I pushed back my urge to be a twenty-first-century hermit who occasionally partook in international travel and paced behind Stovall as he wound his way through Edinburgh’s Old Town. When he took one last left into a narrow alley, I felt my pulse quicken. This had to be one of the oldest streets in the city, and I was dying to slow down and look around.
Stovall, however, didn’t slow his pace until he reached an arched doorway in the right-hand wall of a three-story stone building. There, he knocked, grabbed the iron handle, and pushed open the door.
I was the last of our group, so it took me a few moments to reach the door, but when I did, I gasped. It was like walking into an apothecary’s shop from the eighteenth century. The walls were lined with shelves made of dark wood, and each shelf held vials and bottles of tinctures in shades of color that went from garnet to mustard yellow. It was a magical place if ever I’d seen one.
I suddenly felt like a small child again, and all I wanted to do was look through all the color-filled glass and pour together mixtures that would bring me a dragon or get rid of the freckle I hated on my big toe (true story). Instead, though, I hung back and let my eyes do the mixing as Stovall greeted a tiny, brown-skinned woman who kissed him on both cheeks before turning to the rest of us.
“Welcome to the Book Apothecary,” she said with a voice that was definitely tinged with a Scottish brogue but also something that sounded more Caribbean. “I’m Inez. Please, how can I help?” She looked at Stovall as she spoke, but somehow, I felt we were all included.
My friends must have felt the same way because we all took a step closer to the counter that came to above Inez’s waist and leaned in as Stovall explained the book and its forgery.
Inez watched his face carefully while he spoke, and when he finished, she silently picked up the fake book and studied every aspect of it from cover to paper to binding, even going so far as to study each small part, too. Then, she slid her fingernail over the leather and dropped the blue pigment that came up into a small bowl, to which she added a clear liquid.
Given the scent, I gathered the liquid was white vinegar, but I decided to imagine it was some sort of potion that revealed the truth of an item’s origin and waited with my breath held as she stirred the mixture slowly. In those few seconds, I had gone from thinking Cool to imagining smoke rising up and a tiny dragon forming from the dye.
Inez’s voice broke my vision, though, when she said, “This is simple blue printer’s ink. Nothing special. They just color-matched your original, I’m guessing.”
She then snipped a corner of the paper from one of the pages and held it under a microscope. “Forty pound.” She looked up at Stovall. “I presume the weight is similar to the original.”
He nodded. “But the original was hand-pressed.”
“Oh, this is handmade paper but just a more mass-produced version. You could get it at any good art supply store.” She finally took a small scalpel and peeled a bit of the glue off the binding. “Ugh, this is insulting,” she said after applying a different liquid to the glue. “It’s just mucilage.”
“Mucilage?” I asked as five faces turned to me. “What is that?”
“Remember that brown glue we had in school?” Beattie said. “The stuff that came in the clear bottle with the slanted orange nozzle?”
A very sharp and clear memory came rushing back as I thought about all the things I had glued to other things with that substance. “Yes,” I said.
“That’s mucilage,” Beattie said as she turned back to Inez. “So they spent a lot of time getting the look right, but they didn’t care one bit if the book fell apart in a few hours.”
“Precisely,” Inez said. She picked up the book, twisted it just a bit, and then pulled page after page from the binding without a bit of effort. “They only needed to fool someone long enough to get away with the original.”
“That is insulting,” Adaire said. “But it also might be a good thing as far as we’re concerned because it means they might have been sloppy with hiding the original if they thought we wouldn’t catch on quickly.”
“Or,” Aaran added, “They’ve already left the city with the book, and we have no hope of finding them.”
A heavy silence settled into the room as we all stared at the now disassembled forgery on Inez’s counter. I was at a loss. Either someone was counting on me being very stupid, or they were already long gone, which meant I had lost a large portion of Uncle Fitz’s money.
There was nothing I could do about the latter option, but if the former was the case, then the best thing I could do was prove them wrong by finding them. And I figured the best way to find them was to let them think they were right.
“Beattie, I think we need to act like we’ve been successful with our sale and see if that might draw the thief out of hiding,” I said.
My friend looked at me and studied my face. “What did you have in mind?”
“Who’s up for a celebration? A loud celebration?” I said.
The corner of Beattie’s mouth tilted up. “I like how you think.”
