The Cracked Spine (19 page)

“How did she pay her own bills if Edwin wasn't helping?”

“She cleaned houses for a time, but that was a while ago. Other than that, I have no idea.” He shrugged.

I took a long, thoughtful sip of coffee. It was much better than the police station's. “Hamlet, how old are you and how did you get to The Cracked Spine?”

He perked up a bit. “I'm nineteen. I was adopted, not legally but in a real way nonetheless, by Edwin and Rosie and Hector, and Jenny for that matter, four years ago when I was fifteen and living on the streets.”

“Oh. That sounds rough.”

“It was. I was a regular Charles Dickens character, with the dirty face, thieving ways, and everything, but in Scotland instead of England.”

“What happened?”

“My family was killed when I was ten. I didn't do well in the government system so I ran away and lived on the streets. I spent most of my days in bookshops around Edinburgh, other cities too, but mostly Edinburgh, reading as many books as I could and then stealing food from wherever, whenever I could get away with it. Other, terrible things too, but I don't like tae dwell on those. Rosie approached me one day. I was on the floor by the front window shelves. I was reading something I can't even remember now, and I thought she was going tae kick me out of the shop and tell me never tae come back again. Instead, she took me out for a wappin … enormous meal. I ate every bit of it and then she set me up a bedroll in her office where I stayed the night. The next morning she introduced me tae Edwin. I told him everything, all the ugly details about what happened tae my family and how poorly I'd handled the ugliness. He took me tae his estate and got me cleaned up. He set me up in a flat not far from here for a while. I finished all my primary school. Now that I'm at university, I live in a dormitory and work at The Cracked Spine tae pay my bills. Edwin pays me enough so that I can afford everything. He pays me too much for the job I do. I owe him, but he'd never say that. Edwin and Rosie and Hector—and now you, if you stick around—will always be my family, informally adopted though they might be.”

“I'm planning on sticking around, and I'm honored. I'm also sorry about your birth family. No matter how well things are going for you right now, all that had to be very hard.”

“It was.” Hamlet stared up toward the ceiling thoughtfully, into the past. I could see remnants of pain on his artistic face, but I could also see that he'd worked to hold on to good memories; I hoped there were some genuinely happy ones. “Anyway, when I first knew Edwin, I also met Jenny and she was sober. She remained sober for a full year, and she became something like a mother tae me. But her experiences gave her and me a lot in common. We connected on a different level, a level that knew about hard times. I was fond of her.”

“My first day at the shop I thought I saw a strain in the way you talked about Edwin, and then in the way you two greeted each other the next day. Have you and he had problems lately?”

“Oh. That. Aye, I suppose, in a way. I didn't want him to give the Folio tae Jenny. When he first told Rosie and me what he'd done, I didn't hide my surprise. I told him it was a bad idea.”

“It was. You were right.”

“Aye, but I shouldn't have handled it with quite so much … surprise. I still feel bad about it.”

“Was Edwin angry at you?”

“Not really, but it's the first time I spoke out against something. I think we're both just trying tae figure out how tae accept that I might sometimes have a differing opinion about something. Rosie told me that I should always speak up even if I disagree. She said it's part of growing up.”

“It is.”

“Aye, I suppose.”

I took another sip. “Hamlet, did Jenny steal all the stuff that's in the warehouse?”

“Ah, you've heard the legend. No, she didn't steal any of it. I know she didn't live a lawful life, and I don't know
exactly
where Edwin gets all his things, but Jenny didn't steal any of them. They weren't a sibling team of thieves, though it's a fine story and one that keeps people talking.”

As we finished the coffee and cakes, we moved onto more pleasant conversation topics. He, like Birk, was interested in my farm life in Kansas. I told him about milking cows, feeding chickens, and all the laborious hours it took to run a farm. As I talked, the tension from his visit with the police dissipated almost completely.

“I suppose we should get back tae Rosie,” Hamlet said with a glance at the time on his phone as the waitress picked up our plates. “She'll be worried.”

