I could have retraced my steps and gone back the way Shelagh had brought me in—down the hallway, through the kitchen, and then out the mudroom. But there was also a front door, and my curiosity quickly concluded that it would be fine for me to go that route instead.
In the hall, I listened for where Louis might have gone. Was there a landline he was using somewhere? I didn’t hear any voices, but I kept my ears pricked to all noises as I hurried along, passing the entry into the kitchen and continuing toward the front of the house.
The hall turned right and then to the left before I came upon more living spaces. The library seemed far off, very hidden from view, from curious eyes. The design had probably been on purpose, but Shelagh and I hadn’t had a chance to discuss it, or much of anything for that matter.
On my left was a giant living room. It was so large that there were three different gathering areas; a television hung on the wall above a fireplace in the middle of the room, in front of a couch and a few comfortable chairs. The room didn’t feel overly formal, but there was no sign that it was well used either. No old mugs, no misfolded newspapers.
On my right was a room with a grand piano as well as another hall that led to a distant staircase. I didn’t dare explore that far off the beaten path.
Other than a small loo, there were no other nearby rooms. I didn’t know if there were other hallways going other places, but looking would entail much more than the small detours I’d already taken. I hurried to the door.
Windows bordered it, and through them I spied dark clouds coming in this direction; rain clouds, not snow, I thought. An old wooden coat cabinet held several umbrellas, but it didn’t feel right taking one.
The knob turned easily, and I let myself out. After another glance up to the clouds, I hurried toward the drive in hopes of making it to the bus stop before a storm hit.
Of course, I wondered why the police had wanted to talk to Shelagh, but I suspected it had something to do with the burglaries from the night before. If the burglar and the person Tom and I had come across in the car park were the same, there was now no doubt in my mind that it hadn’t been Shelagh we’d seen. None of the elements fit—the size of the person, the agility. And there really was something distinctly male to the figure, something Shelagh couldn’t even fake.
I wasn’t worried for her—I didn’t believe she would be arrested, but maybe that was just denial on my part. I would call Inspector Winters later and see if I could ask as well as tell him the things I hadn’t mentioned before.
As I approached the long driveway, lightning struck somewhere close by, and then thunder rumbled a few seconds later. I sped up to a jog, wishing it had been snow and not rain heading toward me.
The noise of a car’s engine coming from the direction of the house caught my attention. I looked behind. I didn’t know my expensive car models well, but I was pretty sure it was a Bentley.
I kept to the side but didn’t stop jogging. The Bentley slowed, and the window rolled down. Findlay Sweet was behind the wheel.
“Louis sent me to find you,” he said. “I can give you a lift.”
I fake-smiled at him. “I enjoy walking.”
“Well, certainly, but the rain’s coming. You’ll be drenched.”
“The bus stop is just past the end of the drive.”
“Which is a long way off, and then you’ll have to wait for a bus.” The car was moving at my jogging speed.
“I’m okay.”
“Tom told you about our past, didn’t he?” Findlay said a moment later.
“I’m okay, Findlay. Thank you for offering me a ride, though.”
“I’m over all that resentment. It was a long time ago, and I only stopped by his pub yesterday because I was in the area and thought I might see if we could bury the hatchet. I was the one driving and delivering the messenger. You were his last delivery, and I waited in the pub to watch and make sure he went inside, and then I just enjoyed being there. It’s a lovely pub, and your coming in gave me a better opportunity to have a brief conversation with Tom. Truly, you’ll be safe with me.”
Isn’t that what all the serial killers said?
Lightning struck again, so bright I closed my eyes and held my arm above my head a moment. The thunder followed only a second later.
“It’s becoming unsafe out there, Delaney. Hop in. It will be fine.”
“Well, a lift to the bus stop wouldn’t be terrible.” Against about fifty percent of my better judgment, I hopped into the front passenger seat of the Bentley. The other fifty percent was glad to be out of the rain that started coming down in sheets the second I closed the car door. Findlay had to hurry to get his window shut.
He sent me a quick, somewhat impatient smile. It occurred to me that he probably hadn’t wanted this duty and had only come out in the rain because Louis told him to.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem.”
“Do you know anything about why the police wanted to talk to Shelagh?” I asked a few long, silent beats later.
“I’m sure it has something to do with the robberies.”
“You mean because of her behavior decades ago?”
“Aye. It seems we might have a new Mr. Hyde, a new monster.”
I cringed. That moniker was shocking. “That might be overstating.”
Findlay shrugged. “The name? Oh, aye. It’s what all the newspeople are saying, though. They said it back then too.”
“Weird timing, huh?”
Findlay thought a moment. “You mean it’s strange because you just met Shelagh yesterday?”
“No, it’s strange because Shelagh set up the treasure hunt at the same time someone dressed at least similarly to how she was dressed robbed some homes. The timing feels…”
“Forced?”
“No, just strange.”
He didn’t comment further, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he agreed with me or if he just didn’t want to argue.
We’d come to the end of the driveway. Catercorner was the bus stop, an aluminum awning protecting a gathering of riders who’d huddled together.
“I really don’t mind taking you home or back to work or to the pub. It’s cold out there, and you’d have to get in close to all those people to stay warm and dry.”
