NINE

“A book?” Inspector Winters said. “She’s sending people on a treasure hunt to find one of her books?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And this has been set in motion just as a new threat has come to Edinburgh?”

“I know, it seems odd timing, but I don’t know if it’s related or if it’s all just coincidence. I can’t imagine Shelagh’s a murderer. Is that why she was taken in for questioning?” I’d asked the same thing more than once now, but he still hadn’t answered.

This time he just shook his head, but I didn’t think it was in response to me.

We were inside The Cracked Spine with Rosie, Tom, and Hector. The rain had given way to a cloudless, starry darkness so cold it seemed like a bad idea to go out there, even with the twinkling sky.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all this before,” I’d said at the beginning of the conversation. This time around I even mentioned the part about Louis seeming to know the victim but Ritchie behaving as though he didn’t know Louis.

Inspector Winters’s phone dinged. He read a text message silently to himself and then put the phone back into his pocket. “In answer to the question you’ve asked a number of times now, it looks like Shelagh wasn’t arrested for anything. The officers who came to talk to her simply wanted to discuss what might have been behind her behavior all those years ago and if she could think of anyone who might want to repeat her actions. They do not think she killed anyone.” Inspector Winters scratched his head.

“What?” I asked.

“I need more clarification as to why they don’t think that, but I’ll ask in person. According to the text I just got, she’s been released and was of very little help.”

“I’m glad she wasn’t arrested,” I said.

“Will you still hunt for her book?”

“I think so.” I shrugged.

Inspector Winters sat on the corner of the front desk and rubbed his chin. “I’ll meet with the officers on the case this evening and tell them what you’ve told me.”

“Okay.”

“How is this treasure hunt supposed to begin?”

“Oh, I was given a clue.” I reached into my pocket for the piece of paper with the clue that Shelagh had given me. I’d already shown it to Tom and Rosie.

Inspector Winters read it and shook his head once more. “I have no idea.”

“May I see it again?” Rosie asked.

Inspector Winters handed her the paper.

“H-A-R-T, not H-E-A-R-T?” Rosie said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I should have realized it before, then. Och, ’tis verra easy,” she said.

We all, even Hector, blinked at her.

“Aye. The White Hart Inn. The spelling is the key. H-A-R-T, and ‘a white kiss’ is from a poem that Robert Burns wrote when he visited his lady at that verra place long ago.”

En masse we moved from the back of the bookshop to the front and looked out the window. Multiple businesses had storefronts on the bottom level of the buildings all the way up and down the long part of Grassmarket. The pub at The White Hart Inn was one of those establishments; so was Tom’s pub. Tom and I had joked a few times that if I’d first stopped inside a pub closer to the bookshop than his, I might have met a different pub owner and I’d be married to someone else. It was just a joke, but every time we laughed about it, the hairs on my arms rose, as if the Fates were reminding me of how good they’d been. I didn’t want to do anything to offend the Fates.

Besides, I had visited The White Hart Inn, but only once, though I hadn’t met the pub owner. My bookish voices had been noisy in there.

“Really?” I said as we all looked toward the lit windows of the now busy establishment.

“I think you’re onto something, Rosie,” Tom said. “It seems obvious now.”

“I wonder how many others have already figured it out,” I said.

“Shall we go see?” Tom asked.

“I think we should,” I said. “Want to come with us?” I looked at the police inspector and Rosie.

They both declined but wanted an update later. I promised I would let them know what we found.

As Tom and I grabbed our coats, I decided I was going to have to share something with him on the way. I should have shared it a long time ago, but now it might become important, depending upon how noisy my head found the pub this time. Hopefully the crowd of real people inside would drown out the imaginary ones that lived in my mind, but it made perfect sense that they would have lots to say inside The White Hart Inn.

Wooden beams hung along the pub’s ceiling. Robert Burns’s words had been painted on them. I’d read everything Burns had written, starting back when I lived in the States. I loved his work. The words on the beams had come together with the voices in my mind and made my first visit to the pub loud and almost unbearable.

As we hurried toward it and the cold bit at my nose, I said, “Tom, you know how sometimes I seem a little spacey?”

“Aye.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s an endearing trait.”

“I’m not sure my mother would agree, but I’m glad to hear you think so. Anyway, something is going on inside my head when I appear to be zoning out sometimes.”

“Aye?” Tom stopped walking, so I did too.

It was too cold to stand still for long, but we both sensed it was the right thing to do. We faced each other, our breath fogging around us.

“Words from books come to me. The characters speak to me. It’s the way my intuition works—using the words I’ve read, with voices that seem appropriate, to tell me something I should be paying attention to.”

“Aye?” Tom said again.

“Yes. Aye.”

“Interesting.”

“Again, probably not how my mother would describe it.”

“Different voices?”

