“Oh, there she is,” Rosie said as she hung up the phone. “She was here after all. My mistake.”
“Ms. Nichols,” Inspector Pierce said. “You have a minute?”
I wanted to tell him no, but of course I couldn’t.
FOURTEEN
“You’re famous,” Inspector Pierce said as he scooted the paper toward me.
We sat at the back corner table. Rosie made it her business to have something to do at the bookshelves opposite us. The shop wasn’t big enough for privacy, and I didn’t suggest that we go over to the other side. I didn’t want to be alone with Inspector Pierce, but I didn’t call Gaylord either. I hoped that wouldn’t prove to be a mistake.
“I didn’t mean to be. She used some creative license with that story.”
“She’s a journalist, not a creative writer.”
Rosie sniffed.
Inspector Pierce and I glanced over. She kept her back to us, so he and I resumed looking at each other.
“At least she—they—should be journalists,” I said. “She struck me as hungry, out to find a big story. If she couldn’t find one, she was going to make one up.”
“Were you looking in the window?”
“I was,” I said. I squelched an urge to explain further.
“What were you looking for?”
“I was deeply curious, and it wasn’t off-limits. Seemed like a natural thing to do, considering the circumstances. The fact that she said I was suspiciously looking in the window … well, either that was just her opinion or the creative license I was talking about.”
Inspector Pierce leaned closer, moving his arms across the table. I squelched an urge to scoot backward. “Did you know the victim before you claimed to have met her on Friday night?”
I blinked. Like Rena, he’d read that into the article. I was perplexed and wanted to read it again.
“No, Inspector Pierce. I didn’t. May I ask why you think so?”
“The tone of the article.”
“Are journalistic articles supposed to have tone?”
“Maybe.”
“I thought they were just supposed to state the facts.”
Inspector Pierce sat back and nodded slowly as he continued to squint at me.
Rosie turned and interjected, “Edwin closed the shop.” She walked toward us. “He told us specifically not tae come back tae work until the morning, inside the building. Ye’d already said the outside was clear. None of us were here or I’m sure one of us would have explored with Delaney. The reporter just wanted a story.”
“Everyone left but Delaney?” Inspector Pierce asked.
“Aye,” Rosie said, though she had no idea that I’d walked around the block before coming back to the close.
“Did you know about the burial site that’s back there?” I said, so out of the blue that I had to force myself not to apologize.
“No,” Rosie said with a blink.
“No,” Inspector Pierce said, but I could tell he was intrigued.
“When I wouldn’t tell Bridget anything she told me that there’s a legend that women who were accused of witchcraft were buried in that same area. She thought that would intrigue me into a conversation. Any other setting, time or place, even person probably, it would have, but I didn’t talk to her except to tell her I wouldn’t talk to her.”
Inspector Pierce nodded again. “I hear stuff like that all the time. Scotland’s history … anyway. Tell me more about the legend of the warehouse. What am I missing? It just seemed like a room with a lot of junk. And you said nothing was out of place.”
“Nothing was out of place, and yes,” I said, “it is legendary, though I don’t know on what scale. Almost every person I tell where I work mentions it. We don’t advertise it, and we don’t invite many people over to see it.”
Rosie shrugged. “We’re not going tae let customers traipse over tae the other side without an escort. Ye saw the bad lighting, the dirty conditions. It wouldnae be safe, nor good for business. People like a good mystery. Ye should ken that. Since we dinnae allow explorations, people have made it into something it isnae.”
Rosie was very good at this.
However, Inspector Pierce didn’t hide his skepticism.
“You’re an officer of the law,” Rosie continued. “I’ll happily escort ye back over there if ye’d like tae see more, but I’m not going tae allow tours tae the general public.”
I nodded along.
“I don’t need to see it again right now,” Inspector Pierce said.
I couldn’t tell if he was convinced or not as Rosie and I watched him. I didn’t know why it mattered, except this was exactly why I’d shown the room to Inspector Winters—because I’d felt that Pierce hadn’t quite understood what it was, so I doubted he could find a possible connection. I didn’t want there to be a connection, but I did want Mallory’s killer found.
“I’d like to take another look at the window, both from the outside and the inside,” he said. “I think we checked from the inside and didn’t find a breach, but I’d like to make sure, from both directions, just one more time.”
“Have you talked to the reporter?” I asked.
“No, not yet. I thought I’d come see you first.”
“You might want to talk to her.”
“And why is that?”
“She claims to have found something in the close that day,” I said. “I don’t know if she was making it up or not, but you should ask her about it.”
Take that, Bridget Carr. The zip of revenge I felt was immature, but I didn’t care.
“What did she find?”
“I think it would be best if you just asked her.”
“I will. Right after I look at the window. Let’s go.”
I’d been holding on to the book, and I set it on the table as I stood.
“What’s the book?” Inspector Pierce asked as he stood too.
“An old medical book.” I slipped it out of the protective sleeve and opened to a middle page. “Illustrated, from the early 1900s. Here’s a picture
