Against his will, and probably his better judgment, Inspector Winters and I had become friends.
I had his cell number, but I tried the police station first. He was there, and pleased I thought to let him know what Tom and I had seen. It was a quick call.
I tossed and turned the whole night, grateful when it was finally time to go to work and even more grateful that Rosie was already there when I arrived so I could tell her everything.
“Not much tae the call with Inspector Winters, then?” she asked when I took a breath from sharing the story.
“Not really. He thanked me and told me goodnight.”
“He didnae want an official statement or anything?”
Rosie and I were the only two in the shop, both of us there early again. We decided to use the time to dust bookshelves.
“No, but we only saw what we saw briefly,” I said.
Rosie halted her feather duster. “Lass, ye didnae tell him aboot yer meeting with Shelagh?”
I frowned. “No. I thought it might muddle things, maybe make the police look at her again when she’s surely just as innocent as she was the first time around. I mean, they might look at her anyway but it’s an old story and maybe the past should just stay in the past. I didn’t want to make it worse.” I cringed.
“Aye,” Rosie said doubtfully.
“I don’t think it was her we saw, Rosie. She’s old and small. This person moved like someone younger, and they were bigger, masculine. I think.”
Rosie shrugged. “Old people can surprise ye sometimes, and she could have added layers.”
“I know, but … it just doesn’t seem like it was her.” I sighed and changed the subject. “Oliver McCabe was the man who was killed back then—he and Shelagh had some sort of relationship. I still don’t understand the details, but I believe it was something like he wasn’t good enough for her parents. I don’t know why, though. Do you remember anything else?”
“’Tis probably that no one was good enough for Shelagh, but I dinnae ken. I’d even forgotten his name.” Rosie stopped dusting.
I nodded. “There’s not much online.”
“It’s a shame that we all talk about Shelagh still but the dead man seems tae have been forgotten. I would like tae know more aboot him.”
“Me too.”
After Tom and I had told Elias and Aggie goodnight for the second time and then retired to our bedroom, we’d discussed if it might have been Shelagh we’d seen. Tom wasn’t as sure as I had been, but he ultimately agreed that he didn’t think the figure was a woman. We also discussed whether I should tell Inspector Winters about the meeting at Deacon Brodie’s Tavern but agreed that there didn’t seem to be any need to point a spotlight on Shelagh again. At least, yet. Just because it was top of our minds because of the events of the day didn’t mean we needed to make it important to the police.
But neither of us had been one hundred percent sure of much of anything. After my tour of Shelagh’s library, I thought I might call Inspector Winters back and tell him about the hunt for the book, if there was anything to tell.
The bell above the front door jingled. Rosie and I turned, feather dusters aloft.
“Brigid?” I said.
She stood in the doorway and sent me a scowl I knew I didn’t deserve.
“What in the world happened?” she said.
I shook my head. “When?”
I walked toward her, setting the duster on Rosie’s desk. Hector, sensing the animosity that Brigid wasn’t trying to hide, trotted to my feet and sat protectively—all seven inches or so of him—in front of me.
“Yesterday. Did you meet with Shelagh O’Conner?”
It was my turn to scowl, or at least frown a little. “What do you know about it?”
“I’m the one who told her about you.”
“You are? Well. Thank you?” I said.
“And the evening of the meeting, Edinburgh has a new Mr. Hyde roaming around town, stealing and who knows what else?”
So much for the past staying in the past. “Um … I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Ladies, would ye consider sitting in the back for yer discussion,” Rosie intervened. “A customer could come in at any moment, and I dinnae want tae scare them away right off the bat.”
Brigid and I did as Rosie suggested and sat across from each other. Rosie offered to cross over to the other side and gather refreshments. I didn’t take the time to acknowledge that she wouldn’t offer treats if she weren’t warming to Brigid.
Brigid had attempted to remain immune from Hector’s charms, but I witnessed her scowl melt a little as the dog propped himself on my lap. She normalized quickly enough.
“You told Shelagh about me?” I asked. The scowl had returned, though only at about sixty percent.
“I did. I wrote a story about her a few weeks ago—”
“I read it. It was very good.”
“Thank you.”
“But you didn’t mention anything about her long-ago trouble. Did you know about her disguises?”
“I did.”
“You didn’t put that part in the article.”
“No, I didn’t mention it because it seemed wrong at the time. The article was about the good that Shelagh has done over the years, how she’s used some of her wealth to benefit Edinburgh.” Brigid paused and blinked at Hector before she looked at me again. “I don’t know that it mattered. Now, apparently, I might have stirred up the old story anyway.”
“Because of … what happened last night?”
“It looks like we might have a new monster, a new Mr. Hyde.” Brigid crossed her arms in front of herself. “Do you really think we would have one if I hadn’t written the story?”
“Well, who knows? But unless you’re the person playing the part, none of that is your fault. Shelagh’s story from those days isn’t easy to find.”
