When we reached the police station, Inspector Scott was waiting for us outside the door, having responded immediately to Beattie’s call. “I’ve put out an alert to have my officers keep their eyes open for Maisie MacDonald and Denise—” He turned to Stovall.
“Jenkins,” Stovall said. “Denise Jenkins.”
“Denise Jenkins,” he said into the radio at his hip. Then he turned and glowered at the rest of us. “As briefly as possible, someone needs to tell me what is going on.”
Since this plan had been largely my idea, I spoke up. “We staged a scene that made Denise think the original book had been returned to us. She stormed off after Ms. MacDonald.” I figured that was short and sweet and told the truth without any extraneous details, such as our pursuit of the suspects through the entire hotel.
The inspector pulled his hand over the short bristles of his hair. “Okay, this time with more detail.”
Beattie explained everything that had transpired this evening, and when she said that we had confirmed that Maisie the maid was actually Ms. MacDonald, a grimace passed over the inspector’s face. “I was afraid that she was involved.”
“You suspected her?” I blurted and immediately regretted it when the inspector glowered at me again.
The inspector didn’t even honor my question with a response. “We’ll find them, I hope.” He scrubbed over his head again. “I can’t believe I’m even asking this, but any thoughts on where Maisie might go?”
It didn’t get by me that he referred to her as Maisie, and I realized, just then, that he had likely known her almost as well as he’d known her uncle. He’d probably known her since she was a little girl, given the age of the photo and the notes, and I imagined this entire situation was harder for him than he could ever professionally let on.
I desperately wanted to help, to try to undo some of the mess we had created, so I said the first thing that popped into my mind, “Maybe her uncle’s house? She felt safe there, right?”
The inspector studied me and then gave a single nod. “I’m only asking you to come along so we can retrieve your property, Mr. Anderson, without a lot of red tape and protocol.” He turned his gaze to me and then to Beattie. “This is not a request for your intervention.”
I nodded slowly. I hadn’t received that stern a piece of direction since eleventh grade PE when the teacher had suggested I just jog instead of trying to survive another game of dodgeball. I had gamely accepted that direction, just as I did this one.
We all piled into the inspector’s car and made the drive back up to MacDonald’s house. Inspector Scott parked a couple of blocks away and then instructed us to stay out of sight. I was surprised he hadn’t required us to stay in the car, but he was a smart man and probably knew that was never going to happen.
The five of us slinked along the sidewalk, staying low behind the hedges that lined most of the yards. When we got to MacDonald’s house, a slim light shone through the front window, almost like a candle, and the inspector put his fingers to his lips and then pointed to the pavement beneath us. Stay quiet. Stay here.
Quietly, he walked around to the back of the house, where we lost sight of him. Beattie was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and the three men were shifting around, trying to get a better view over the hedge at the neighbor’s house.
We looked so much like a suspicious bunch that it was no wonder that our friendly, nosy neighbor came out to ask what was going on. “Everything okay?” she asked.
Beattie, never one to miss an opportunity, “There’s a hostage situation inside. Can we stay inside your house?” Her voice trembled a bit, and the woman readily agreed, leading us to her home across the street.
I knew without a doubt that Beattie was not in the least bit scared, and as soon as we all stood at the picture window in the neighbor’s living room, I realized Beattie had seized an opportunity.
The woman pulled a sheer curtain across the window, and we all stood in the dark room watching what little we could see in Davis MacDonald’s house.
As best I could tell, there were two shadowy figures in the front room. One appeared to be sitting down, and the other was pacing behind her. It was only when she paced directly in front of the large candle on the sideboard that I saw the shadow of a gun and gasped.
“Denise is holding her at gunpoint,” Stovall said. “I knew she was trouble.”
I knew what it looked like when a man was trying to save face, so I didn’t say anything and just kept my eyes open.
Just then, a third figure dashed into the room, a shot rang out, and before I could stop them, Aaran and Beattie were running into the street and up MacDonald’s front walk. The neighbor was next out the door with Stovall right behind her. Adaire and I, clearly the most cautious of the group, waited a moment before deciding to follow.
By the time we reached MacDonald’s front door, Inspector Scott was on the way out with Maisie MacDonald in handcuffs. It took me a minute to register what I was seeing but then, as usual, I sputtered out, “It was Ms. MacDonald?”
