The Cracked Spine (28 page)

I couldn't help myself. “Why is that interesting?”

“Because she'd been to the bookshop a few times over the last couple weeks of her life. She loved Bruno's carrot cake. She never visited the bookshop and passed up a stop at the bakery.”

“Perhaps she just wasn't hungry,” Bruno said.

“Hunger wasn't the impetus. She never missed Bruno's carrot cake.”

“Maybe she was in a hurry,” I contributed, but Edwin clearly thought that her passing up the bakery treat meant something more, or he was looking around every available corner for possible clues.

“I don't know. Thank you for you condolences, Bruno,” Edwin said.

“Of course.”

We found a small table just around the other side of the counter in the seating area. It was somewhat private and kept us out of the steady stream of customers coming into the shop.

“How are you, lass? I've neglected helping you find a place tae live. I will help with that today. I'm sorry.”

“I actually already found a great place.”

“Oh? Please tell me where.”

I explained how I met Elias when he'd given me a ride the first day. I told him about the guesthouses and my hidden cottage. He smiled when I described it, and was even more intrigued by Elias and Aggie than they were by him.

“We must have a celebration when my sister's murder has been solved. Your arrival hasn't been what I'd hoped it would be, but we will smooth out the bumps soon enough. We'll invite everyone, including Elias and Aggie. I must thank them in person for taking care of you when I've been pulled other directions.”

“That would be fun.” I took a large bite of the tart. It was difficult to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head and my taste buds from cheering loudly. It was sweet and smooth and fruity.

Edwin smiled and took a bite of the muffin.

“Thif is so goo,” I said with a full mouth.

“Aye, you won't find any better.” Edwin turned his head and looked out the window as he took another bite of the muffin, chewed, and swallowed. “Delaney, did I hear correctly that you went tae talk tae the police yesterday? Rosie left me a message. She didn't think it was a secret.”

“I did,” I said. I might not have brought up my visit with the police, but I would never lie about it. Not all the way, at least. Not about going to talk to them.

“May I ask why? Did it have something tae do with Jenny?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask for further particulars?”

“Of course.” I put down the tart.

I wanted to tell him everything, and I wanted him to answer some of my questions too, but I chose my honest words carefully.

“Hamlet said that he wouldn't expect Jenny to be yelling at anyone. I thought that was pertinent. He wanted to go to the police, but I offered to do it for him, mostly because I'd heard about the yelling from someone who lived in her building and indicated that he wouldn't tell the police the truth if they came and asked him.”

“Who in the building?”

“Gregory Heath.”

“I don't know him.”

“He lives across the hall from the manager. He opened his door the day we were there.”

“I think I remember. What did the police say?”

“I wouldn't give them Gregory's name, which didn't go over well. They … asked me about you, Edwin. They think you have a secret and they'd like to know what it is. The way Inspector Winters spoke, I got the impression he thought the secret had to do with a book.”

Edwin put the muffin on the doily as his eyebrows came together.

“I didn't say a word about the Folio,” I said.

“I've put you in a terrible position. I'm sorry. I'm trying to understand how they have come tae suspect a book was involved. But I've not done well by you. I shouldn't have asked you not tae say anything.”

“I went to the police, Edwin. I didn't have to. I put myself in the position. Do you think—maybe—it's time to tell them about the Folio?” I didn't say what was probably on both our minds—had Hamlet given them any information that made them consider that a book was involved? That wasn't the impression I'd gotten from Inspector Winters. In fact, he'd said things that made me think his suspicions were becoming similar to his partner's when it came to Hamlet being involved. But how else could they have come to suspect it?

“You won't like my answer, but not quite yet.”

“Still protecting friends?”

“Not so much. Let's just say I'm seeking some answers on my own first.”

“Is that what you were doing yesterday?”

