The Cracked Spine (9 page)

Dad and I sat on the tailgate of his pickup in the school parking lot, me in a pink dress I wore just to spite Melanie Beamer because she'd told me, very meanly, that redheads should never wear pink, and Dad in his dirty overalls and mud-caked boots.

I can't remember exactly what I said, but after I insisted that I didn't need to go to the doctor I tried to explain how books talked to me. He said I just had a good imagination and a good memory. But I knew even at that young age that it was more than that, that the voices were so loud and clear, much more than I thought they were for the likes of Melanie Beamer and my other classmates. I'd read or heard about them once, and then there they were, like I had a stage in my head and they lurked behind the curtains ready to contribute when and how
they
thought it necessary. I told Dad I'd been able to find books I thought had been lost because in my head I'd asked the characters where they were hiding, and they'd told me, using their own words of course.

I remember the curiosity in his eyes as he peered down at me, the wrinkles around his eyes and his eyelashes dusted with dirt from his crops. He blinked and seemed to think a good long moment before he said the perfect words.

“Del-baby girl, I believe everything you're telling me, and I have an idea. It's okay to let them talk to you, but you gotta push them away when someone out here in the real world needs to talk. You just gotta. Nothing's wrong with you. Nothing at all, but you'll have to figure it out. We all have things we have to figure out. It comes with livin'. You're lucky that you know your thing now. You can start working on it right this minute.”

There was no waver to his voice, no question, no doubt.

“Do we have to tell Mom?” I said.

“Not if you don't want to. In fact, we'll keep your bookish voices just between the two of us for as long as we can get away with it.”

As far as I knew, my mom still didn't know about my secret. I had never been able to get the voices completely under control, but for the most part I had them where I wanted them. No one else had ever thought I was having a seizure. The few moments I'd zoned out briefly around my parents over the years, Dad had looked at me with a question in his eyes. I'd just nod at him and he'd nod back. And then we moved on.

By the time I locked up the warehouse, and then told Rosie good-bye for the evening, I was starving. I went to Elias's favorite take-away spot, and ordered fish and chips with brown sauce, which was a vinegary liquid that I poured on the fried fish and potato pieces. I enjoyed my dinner as I sat on a red stool next to the front window of the small shop and people-watched. I concluded that there must be no “typical” Edinburghian. The city was populated by all ages, all races, and from the bits and pieces I heard more than a few different languages, though mostly Scottish-accented English.

Back in my room, I hadn't realized I was still tired but I fell asleep easily. However, I didn't rest well. Images of all the people I'd met and all the valuable items I'd seen throughout the day played like a frantic slide show through my dreams. It was exhausting, and I was relieved to wake up and get to work the next day.

My first coherent thought of the morning was that I needed a place to live. Edwin was paying for the hotel, but I was going to have to find something more permanent soon. I wanted to. As I pulled open the door of the bookshop I decided I would ask everyone for suggestions regarding an apartment. Or, as they called it, a flat.

But the look on Rosie's face made me forget my need for a home. She stood behind the desk as Hector sat on it and looked up at her. She was on the verge of some horrible emotion, but I didn't know if it would show itself with tears or a scream.

“Oh, no, what's wrong?” I hurried to the desk.

“'Tis devastating news,” she said as she deflated into the chair behind her.

“What is it?” My breath caught as my throat tightened.

“Jenny's gone.” She looked at the mobile phone clutched tightly in her hand, and then at me. “Gone. Dead.”

“Jenny? Edwin's sister, Jenny?”

“Aye. Gone.”

“Oh, no,” I said.

Rosie was correct. The news was devastating. I could have used my own chair, but I thought I should attend to Rosie first.

“I'm so sorry. You okay?” I said.

“I dinna ken, Delaney.”

“Tea. How about I go get some tea? Or coffee?”

“Tea, coffee,” she said as if she wasn't sure what the words meant.

The bell jingled as Hamlet came through the door.

“Oh, no. What is it?” he said the second he saw our faces.