Stovall thanked Inez profusely and then agreed to meet Beattie, Aaran, Adaire, and me back at the hotel bar at 8 p.m. tonight for what he was now calling “Operation Chintzy Fake.” I found that name a little bit cumbersome, but I didn’t think it polite to correct someone who was about to plot an entrapment with you.
As Adaire, Aaran, Beattie, and I walked to a nearby pub to have our now curtailed but more lively double date, I asked Adaire about Inez. “Who is she?”
“Well, I hadn’t met her until today, but her reputation precedes her. She’s an expert at forgeries,” he said. “Not making them but detecting them. She works with book collectors, art historians, and cartographers all the time to determine whether something is an original or not.”
“Ooh, that sounds exciting,” I said.
“You haven’t even heard the exciting part,” he said as he took my hand. “She also pretends to work as a forger.”
Beattie and I both stopped walking and then turned to look at him. “Come again,” Beattie said.
Adaire grinned. “Well, she acts like a forger when the police or libraries and museums need her help. She knows the business so well that when we have a lead about a repeat offender, she often gets hired to try to make a sale.”
“Oh, so she’s a double agent,” Beattie said. “Very nice. Very nice indeed.” She was a James Bond super fan, and I knew that she was probably plotting right now about how to get a sit-down with Inez and ply her for information. Somehow, I thought the spy might know enough to avoid divulging her secrets to a random American book buyer.
We chatted about Inez, and, not surprisingly to me, Beattie turned the conversation to 007 by asking the guys which Bond actor they liked the best. This was, unbeknownst to them, a loaded question because Beattie had a ranking order she used as a gauge by which to judge other human beings. The answers the men gave to this question could make or break any future relationship.
“Idris Elba,” Aaran said without any hesitation. I braced myself because this could either be a brilliant answer that showed he was a huge Bond fan and, thus, knew that Elba had been considered at least twice as the new Bond or this could end any future relationship he had with Beattie because he didn’t know his Bond actors. “I’m wagering he gets the role next, and if he does, he’ll be the best by far.”
I sighed. That was probably the safest answer as far as Beattie was concerned, and it happened to be one I agreed with. I gave him a big smile and a nod.
Beattie looked at him out of the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything, turning instead to Adaire to wait for his answer. He, as seemed to be the case most of the time, was more circumspect than his brother, and he took his time in answering. Finally, he said, “Connery. But it’s hard for me to know if I’m choosing him out of objective preference or because of my loyalty to the Scot.”
I wanted to applaud because both men had avoided a landmine that had, many times before, exploded in Beattie’s friendships. Connery was her favorite, so she didn’t care why Adaire chose him. But she was also hopeful that Elba would get the role. If either of the men had said Pierce Brosnan, then the boys would have been eating alone that night.
When Adaire steered us into a steamy-windowed Indian place, I was glad all four of us were still invited, especially when Aaran cautioned me about ordering the spicy dishes. “Let’s just say there isn’t enough milk in Scotland to squelch that burn.” His eyes twinkled when he warned me.
“I’ll take the spicy curry,” Beattie said with her chin thrust out at Aaran.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said as he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Beattie did indeed order the spicy green curry, but I heeded Aaran’s wisdom and got paneer with a mild curry instead. It was absolutely delicious, and I was very glad I’d made the choice I did as I watched Beattie tear up with every bite she took of her dish. To her credit, she ate it all. I just hoped she wouldn’t be sick later.
With our meal consumed, along with a fortifying cider to fuel us for the shenanigans ahead, the four of us moseyed back to the hotel, where we hoped to put on the performance of our lives. The fact that we were in pretty good spirits, considering the day’s events, helped immensely.
When we arrived at the bar in the hotel restaurant, we found Stovall had already secured a table for us in the front of the space nearest the lobby. Normally, I would have chosen a corner booth for the privacy and quiet, but tonight, it was important that we be seen and heard.
“Good to see you all. Thanks for accepting my invitation,” Stovall boomed as we approached. “We all have something to celebrate tonight, I think.” He lifted his pint to us with a huge smile on his face.
“Well, we need something to toast with that, don’t we?” Adaire said in a louder voice than I’d heard him use thus far. “Cider for everyone?” With our nods, he headed toward the bar and returned shortly after with four golden pints.
