Once I was locked behind my own red door and had confirmed that I wouldn’t be able to hear anything from Edwin’s office, I lost myself in my own world. It was easy to do, and the way I worked best.
I knew I needed to give attention to real work tasks first so I placed the books on the desk. It didn’t take long to confirm they were all in extraordinary condition, and unquestionably first editions. I also confirmed that they were all fairly valuable, but that the MacDiarmids were the most valuable, and would probably garner a few thousand dollars each. I was curious about both of the authors, their lives and adventures, but I decided to research them at a later time.
Before I told Hamlet to spread the word that they were available, I would check with Edwin about whether he wanted to put them for sale in the shop, sell them in a Fleshmarket Batch auction, or perhaps donate them to a library. He donated more books than he sold, but that was one of the secrets he’d asked me to keep. One of the good secrets.
The Fleshmarket auctions were gatherings with a secret group that Edwin had been a part of for years, and the items put up for auction were usually extremely valuable. Some books were bought and sold by the group, but I doubted the ones currently on my desk would go that way; they weren’t worth quite enough. Edwin had told me I could make the decisions as to whether to donate or sell, but I still wanted to consult with him first, particularly if he was in the shop.
After I made sure the books were safely stored in a bottom drawer of the desk, I pulled out my phone, scrolled to the pictures of the dirk, woke up my computer, and Googled.
Dirks became the weapon of choice for Scottish Highlanders sometime in the 1600s. William Wallace had definitely used a broadsword, but I couldn’t let go of the idea that the dirk had something to do with Billy Armstrong.
Dirks wouldn’t have been used in Wallace’s time in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, and Billy’s clothes, the leggings, and the tunic-like shirt were authentic representations of the time period, at least from what I knew and what Edwin had told me. Billy wouldn’t have been allowed to carry a broadsword to Castle Doune. Had he thought he needed a weapon, something less conspicuous? He might have dropped the dirk before he could use it, or the killer had snuck up on him.
I knew of tests that could be done on both the wooden handle and the metal blade to determine its age, but I didn’t have the equipment. I didn’t know what the police could do to determine its history but I had taken many close-up pictures of the handle and the blade.
Maybe there was another way.
Another few keystrokes later, I found “The National Museum of Scotland.” It wasn’t far from Grassmarket and I’d already made a friend there who worked Saturdays. I clicked through to confirm the museum hours and made a plan for tomorrow.
I didn’t work Saturdays, unless I wanted to. I usually wanted to, but maybe it would be okay to take at least part of this Saturday off. Maybe Elias’s cab would be available.
I remembered that he was dropping by late this afternoon, and I promised I’d have a book ready for him to give to Aggie for her birthday. I wondered briefly if he’d be available today too as I returned to Google.
I started with “Fiona Armstrong, Scotland.” I found two immediately; one a teacher in a local primary school academy, the other a member of a punk rock band that had a gig tonight in Glasgow. I found a few others as I went through the first available pages, but I didn’t find anyone matching the Fiona Armstrong I’d met earlier today.
Per the business card that we’d found with the dirk, I then searched for “Grizel Sheehy, Bagpipes, Scotland” and got a hit immediately. A link to her shop came up first thing and I clicked through.
A picture of the front of the small shop with Grizel next to the window filled the home page. Probably in her late thirties, she wore her hair big and bleached and her lipstick bright red.
“Not the look I think of when bagpipes come to mind,” I said to myself. “But Grizel does it well.”
As I read quickly through the site, I learned that bagpipes had been a part of Grizel’s family’s life for a long time. Since the late eighteenth century, her ancestors had made, sold, and/or played bagpipes. I decided she was particularly talented when, after clicking on a video of her playing “The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond,” I teared up.
I concluded that she seemed fun, like someone who would be the life of the party but mature enough to make sure everyone got home okay. If he had the time I was sure Elias would drive me by the shop.
I glanced at my watch. It was already after four. As usual, while inside the warehouse I’d lost track of the passing hours. I powered down the computer and gave the big room my habitual all-over inspection as I stood at the door. I switched off the light and made sure the door was locked before I headed back over to the other side to talk to Rosie and Hamlet, and hopefully Edwin.
I climbed the stairs and hesitated on the top landing. I still couldn’t hear anything from Edwin’s office. Though I doubted they were still there, I tiptoed down the hallway just to see.