“But people still remember it.”
I thought about Rosie. Yes, she remembered some parts of it, but not all. “It’s not your fault,” I repeated.
Brigid shook her head once. “No, not my fault, but this is just a prime example of why a journalist should always tell the whole story. I should have mentioned her past problems, Delaney. I shouldn’t have held back. Now I look like I wasn’t doing my job thoroughly.”
Ah, it was about her. Was she losing her ruthless ways? I didn’t think so.
“Brigid, it was a great article. Now you just might have more to write about, but good job.”
“Thank you,” she said with some forced humility.
“How did my name come up?”
“As we were talking, she asked me if I’d had any dealings with local bookshops and if there was one I could recommend.”
“You recommended The Cracked Spine? Thank you.”
“No, in fact, that’s not exactly how it went. I said I knew people at this bookshop, and though the owner often seemed to be up to something suspicious, there was an employee from Kansas who seemed to always want to do the right thing. Honestly, I didn’t mean to compliment you, but it came out that way.”
“Well. Thank you again.”
“She called me two days ago, telling me she’d have another story for me but first she was going to conduct a meeting—that was to be scheduled for yesterday. That happen?”
“It did. I was invited and I went.” I waited for her to ask me about the specifics of the meeting, but she didn’t.
She nodded. “Good. But if it wasn’t because of my article, something happened there to turn one of the attendees into the new Mr. Hyde.”
“I don’t know … seems a stretch.” My eyebrows came together.
“Someone who was dressed as Shelagh dressed back in the late 1960s story broke into three homes last night and stole valuable items—silver, artwork, money.”
“Three? I saw the video on television last night. I was under the impression that it was one home, and I saw no mention of Shelagh.”
“The investigation is ongoing.”
“The face wasn’t clear. Do you know if the police think it was Shelagh?”
“I don’t think so. Some of the television journalists do remember the story and are using it. They are calling her the old monster and saying we now have a new monster.”
“Oh. I missed that.” Aggie had turned off the television quickly the night before, and I hadn’t paid any attention to the morning news. “That’s pretty harsh, maybe an overstatement.”
“It’s not me saying it, and someone was killed back then. Who was at the meeting?”
“I promised I wouldn’t tell.” Not true, but maybe Shelagh hadn’t wanted us to share. I’d ask her later.
“I was afraid of that. Care to break that promise?”
“Not at the moment, but I might. Let me think about it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. I don’t know Shelagh. I don’t know what’s going on, but if it’s something that’s a threat to the citizens of Edinburgh, I can’t keep her secrets.” I didn’t add that I’d first tell Inspector Winters everything and then maybe call Brigid.
She looked at me a long moment. She didn’t completely believe me. “Good. Thank you.”
“What do you think of Shelagh? Do you think she got away with murder all those years ago?”
“I don’t, but there was a time when she seemed guilty. As I’ve researched, I’ve come to the conclusion that she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I don’t know. I didn’t want to rehash false accusations, which was another reason I didn’t mention that part of her past.”
“What can you tell me about Oliver?”
“All I know is that Shelagh fell hard for him back then, but he was older than her—in his late twenties—and knew her family would never welcome him. I believe he’s the one who broke things off, said they should go their separate ways.”
“How do you know that much?”
Brigid smiled. “I have my ways.”
“Was his killer ever caught?”
“No. Never.”
“That’s not good. Were there other suspects?”
Brigid cocked her head and squinted at me. “Any chance you’d ask Inspector Winters for some of those old police records?”
“No.” In fact, I might ask him, but I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“Do you know what her new story for me is?”
“I have an idea, yes, but I can’t tell you that part either.”
“Makes sense. She asked me to stop by this evening and we’d talk. Sound about right?”
“Yes.”
“I can be patient.”
“You can?”
She shrugged. “I can try. Listen, Delaney, you need to be careful. I don’t know if all of this is tied together and I don’t know what it will turn into, but I really didn’t mean to get you involved in something dangerous. Please be aware.”
“I will be. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, though.” I kind of did, but I couldn’t put my finger on it exactly, and it would take something pretty big for me to show any fear to Brigid.
“Okay, then.” She paused before she stood. “Stay in touch.”
“I will.”
She started to turn but paused again, “How’s married life? And I’m not asking to find out if there’s something bad. I have grown up, and I wish you and Tom only the best.” She cleared her throat. “Really.”
I smiled. “Married life is great, Brigid, and we wish you only the best.”
Rosie made a funny noise as she came around with a tray full of treats.
Brigid grabbed a couple of cookies off the tray and thanked Rosie.
“We’ll talk later,” Brigid said to me before she left.
She sent a quick smile to Hector.
Rosie set the tray on the table. “Most of the cookies are stale anyway.”
I smiled and took one too. “Thank you, Rosie.”
“Ye’re welcome, lass.”
The bell jingled again as Brigid left and customers entered. We were busy for hours.