“To a successful acquisition for the Library,” Adaire said as he raised his pint into the air.
“Cheers,” Stovall responded as we clinked our pints together so hard I feared they would break. Maybe we were getting just a little bit too much into our skit here.
“Uncle Fitz will be so happy,” I said awkwardly, not sure exactly how to play into this ruse effectively, but fortunately, Beattie played right along.
“He will,” she said. “He’s been wanting to help the Library get this book for a couple of years now, right, Adaire?”
Adaire nodded. “Everyone is so excited to add it to the collection.”
“And I’m excited to spend my profits,” Stovall nearly shouted. He might have been getting a bit into his part, or maybe he was being sincere. I would be excited if I were him.
“How will you spend your dosh?” Aaran asked. I presumed the word dosh meant cash, by context, but I had already drunk most of my pint, so I couldn’t be certain.
Stovall shook his head. “Elsie is trying to convince me that we need to donate the book, but I’m hoping she might go for a little trip instead. We’ll see.” He hung his head for just a second before looking up at Aaran and grinning. “Maybe she’ll gift me that roadster I’ve been eyeing.”
“Nice,” Aaran said. “What year?”
From there, those two delved into a car conversation that left me totally lost, and Beattie and Adaire had begun talking about her acquisitions in the Highlands and his next purchase project for the library. I was interested in what they had to say, but from the corner of my eye, I caught movement and turned to look.
There, in a corner booth, was Denise, and when I looked more deeply into the shadows around her table, I thought I saw Ms. MacDonald. I staged my face in a way that I hoped looked bored and turned back to the table. My heart was racing, though, because, well, I wasn’t sure why yet. But I had this inkling that the fact that they were together was a big deal. I couldn’t figure out why, though. I wondered if this was what Peter Parker felt like when his Spidey Senses kicked in, but of course, I had not been bitten by a radioactive spider, at least as far as I knew.
I almost kicked Beattie under the table and pointed, but I didn’t want to disrupt our performance or let the women know I’d seen them. So I quickly grabbed a napkin, pulled a pen from my pocket, and scribbled a note. I tried to act like I remembered something important that I didn’t want to forget, and then I simply slid the note to the middle of the table as if I wanted to save it for later. I hoped the plan worked.
Beattie was the first one to notice, and when she did, her eyes flew wide, and she looked toward me. I gave a subtle shake of my head so that she wouldn’t say anything or look behind her. She caught my gesture and set her empty pint on the edge of the napkin before sliding it toward Adaire and saying, “Get us another round.”
“I bought the first one—” he started to say, but then he must have noticed the napkin because he stopped. “Yes, of course. Help me carry, Aaran?”
“You can manage five—” Aaran stopped speaking and stood when Adaire gave him a hard stare. Silent communication was an amazing thing.
Now, I just had to figure out how to clue Stovall in, but fortunately, Beattie was ahead of me. She reached across the table as if she was clearing up the empty glasses and knocked my pint, which still had a bit of liquid in it, directly on Stovall. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said as she held the napkin with the note on it up to him so he could clean himself up.
Stovall was mighty annoyed, but when he reached to get the napkin, his eyes lit up, and he smiled. “No problem, lass. Just part of the celebration.” He took the napkin, patted his pants, and balled it up, effectively covering our tracks.
Just in time, too, because as the brothers came back with our pints, Denise walked over from her table. “What are we celebrating?” she said. Clearly, she’d been eavesdropping.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Stovall said in a tone that seemed quite real, not just part of our act. “But the sale of the Sea Monster Chronicles.”
Her face puckered up in confusion as she turned to me. “But the book you tried to sell was a forgery.”
Adaire said, “Oh, but then we recovered the original and concluded our business just a few moments before we arrived. What an up and down day.” He took a long swig of his pint.
I did the same because I needed to fortify myself for such a blatant lie. We hadn’t anticipated Denise’s presence, obviously, so I was glad that Adaire was quick on his feet.
“It was almost a miracle, really,” Beattie added.
I leaned forward, as eager as anyone to hear what story Beattie had to share.
“It was the strangest thing. When Poe and I returned to our room this afternoon to regroup and make a plan, the book was just sitting there, propped against the door.” Beattie looked up at Denise with her eyes wide. She didn’t bat her eyelashes, but it looked like she was about a millisecond away from doing so.