It wasn't raining when we left, but almost drizzling as we continued back up the Royal Mile and then down the curved hill to Grassmarket and The Cracked Spine, where only Rosie remained to greet us and question Hamlet probably more thoroughly than the police had. It was cool and wet outside, but pleasant and I didn't mind the frizz my hair took on.

I didn't doubt
all
that Hamlet had told me. Exactly. I didn't think Edwin and Jenny were a sibling team of thieves. In fact, I didn't really think Edwin was a thief in the strictest definition of the word.

But there were a lot of secrets in the air. I felt like I'd only been able to grab on to the tails of a couple of them. No one owed me their full stories, but something told me that Jenny's killer lurked amid all those secrets.

At around four o'clock and as Rosie called an early end to the workday, she, Hamlet, and I went our separate ways, and I realized I'd just have to keep looking.

 

SIXTEEN

By myself, I took a bus to McEwan Hall on the University of Edinburgh campus. The university was the other direction from my new cottage and not too far from the bookshop. Though I still wasn't on a UK phone plan, I thought it was worth paying a little extra to do some quick research. Easily I pulled up maps and bus routes on my phone as I sat on a bench in the Grassmarket square. I didn't want to bother Elias and I thought I could handle the short trip on my own, particularly if I found a friendly bus driver. It had drizzled again, but the sky was now clear, and the sun wasn't setting yet. It was cool but comfortable if I kept my jacket on.

Not only was the bus driver friendly, so were the three university students I sat next to on the bus. I explained where I was going and they directed me, even pointing to the correct door I should use to reach the building's reception hall.

“Is nothing in Edinburgh ugly?” I said as I peered out the bus window at the domed building, done Italian Renaissance style with brown stone blocks, decorative pillars, and oversized dark wood doors.

“Aye,” one of them said. “Have ye seen the parliament building? An eyesore, for sure.”

“I'll have to check it out,” I said, remembering Elias's similar opinion.

I thanked them and then found my way inside and up a ramped marble hallway. I needed to turn left to get to the reception hall, but the main hall was to my right. The access doors were wide open, and I couldn't miss the chance to peek inside.

One of the students had told me that McEwan was the graduating hall for the university, and it was nothing like any graduating hall I'd ever seen in person. It was old world and churchlike, vast with murals and a giant pipe organ. Reverent and oozing with the smarts of the people it had accommodated with a diploma. I didn't see anyone around but I didn't have time to linger. I was already a few minutes late to Genevieve's lecture.

Regretfully, I turned back and made my way to the reception hall. I put my ear to another oversized wooden door and heard a voice inside. Gently I pulled the door open.

It was a conference room, longer than wide with wood-paneled walls similar to what I'd seen at Craig House and a giant rug mostly embroidered with red. I'd come in the doors at the back of the crowded room. Genevieve was behind a podium at the front, and rows of wooden, straight-backed chairs were filled with interested onlookers as was the leftover standing room. I was able to wedge my way in between and to the side of a couple of tall men without disturbing anyone's view. Genevieve didn't seem to notice me.

Her expertise was in Ming vases. I loved old things, but I had no idea there could be a crowded room full of people interested in what she—anyone—had to say about them, but everyone listened with rapt attention. She was personable, humorous (even though I didn't quite catch all the words that brought on the laugher), and beautiful in a white suit with a long jacket, black trim, and black buttons.

I wasn't sure why I was there. I wanted to talk to her, but I didn't know what I wanted to ask, specifically. I thought I'd just play it by ear. I decided that approaching her after the lecture was a much better plan than simply calling her or arriving at her house unannounced.

As I watched and shifted my weight back and forth between my feet, I scanned the room. Fortunately, not everyone was dressed to the nines or I would have stood out for something other than my coloring. However, most people were precisely groomed and carried with them an air of affluence. I suddenly felt self-conscious about the frizz I'd been okay with earlier and I smoothed my hair with my hand.