The inspector actually rolled his eyes this time, but he managed to get his keys out of his pocket and ask Adaire to bring his car up. Then he said to me, “Please see if Ms. Jenkins is okay.”
When I walked into the house, I saw Stovall with Denise’s head in his lap, and Beattie knelt down beside her. Aaran was already on the phone, calling for an ambulance since even from a distance, I could see the blood on Denise’s leg.
“Maisie shot her,” Beattie said as I approached. “Lots of blood, but I don’t think it’s a major injury . . . well, not as major as it could be.”
I nodded, understanding what she meant. “So it was Maisie MacDonald holding Denise hostage?” I asked.
“I was as surprised as you, but yes. It seems that Maisie was the mastermind all along.” Beattie shook her head.
I stared at my friend for a moment. “How did you know someone was holding someone hostage?” I asked, thinking about her ruse to get us inside the neighbor’s house.
She shook her head. “I didn’t. I just knew that would be enough to get Snoopy here to let us in and get us off the street where we might be seen.”
I hugged my friend close and then sat down by Denise. “Does it hurt?” It was, obviously, one of the dumbest questions I’d ever uttered, which was saying something, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Denise looked pale, but a little smile turned up one corner of her lip. “No, feels like I’m getting a massage.”
Ah, sarcasm could win my heart any day.
The next two days were full of excitement but mainly of the touristy variety. Aaran and Adaire, who had taken time off, gave us a grand tour of the city and even let us, much to their embarrassment, not only touch Greyfriar’s Bobby but also have our picture with him.
But we also had to spend some time finishing up our police business. Fortunately, the Sea Monster Chronicles was on Maisie MacDonald’s person when Inspector Scott arrested her, so once the investigation was finalized and the paperwork signed, the book was able to be released to Beattie and me. Then, we finalized the sale of the book to Adaire and the Library. It felt amazing to finally wrap up that bit of business.
Adaire even arranged, between stints of playing tour guide, to arrange for the book to be put on immediate display at the Library, and he and Aaran surprised us with a private showing of the book in its case. “Please note,” Adaire said, “there are no mirrors or other reflective surfaces in this room. We don’t want any library staff getting cursed.”
“Um, Adaire,” Beattie said, “All this plexiglass reflects light.” She shrugged as if she was delivering him terrible information, information that would terrify him.
He sighed. “The curators and I are aware, but we are hoping that since plastic wasn’t invented until after the book was printed, the curse doesn’t know what to make of the substance.” He laughed, and we all joined in.
As we left the library, I said, “So Maisie MacDonald didn’t believe in the curse then?”
Aaran shook his head. “I don’t know, but her uncle must have. Otherwise, why put that mirror in the room with him as she did?”
“Do we know she put the mirror in the room?” Adaire asked with a lift of his eyebrows.
“Who else could have done it?” Beattie said.
“Maybe the curse had the ability to move mirrors,” Adaire said with a laugh.
I slapped him on the arm and then held on. I was glad to have this time with him, but each minute we spent together made it hard to say goodbye. I forced that impending moment from my mind, though, and said instead, “Another question to ask the inspector at dinner tonight.”
After much cajoling, Inspector Scott had agreed to have dinner with the four of us tonight to catch us up on the case. He hadn’t been particularly keen on the idea, but when Beattie said, “We have to give credit for the recovery of the book to someone in our official provenance papers, Inspector. So we need the details to record it correctly,” he had agreed with a laugh.
“That’s it, lass; flattery will get you everywhere,” he said.
We returned to our favorite pub for our last night in the city, and when we arrived, Inspector Scott had secured a quiet table in the back, a perfect place to have a private conversation that need not travel beyond these ten ears.
I somehow managed to hold my questions until our drinks and appetizers had been delivered, but the excruciating small talk about the book and the library nearly made me claw off my own skin. Finally, when everyone had a little sustenance, I could stand it no longer. “Inspector, I’m sorry to be so blunt.” No one, including me, believed that statement. “But why was the photo of you and Davis MacDonald hidden, and why did he hide your letters to him?”
The inspector sighed. “You found them, did you? I expected you would, but given that they are just the mementos of an old friendship, I didn’t think it worth preparing you for them.” He studied my face for a moment. “But I can see the secrecy might have raised some questions.”