The office door was wide open, and there was no one inside. The light had been switched off, but I couldn’t resist switching it back on.
I stood in the doorway and peered into the small room. Edwin had often commented that his office was always open to us.
To be fair, he didn’t keep much inside it. The warehouse used to be his office. When he gave me the space, he took only a container full of pencils and a couple notebooks with him, and still spent plenty of time with me and all his things inside the secret room.
I would never rummage around in the drawers of someone else’s desk, but as I glanced inside I hoped to see some remnant of the conversation he’d had with Fiona. There was nothing of course, but I couldn’t help a quick, closer check for some clues. I stepped inside.
The ever-present container of pencils was on the corner of the desk, but there was also something I hadn’t noticed before: a diploma on the floor against the wall. Hadn’t he been leaning in that direction when I’d followed him to his office the day before? Had he been looking at it? Where had it been before then?
Half of the frame was hidden behind a low file cabinet. I stepped closer and crouched.
I pulled out the dusty frame and held it so I could read the details. It looked as if Edwin had earned a bachelor of science in biology. I smiled as I thumbed off a dusty corner of the glass. I should have known he’d chosen to become educated in something he wouldn’t need in order to own and run a bookshop. Maybe he’d planned on doing something scientific, but I didn’t think so. He probably just wanted to get the degree.
If I’d just looked over the diploma as it sat on the floor I might never have noticed the small sticker at the bottom right corner on the glass. I had to angle the glass and hold it closer to read the raised embroidered letters on the sticker. “SP” on one line, “EC” below it. That was all there was. Red letters over a gold background. It was off-kilter, giving me the impression that it was unofficial and didn’t have anything to do with the diploma itself. It struck me as something he’d put there because he had the sticker and just wanted to stick it onto something.
But the letters must have some meaning.
“Hmm.” I pulled out my phone and snapped some pictures of the diploma and sticker. I knew a few people I could ask, including Edwin if he were still around. He wouldn’t care that I’d looked at the diploma. I didn’t think so, at least.
I replaced the frame just as my phone buzzed.
“Elias,” I answered. “I’m on my way back around.”
“Aye. ’Tis cauld oot here.”
I didn’t disconnect as I hurried toward and down the shop side’s stairs. Was the front door locked? Most of the lights in the shop were off, but a lamp had been left on at the back table. The sun had only recently set.
“Hamlet? Rosie? Edwin?” I said as I held the phone away from my mouth. No response. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d closed up the shop and gone home while I was working in the warehouse, and they had gotten there early today.
As I passed by the front desk, I grabbed a piece of folded paper that had my name written on it.
“Come in,” I said as I opened the door. The wind had stopped but it was definitely still “cauld.”
I kept the sign turned to “Closed” as I relocked the door and opened the note.
“Ta, lass. Where’s everybody?” Elias asked.
“Uh, they closed the shop,” I said as I skimmed the note. “Didn’t want to bother me in the back. Hamlet might be back later, but they decided the weather would keep most customers away this evening.”
The note also said that Edwin left before Hamlet or Rosie could talk to him. He mentioned that he’d be in tomorrow. In Rosie’s scribbled handwriting, she ended with Talk to the police about Gordon?
I still wouldn’t do that until I talked to Edwin. I didn’t think either of them would either.
“Aye? Weel, makes sense to me.” Elias rubbed his arms.
“Let’s find that book for Aggie,” I said, warding off the chills that crept up my arms. Was I cold or had the empty shop put me out of sorts? Most likely both.
Aggie and Elias owned and rented out two guesthouses. They lived in one of their small cottages behind the guesthouses and I rented the other one from them. I hadn’t seen the insides of the guesthouses until about a month after I’d been in Edinburgh. I’d been surprised by their fancy, elegant furnishings, and shocked by how spotless they were. Aggie was a fine housekeeper in her own home, but she was tireless when it came to the guesthouses. There wasn’t a speck of dust or a wrinkled piece of fabric in them. The weekly rent they charged visitors was three times what I paid monthly, but it was well worth it. Aggie would clean every day if visitors requested it—on the guests’ schedule. When the houses were unoccupied, she still cleaned them.
She would also cook for guests on occasion. I’d helped with a few meals, and Aggie’s attention to detail and Scottish authenticity were unrivaled. Cooking in a kitchen with Aggie as head chef was a stressful but exhilarating experience. Perfection was required.