My eyes landed on a shoulder in the back row, not far from where I stood, but on the other side of the room. I couldn't see anything but the shoulder, but there was something about the way it slanted away from the person next to it that seemed familiar. I leaned forward, sticking my head out from between the tall men, and recognized the slanted man, who was wearing sunglasses.

Monroe Ross.

Him being here would be like crossing off two items on my to-do list. That is, if I could get over to him, and if he would talk to me.

I quietly excuse-me'd my way through the people. There wasn't much room in the space between Monroe's chair and the wall, but I squeezed my way into it and crouched.

“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice low.

He looked at me and even though he wore sunglasses, I could tell he was aghast at both my maneuver to invade his space and my impolite interjection of friendly conversation.

“Miss Nichols, hello,” he said with a quick nod.

“She's amazing isn't she?” I said with my own nod toward Genevieve.

“Very much so.” He put his finger to his lips to shush me.

“Oh, sure. It's good to see you,” I said.

He nodded again and turned his full attention back to Genevieve. I stood and remained in the space next to him. It wasn't my intention to irritate Monroe Ross. I knew it wasn't necessarily polite to start a conversation with someone when a lecture was going on. But I'd known introverts like Monroe before, and I knew that if I didn't stick close to him—but far enough away that his space wasn't invaded—he would dart away without me having the chance to talk to him. He would dart away from everyone, not just me, but probably particularly me at this point. I'd have to try to mend our friendship later, when I knew for sure he had nothing to do with Jenny's murder.

The lecture flew by. Learning about Ming vases was just the kind of thing a girl who used to work in a museum and now works in a place with a room full of secret treasures enjoys. Had I not been so distracted by my imprecise plans, I might have taken notes.

Genevieve received a standing ovation, and true to my prediction Monroe tried to step past me and leave just as the ovation started. I grabbed the sleeve of his coat, too forcefully, and asked if he had a minute.

“Aye, I suppose,” he said after a long moment's contemplation.

“Let's go to the hallway,” I requested.

Genevieve would be busy with one-on-one questions for a few minutes at least.

The hallway was wide and I led us away from the main doors, giving us room and little chance to be bumped or interrupted. I let go of his sleeve and kept an extra distance between us. He relaxed a little bit.

“What can I do for you, Miss Nichols?” he asked.

“First, please call me Delaney. Second, I'm worried about Edwin. It's no surprise that he's taking his sister's murder very hard. Who wouldn't? He has little trust in the police, and I'm just trying to understand his sister better. Maybe I can help him get through the grieving, or maybe something I find out could jar a memory loose for him so that he can give the police a direction to look for her killer.” It wasn't a complete lie, and it didn't make complete sense, but if Monroe didn't think too much he might not see the holes. Mostly, I counted on Birk's comments about him and others being worried about Edwin. I could pretend to be reporting in.

“I don't know how I can help, Delaney,” he said.

“Do you have a description of his sister as you knew her? What can you tell me about her?” I asked.

“Oh, well, it was a long time ago that I truly knew her. She was kind, funny, a handsome woman who you would think was pretty when you got tae know her.”

“That's a beautiful way to be described,” I said.

He shrugged, and the light from a ceiling fixture blinked over the lenses of his sunglasses.

“When was the very last time you talked to her? A week or so ago, maybe a week and a half, right? You two argued in her flat?” I said.

Monroe Ross froze. It had been a complete guess, a stab in the dark. I didn't have one clue as to the identity of the man who'd argued with Jenny a week or two ago, or if Jenny's American neighbor had been telling the truth about hearing an argument that included a male voice. I was just going to ask the same question to every man I thought it could have been. I'd come up with the question as I'd sat on the bench waiting for the bus. I'd started to dial Birk to ask him, but the bus had arrived before I could hit the Call button.

Had I been that lucky to have found the right person on my first ask?

“We didn't argue,” he said, thawing slightly. “Not really.”

“Oh, okay. But you were there a week and a half ago, right?”