Sunday was the kind of Scottish day when the sun changed its mind as often as a cat on one side of a closed door. It came out, it went in, came out, went in. Janet knew that it didn’t really matter what the sun finally decided to do. A little rain, or a lot of rain, or a full blown torrent of sunshine might all happen during the next few hours and none of them would keep people from getting on with their plans.
“When does the bampot author plan to arrive?” Christine asked as she and Janet watched Rab and Tallie rearranging the comfy chairs to make space for the signing near the fireplace.
“You can’t go around calling her that,” Janet said.
They’d debated whether or not to turn on the gas logs for a cozy atmosphere, and have Daphne sit at a table beside it. Daphne had nixed that when Janet mentioned it to her, pointing out that if she sat to the side, the fireplace would remain the visual focal point and she refused to play second fiddle to the conspicuous consumption of nonrenewable energy. She’d also nixed live music. James Haviland had offered to play suitable background music on his fiddle, perhaps in the tearoom where the refreshments would be laid out, but Daphne hadn’t wanted to play second fiddle to him, either. She countered with a request for standard classical fare on the sound system.
Tallie and Rab moved past Janet and Christine with a folding table and set it up in front of the fireplace. Rab moved one of the chairs from the tearoom behind it and Tallie draped it with a dark green damask tablecloth.
“Perfect,” Janet said. “Those are probably famous last words, though, aren’t they?” She ran her fingers up the back of her head, giving herself a ridge of gray spikes. She patted her hair back in place and looked at her to-do list. “The culinary class should be here no later than three. I asked Daphne to be here by half-three. Does Summer need more help in the tearoom before the kids from the class get here?”
“The tearoom is so under control that Summer has the teapots doing synchronized calisthenics,” Christine said. She then assured Janet that she wouldn’t utter the word bampot again that afternoon, and further assured her that she hadn’t let her mother hear her referring to Daphne that way. “Mum would have far too much fun with that to keep it to herself. Now, Janet, remember to breathe. Or do your meditation thing, if that helps. We all need you to be the calm and collected one this afternoon, in case the rest of us are driven to the point of lunacy by the author-who-shall-not-be-called-bampot. I’m sure none of us will snap, though, and it’s going to be a really lovely signing.”
Although Janet hadn’t worried about the weather keeping people away from the signing, she did worry that Daphne’s own behavior might. A needless worry, as it turned out. Daphne and Rachel Carson were there on time, Daphne in slacks and an embroidered tunic top, Rachel Carson with a sprig of heather in her collar. People started arriving before the advertised start time of four, but Daphne and Rachel Carson stood at the door greeting them as they came in, until the shop and the tearoom were pleasantly full of mingling, chatting guests. If Janet noticed more people gravitating toward the tearoom and the refreshments, and not making it all the way back to the signing area, she forgave them. The culinary class had brought an array of delicious savory and sweet finger foods, and Summer’s orange almond scones were a definite hit.
Daphne inched the signing table a few inches one direction and the chair a few in the other. Then she and Rachel Carson took their places, Rachel Carson stopping first to sniff suspiciously at the chair that Ranger so often sat in. Janet stood ready to open books for Daphne and to hand Post-it notes to people waiting so Daphne wouldn’t have to ask for correct spellings of names.
Rhona of the GREAT-SCOTs was first in line for a signature, followed by Alistair. Janet reached for Rhona’s book. Daphne reached faster.
“You appear to be the hovering type,” she said, waving Janet away. “I’ve decided I don’t need an assistant. I’ll pop my own soda cans. Come by every so often with a refill of hot tea for me and fresh water for Rachel Carson, and that will be sufficient.”
“Would either of you like a plate of refreshments?” Janet asked.
“No.”
Janet refrained from snapping a salute and went to join Tallie and Rab at the sales counter, telling herself to walk, not stalk.
“That works out well for us,” Tallie said when Janet told them of the change in plans. “Now we can take turns circulating. You can go first, if you like. Oh, and guess who came in and headed straight for the tearoom?”
“Norman Hobbs,” Rab said.
“That wasn’t fair,” said Tallie. “You saw him come in.”
“Aye, but telling saves time. In case he doesn’t stay.”
“Good point,” said Janet. “If you two are all right here, I’ll go through and say hello.”
Janet tried, but wasn’t able to make a beeline to the tearoom. She met Gillian and Tom in the photography section along the way, ran into James Haviland, and said hello to several others she knew or recognized before reaching her goal. When she got to the tearoom, Hobbs wasn’t there.
“Didn’t you see him?” Christine asked when Janet told her why she’d clucked her tongue and looked disappointed. “He filled a plate and went back into the bookshop before I could tell him not to take more than his share of sausage rolls.” She stepped to the door of the tearoom. “There he is. At the corner of the picture book nook.”
“The sausage rolls are good?” Janet tried not to be obvious in casting a longing look toward the refreshment tables.
“The sausage rolls are excellent. So are the stuffed mushrooms, the haggis balls, cream buns, tea bread, and macaroon bars. The students cook and behave like professionals. Watch this.” Christine turned and raised a finger as a signal for one of the students, then turned back to Janet. “Something else about the students—they’ve been getting Summer to laugh. Ah, here you go.”
A student wearing a chef’s toque and white apron appeared at Janet’s elbow. She handed Janet a plate and napkin and gave a shallow bow.
“Thank you so much,” Janet said.
“You’re welcome,” the girl said, then repeated it in Gaelic, “’S e ur beatha.”