“Yes, some male, some female. Of course, I’ve never heard most of the real voices, but my mind gives them all unique qualities.”

He smiled. “I think it’s wonderful.” He reached up and ran the back of his index finger along my jaw. “Lovely.”

“Well, thank you, but now you know, and there’s a chance it will happen in there tonight.” I nodded toward the pub.

Tom’s eyebrows came together, but he continued to smile. “Was that something you were afraid to tell me?”

“Not afraid, really. Okay, maybe a tiny bit. It’s a little odd.”

Tom laughed. “Delaney, you could tell me you’re the new monster and I couldn’t love you any less than more than everything.”

I closed my eyes tight and then opened them a moment later. “Nope, not a hallucination. You’re still there.”

Tom laughed again. “I will be forever. Come on, it’s cold. Let’s get to the pub.”

I’d noticed the carved white stag above the front door many times as I’d walked by. I glanced up at it tonight as we entered. The well-stocked bar was at the back, on the left, and tables and chairs filled the rest of the homey, smallish establishment. A black-and-white rendition of the Grassmarket of old, along with the castle on the hill, had been painted on the green wall to the right, above a long, floral-cushioned bench.

A good-size crowd filled the place, which might have been why no bookish voices spoke to me immediately. In fact, I focused on keeping them at bay and sensed it would be fine.

However, we were greeted by someone we knew.

“There you are! I’ve switched to coffee so I could manage my way home. Why did it take you so long?” Birk sat at a table just to the left of the front door. “Why is it taking everyone so long?”

Tom and I shared a look.

“You figured it out?” I said.

“Hours ago. Sit.”

We looked around the pub but then joined Birk at his table. Behind him a television had been mounted up in the corner, similar to how Tom had mounted the TV in his pub. An old American show was playing—Gunsmoke maybe, but I couldn’t be sure.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Since about two this afternoon.”

“Why didn’t you just call me?”

“Because I thought everyone should figure out this first clue on their own, see if they all were game. I just didn’t think it would take so long.”

“I didn’t figure it out. Rosie did.”

“And here it is, right by the bookshop. Goodness.” Birk tsked.

“Has anyone else shown up?”

“No.”

“Why did you wait?”

Birk shrugged. “I thought it would be more fun to do this as a group—if everyone else is agreeable, that is.”

“Really?”

“Aye. Why not? I think it’s the best way, really. We need to make sure the books get the proper care. I’m here to do my part in making sure that happens.”

“I agree,” I said, though I hadn’t given the idea of a group effort any real thought. “Sorry it took me so long.” I glanced up at the television. “Have you been paying attention to the news?”

“I heard about the murder, aye.”

“Did you know the man killed was our bartender yesterday at Deacon Brodie’s Tavern?”

Birk’s eyes got wide. “I heard that he might have worked there, but I didn’t put it all together. Gracious…”

I nodded and then told him about Shelagh’s being questioned by the police.

“I had no idea,” he said. “But she was released?”

“Yes.”

“Who do they think is doing all this?”

“I don’t know.”

Birk paused and then took a sip of his coffee. “This might all be somehow tied together, but I don’t know…”

I shrugged. “Maybe. We can probably talk to Shelagh tomorrow. I’d hate to bother her this evening. But if the monster has anything to do with her, maybe we should hold off looking for this book.”

“Why?” Birk asked.

“Maybe we’re being set up for something.”

“I suppose that’s possible.” Birk hesitated. “But I’m not willing to stop searching.”

“I don’t really want to stop either,” I said.

A server appeared with another coffee for Birk and two more for Tom and me. I hadn’t seen Birk order them, but my hands were glad for the warmth.

“So is this the place we’re supposed to be?” I asked. “Is this the answer to the clue? What next?”

“Aye.” Birk nodded toward the bar. “The barkeep has an envelope with the next clue for each of us. This is mine.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the envelope. “Run and get yours, just in case they’re different. You’ll have to show your identification.”

I bobbed and weaved a little to make it to the bar. The bartender was an old guy with flyaway white hair and round wire-rimmed glasses.

“Help ye?” he asked.

“My name is Delaney Nichols. I believe you have an envelope for me.”

“Och, just a minute.”

He finished pouring two pints, deposited them onto a tray, and then, with a hitch in his step, moved to the end of the bar. He reached down to a shelf and pulled out some envelopes. I spied a total of three, which confirmed for me that the other two participants hadn’t been in yet. The bartender put two of the envelopes back on the shelf and walked toward me with mine in his hand.

“Identification, please,” he said.

I showed him my ID.

“Verra good. Here you go.” He handed me the envelope. “What’s this all about?”

“I believe it’s some sort of treasure hunt. Who brought these in for you?”

