by a granola enema.”

“Ouch,” Robin said. “Granola?”

“It’s a finely ground blend of oats, crisp rice and sesame seeds infused with mineral oil,” Mom assured us.

It was a miracle I didn’t choke on my beer. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

She shrugged. “Or you can always get a cat.”

The next morning I dressed in jeans, boots and a forest green turtleneck sweater, then went downstairs to meet Mom, Dad and their stalwart spirit guide, Robin, in the hotel restaurant. I slid into the booth next to Mom and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from the passing waitress.

As I poured cream into my coffee, I said, “Wasn’t that a great dinner last night?”

“Oh, yes,” Mom said. “Derek is the perfect host, isn’t he?”

“He was too generous,” Dad said.

I took a sip of coffee. “So, are you all packed up and ready to go?”

No one responded. Robin wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Dad busily stirred honey into his tea. That was when I knew something was wrong. Dad hated tea.

“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I knew she’d make a fuss,” Mom said with a flustered wave of her hands.

“What fuss? Who’s making a fuss? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We’re not going anywhere, sweetie,” Mom said defiantly. “And that’s final.”

Dad reached across Mom and patted my hand. “How can we leave you when you’re going through such trauma?”

Alarmed, I turned to Robin, who said simply, “They want to stay.”

“But… but what about the druidic triad?” I asked. “And the vibrating yew tree thingie? Dad?”

“We’ll get there sometime,” he said. “But right now, you need us more than my dosha needs an alignment.”

“Are you sure, Dad? Because you look a little bent.”

He chuckled. “Now, see, Becky? There’s her sense of humor coming back.” Dad wrapped his arm around Mom because she looked about ready to cry. That couldn’t be good.

“Mom, I’m thrilled that you want to stay,” I said quickly, and really hoped I sounded sincere. “But I won’t be able to spend much time with you. I’ve got the book fair.”

“We can amuse ourselves,” she said with a sniffle. “We’ll have our own minitour around Edinburgh.”

“I’ll take care of all the details,” Robin said.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Mom said, then looked at me. “We just want to stay close by in case you need us. In case they put you in… in… oh, God, we won’t let you go to jail.”

“I’m sure that won’t happen,” I said, not so sure of anything. I gave her a hug before she started wailing. “But thanks, Mom. I’m happy you’re staying.”

“I love you,” she whispered as she dabbed her eyes with her napkin.

“I love you, too.”

She composed herself as the waitress brought her a bowl of fruit and rushed off. Mom speared a chunk of pineapple, then said thoughtfully, “You should schedule a high colonic while you’re here. You know how travel affects your nama-rupa equilibrium.”

“Mom, please, not before breakfast.” According to the most basic tenets of Buddhism, nama-rupa was the coexistence of mind and matter. Both contained combinations of elements and sensations. I could go on and on, but seriously, before breakfast? I needed food first.

Mom pointed her fork at me. “It might bring you to moksha; I’m just saying.”

“Come back, Mom,” I said, teasing her. Some believed moksha was comparable to nirvana, or ultimate peace. I was all for that, but didn’t really think I’d attain it with a high colonic.

“I could go with you,” Robin said, winking at me. “I’m always up for getting hosed.”

“I’m having the waffles,” Dad said helpfully, passing me the menu.

Over breakfast, Mom and Robin planned their little tour of Edinburgh sites. Mom said she’d heard from a woman in the elevator that there was an energy convergence circle halfway up the back side of Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh ’s highest peak, that was rippling with powerful soul medicine. Robin suggested that maybe after their tour of the Palace of Holyroodhouse, they go on a hike up the mountain to find it.

Dad and Mom were both up for the trip.

Then Robin announced that she knew of a shaman out near Rosslyn Chapel who conducted drum circles and occasionally manifested as a crow. Mom started twittering with excitement.

I gave Robin a grateful smile. I hated seeing tears threatening to gush forth from Mom’s eyes. She might be loony, but she was mine.

Once breakfast was over and they’d taken off for the palace tour, I hit the book fair. It was barely ten o’clock, but the great assembly hall was already crowded with people wandering up and down the aisles, checking out some eight hundred booths of booksellers, art gallery owners and vendors hocking ephemera, engravings, posters and maps. Some sellers earnestly discussed their wares, while others bartered and kibitzed with the passing crowd. Many in the mass of people were serious buyers, others just book lovers hoping to see something beautiful, unique or odd.

