The police who arrived to investigate the scene weren’t officers I knew. I also called Inspector Winters, who hurried over too. He asked the investigating officers if they needed help and then told them he was going to talk to Edwin and me.
Winston, Edwin, and I had already given our statements by then, so the officers gave their okay. Winston hadn’t even known that Jacques was in the house. He hadn’t seen Shelagh for over an hour and had spent his morning with the horses. Visibly shaken by the whole incident, he turned his attention back to the animals after giving his statement. They were okay but agitated, probably keying in on everyone’s panic.
“Jacques is going to be fine,” Inspector Winters said as he joined Edwin and me. “The hospital called, and he’s being attended to, but he doesn’t have a concussion.”
“Can you tell us what he said happened?” I asked.
“The best I understand is that Jacques was visiting Shelagh. He calls her his aunt. They were in the library when someone ran inside. According to Jacques, the person was dressed like the Monster”—Inspector Winters frowned; he didn’t like the moniker either—“who has been terrorizing the city. He and Jacques fought, but he hit Jacques, knocking him off his feet, though not unconscious, and then took Shelagh.”
“Was she hurt when Jacques saw her go?” I thought about the blood on the doorframe.
“It’s unclear. He said he heard her yelling but doesn’t know what else happened to her. An alert has been sent out through all possible avenues.”
I nodded. “Edwin and I missed them coming out of the front door by only a couple minutes.”
“That’s what the other inspector said. And you saw nothing at all? Did you hear anything?” Inspector Winters looked between Edwin and me.
“We saw Winston on the horse, but nothing seemed wrong or out of place,” I said.
“Winston was riding in the corral when we came around,” Edwin added.
“There were no other vehicles anywhere. How did they get away?” I asked.
Inspector Winters shook his head. “I wondered the same thing. Apparently there are places where cars can park in spots hidden in the trees out front. The abductors could have been parked there. Shelagh used to use them for parties. There are no vehicles in any of them now, and it’s difficult to tell if any have been parked there recently.”
“Did they check the garage and the greenhouse?” I said, but I knew they had.
“Aye. No sign of her anywhere. Three cars inside the garage.”
“Who else is on the property?” I asked.
“Just you two and Winston.”
“Shelagh has an … assistant, Louis Chantrell, and a driver, Findlay Sweet. They aren’t here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Her driver, Findlay, is…”
“What, lass?” Inspector Winters asked.
“It’s nothing pertinent to the case, but he and Tom had a few troubles some years back.”
“What do you mean?”
I told Inspector Winters and Edwin about Tom’s past with Findlay. They listened closely.
“And you got in the car with him?” Edwin said.
“It was fine, and it might be that I just don’t like him—this might not be fair. But he does seem … creepy.”
“Noted,” Inspector Winters said sincerely.
“If the … Monster took her, this must all be connected to her past,” I said.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Delaney. Not enough proof yet. Copycats take advantage of timing.” Inspector Winters’s eyes were moving around the property.
Out of the corner of my own eye, I spied a person circling around the house in a hurry. She was blonde and pretty, and she looked right at me.
“Delaney, what the hell?” Brigid said as she plopped her hands on her hips.
The investigating officers started walking toward her, an urgency to their steps.
“Uh-oh,” I said quietly as I hurried behind the officers.
“I’m a friend of Shelagh’s and a journalist,” Brigid said with way too much sass. “I heard about the commotion on the police scanner. The public has a right to know what’s going on.”
I jumped in and said to the inspectors, “I know her. Can I just take her up front? I’ll talk to her?”
The inspectors glared impatiently at Brigid as she stood her ground.
“Aye. Take her out of here,” one of them said.
“Let’s go,” I said to Brigid.
She turned, and I followed her bouncing curls back to the front of the house.
There were now more vehicles out front. Three police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance that was no longer needed. I spied what must have been Brigid’s car at the rear of the pack—an old yellow Fiat.
“I swear, you are like a magnet for trouble.” Brigid faced me, replunking her fists on her hips.
“It does feel like that sometimes,” I admitted.
Brigid took a deep breath and let it out shakily. Was she angry or upset or both?
“You okay?” I asked.
“No, what happened to Shelagh?”
I put my hand on her arm. There was a tremor there too. She was shaking all over. “It’s okay, Brigid.…”
“I shouldn’t have written that story, Delaney. I told everyone about that amazing library. I set her up to be … whatever has happened to her, maybe whatever is happening in Edinburgh.”
“No, it’s not your fault there are awful people in the world. And I’m working on the premise that she’s okay. The police will find her.”