“I'm sorry about that too. No, I was making arrangements for Jenny most of the day. It was difficult. I didn't want tae talk tae anyone. Rosie also left a message on my mobile scolding me something fierce. I believe she said something tae the effect that she would stomp on my toe for not returning her calls—if I hadn't been harmed. I'll talk tae her when she gets in this morning.”

“She was worried.”

“Understandable.”

As we finished the pastries, I thought about telling him about the puzzle that was sitting on my kitchen table. I don't really know why I didn't, except for that instinct in my chest that sometimes tightens as a warning held me back. Or maybe it was because I'd gathered it when he was in the other room at Jenny's and I hadn't told him about it at the time. Now seemed too late. Or I just needed to keep the secret from him a little longer.

Edwin continued, “You're bound tae have uncovered some less-than-flattering details about some or all of us. I suppose Rosie is the only one without skeletons in her closet. She hasn't lived a boring life, but she certainly has lived one beyond reproach. I hope you don't make any sort of hasty judgment about any of us based upon the dirty laundry you've discovered.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I wouldn't judge anyway. Not my style.”

“I often say that we should only be judged on two things: if we're kind, and if we read books. Kindness is priority number one, but the books part is important too. If you don't read, I know you are someone who needs a reader tae show you the light. If you read, then surely you have a favorite-books list tae share. I collect favorites lists.”

“I like that.”

“Now, tell me about the date with the young lad Tom. Did you two recognize the sparks that I heard were flying between the two of you?”

My face reddened. “Oh. Well, I'm not exactly sure yet. I had a great time, but I don't know about the sparks.” I trailed off.

And then Edwin did something that I hadn't heard him do since the phone interview. He laughed a big, hearty laugh, a sound that came from deep in his gut.

“Oh, Delaney, you are transparent.” He leaned forward. “Tom is a wonderful lad. I am pleased that the two of you had a good evening and that the sparks were there—no matter how hard you try, you can't hide the fact, lass—but be wary that we have yet tae see him interested in anything of a permanent nature.”

“I've heard that a few times, and I understand completely,” I said. “We just met. I'll need at least one more date to begin to think about anything permanent myself.”

“That's the way,” Edwin said. “Now, let's get tae work.”

Rosie was at the shop. She said she'd seen Edwin and me go into the pastry shop just before she arrived at the store. She was happy to see that Edwin was fine, but she didn't hide her irritation at his lack of communication the day before. He apologized and she behaved as if she might accept his apology at some point, but not right away. Hector sat on the front desk with his back to Edwin as if he was mad at him too. Edwin scratched behind his ears, and Hector forgave him immediately. Rosie rolled her eyes at the dog.

“Ye have something in the back, Delaney,” she said. “They came right after I unlocked the door.”

A giant bouquet of white roses sat in a vase on the back table.

“Oh,” I squeaked when I saw them. This was not going to help my don't-get-serious resolve.

I pulled the card from between two stems and read,
Thank you for the lovely evening. I can't wait until our second date. Next time I'll wear the kilt.

“Bonnie, aren't they?” Rosie said from over my shoulder. “I presume the date went well.”

“It did.”

“Rosie?” Edwin said from the front of the store. “Where's Hamlet?”

“He called and asked if he could take the morning off tae fill in at the play. The lad playing Macduff took ill.”

“I thought they had a few actors who could play Macduff in the mornings,” Edwin said absently.

There was something about his tone that made me put the card on the table and follow Rosie back up to the front of the store. Edwin stood by the front window and looked out.

“What is it, Edwin?” Rosie said.

“It's odd. Hamlet has never … I'm sorry. Delaney, how would you like tae catch a performance?”

“Sounds great.”

“Rosie, will you be fine by yourself for a while?”

“Aye, if ye answer yer mobile when I ring.”

“He will,” I said. “I promise.”