*   *   *

Edwin sat in the inexpensive office chair on the other side of the desk, my desk as of yesterday. His attention was focused on nothing specific, his demeanor grim with his arms folded in front of his chest. Despite the current dire circumstances, I couldn't help but notice that he belonged in that room. It might have been made by him, but it was also made
for
him. All the items, all the books, the mess—for some reason his dapper figure belonged among the attic-like mishmash.

Not long after Hamlet had arrived at the shop, Edwin had come through the front door too, his eyes tight and too wide and shiny with despair and grief. He'd called Rosie on his way in to let her know that Jenny was dead, asking her to gather both Hamlet and me so he could share the details with us all together. We followed him to the warehouse, because that's where he wanted to go.

We set up three folding chairs on the other side of the desk and sat patiently while he gathered himself the best he could.

“It's the worst news possible, I suppose. When a loved one dies,” he began.

“What happened, Edwin?” Rosie said.

“Jenny was killed, brutally. I found her.”

The words were not softened by Edwin's pleasant accent. For a moment I thought it a terrible shame that the accent, as beautiful and lyrical as it was, could do nothing to make horrible news less horrible. My stomach plummeted and my throat tightened again. Even though I hadn't met Jenny, how could hearing such news not be devastating?

“No!” Rosie exclaimed. Tears finally flowed down her cheeks, the flood released. “Oh, Edwin.”

Hamlet sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees. From the profile view, I saw his face lose color so quickly I wondered if he might faint.

Keeping a slice of attention on both Rosie and Hamlet, in case either of them went down, I said, “I'm so very sorry, Edwin.”

“It was an awful shock, as you can imagine. Yesterday, after I dropped you off, Delaney, I stopped by Jenny's flat. She didn't open the door. I have my own key, but I never tried tae use it before yesterday. But the door wasn't locked. I could just walk in.” He blinked and continued. “It was such a mess. Though Jenny wasn't the best at keeping her flat tidy, this was much worse. At first, it didn't register that there might be a problem. I just wanted tae find Jenny. As I stepped over and around tumbled and strewn items, panic set in, and then I finally found her.” Edwin paused again. He gathered his resolve and finished. “She was half in the hallway, half out of it toward her small kitchen. She'd been hit on the head, I believe. There was blood, and worse.”

“Oh, no, no, no, this cannae be,” Rosie said.

Hamlet was still silent, still leaning forward, but his cheeks weren't as alabaster as they had been a moment ago. Now there were small red splotches over them.

“I'm afraid there's more.” Edwin sat up straight and took a deep breath in through his nose. “This is not the tragic part, but a part I'm afraid that all of us will have to deal with one way or another, particularly if the motive for my sister's murder was theft.”

Hamlet sat up and with a weak voice said, “G'on.”

“The Folio was gone. In fact”—he swallowed—“the day before yesterday she and I argued about it. She wouldn't tell me where she'd put it.”

“I dinnae understand. Why wouldnae she tell ye?” Rosie said.

“Because she was angry with me. She said I was expecting too much from her, that she didn't want tae be such a part of the business, of my life. I insisted though. I kept telling her it would be good for her.”

“Oh,” Rosie said knowingly.

“Maybe…” Hamlet began, but he stopped himself quickly.

“What, Hamlet?” Edwin asked.

“I'm sorry, Edwin, the thought I had is unfair.”

“I know what you were thinking, Hamlet, and on the contrary, your line of thinking is not only
not
unfair, it could be a real possibility,” Edwin said.

I didn't know where the tissue came from that Rosie held to her nose. She whimpered once. I wasn't sure what the noise meant. Was she reacting to whatever code Hamlet and Edwin were speaking in?

Edwin continued, directing his words to me. “Delaney, as I explained tae you, Jenny had struggled with dark demons, drugs. The possibly correct assumption that Hamlet might have made is that perhaps Jenny used the Folio tae barter for drugs. Perhaps she used it tae her own advantage even though I never would have guessed she was savvy enough tae do such a thing. Certainly, the people in her life who were the bad influences could never have understood what tae do with it.”