“I hope so.”
I nodded. I hoped so too. This was not a good situation, no matter what. Brigid was very upset, though, and I would put on a brave face if that’d help calm her down. It truly wasn’t her fault.
I’d never known her to take the blame in the past. She’d written several stories that had stirred up lots of trouble, but she’d stuck firmly by the fact that the public always had a right to know the truth about everything.
“You like Shelagh.” I said.
Brigid glared at me, but then her face eased into a worried frown. “I do. She is lovely, and forthcoming in ways most people aren’t. I really like her.”
“Your article told a good, interesting story. You didn’t hurt her.” I leveled my gaze.
A few beats later, Brigid seemed to relax. “Tell me what happened, please. You said you would call me, give me an update. I haven’t heard a word.”
I’d forgotten, but I didn’t tell her that. Instead I told her everything I knew. I even told her what Tom and I had come upon in the car park. Her eyes lit with the news, and I was surprised she didn’t pull out a notebook to record the event.
“Tell me the second clue again,” she said when I finished.
I shared the ominous words.
“Hang on.” She drew her phone out of her pocket and started searching. “That’s what I thought.” She held the phone so I could see it too. “You went to a pub to meet her. The first clue was in a pub. Maybe it’s all about pubs. What about The Tolbooth Tavern? You have to pay at tollbooths, right? And this place used to be a prison, so maybe paying with your soul was the only way to get out of there, at least for some.”
I took her phone and scrolled through the site on her screen. “Impossible to know, but this might make sense.” I looked back at the house and wondered if there was something else I could do that would help find Shelagh. I couldn’t think of anything. “I need to get to this pub.”
“I’ll take you.” She retrieved her phone and turned.
I grabbed her arm, gently. “Brigid, hang on. No. Listen to me. I’m not going to just go with you. I have to talk to Edwin and Inspector Winters, and I have to call my friend Birk. I made a deal. You can go without me if you want, but technically you weren’t invited to this hunt. I know you want the story, but you can’t just swoop in and take over.”
For a long moment, her eyes told me that she thought that’s exactly what she could do, what she had the right to do. But then she nodded. “I’ll wait in my car but I’m going too.”
“Good enough.” I let go of her arm. She sent me a squinted glare, yet said no more.
I hurried around the house again. The investigating officers said Edwin and I were cleared to leave, but we needed to remain available via our mobiles if other questions arose.
I told both Edwin and Inspector Winters about the possible answer to the clue. Edwin agreed to go with me, but Inspector Winters had other commitments. He wanted another update later, though.
On the way around to the front again, I called Birk, who seemed pleased by a possible solution to the second clue and said he’d meet us at The Tolbooth Tavern. For a moment I thought Brigid had left, but it turned out that her car was hidden by the fire truck. I waved. She rolled her eyes and waved back.
“I can’t believe she waited,” Edwin said as we got into his car.
“I’m sort of surprised too.”
I was surprised, pleasantly, but I also wondered what she’d ask of me now. No matter that she’d done the right thing, it was rare that Brigid did anything without an ulterior motive.
The Tolbooth Tavern was located off Canongate, not far from Grassmarket. Edwin drove with speedy, precise skill, and so did Brigid; I thought it must be difficult to do such a thing in an old Fiat.
I’d never visited this tavern, but even before Brigid mentioned its onetime incarnation as a prison, I knew a little of the history surrounding it. It was located on the bottom floor of an old building, on one side of an arched tunnel, a close—Old Tolbooth Wynd—that had once served as an actual tollbooth. Atop the tunnel was a clock tower that had a fairy-tale quality, evoking images of both royal battles and Rumpelstiltskin. The tunnel led the way back to other buildings that had served many official functions over the last few hundred years, including courthouse and prison. Time had worn the stones some, but the buildings were still impressive, retaining their Old World beauty. In the 1600s Oliver Cromwell had imprisoned several Scottish enemies in the upper floor rooms of the clock tower. The prisoners made their escape by tearing up blankets and tying the pieces together, using them to lower themselves out the windows.
As Edwin and Brigid parked, Birk appeared from the tunnel, his hands in his pockets and a scarf pulled up around his chin. He made his way toward the front door.
“Lass, Edwin,” he said. He nodded at Brigid. “Lass.”
“Birk, this is Brigid. Brigid, Birk,” I said. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
They followed me into the warm pub. Though smallish like the other pubs, this one was decorated with more reds. Red upholstery as well as red-painted walls and some rich cherrywood for the bar. From the outside the tavern looked to be another small pocket space, but it extended far back, with a few steps up to another seating area.