 

TWENTY-SIX

It wasn't exactly sunny outside, but it wasn't raining yet as Edwin found a spot to park the car. He grabbed an umbrella from the back and we made our way over the greenest grass I'd ever seen. I peered up at the castle and the Royal Mile, the high perch of the original city's location on the hill, and tried to take my imagination back in time to when the park had been the loch where the citizens dumped their waste. There was nothing appealing or romantic about the idea, and no way to apply the historical version to today's groomed lawn and shrubs. I was grateful those times had passed.

“This way,” Edwin said.

We walked toward a stage that was set up in the middle of the wide grassy space. The stage was a real stage, with a curtain and an enclosed space behind for the actors. Simple folding chairs were set up for the audience. The chairs rode up a slope so that there were no bad seats.

Edwin pointed at the back row at the end. We found chairs just as fake thunder boomed (I did have to look around to make sure it wasn't real) and the witches entered.

I knew this play well, almost every Shakespearean word of it. These were characters that had spoken to me since high school. Liking Shakespeare at my high school hadn't been a “cool” thing to do so I'd kept my admiration under wraps with the hope not to add to my nerdy reputation. Once I got to college, though, I threw caution to the wind and without reservation or the need to hide what I was reading I engrossed myself in the man and his words. Of course I'd never told anyone there just how real the characters and voices were to me, how they and their words spoke to me, even if it was just my imagination. It wasn't that simple. It wasn't all that complicated either. But it was different. Now wasn't the time to ponder if the characters in my head had taken their final bow, but I did give it a passing thought.

I concentrated on keeping my lips from moving along with the actors' words. Until Act II, Scene III, when Macduff entered with Lennox. Apparently Edwin knew the play too. We both sat up a little straighter and looked at each other. Macduff was not being played by Hamlet, our Hamlet who worked at The Cracked Spine and the actor we'd come to see perform.

Where was our coworker? As unobtrusively as possible, Edwin and I moved away from the stage. Once far enough away that we wouldn't disturb the performance, Edwin pulled out his mobile and called Hamlet first, leaving a message, and then Rosie.

“I see,” he said. “Aye, I'll call you later.”

“Is he okay?” I asked.

Edwin shrugged. “Rosie hasn't heard from him.”

“Maybe he just didn't update her on his plans.”

“It's a possibility. I need tae run by his dormitory. I'm sure he's fine, but I'm concerned … about a few things. I need tae see if I can find him. Would you mind if I put you into a cab and meet up with you at the shop later?”

“No! I want to go with you. I want to make sure he's okay too. If you two need to have a private conversation I'll step away, but I'd like to come with you.”

I thought he'd argue, but a second later acceptance crossed his face.

“All right then. Let's go.”

Before this trip Edwin had been driving cautiously. Now he reminded me more of Elias.

We darted in and out of lanes and around other cars, Edwin's sure hands pulling the steering wheel each and every direction. The Citroën didn't have a handle to hold on to, so I had to work even harder to keep my balance with my feet on the floorboard, while at the same time trying to reach Hamlet on his mobile.

He didn't answer, and I was relieved to arrive in one piece as Edwin pulled the car into a space next to the curb that wasn't meant to be parked in.

“It's fine. I'd rather pay a ticket than take the time tae search for a space.”

We hurried out of the car, and I followed him into the student housing building that was surprisingly modern and set behind a not surprisingly old and turret-covered stone house.

We walked past the front desk and counter, the two students sitting behind it giving us only a cursory glance. The hallway was narrow but we didn't have far to go. Edwin knocked on the third door on our left.

“Hamlet, it's Edwin. You there?”

A second later the door opened, but it wasn't Hamlet who greeted us.

“Edwin. I mean, Mr. MacAlister, hi.”

“Chaz, hello,” Edwin began.

I was suddenly struck by how different Hamlet truly was from his peers. He was probably the same age as the young man in the doorway, but that's about where the similarity ended. Hamlet's maturity was evident even when he wasn't compared to his contemporaries, but blaring when another nineteen-year-old student stood in front of me.