He had a point, but still … “I’m okay. Thank you very much, though.”
Findlay squinted at me. “Call Tom. Tell him you’re with me. I’ll talk to him too. If something happens to you, there’ll be no way for me to hide.”
I didn’t like this man. I didn’t trust him, but his idea also made me smile with a little embarrassment. Tom knew where I’d gone. Louis had told me to show myself out. Supposedly he’d told Findlay to come get me.
“I wouldn’t mind a ride to the bookshop. Thank you, Findlay,” I finally said. However, I pulled out my phone. “I’ll text Tom and let him know I’m on my way back.”
“Aye, that should work.”
Findlay skillfully steered the car through the heavy rain and busy streets.
“Do you still fish in the summer?” I asked.
“Aye. Less and less as the years go by, and Shelagh pays me well to be her driver.”
“How long have you worked for her?”
“About seven years. It’s been good.”
“Did you … ever remarry?”
He turned to look at me. “No, never did. I enjoy the company of a lovely lass every now and then, but I’m not meant to be tied down. There was a time I would have said the same about your husband.”
“We’re fine.” I wished I’d just ignored the bait.
“Well, time will tell.”
I nodded.
A text came through on my phone. It was Tom.
Let me know the SECOND you get back.
Will do, I texted back.
Yikes, he was genuinely worried.
Anxiety clenched my jaw. Was there really a reason to be concerned here? For someone who lived by her instincts, either I wasn’t listening well or they weren’t speaking loud and clearly enough.
I knew my way around this part of Edinburgh well enough that when Findlay turned left when I was certain that he should have taken a right, my anxiety ramped up even more.
“Are you bringing me back to the bookshop?”
“Aye. This is a shortcut. You’ll see.”
I put my hand on the door handle. Findlay angled a side-eye but kept driving.
“Are you familiar with the closes?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“You really don’t drive though any of them, but there is a wider one this direction, one that Shelagh always has me take to get her to downtown or to Grassmarket.”
“Okay.” It didn’t make sense, but I wasn’t ready to jump out of a moving vehicle yet.
“You know, Tom never did apologize to me. I had come to accept that he wasn’t sorry for what he did.”
“I don’t think he was. I think he cared about your wife.”
Findlay laughed. “Aye, I think so too.”
I didn’t like the insinuation, if that’s what I was hearing. It had all happened a long time ago, and I wasn’t interested in hearing his side of this story.
“I’m good here, Findlay. Stop and I’ll hop out.”
“We’re almost there.”
I didn’t think we were. “It’s okay. Please stop.”
“One more turn.” Findlay took another right.
And suddenly we were back to the world I knew. The statue of Greyfriars Bobby, the infamous dog who’d guarded his person’s grave after he’d died was right there—how had I not known about this “shortcut”?
We were also next to Grassmarket. It was still raining, but we were almost to the pub, which meant we were also almost to the bookshop.
“There we are.” Findlay nodded toward Tom’s pub as it came into sight.
The car stopped at an intersection.
“I’ll get out here. Thanks for the ride.” I was out of the car before I could register any response from him.
Relief washed through me as I hurried toward the pub. The rain hadn’t stopped, but it was no longer blinding.
My reaction was probably ridiculous, but I couldn’t help being glad I was out of that car and safe from whatever frightening things my imagination had conjured. I wished I hadn’t gotten into the Bentley, but I had.
I stepped into the pub, grateful for the small crowd so that Tom didn’t spot me immediately. I normalized my face, took a couple deep breaths, and finally wove a path to the bar.
Relief lit his eyes when he saw me. “Ah, lass, there you are.” He put down bottles he was using to pour a mixed drink and came around the bar. “Happy you’re here.”
“Were you truly worried about Findlay doing something or just generally concerned?” I took a towel that Rodger handed me over the bar.
Tom saw his own anxiety mixing with the remnants of my own and sighed. “I’m sorry, Delaney, but I was truly worried. I’ve seen a side of Findlay that isn’t pleasant. My issues with him are from a long time ago, though, and maybe I shouldn’t judge anyone by what happened then. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s okay.” I smiled. “I shouldn’t have gotten into the car.”
“All’s well that ends well.”
“Hush, hush, everyone. There’s been a murder!” A customer’s voice rose above the noise of the crowd, his words silencing us and directing our attention to the television set.
A newscaster was on-screen, a picture to his left.
“Police have just released a statement regarding last night’s robberies by this man.” A CCTV shot of the same person in the shabby coat and big hat we’d seen on the television the night before expanded to fill the screen. “It seems that the burglar is now under suspicion of murder as well. The victim is an Edinburgh man recently known to tend bar at our world-famous Deacon Brodie’s Tavern. Ritchie John was last seen alive at the pub yesterday afternoon, though it’s unclear if he was there as an employee or a patron. CCTV caught the burglar making his way into Mr. John’s flat. A couple hours ago, police went to the flat to investigate and found Mr. John’s body.”
“Oh, Tom, I met him.” I steadied myself by grabbing on to the bar.
“Aye?” Tom stepped closer to me.
“I need to call Inspector Winters,” I said.
He held on to my arm as my knees buckled a little. “Take a minute, then we’ll call from the back.”