The Cracked Spine (29 page)

Hamlet held himself like someone much older. He looked people in the eye with confidence. He spoke simply and paid attention to the conversation. Chaz needed some personal grooming, a brush and maybe a good shave, but those weren't the biggest differences. Chaz stood less confidently and his eyes didn't lock well with Edwin's as he scratched behind his ear.

“Is Hamlet in?” Edwin said.

“No.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

Edwin looked at me, grimaced, and then turned back toward Chaz. “Excuse me, Chaz, I think I need tae have a look around your room.”

“Uh,” Chaz said to Edwin's back as the taller, older man made his way past the teenager.

When Chaz turned back to look at me, I smiled and then pushed past him too.

The room wasn't all that messy. Neither of the beds was made, but other than that there was no scary pile of mystery college-aged-boy things anywhere. The room was two identical halves with beds, desks, and closets. Both of the desks held laptops and printers and a number of textbooks and papers.

Edwin stood next to what must have been Hamlet's desk and inspected it without touching anything on it. I looked at it too, but I saw nothing that stood out as something important.

“When's the last time you saw Hamlet?” Edwin asked Chaz.

“This morning, before classes,” he said as he sat on his bed. “What's up?”

“Did he say anything about his day?” Edwin said.

“I don't think so.” Chaz gave the question a moment's thought. “He did say he was on his way tae work and wanted tae get there early tae search for something for a customer, but we didn't talk about the details.”

“Did he talk about his play? The one in the park?”

“Not today.”

“Did he say something about it
recently
?”

“Just that he was having a great time with it, but he was worried it might dig into his work time. He said he might talk tae you about it.”

The look on Edwin's face told me that they hadn't had that conversation yet.

I stepped forward, knowing my contribution might not be welcome but thinking it might be necessary.

“Chaz, I work with Edwin and Hamlet. I'm Delaney. Has Hamlet been upset at all, maybe about the death of Edwin's sister?”

“Oh, yeah! That's right. I'm sorry, Mr. MacAlister. Yes, Hamlet was very upset. He was friends with Jenny—that's her name, right? Yeah, he was tore up. He'd been tae see her the night before, I think, and he really thought a lot of her.”

“What time did he get home that night? The night he went to visit her?” I asked.

I'd had him. He was about to answer, but then he suddenly thought better of it. I could see the transformation in his eyes. He realized that this answer was important. He might not have been as savvy and mature as Hamlet, but he wasn't dumb. He didn't want to say something so important that he might jeopardize his roommate's position with Edwin, personally or professionally, or both.

“I'm not sure,” he said.

“Think about it a minute,” Edwin said, his tone more firm than I expected.

“I can't remember,” he said a good long moment later.

“Will you have him call me the minute you see him?” Edwin said, his tone still stern.

“Of course,” Chaz said sincerely. I got the impression that first Chaz would try to call Hamlet himself, probably the second we left the dormitory. I hoped he found him. I hoped someone found him soon.

Our pace was slower as we left the dormitory building. Edwin, concerned and thoughtful as we got into the Citroën, didn't say much. He didn't seem to want me to talk either as he drove us back to The Cracked Spine.

“I suppose it's silly,” he finally said as he parked in a spot around from the shop. “Hamlet is nineteen. He isn't required to check in with me all the time. Maybe he had plans he didn't want me tae know about, so he used the play as an excuse. He is only nineteen after all. Sometimes boys will be boys.”

“I looked inside his closet and it didn't seem like it had been partially emptied. If he'd gone anywhere for any length of time, he would have taken clothes and his laptop. He's not far,” I said.

“Right,” Edwin said.

“Do you want to go talk to the police, Edwin? Tell them Hamlet may be missing? It might not be a bad idea,” I said. In fact, I thought it was the only good idea. Too many more questions had suddenly arisen, police-type questions.

Edwin sighed. “Maybe.”

“What about Benny?” I said.

“What about him?”

“You said he used to be a police inspector. Maybe he can help.”

“It's a possibility.”