“What can I get fer ye?” a server said as she stood next to the bar. There were only two other customers in the place.
I wanted to talk to Birk before asking if there was a clue anywhere nearby. He needed to know what had transpired.
“A pot of coffee?” I asked my friends.
Everyone nodded, so I turned to the waitress and repeated the order.
“Aye? Whatever ye say. Have a seat, and I’ll bring it tae ye in a moment.”
We sat, keeping our coats on to ward off the inside chill.
“Birk, we think the third clue might be here,” I said.
“I figured as much.” He looked at Brigid but didn’t ask why she was there. “What’re your thoughts?”
I shrugged. “The hunt might be all about pubs, and the clue somehow makes sense for this place. Paying a toll and such. Maybe.”
“Aye. Should we just ask the barkeep?”
“First I wanted to fill you in on something else that has happened.”
“I’m listening.”
Both Brigid and Birk listened closely to everything Edwin and I said as we told them the story of Shelagh’s abduction, each of us filling in any details the other left out.
“This makes no sense. Took her from her house?” Birk was visibly bothered as we finished sharing events.
“Yes, in broad daylight.”
“That seems so unreal.”
“Nevertheless,” Edwin said as he put his hand on Birk’s arm, “that’s the way it is. The police are searching for her.”
“This is truly terrible.” Birk frowned, and it seemed he was going to stand up. But a moment later he relaxed back into the chair, probably realizing that searching for Shelagh by himself didn’t make sense. “All right, everything must be tied together. The sooner we find that book, the better. Why does it feel like if we don’t find the book, we won’t find Shelagh?”
I nodded. “I know, but that’s just because we’re in the middle of all of it. It’s impossible to know if this is connected.”
“And the police will find her,” Brigid added. “We’ll find her if we have to.”
Birk squinted at her. I could see uncertainty in his eyes—Who was this woman and why was she involved now?—but he appreciated her determination.
He also hadn’t protested that Edwin had joined us. I couldn’t help feeling the same way he did, that Shelagh wouldn’t be found until the book was discovered.
“I’ll ask the bartender,” I said. I looked at Birk. “Want to come with me?”
“No, go ahead. If I need my identification again, I’ll join you.”
I scooted the chair back and made my way to the bar.
“’Elp ye?” the man behind the bar said. He reminded me a lot of Ritchie John, but maybe all older-men bartenders took on the same wiry, bright-eyed look.
“My name is Delaney Nichols,” I began.
“Aye? Benton’s mine. ’Elp ye?” he repeated.
“I wondered … My friends and I have been sent on a treasure hunt of sorts, and we’ve concluded that we might be able to find a clue here at the pub. Do you by chance have anything?”
Benton hesitated and then put down the glass he’d been holding. “I can’t say that I do. But let me look.”
He turned and made his way back to the other end of the bar, which wasn’t far. He glanced at some narrow shelves, pulling a box out from one of them. He rifled through it, stirring up what I thought was probably forgotten winter wear that had been left behind. My heart fell when I realized he really didn’t know anything about a possible clue. Whatever it was, I didn’t think it would have been tossed into a lost-and-found box.
He put the box back and rubbed his chin as he returned to me. “Lass, I dinnae ken anything about a clue. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks for looking. What about a manager or something? Would anyone else know?”
“No. I’m yer man,” Benton said. “I own and run the place, pour most of the drinks.”
I smiled. “It’s a wonderful pub. Thank you for looking.”
“Aye. Want tae give me a contact number in case something comes in?”
“Sure.”
He handed over a pen and a paper napkin. I wrote my name and the bookshop’s phone number and gave him back the note. He stuffed it into his pocket without looking at it, and any hope I had that he really meant to let me know about a potential clue dissipated.
I returned to the table just as the waitress was delivering the coffeepot and mugs. I couldn’t help but smile at the mugs. They were something I would expect in America, not in Edinburgh. Each was painted with an old advertisement reading GOOD TO THE LAST DROP.
The waitress caught my smile.
“It’s all we had. Apologies if ye were looking for mugs with our name. That’s what most people who visit want. It seems we’re either plum out of them or they’re dirty—they do get stolen.”
“It’s okay,” we all said.
“They’re kind of wonderful,” I added, enjoying the reminder of home.
“Well?” Birk said when the waitress was gone.
“Nothing,” I said. “He took my name, though, in case something comes in.”
“Maybe it’s not like the previous clues—maybe it’s not as convenient as a note tucked into an envelope,” Edwin said.
