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.

“Which makes me think it might not be, not really. Clues just sound better if they’re scary, right?”

Hamlet smiled. “You have a point.” He turned to his computer. “Here, yes, here she is. Darcy John. This is the woman I saw today. I remember him teasing her a little in the class.”

Hamlet had pulled up pictures of university students from one of the student organization’s Facebook pages. The people in the pictures were all tagged.

Darcy John was stunning, with a bright smile, long dark hair, and happy brown eyes.

“She’s lovely. And really tall,” I said.

“Aye, she’s very tall,” Hamlet said.

“Does everyone who gets tagged know they’re on this page?”

“Aye. It’s all part of the university’s social activities. We’re told going in that our names will be public if we attend certain events, and we’re welcome to untag ourselves.”

“How did you find this so quickly?”

Hamlet frowned. “I might have thought she was attractive and looked her up before, back when her father spoke in class. I didn’t stalk her, but I did find this, then forgot all about her until today. Well, mostly. I might have looked around for her for a few days back then, but when I didn’t see her anywhere … She never appeared in that class again, so I assumed she was just visiting it that day.”

I smiled. “I see.”

“Aye.”

Hamlet was twenty-one and could talk to anybody. I’d observed him in conversation with highly educated people about everything from space travel to crayon colors. He was extraordinarily smart and handsome in the artistic way that Shakespeare had probably been. But he didn’t date much—that I’d seen anyway.

Edwin said that Hamlet’s past as a child living on the streets of Edinburgh had turned him into a loner. I thought that was sad, but Edwin thought Hamlet would grow out of it, probably after university.

“If I run into her again, I won’t just walk by without inquiring if she needs anything. I’ll give her my condolences, something more than an awkward smile at least.”

He was also an old soul who just might not ever be able to connect with anyone good enough.

I put my hand on his arm. “That would be nice.”

“I’m sure she’s devastated. They were sweet together in the class. He teased her about being the teacher’s favorite and such. I wish I’d…”

Hamlet might have had a crush.

“I’m sorry, Ham,” I said again.

Hector put his front paws up on Hamlet’s chest and demanded that Hamlet let him kiss away whatever pain he was going through.

Hamlet and I laughed.

Edwin called shortly afterward, telling me he and his Citroën were right outside the shop. I gave Hamlet a quick hug and confirmed with Rosie that it was okay for me to go.

“Tell Edwin the clue too,” she said quietly as two customers searched the shelves.

“I will.” I went through the door, the bell jingling again.

It was neither snowing nor raining. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It was cold, though, and I pulled my collar up tight around my neck as I hurried the short distance to the car.

I hopped into the passenger side and filled Edwin in on the latest, including the newest clue.

“All right.” Edwin said as he steered the car toward Shelagh’s street. “What is worth the price of your soul?”

“Deal with the devil?”

“That’s possible.” But he didn’t sound convinced.

We speculated, but none of our guesses seemed to have any meat to them.

We also updated each other on our personal lives. I was happy to hear that he and Vanessa were still going strong—Edwin had everything a person could ever want, and I was glad he had someone to share it with now. I told him about my garret library, and he said he wanted to come see it soon. He had a grand library in his grand house, but I would proudly show him mine, and I knew he’d want to spend some time inside it.

“The house is up that long driveway.” I pointed at a break in the trees.

Edwin turned onto the drive. “Should we have called first?”

“Probably, but I think this will be okay.”

“The element of surprise?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I can work with that.”

“Rosie mentioned you might know about the quirks in Shelagh’s personality.”

Edwin parked the car at the top of the drive. “Aye.”

I looked at him. “Other than her love for Jekyll and Hyde, is there something else?”

Edwin shook his head. “I don’t know her so very well, lass. Well, I don’t know her at all now, but many years ago she was part of the Fleshmarket Batch.”

“The auction group? I don’t know why that surprises me so much, but it does.”

“Aye.”

I thought a moment. “That’s how she knew Birk?” If that was indeed how they knew each other, Birk wouldn’t broadcast it, particularly around others. Fleshmarket Batch was a long-kept secret.

“Probably. They were friends. We … we had to ask her to leave the group.”

“Why?”

“She was … bossy.”

“Bossy? In that she wanted to take charge or something else?”

“Aye. She didn’t like that we weren’t better organized. She didn’t like that the auctions could be spontaneous. She thought everything should be planned and scheduled. We tried to explain to her that we didn’t work like that. She kept fighting our methods, so we had to ask her to leave. It was awkward and terribly uncomfortable.”

“And she and Birk remained friends anyway?”

“It seems so. It’s been years since I’ve seen her, years since Birk and I have had any conversation that included her. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Interesting.” I looked at the house and grounds. No one was around. “Let’s go knock.”

As we got out of the car, we heard neighing from behind the house. The noise made me smile.

“Horses?” Edwin asked.

“Three beautiful ones.”

It was less than a half hour ago that Hamlet had told me about Ritchie John sharing his knowledge of horses with Hamlet’s class. It had crossed my mind that perhaps that’s why Louis had seemed to recognize Ritchie, something to do with horses. I wasn’t sure how I could look into that possible connection, but I’d try.

“I would enjoy seeing them,” Edwin said.

“We’ll ask.”

Edwin knocked, but there was no answer. I peered in through the window next to the door, and then I knocked too. I couldn’t see anyone.

I wasn’t ready to give up. “Let’s go around back. Maybe Winston, the guy who works with the horses, can track her down.”

Edwin followed me around. We came upon the golf cart in the same parking spot Shelagh had used during my visit. I thought about knocking on the door to the mudroom or even just opening it and going inside, but Shelagh and I didn’t know each other nearly well enough.

As we came upon the back grounds, we noticed one of the horses trotting around a corral. Winston was riding Gin. I looked at the back of the house as we walked toward the corral. From this angle I saw the library windows and the door that led into the kitchen. Just as we stopped outside the corral, that door burst open.

The noise of it smacking into the house made such a cracking slam that even the horse stopped to see what was happening.

Jacques Underwood, Shelagh’s nephew, was stumbling toward us. At first I wondered if he was drunk, but then he took his hand from his forehead, where blood seeped and shone bright red against his dark hair.

“Jacques!” I ran to him with Edwin at my heels.

He went down just as we reached him.

“Jacques!” I said again as Edwin and I slowed his fall to the ground. Winston ran over too, crouching with us.

“Aide-la!” Jacques said once his eyes found mine.

“What?” I said.

“He said ‘Help her,’” Edwin translated.

“Shelagh?”

I looked at the house as we crouched next to Jacques.

“Help my aunt,” Jacques said in English. “He took her!”

“What?” I hurried to stand up and ran inside the back door, Edwin following close behind.

“Where to?” he said.

“This way.” I led us to the library.

The double doors were wide open. We hurried inside, only to be greeted by the aftermath of what looked like a struggle. The seating area had been disturbed, the chairs and couch all in slightly different spots than they should be. Two lamps had been knocked off the tables, and the glass from a broken lightbulb was scattered across the floor.

There was no sign of Shelagh.

Without really knowing what I was doing, I pushed my way around Edwin and hurried toward the front of the house. The main door was now open wide, and bloody fingerprints shone stark against the white trim around it. We rushed outside.

“We were just here,” I said.

“Aye.”

There was no sign of Shelagh anywhere. There was no sign of anyone. We hadn’t seen any other vehicles around the house when we’d arrived, and there was no sign of any now.

It seemed we’d missed seeing Shelagh being taken from her house, by mere seconds.