I stopped at one counter to admire a beautiful copy of Sense and Sensibility. The navy blue leather cover was inlaid with an exquisite miniature painting of the author framed by rows of tiny pearls. I checked the price. Eight thousand dollars.

“A real bargain,” the bookseller said, tongue in cheek.

I laughed. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to pass.”

He chuckled good-naturedly, and I took the opportunity to ask if he knew anyone who had been close to Kyle.

“I’m just looking for people to commiserate with,” I said, which was true, sort of.

He pointed out two booksellers I should talk to, so I thanked him and headed their way. The two older men owned Fair Haven Books in Dublin, and I was pretty certain they were innocent of murder, but I asked them a few questions anyway. The first man, Duncan, didn’t know Kyle, but the other one, Jack, told me that he and Kyle were old friends and that he had, indeed, discussed the Burns poetry book with Kyle. He was enthusiastic and, given his own knowledge of British history, believed it was entirely possible that the story behind the book was true. He’d told Kyle he couldn’t wait to see it.

“I was deeply saddened by the news of his passing,” Jack said.

“Thank you,” I said. Walking away, I felt even more depressed than before. So Jack was the third person Kyle had talked to, if I was included in that number. I would let Angus know, and he’d probably want to question the Irishman, but I knew there was no way Jack had anything to do with Kyle’s death. First, because he was rather frail, but also because he was excited about the book, not angry like Perry was. Jack wouldn’t want to stifle the book being introduced to the public.

As I wandered the aisles, I had the uncomfortable thought that Kyle might’ve shared the book’s history with Jack and Perry only in order to titillate them in hopes of raising the selling price. I hoped it wasn’t true. I hated to think that his death was caused by his own greed.

I decided to let go of my immediate worries over Kyle’s personal motives and his death, as well as the attack by Perry McDougall, not to mention possible jail time or the fact that my parents were staying for the whole week, and simply enjoy the book fair.

I passed a booth featuring original French movie posters from the fifties and decided on the spot I had to have one. I spent twenty minutes trying to choose which of them would look more fabulous on my living room wall back home. I narrowed it down to either a tormented Doris Day starring in
Piège
à Minuit (
Midnight Lace
), or an almost whimsical poster for a horror movie, La Nuit de Tous les Mystères, or
House on Haunted Hill
, starring Vincent Price. This one featured a scary skeleton grabbing at a lady’s flimsy negligee.

In the end, the decision was easy. The randy skeleton won the day. I grimaced at the price tag of four hundred dollars but happily paid it when the wily owner offered to ship it back to San Francisco for free. It occurred to me when the transaction was completed that my recent inheritance of Abraham’s six million dollars hadn’t sunk into my brain yet. I might not have balked so much at the price if I’d remembered.

It was occasionally startling to realize I could buy almost anything I wanted now. I’d never been much of a shopaholic, much to Robin’s exasperation. She was a shopping connoisseur and made no secret of her desire to drastically improve my wardrobe, while I really didn’t see the need.

I turned at the last booth and headed down the next aisle. I was approaching a stall that sold beautiful sheets of Asian book cloth when I spotted Helen a few booths away. She was talking animatedly to someone I couldn’t see. I walked toward them, then abruptly stopped. The other woman was Serena, Kyle’s wife, the wispy woman Minka had dragged into the memorial service yesterday.

The two of them bonding seemed so wrong in so many ways that I wanted to turn around and run. But Serena was just the person I needed to talk to, so I steeled myself and walked over to them.

“Oh, Brooklyn,” Helen said, waving me closer. “Have you met Serena McVee, Kyle’s wife?”

“No,” I said, holding out my hand to shake hers. “Hi.”

“How do you do?” she said in her softly chirpy British voice. Her eyes were wide and friendly, but how could I trust them? I still couldn’t believe Kyle had been married. She dabbed her nose with a tissue and I remembered my manners.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, then thought, What a totally lame thing to say. I sounded like a cop.

She didn’t seem to notice as she thanked me. “You’ve all been so very kind.”

“I didn’t know Kyle was married,” I said, and immediately wanted to slap myself for saying something so idiotic and thoughtless. But again, Serena didn’t seem to take offense.