I nodded as I had a memory of reading the First Folio in college—a copy made by modern means. I'd been one of the few people in my class who'd enjoyed what I'd come to call “Shakespeare in the Raw.” My heart broke for Edwin, Rosie, Hamlet, and Jenny, but it also ached some at the idea that there might be an original Folio out there in the world being used as currency for drug transactions. The entire situation was a huge tragedy or dark comedy, and Shakespeare's characters didn't lack for either sort of commentary. At the moment I was working hard to keep their voices at bay. I neither wanted nor needed the distraction.

“I see,” I said. “I'm just so sorry.”

“I've shocked you in many ways,” Edwin said. “I'm the one who's sorry. This was not what you bargained for when you decided tae come tae Edinburgh.”

I shook my head. “No. What can we do to help you?”

“Thank you, Delaney, and I'm not sure. There will be an investigation into her murder, of course. I need tae make appropriate arrangements for Jenny, but I'm not sure when the police will release her body. I have many questions, but I know there will be an autopsy, and…” Edwin stopped abruptly.

“What is it?” Rosie asked.

Edwin's mouth became straight and tight. He sat forward and drummed his fingers on the desk as he stared off at nothing in particular to his left. He looked at us all again.

“I didn't tell the police about the Folio. I didn't mention it, and I don't want tae. I'm not going tae,” Edwin said. “If the police come and talk tae any of you, please be honest with them. I would never ask anyone tae lie for me or for Jenny, but I thought you should all be aware that I will not be forthcoming in telling the police about the Folio.”

I looked around. “Why?”

“I purchased it from Birk, as you know,” Edwin said. I nodded. “His story is … less than believable regarding how he acquired it. He's a friend, the auctions are important. That's too arrogant a point on the matter, but I feel I need tae protect friends at this time. Maybe I'll tell the police, later when I have more information.”

An image of Monroe Ross with his black eye formed in my mind. Did Edwin want to protect his Fleshmarket Batch friends, or perhaps look more closely at them without police interference? Neither Hamlet nor Rosie seemed to care that Edwin wasn't going to tell the police about the Folio, so I didn't push to understand. For now.

Hamlet shifted in his chair and everyone, including Hector, looked at him. I thought maybe he was going to express some of the same doubt I was having, but that wasn't it.

“I … uh, I was at her flat day before yesterday, Edwin. I was there. I think I should tell the police that. Don't you?”

“Why were you there?” Edwin asked.

“I stopped by tae check on her. Rosie mentioned that ye were attending to family matters that day, so I wondered if it was something tae do with Jenny. I thought I should check on her.”

“How was she?” Edwin asked.

“She was fine,” Hamlet said. “She was polite, but I got the impression that she didn't want me tae stick around for very long.”

“She was in good shape?” Edwin had straightened even more and leaned forward so that his long arms reached almost the whole way across the desk.

“Aye, fine.”

“How was the state of her place? Was it messy at all?”

“No more than usual. Nothing had been destroyed or torn up, if that's what you mean. I don't know where she kept the Folio and I didn't ask about it, but I didn't see it sitting out anywhere.”

“Did she seem like she was worried about anything?”

Hamlet thought a long moment. “No, not worried really, but like I said I could tell she didn't want me tae stay. It was as if she had plans.”

“And she didn't mention what those plans were?”

“No, and I didn't ask.”

Edwin fell into thought again, his fingers drumming the desk, but more slowly and lightly now. Shortly, he looked at Hamlet again.

“Thank you for being concerned about her. Thank you for checking on her.”

Hamlet nodded. “Of course. She was a friend, Edwin.” Hamlet's voice faltered with emotion. He cleared his throat and the muscle in the back of his jaw pulsed.

I wanted to understand their relationships and how someone like Hamlet, someone so young, had befriended Edwin's sister. Was working at The Cracked Spine really like becoming part of a family? I'd felt some of that, of course, but I didn't think Jenny had ever worked at the bookshop. And, even Edwin's
younger
sister would not have been youthful enough to spend lots of time with a university student. I was curious. Unfortunately, now wasn't the right moment to ask about the makeup of their relationships.