“That was adorable,” Janet said when the girl was gone. She nodded toward Hobbs, who hadn’t moved from where he stood just outside the picture book area. “I’ll go see what’s gluing him to that spot.”
Janet had never seen Constable Norman Hobbs out of uniform. Or if she had, she hadn’t recognized him. She wondered if his grandmother had knitted his jumper. Or Jess? No, closer up, the sweater was comfortably worn at the elbows, which would have taken more time than he and Jess had been a rumored item. Janet wondered if it meant anything that she didn’t see Jess now.
“Hello, Norman.”
Hobbs didn’t quite jump, but he twitched. She knew she hadn’t been fair, approaching him quietly while he was engrossed in—what? Certainly not the copy of Wee Granny’s Magic Bag he was pretending to read.
“What are you up to?” she asked.
Hobbs tucked the book under his arm, took his plate from a shelf, and moved around Janet into the alcove where they shelved children’s picture books. Janet followed.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Marsh,” Hobbs said, and took a bite of sausage roll.
“Please don’t take another bite and use those innocent sausage rolls as a way to stall your answer.”
Hobbs chewed, swallowed, and pulled the book from under his arm. “I’ve been looking for a present for my niece.”
“It’s a good choice, Norman, but you weren’t turning the pages while you were standing there. Were you even looking at them?”
“I’ve read the book before.” Hobbs stepped out of the alcove, looked left, then right, then stepped back in. “While I was flipping through it, refreshing my memory, I discovered something you might not be aware of. If you don’t mind, go to the spot where I was a moment ago. Stand facing the shelves and listen. I’ll hold your plate, if you like.”
“I’ll keep my plate, thank you.” For all Janet knew, this was an elaborate ploy on his part to get her sausage rolls and macaroons. She went and stood as he directed.
“A step closer to the shelves,” Hobbs said.
Janet shot him a look and he retreated into the picture book alcove. She moved closer to the shelf and listened—to the pleasant rise and fall of voices around her, to laughter somewhere near the front door, to the closing strains of a lovely guitar version of “Farewell to Stromness” coming over the sound system. She ate a sausage roll, which was every bit as excellent as Christine had said they were, and waited, but heard nothing at all unexpected.
“What am I—oh. Hello, Ian.”
Ian Atkinson, leaning an elbow on a shelf next to Curious George, smiled at her. “If you’re looking for Constable Hobbs, he’s gone into the tearoom. Shall I give your existential question a try?”
“I wasn’t really—”
“Don’t burst my bubble by telling me what you were really doing. Fiction is more exciting. So, what are you?” Ian took his elbow from the bookshelf and crossed his arms. He gave her an assessing look, head slowly tilting to the side.
Janet felt her own head following his. She straightened and popped a macaroon in her mouth.
“You’re brave,” he said. He brushed at something on his tweed sleeve. “And now I’ll be brave and go introduce myself.”
“To Daphne? Haven’t you met her yet?” Janet was sure he would have found a way to run into her or an excuse to knock on her door before now.
“A small secret,” he said, moving closer and talking near her ear without making eye contact. “I write books for a reason. Writing is safer.” He brushed at the sleeve again, tugged on both, and headed for the signing area.
Janet decided Hobbs could find her, if he wanted to explain the experiment she’d just failed. She went back to the sales counter, chewing her last sausage roll, and found Hobbs anyway, standing with with Tallie and Rab. As she approached, Hobbs said something that caused the usually imperturbable Rab to react in a way that Janet hadn’t seen before; his eyes widened. Hobbs nodded and Rab left the sales counter.
“Rab’s gone to try it,” Hobbs said when Janet raised her own eyebrows.
“He thinks he found an acoustic anomaly,” Tallie said. “A spot where it’s easy to pick up on conversations from several directions at once.”
“It didn’t work for me,” Janet said.
“Height must make a difference,” Hobbs said. “I was quite startled. There I was, flipping through Wee Granny’s Magic Bag, when I heard Ms. Wood chatting with some of her admirers. It was rather interesting.”
“What they were saying or the phenomenon?” Janet asked.
“Both. Wonderful refreshments, by the way. I’ll go give my compliments.”
“They’re chatting in a public space, with no expectation of privacy,” Tallie said when he was gone. “In case you were wondering about the ethics of eavesdropping via anomaly.”
“I was.” Janet was also annoyed that she wasn’t tall enough to have heard anything herself.
“And we can try it standing on a chair, after everyone’s gone,” Tallie added.
“Good.”
A burst of laughter came from the signing area. Janet saw Daphne put her hand on Ian’s shoulder and lean on him as though helpless. Her voice was plenty strong, though, and as people came to see what was going on, it rose.
“I’m using him,” she said, “but at least I’m honest about it. He wants to show off, I want to get away from pavements and roads for a few hours. It’s a win-win. But what he’s been saying … !” Her words dissolved into another gust of laughter. It was contagious and had others laughing, too. “That we’re going to work on a calendar together. It’s just too funny. I couldn’t. Could not. Could not possibly.”
“Ouch,” Tallie said to Janet. “That’s Tom she’s talking about. And he didn’t need an acoustical sweet spot to hear it.”
“She wanted him to hear it,” Janet said. “She had to have seen him come over and stand there.”
“Shh,” Tallie said. “Here he comes.”
As Tom passed the sales counter, he handed Janet one of Daphne’s books.
“Sorry,” he said, heading for the door, “I dinnae want it after all.” He turned as he pulled the door open. “Oh, her wee dog. Female or male?”
“Female,” Tallie said.
“A bitch. That’s what I thought.”