“I understand your commitment to your friends.”

“Let me find Hamlet—I think I'll be able tae. Perhaps I'll go talk tae Benny. Maybe later you and I can go talk tae the police together.”

“All right,” I said.

Edwin decided not to go into the shop. I reminded him to answer his mobile before he pulled away from the curb. He didn't tell me his exact plans before he drove up the hill.

Rosie and Hector greeted me the second I walked inside. Rosie had the feather duster and she worked it frantically over the front shelves while Hector sat on the desk. Hector's bangs had been pulled up and secured with a red ribbon. It was nice to see his friendly brown eyes as they looked up at me as if to tell me it was good to
see
me too.

“Oh, Delaney, did ye find him?” Rosie said.

“I'm afraid not, but we will, or his roommate, Chaz, will. I'm sure.”

“I'm sae worried. What if someone's oot there killing all of Edwin's family? They killed Jenny. Now, maybe they've killed Hamlet too. How terrible.”

I hadn't even considered that angle. I didn't think Edwin had either. And clearly Rosie hadn't considered that Hamlet might have been hiding or involved in any way with Jenny's murder.

“Oh, that's unlikely,” I said as confidently as possible. “Hamlet knows how to take care of himself. I wouldn't worry too much yet. Let's give him some time. We all have days when we get busy with things and forget to check in with people who might wonder where we are, like Edwin did yesterday. I'm sure Hamlet's fine. He'll call in a little bit and think we've all gone off our rockers.” I attempted a weak laugh.

“I hope ye're right,” Rosie said. The feather duster went back to its flurried work.

The door opened and the bell jingled. Normally the sound was cheery. It was more ominous today and I squelched a chill that ran up my spine.

“Oh, hello!” Rosie said before I could say anything.

The man who had come into the store was walking with the aid of a cane, and the left side of his face was one big bruise. I held back a gasp.

“Rosie?” the man said.

“Aye, come in. Delaney, this is the man I told ye about. The one who was hit by the coach. Regg Brandon.”

“Oh,” I said. I'd forgotten all about the accident Rosie had witnessed. She'd been so upset at the time; I wish I'd remembered to ask her about it. “Are you okay, Mr. Brandon?”

“I'm fine.” He laughed. He was probably about Rosie's age, but there was something sturdy about him, despite the cane and the bruises. His medium build was straight and topped off by wide shoulders. “I'm sore, but I didnae break anything, and I have no concussion. I'm a miracle, apparently.”

“I'd say,” I said. I remembered that Rosie had thought the accident had been the man's fault. I wondered if that story had changed.

An instant later, I realized that Regg had come into the store for a social visit with Rosie. They looked at each other with shy smiles, and I sensed a romantic spark, and I felt like a giant third wheel.

“Nice to meet you, Regg. Excuse me, I have … something.”

Though it wasn't that far away, I moved to the back corner, seeing again the flowers I'd forgotten about and hadn't thanked Tom for yet. I turned around and interrupted Rosie and Regg, telling Rosie I was going to run up to the pub a second.

I hurried up the hill and peered in the window. Tom was at the bar, and a couple of very round customers were standing by one of the tall tables. From their back view, their vests made identical tweed circles.

Only Tom noticed me come through the doors. He'd been bent over slightly, but he straightened, smiled, and waved the second he saw me.

“Hi,” I said as I approached the end of the bar. I smiled as I passed the customers.

“Hi. How are you?” Tom said.

“I'm fine. I wanted to thank you for the flowers. They are lovely and a great surprise.”

“Rosie called me. She told me you were busy on an errand with Edwin but had seen them and had declared your love for me the moment you laid eyes on them.”

“Really?”

“No, but she said you liked them.”

“I do.”

“Good. That's what I was hoping for.”

“Tom, can I ask you a few more questions about Hamlet?”

“Sure,” he said. “Why?”

“Chances are it's a false alarm, but we can't find him. He isn't where we thought he would be and he isn't answering his phone. It could be nothing.”