“Aye. Let’s look around the pub,” Brigid said. “I’ll take the ladies’ room. Birk, you take the men’s, and, Delaney, you and Edwin look around in here.” She stood and headed toward the back. Birk followed behind her.
“Goodness,” Edwin said as he watched Brigid hurry away.
“She’s a little bossy.”
“A wee bit,” he agreed. “Let’s get to work.”
Edwin and I separated as we looked around the pub. It wasn’t a big space, and we tried not to be too intrusive. Nonetheless, we examined pictures on the walls, peered under tables and chairs, paid way too much attention to one dusty corner before we realized we were overthinking.
“Look at his sweatshirt.” Edwin nodded toward Benton.
“It’s an Edinburgh Castle sweatshirt,” I said.
“Do you think the clue could be something like that?”
“I don’t know. Let’s keep it in mind. He didn’t seem to be particularly anxious for me to notice it. He seemed genuine in not knowing what I was talking about.”
“Aye.”
Our common thread of desperation made us willing to turn almost anything into a clue, but we ultimately had to admit that nothing seemed like it was trying to speak to us. For an instant I even closed my eyes and tried to summon my bookish voices. But of course they weren’t talking. When my eyes were closed, though, I did happen to notice that the coffee smelled exceptionally good … to the last drop, I ruminated as I opened my eyes, went back in my chair, sat down, and took a sip.
Brigid and Birk rejoined us at the table.
“Anything?” I asked.
“Nothing,” they both said as they sat.
“Nothing around here either,” Edwin said.
“Maybe something will come to one of us,” I said. “We’ve looked around. Maybe our subconscious will bring something up to the surface later.”
“Maybe,” Brigid said doubtfully.
“Birk, are you still good friends with Shelagh?” I said, but then I put my hand up to halt him from speaking. “Before you go into detail, you need to know that Brigid is a reporter. If you want something to be off the record, you need to mention that.”
“Aye? Where do you work?” Birk asked Brigid.
Brigid mentioned her alternative newspaper, the Renegade.
“Lass, are you the reporter who wrote the article about Shelagh’s library?” Birk asked.
“I am. Why?”
“It was a wonderful article,” Birk said. “I hadn’t spoken to Shelagh in years when I read it. I thought she must have been very pleased. When I received her message to come talk to her about her library, it all seemed like some sort of synchronicity.”
“I hope I haven’t contributed to…” Brigid said.
“Brigid…” I began.
“What? You think your article had something to do with her disappearance or the New Monster? No. Whatever’s going on here, it is somehow of Shelagh’s doing. If she’s hurt, it’s not something she wanted to happen, but she’s extraordinarily good at manipulating situations. She set something in motion that has gotten her into trouble, I’m afraid. If that’s unkind, I don’t mean to be, but it’s a big part of why we couldn’t stay together,” Birk said.
“Stay together?” I said. “Were you more than friends?” I looked at Edwin, who sent me a small shrug. I understood—he’d felt it hadn’t been his place to tell me that part.
“Aye.” Birk took a sip of his coffee. “We were, but Shelagh … well, she just thinks she has an overactive imagination. To the rest of the world, her imagination seems like lies and manipulation. It was all too much work.” Birk shook his head. “It was also the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to make, even more difficult than asking her to leave … a group we were a part of. I loved her, maybe still do a wee bit, but I just couldn’t live with her as my partner in life.”
“What group?” Brigid asked.
“I promise I’ll tell you another day,” Edwin said to her.
She frowned at him,
“I’m sorry, Birk,” I said quickly, before Brigid could get us off track. “But she’s going to be found, and she’s going to be fine.”
“I hope so.”
“I’m going to the hospital to check on Jacques. He might know more than he told the police,” Brigid said, sounding now as if she was ready to move on.
I looked at Edwin and then back at Brigid. “Can I come with you?”
“Aye, but I’m going now.” She stood and turned, making her way toward the door.
“Edwin?” I said.
“Aye. Birk and I will enjoy another coffee and ring you if we figure out the next clue.”
It seemed futile, like we’d come to a dead end.
“Maybe a different pub?” I said.
“There are a few of those around,” Birk said.
“We will figure this out.”
I told the men hurried good-byes and then sprinted outside to Brigid’s car. The engine was already running, but she had waited for me again.
“How do you know which hospital?” I asked, noticing that her car smelled of gasoline fumes.
“I’ll find it.”
Brigid might have been a good driver, but she was also a fast one. As she drove, making unsafe calls from her mobile on the way, again I found myself holding on for dear life.