“I guess someone had a change of heart,” I said and shrugged, taking another long sip of my pint. “What a relief.”
Denise’s face had gone stark white, and when I glanced down at her hands, I could see they were balled tightly into fists. This news was not good for her. She glanced over her shoulder to the table where she’d been sitting, and when she saw it was now empty, rage climbed up into her face.
“Congratulations,” she said tightly. “If you’ll excuse me. . .” She practically ran out of the bar.
I slumped back into the chair. “Now, that was a turn of events,” I said.
Beattie looked at me and jumped up. “What are we waiting for? We need to follow her.” Then, like a bolt of lightning, she was out of the bar after Denise.
Aaran had obviously been thinking the same thing because he was only a few steps behind, and while it took Adaire, Stovall, and me a second longer to catch up, we dropped some cash on the table and jogged after them.
Our strange and at least partially tipsy crew made a winding line through the lobby with Beattie in the lead, presumably following Denise, who was—we hoped—following Ms. MacDonald. We wove around the club chairs and potted plants, past the front desk, and down a hallway that I hadn’t even noticed before. The doors were all marked staff only, and I was sure it was only a matter of time before someone stopped us and asked us what we were doing.
Until then, though, we were in hot-ish pursuit of, well, I didn’t exactly know whom. Denise ducked into one of the doors near the end of the hall, and Beattie charged right in after her, with the rest of us tumbling into what turned out to be a locker room. There, women in pink maid’s uniforms looked at each of us and then looked away, trained to not see anything, even in their own space, it appeared.
Beattie had dashed through a door at the back of the room, so I apologized to them from all of us and jogged along after the men, already wishing I did more cardio. This door opened into a small room with what looked like a wide door to a service elevator, an elevator that was already going up without the rest of us.
I didn’t know if Beattie was in the box with Denise, but if so, I hoped Denise knew what she was in for. Beattie had trained in self-defense at a boxing gym for years, and she wasn’t someone to be tested in a physical fight. Or any fight for that matter.
“Here,” Aaran shouted from a doorway by the elevator, and I inwardly groaned because I knew this meant we were going to be climbing stairs. My knees no longer liked stairs.
But follow I did, and the four of us took turns stopping at each floor and running into the hallway to check and see if we saw anyone. Fortunately, the hotel only had four floors, so my lungs and heart didn’t completely give out when Adaire finally spotted Beattie on the top floor and took off after her, Aaran and Stovall right behind, and me considerably slower as I tried to return oxygen to my body.
Unfortunately, when we all caught up to Beattie, she was stomping her foot and looked ready to punch a hole through another doorway, this one to another set of stairs at the end of the hall . . . locked this time. “They went that way,” she said with another stomp.
“They,” I said as I finally caught my breath. “Denise and Ms. MacDonald?”
Beattie nodded. “I had a glimpse of them both as they ducked in here.” She threw her hands up to the top of her head. “Denise looked royally angry. I’m pretty sure she thinks Ms. MacDonald double-crossed her.”
“You think Ms. MacDonald stole the book from our room,” I asked.
Beattie nodded. “She was in the same color uniform as the maids in the locker room.”
I gasped. “She works here!” Every thread of the story wove right into place then—the theft, the maid finding the forgery in the lobby, even who killed Davis MacDonald. “So she killed her great-uncle for the book?”
Adaire sighed. “Looks like it, but we still haven’t proven that his death and the book are connected.” He started back down the hall. “Let’s make sure we’re right about all this before we pursue that angle.”
When he stopped at the elevator, I let out a sigh of relief, and I think the tendons in my knees said an actual “Thank you.” We rode down together in silence, but as soon as the doors opened on the lobby, I strode over to the desk and asked the clerk on duty if a Maisie MacDonald was working tonight.
“You just missed her,” the young man said. “She and her friend just left.” He pointed toward the revolving door at the front of the lobby.
I sighed. “Thanks.” I turned back to my friends, who stood just behind me. “It was her, all right. Maisie MacDonald works here, and she just left with Denise.”
The young clerk asked, “Is everything okay? Maisie looked a little upset, and her friend seemed really angry.”
My stomach plummeted. “We’re about to go to the police. Call them if you see either of those women again,” I said. We may have just put Ms. MacDonald in a lot of danger.