“I understand why that's worrisome.” Tom's eyebrows came together, and when one of the plaid vests asked him over he waved them away.

“Yes, he said he was going to perform in a play in the park this morning, but he wasn't there. He didn't tell anyone where else he might go. He's not in his dorm room either. You mentioned that you knew everyone at The Cracked Spine, and you're closer in age to him. I guess I just wondered if he's said anything strange or surprising to you lately.”

“No. Last time I talked tae him I told him again how sorry I was about Jenny. I asked how everyone was holding up. He told me that it was understandably rough, but that he and they were getting through.”

“Anything else?”

“No, I didn't ask much. Honestly, I felt like I was asking too many questions about something that wasn't my business. I just said that I was glad tae hear that everyone was doing as well as could be expected. What can I do tae help?”

“Nothing. He'll turn up soon. I'm sure we're all worried for nothing.”

“Tom Fletcher, she's a beautiful lass and all, but my glass needs filled,” called the thirsty customer.

“Go, we can talk later,” I said. “Thank you for the flowers.”

“Late notice, but how about dinner tonight? At a restaurant not next to my work. I've got the pub covered.”

“I, uh. I should play harder to get, but, currently, I have no plans for dinner, so I accept.”

“I'll pick you up around seven at your place?”

“I'll be ready.”

I looked back at the bar one more time before I went out through the door. Not only was Tom looking my direction, but the plaid-vest customers were too. Their smiles and waves were also identical and I realized they were twins, from the front too. I was embarrassed by the attention, but I smiled and waved and felt my cheeks burn warmly.

My head was swimming by the time I got back to the shop. The overriding concern was for Hamlet, but I also sensed that clues as to who had killed Jenny were right in front of me. I knew about the Folio, I'd talked to Monroe, I'd gained some insight into Edwin and his family, also into Hamlet's past. I hadn't talked to Genevieve beyond the time at the auction, and I wondered if maybe that's where Edwin had gone. If so, why? Were they romantically involved or just friends, and did their relationship have anything to do with Jenny's murder?

Was I not putting everything together correctly? How could I move things around and find some answers?

Regg was gone by the time I returned. Rosie explained that when she'd gone to hospital to visit him, they'd become fast friends.

“Did you talk to the police about him?”

“I never did,” Rosie said. “I just went tae see him. I had tae sneak around the hospital tae find him.” I pictured her tiptoeing around the admittance desk and searching each room, Hector disguised as a scarf over her arm. “He told me that the accident was his fault, that he was glad no one else got hurt, and that he was going tae heal just fine.”

“And you two just hit it off?” I said.

“I think so. It appears that way,” Rosie said sadly.

“You're not happy?”

“I'm more worried about Hamlet than I am happy about my romantic life.”

I made my first executive decision of my new job and told her that she and Hector should go home. It was my turn to handle whatever happened at the shop. I told her I would call her with any news. She resisted, but only for a second or two.

When she was gone I didn't go back to the warehouse like I'd hoped to do. I didn't want to leave the front of the store unattended and I knew that if I went to the warehouse, I'd dig in to something that would take all of my attention. I tried to get the books to talk to me, but to no avail. Maybe my head was just too full of real-life drama to let them in. Eventually I found myself in the back corner, sitting at the table and looking at some of the prints Hamlet had left out of the file drawers.

As I scooted my chair in closer to the table, my knuckles hit the short, wide drawer underneath the tabletop.

I wasn't conscious of the fact that when I pulled the drawer open, I was opening a space where Hamlet kept his work things, but that's exactly what it was.

Inside were pens, pencils, a pad of Post-its, and a small notebook, similar to the other desk's items. But there was something else too, and when I saw it I ignored everything else. A small piece of purple paper was up against the edge of the drawer, directly behind the scooped-out portion that held the pens and pencils.

I reached for the purple paper, but then pulled my hand back. There were reasons I shouldn't touch it, but the reasons were all based upon my own secret—the puzzle on my kitchen table. I decided I didn't care.