But when it came to books, she would fall quickly in love with almost anything. I’d watched her take a book, hold it in both hands, and then cradle it over one arm. She always traced an outline around the edge of the cover with her finger before lifting it to look inside. I never saw her open a book without awe overtaking her features. I’d told Edwin about the ritual and he’d asked to be included sometime when she was given a book.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said to Elias.
“Guid. I need some ideas.”
I walked to the desk and opened the top drawer. I’d put a book aside a few days earlier.
“It’s not expensive. It’s an old copy, but certainly not a first edition. It’s in good shape.” I handed it to Elias.
Edwin had told me to give the book to Elias if he wanted it, but I knew there would have to be some money exchanged for Elias to feel like it was a proper birthday gift for his wife.
Elias grabbed a pair of reading glasses from the inside pocket of his jacket. “The History of David Grieve by Mrs. Humphry Ward,” he read aloud. “Mrs. with her husband’s name?”
“I know. It might set Aggie off a bit but she loves seeing progression and where things once were. Mrs. Ward is Mary Ward, and I think Aggie would find the novel interesting. Well, in a dated way of course, but I think it would introduce her to an author she might not have read yet. I’m pretty sure this would be new to her.”
“Mary Ward?”
“Yes, she was a British writer who died around 1920. She was born in Tasmania to a literary family, her father a professor, her uncle a poet, and her husband, Humphry, was also a professor, I believe. Her father became part of the Catholic Church when she was five, which caused some trouble. The family had to leave Tasmania for Ireland. She was educated throughout Britain and wrote a number of books and articles. Despite the use of her husband’s name, I think she was a strong woman.”
“Aye. The novel is aboot?”
“A bookseller who ends up falling in love in Paris, though it’s not necessarily a happily-ever-after book. There’s some struggle, regarding both marriage and religion, which probably very well reflected the time and almost certainly the author’s family’s situation.” I’d prepared the quick synopsis.
Elias gave the book some good, long, chin-rubbing contemplation, but I knew he’d be happy with the choice.
“Sounds perfect, lass. Thank ye,” he said a moment later. “How much?”
I quoted a price I thought would be acceptable to everyone. In the end we both felt good about the transaction, and Edwin would be thrilled too.
After we finished, I debated taking Elias over to Edwin’s office to show him the sticker, but that didn’t seem like the right way to handle it. I pulled out my phone.
“Elias, do you know what this is?” I scrolled to a picture of the diploma and held it toward him.
“Looks like part of a diploma or a government document maybe.”
“It’s a diploma, but I mean this little part here. Do you know what the sticker is? It’s on the glass.”
“SPEC? No, I have no idea. Meebe Aggie will.”
“Good point. I’ll ask her.” I put the phone back into my pocket.
“Anything more about the lad we found on the roof?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, lots more. Let’s go, though. I’ll tell you on the way.”
“Awright. Dinnae tell Aggie aboot the book, lass. It’s tae be a surprise. Dinnae tell her aboot the party either. She might not like being surprised, but she’ll be happy when she sees who’s there tae celebrate with her.”
“Mum’s the word,” I said. Elias had told me every day since he’d been thinking about the party to keep quiet about it. It wasn’t until next Friday evening, but I didn’t mind a week’s more of reminders.
“And yer coworkers will be there too?”
“I think so.” Who knew what the passing of another week might bring though?
“Guid.”
“Hey, any chance your cab is available for a few extra minutes right now, and then tomorrow morning?”
“Aye, ye’ve got some investigating tae do?”
I smiled. “I guess I do.”
“Are we meetin’ anyone atop a castle?”
“Not this time. Feet flat on the ground. Just a little research. I can take the bus tomorrow but it’s more fun in the cab. And with you.”
He smiled. “Aye. Weel, the cab and I are both at yer service, lass. I’m glad tae help, and glad tae watch yer back.”
“Thank you.”
I hurried back over to the warehouse for my bag, and then turned off all the lights and locked the doors again. I sent Tom’s pub a farewell glance before I jumped into the cab. Friday was one of his busier nights, even with bad weather. I wouldn’t get a chance to see him until Saturday afternoon, or maybe even Sunday, and I suddenly missed him.
The pang of longing I felt didn’t pass unnoticed. It was unsettling, this romantic stuff, particularly when more than just a wee bit of emotion got attached to it. Or to him, as the case may be.
Och, I thought to myself. Och.