“You think?” Beattie said as she took another long pull from her cider.
The inspector chuckled, took a drink, and said, “Davis hid them after his niece tried to use our friendship to get what she wanted.”
My mind skipped back to the postscript on the final letter. “Her inheritance!” I said a bit too loudly.
“Yes, lass,” the inspector said. “The girl has always been greedy, as I told you, but this was the final straw for her uncle. We were the best of friends, you see, and he would not let her taint that with her schemes. He took all evidence of our friendship out of the visible eye in his house and told her we’d had a falling out.”
“Oh no,” I said. “Did that mean you hadn’t seen each other in a while?”
“Oh, child, no,” he said. “This isn’t some Victorian novel, you know. We just stopped getting together at his house and met at the pub or my place instead. We were fine friends up until the end.”
“But Ms. MacDonald, Maisie, said her uncle was ill,” Beattie asked. “Another lie?”
“Yes, I expect she told you that her uncle was her father and that he was sick to garner your sympathy so that you might be able to help her get the book.” He drained his pint glass. “She is a piece of work.”
“So she knew she wasn’t getting his money?” Adaire asked.
Inspector Scott nodded. “He told her so. Offered to set up a trust for her to supplement her income on the condition she got a job to support herself. Even said he’d leave her his house if she agreed to his terms, but she refused. She thought she deserved what he had as his only living relative and refused to be satisfied with his generous offer.”
“And he knew better than to leave her all that money since she would squander it and leave herself destitute anyway,” Beattie said with a sigh.
“Precisely. So when she found out about the book, she began trying to weasel her way into possessing it. Davis caught her snooping through the library several times, but as soon as she started asking questions about the book, which she had heard him tell a friend was worth a great deal of money and that he hoped to donate to the Library, he put it into a safety deposit box and told only me about it.” The inspector shook his head. “It was really, really sad.”
I leaned back in the chair. “That’s why he sold it to Stovall for so little. He just wanted to be rid of it.”
“He did,” Inspector Scott said, “and by that time, he was so disgusted by his niece that he just wanted to keep it from her.” The waitress brought us another round of pints, and the inspector took a sip from his new glass. “He loved her, but he knew she was her own worst enemy. He figured it was better for her to have nothing and not be able to get herself into a deeper financial predicament than it was to get a little cash and then be in even more trouble later.”
“To a good man,” Aaran said as he lifted his glass.
“To Davis MacDonald,” Adaire added as we clinked our glasses.
We drank in silence for a few minutes, but then my curiosity overran my good sense again. “So, did she kill her uncle out of revenge or because she thought she could threaten him into giving her the book?”
“That, Poe, is a good question. She hasn’t confessed, but given that we found her fingerprints on the mirror she claimed to have never seen before and that she had a forgery of the book created and stole yours, we have a pretty solid case against her.”
“She did put the mirror in there, then?” Beattie asked.
“Aye,” the inspector said. “At least it appears that way.”
“Davis believed in the curse?” I asked.
“All Scots are a wee bit superstitious, aren’t we, lads?” the inspector said to the brothers.
“Aye,” they said in unison.
“At least a bit,” Aaran continued. “But not enough to be scared into being duped by a spoiled brat.”
That brought a big laugh out of the group, and we finished the night with a lighter conversation about international flights, security check-in lines, and what movies might be showing as we crossed the Atlantic.
Our goodbyes with the men were difficult. We all stood in the B&B foyer after we’d said goodnight to the inspector, lingering longer than necessary for a simple parting. Beattie and I had both decided it was better if we didn’t take our relationships with the Anderson brothers any deeper, given the distance situation, but that didn’t make the goodbyes any easier.
I wanted to tell Adaire how much I liked him, how much I had enjoyed this adventure with him, but I couldn’t make any promises about the future, not when an ocean was going to be between us. Instead, I said, “I will hope to see you again,” and then indulged myself with a long, lingering kiss.
Beattie parted from Aaran in much the same way, and I wasn’t sure whether to be more heartbroken or a bit relieved when I saw she was crying, too. In our room, we both packed up most of our things so that leaving in the morning would be simpler, and then we went to sleep without saying a word.
The excitement of going home did lift my spirits a bit the next morning, but the early wake-up sort of countered that small joy. It was only after the waitress delivered my coffee at the restaurant past airport security that I began to feel a bit more like myself.