“Well, I’m not sure I’m supposed tae tell ye.” He scratched his head. “But it was an older gentleman. Bald as a billiard ball. Dinnae tell anyone I spilled the beans.”

Must have been Louis. “I won’t. Thank you.”

“Ye’re welcome. Good luck to you.”

I went back to the table, opening the envelope along the way.

Second Clue:

You always have to pay, perhaps with your very soul.

I read it aloud after I sat down again.

“Well, that’s creepy.” I looked up at Tom and Birk.

“‘You always have to pay, perhaps with your very soul.’ Mine said the same,” Birk told us.

“Make anything of it?” Tom asked.

“Not offhand,” Birk said.

“I have no idea.” I handed Tom the note.

He read it again and then looked up at me. “It sounds ominous—or just purposefully mysterious.”

“Yeah.” I fell into thought.

“What, lass?” Birk asked.

“Do you think there is any way at all that Shelagh truly is a burglar, a killer?”

Tom put his hand over mine. “Lass, you can just walk away from this at any moment.”

“I could … but I truly don’t want to.” Tom nodded as I turned to Birk. “What do you think? She’s no spring chicken. Could one of her people be doing her bidding? You knew her before, right?”

“I knew her some, a long time ago but I don’t know her people well, but she would never instruct them to do any of what’s going on. I’m sure,” Birk said.

I looked at Tom again. “I don’t want to stop searching. It’s not just that I want Shelagh’s library—though don’t get me wrong, it would be wonderful—but what if she’s in danger too? I’ll talk to Inspector Winters.”

“You’re concerned about Findlay?” Tom said.

“Who?” Birk asked.

Tom and I told Birk about Findlay Sweet and Tom’s past with him. Birk didn’t like hearing what had happened all those years ago, but he stuck by his guns that Shelagh would never ask anyone to do anything illegal or even somewhat harmful. If Findlay was behaving badly, he wasn’t doing it because Shelagh had told him to.

“We’ll work together, lass,” Birk said. “I don’t need the library either, or the money, of course, but I’m curious too. We’ll do it together, the two of us. If the others want to be included, we’ll welcome them also.”

“I like that,” I said.

“So do I,” Tom added.

The door opened, and in unison the three of us glanced toward it. Tricia came through. She stood in the doorway a moment and looked around. Her eyes didn’t land on us until after she’d scanned the rest of the pub.

I waved. She didn’t wave back. She didn’t smile either but walked toward us.

“Hello,” she said. “I see you’ve all figured it out.”

“Your envelope is behind the bar. Grab it and come join us,” I said.

“You’ll need identification,” Birk said.

When Tricia returned to the table and I introduced her to Tom, she sat and read her message aloud. It was identical to the others.

“We’ve been discussing the robberies and the murder from last night,” I said, trying to gauge if she also thought the events might be somehow tied together and if she was as hesitant to join in as she’d seemed the day before.

Tricia nodded. “It’s terrible, and I didn’t like what was going on, so I called Shelagh a wee bit ago. The police questioned her but let her go. She’s pretty sure they don’t think she was in any way involved in robberies or a murder. She said she wasn’t. She told me the solution to the first clue, or I might not have ever figured it out. I’m not good at these sorts of things, but I’m going to keep trying. My school could use the funds that selling her library would give them.”

We looked at her. I hadn’t wanted to bother Shelagh, but that hadn’t mattered to Tricia. She seemed different from the day before—either bolder or more comfortable, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was as simple as the idea of a new library being motivation enough for her to jump in with both feet now, but it was an interesting change.

“Delaney and I are going to work together,” Birk said. “Want to do this with us? If we find the book, we’re willing to figure out something fair.”

In fact, I’d ask Birk if we should just let Tricia have the library if she did something good with it, but kept that to myself for now. I didn’t tell Tricia about the fact that Louis seemed to know the murder victim either. For some reason I was glad Birk also chose not to.

“Oh. Well, I like working alone,” she said. “That sounds rude, I’m sure, but I do prefer to work alone, even if I don’t succeed. I’m not a team player at all. Go ahead and do what you want to do, though.”

“Aye, all right,” Birk said, no offense to his tone.

“Do you mind if I order something to eat? I’m starving, and … I could move to another table, but I need to eat something,” Tricia said.

“Certainly,” Birk said. “Good idea. Let’s eat and see if our fourth arrives. If he does, we’ll make it a grand party.”

We ordered food, and as we ate, we discussed Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and the secrets men (and women) keep. People could be so many different things, in secret or not. It turned into a more philosophical conversation than I think any of us intended, but it sure seemed that though we all held the second clue inside our envelopes, we should consider the story more, think about those secrets and about possible clues within it.

We didn’t stay too late, and our fourth never did show up, but I decided I’d find Jacques the next day and tell him he could join me and Birk.

There was safety in numbers, after all. Wasn’t there?