“I didn’t know many of Kyle’s friends,” she explained. “We came from two different worlds, and I suppose we simply continued to keep those two worlds apart. I’m embarrassed to admit I only just met his cousin Royce earlier today.”

“You just met Royce,” I repeated. “That’s, um, nice. And comforting,” I added.

“Oh, he’s wonderful, isn’t he? So supportive. So kind.”

Royce? Were we talking about the same uptight, chinless businessman?

Serena giggled. “I’m sure he must’ve thought I was a madwoman, coming at him from out of the blue.”

You have no idea, I thought, but kept my mouth shut.

“You see,” she continued, “Kyle and I have been in love since we were teenagers, but I’d never met his family.”

“Since you were teenagers?” I repeated again. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know what else to say. Royce’s furious words were still fresh in my mind.

She smiled bashfully. “Young and foolish, I suppose. But the feelings never went away.”

Okay, that was weird. I’d practically lived with Kyle for those brief months back when we were dating. We would go out and see friends all the time. We’d had cocktails with Royce more than once. What the hell had Kyle been doing with me if he’d had a wife all that time?

I managed to swallow a shriek to ask, “So you and Kyle have been married since your teens?”

“Married? Oh, no, no, no,” she said quickly. “We only married last year. But we’ve known each other, were pledged to each other, for… goodness, it must be more than ten years.”

“I see.” Well, that was something. At least he hadn’t been married to someone else while he was cheating on me. But “pledged” to each other? Good grief, I’d always known Kyle was a cad, but this was ridiculous.

If it was true. Royce’s angry words continued to swirl around my brain, gathering strength.

I coughed to clear my dry throat. “So you said you’ve never met Kyle’s family before?”

“He wanted our love to be ours alone.” She smiled sweetly. I hated to admit it, but she seemed naive and innocent, not the lying tart Royce had insisted she was.

“This weekend was to be my coming out, so to speak.” She began to tear up and blotted her eyes with the tissue. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Neither can I,” Helen said, gripping Serena’s arm. “It’s so awful.”

“But it’s been wonderful meeting so many people who loved Kyle,” Serena said.

“Yes, we all loved Kyle a lot,” I said, then bit my lip as Helen shot me a dirty look.

“It’s almost made this trip worthwhile,” Serena continued. “If only… if only…” She gasped, tried to catch her breath, then dissolved into tears.

Helen hugged her close. “It’s okay,” she whispered, then met my gaze and shook her head in pity. “Poor thing.”

I gave her a look of complete disbelief. I couldn’t help it. Helen was too sweet for her own good. And Kyle had betrayed her in the worst way. Yes, he’d betrayed Serena, too, but I was more concerned about Helen.

And frankly, I was a little concerned about myself, too. Had Kyle really known this woman since high school? Had he pined for her all that time? Even while we were dating? Maybe I was deluding myself, but I couldn’t believe it. Okay, Serena was pretty, yes, but in a vapid, pasty-faced way. Not Kyle’s type at all.

But as I stared at Serena, I had to question whether I really knew anything about Kyle’s type of woman. He’d been a cheater, a player. How could I claim to know him at all?

Oh, hell, of course I knew him. Yes, he was a player. Yes, he was dangerous to a woman’s heart. No, I couldn’t claim to know his every thought and reason for doing what he did. But I was still willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that he never would have fallen for this insipid woman.

And that was my final answer.

“Let’s get you something to eat,” Helen said, still rubbing Serena’s back.

“I would love that,” she said. “You’re so thoughtful, Helen.”

“ Brooklyn, can you join us?” Helen asked.

“Uh, no,” I said quickly. “Thank you. You enjoy your lunch. I’ve got some research to do before my workshop.”

“Maybe we can have a drink later,” Helen said in a hopeful tone.

“Absolutely,” I said. “Leave a message for me. Nice meeting you, Serena.”

“You, too.”

I took deep breaths and tried to think good thoughts as I walked away. I considered exploring more of the book fair, but meeting Serena had sucked the joy out of the day. And speaking of joy sucking, I suddenly realized I might run into Minka if I stayed here much longer.

I rubbed my arms as goose bumps broke out. Just thinking about Minka made me uneasy. What if I saw her here? I’d deliberately avoided walking near Perry McDougall’s booth, where I thought she would be working, but now it occurred to me that she could be anywhere.