We had several hours before our flight departed. We’d given ourselves an abundance of time just in case check-in or security had lengthy lines, but apparently, most Scots and the people who had been visiting Scotland were wiser than we were and had booked later flights.
After we had placed our order and consumed a fair amount of coffee, we people-watched and got a bit snarky about the various items—from sweatpants to sunglasses—that people were wearing as they passed. I was so into our game of critique that I didn’t even notice when a couple walked over and stood by our table.
It was only when the man spoke and said, “I prefer my Panama hat and tropical shirt for such occasions,” that I even looked up. And there stood Stovall and Denise, wrapped entirely in each other’s arms and flashing smiles and . . . yep, a diamond. There was a rock the size of Gibraltar on Denise’s finger.
Denise seemed to be recovering from her injury remarkably well. Maybe diamonds were a girl’s best friend.
“Oh, hi,” I said, not sure what else to say. “You’re traveling?” It was a dumb question since, of course, they could only be past security if they were traveling, but apparently, the coffee hadn’t reached my brain yet.
“We’re on our honeymoon,” Denise said with a voice so high she almost squealed.
“Oh, wow, congratulations,” Beattie said. “Where are you headed?
“Bali,” Stovall said flatly. “It’s Denise’s dream vacation.” From the tone of his voice, I inferred it was not exactly Stovall’s dream.
“I just couldn’t let him go again, not after he saved me,” Denise said. “He really is my hero.”
“And Elsie was okay with this?” I asked before I could hold my tongue.
Denise frowned, but Stovall smiled. “It was her idea. Said we needed to get away for a while, just the two of us.”
I laughed. I bet she did.
“It was very nice,” Denise said with an eye roll.
The nonsense was getting a little thick, so I decided to dissolve it completely by talking about murder. “About that,” I said, “what was the story with you and Maisie MacDonald?”
“That monster,” Denise said. “She brought me in under false pretenses, saying she thought you two were forgers, trying to get one over on my Seamus here.”
Beattie almost spat coffee on the newlyweds. “We were the forgers?” she said, coughing.
“It seems ridiculous now, I know,” Denise continued, “but by the time I figured out you two were on the up and up, I was in too deep. That’s why I tried to get you to take the situation to the police. I was hoping it would get me out of things.”
I nodded. That made sense. “But you came to the hotel that night; why?”
“Because Maisie had a gun. She forced me to come, and then when we heard what you all were talking about, she threatened to shoot me if I didn’t go find out what you were celebrating.” She sighed. “As soon as she heard you say you got the book back, she bolted to her locker to check on the real book.”
“And you followed her?” Beattie said. “Why?”
Denise sighed. “I don’t know, actually. I was just so mad that she’d gotten me into that mess, and I suddenly didn’t want to let her get away with anything.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure Denise was being entirely truthful, but I didn’t care. “So she turned the tables on you when you caught up to her?”
“Yep, she took that gun and forced me to her uncle’s house. If Seamus here hadn’t saved me . . .” She leaned over and gave him a kiss that made me very uncomfortable.
Just then, an announcement over the PA mentioned a flight to Reykjavik. “Oh, that’s our flight, a stopover. We need to go,” Stovall said. “Have a safe flight.” He and Denise walked quickly down the terminal.
I shook my head. “I don’t predict that’s going to last.”
“Probably not,” Beattie said, “but they both seem happy-ish.”
I stared after them. Happy-ish . . . I decided right then and there that I wanted just outright happy, and if I was with Beattie, I was most of the way there. “Thanks for showing me the ropes,” I said as I reached over and put my hand on my bestie’s arm. “I can’t imagine a better world-travel partner.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” she said as she put some bills on the table, “because we need to catch that flight to Iceland, too.”
“What?” I said as she picked up her carry-on and kicked my chair to encourage me to get up. “Aren’t we going home?”
“Change of plans . . . Fitz has another job for us, and since we’re already this far west . . .”
Happy. I was going to be happy. “You’ll help me buy some appropriate clothing, right?”
“I’m already picturing you in a fur-lined cap,” Beattie said as she took my arm and led me toward our next adventure.
I leaned down to look in my bag. “Hear that, Butterball? We’re both going to be wearing fur!”