“It is perfect.”
“Good. Thank you for trusting me tae see it. Thanks tae Edwin too.”
I sighed. “You might not believe this, but I didn’t like keeping it a secret from you.”
He looked at me. “Aye? Well, we’ve come a long way then.”
“Since you haven’t arrested any of my friends, yes.” I smiled.
“Yet, at least. There have been moments. Thank you again for sharing the room with me. I’ll tell Edwin the same.”
“You’re welcome.”
I closed the door behind him. After a second’s hesitation, I locked it too.
The otherwise empty shop was quiet and shadowed without the lights turned on. I walked over to the switch, but didn’t flip it up. Edwin had decided we weren’t going to open; no need to make customers think we had. I could get some work done, but things felt off. Perhaps it was natural to sense discontent after such a tragedy, but goose bumps rose on my arms, and the quiet was too loud for comfort.
“Anyone want to chat?” I said to all the books.
No one answered. I decided I didn’t need to be there any longer.
For the first time ever, I was a wee bit glad to be leaving the bookshop.
TWELVE
“Och, gracious, this is … Oh dear, oh dear,” Aggie said as she read the article.
“I know.” I shook my head.
I’d taken most of the afternoon the previous day just for me, getting my emotions and head straight again. Tom had been busy, and though it would have been better with him, I’d enjoyed an afternoon to myself. It looked like today wasn’t going to be quite the same, though it looked to also be about me.
Hamlet had called extra early, about five in the morning.
“Delaney, sorry tae wake you, but you’ve made the paper. The Renegade Scot, not the Scotsman,” he’d said. “I thought you’d like tae know as soon as possible.”
I’d sprung out of bed and made my way across the tiny courtyard that separated my cottage from Elias and Aggie’s, and tapped lightly on their back door. I knew they’d be awake.
“Lass?” Elias had said as he’d opened the door in his undershirt and pants while holding a steaming cup of coffee.
“Any chance you guys have your copy of the Renegade Scot?”
“Aye. Aggie’s in reading the papers now.”
“May I come in and look at it?”
He stepped out of the doorway and went to put a shirt on as I joined Aggie in their small kitchen.
“Lass?” she said over the paper, the Scotsman.
“May I see the Renegade Scot?”
“Aye.”
Aggie hadn’t looked at that one yet, but it was easy to find the article, right there on page three, above the fold.
I read through it quickly, and then gave the paper back to her as Elias joined us in the kitchen. He read over Aggie’s shoulder. It didn’t take long for her “oh dear’s” to begin.
“It says here that ye talked tae the reporter,” Elias said.
“The only thing I said was that I didn’t want to talk to her,” I said.
“Says ye were peeking in a window where the victim had been,” Aggie said. “‘Sneaking’ is the word she used, I believe.”
“Technically I was, kind of, but not because I was reliving the crime, like she implies. I wasn’t behaving as if I was guilty; I was irritated by her!”
“Weel, she said that ye only looked like ye might be doing such a thing. Not that ye were.” Elias was trying to be helpful. He sent me a hesitant smile.
“I know, but she made it sound like … oh, my, she made it sound like I could be the killer. The untrustworthy stranger from America!”
“Those werenae the exact words,” Elias said.
Aggie sent him an eyebrow lift before she turned to me. “But ye arenae a killer, lass.”
“The redheaded American come to Scotland to work at the bookshop might now be involved in something unsavory.” I’d read the words only once but I’d memorized them already.
“Aye, but ye just arenae a killer,” Aggie repeated. She cleared her throat. “This will pass.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I hurried to grab it.
“I’m on my way over,” Tom said without a hello. “I’m afraid the article is my fault. I’m so sorry, love.”
“How is it your fault?” I said.
“I’ll explain when I get there.”
“I’m in the McKennas’ cottage.”
“I’m almost there.”
“Tom says the article is his fault,” I said as I put my phone on the table. “He’s on his way now.”
“How is it his fault?” Aggie asked.
“I’m not sure yet, but I suspect it’s because he used to date the reporter.”
Aggie glanced at the paper. “Bridget Carr?”
“Yes.”
“Never heard of her until right now. I read almost all the papers every day. She’s not a big-name reporter,” Elias said supportively.
“Maybe she’s trying to be,” I said.
“Aye,” Aggie said. “She sees this as her big break or some such nonsense. Did it end badly for her and Tom? That was a silly question. They arenae together. Of course it ended badly for her.”
In classic tabloid style, Bridget Carr had taken me down, as well as Edwin and the bookshop. He’d been polite to her, much more polite than I had been, and yet she’d called him the “aloof Edwin MacAlister.” I almost felt worse about that than how she’d made me look guilty of murder. The shop had remained closed and he hadn’t been available the day he’d told her to return. Had she thrown us under the bus—me under twice—just because of that?
“Ye ken what they say, that all publicity is guid publicity?” Elias said as he poured me a cup of coffee.
“I’ve heard that expression before, but I wonder if this might be the exception. This is not good news for my job security, let alone the reputation of Edwin’s bookshop, a place and a man that don’t deserve a bad reputation, by the way.”
“No, Edwin does more good
