I didn’t think he should. In fact, I knew that Edwin would probably donate the books to the library or medical school at some point if he felt that was the best home for them. But I didn’t tell Dr. Eban that yet.
“I’ll let you know what he says.”
“Between you and me, I’d be happy tae go higher.” He looked longingly at the book, which I was probably holding a bit too tightly.
“Want to look through it again before I go?”
“May I? I promise only tae take a wee bit more of your time.”
“Sure.” I slid the book back to him.
He didn’t look at it much longer, but I tried to observe what I could. He wasn’t creepy, at least not to me. He’d been friendly, but not too. He hadn’t leered at me. His interest in the books was genuine, as well as professional. The very bad idea that I should try to proposition him just to see what he did danced through my thoughts, but fortunately it fell flat. I’d done enough.
We bid each other polite goodbyes with the promise that I’d get back to him soon.
It was impossible not to feel terrible about my intrusion as I made my way out of the building.
Joshua met me as I turned the corner.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“There wasn’t much to see,” I said. “But I did what I wanted to do. Thank you for being my partner in crime, though I feel bad for asking you.”
“Don’t! That was exciting,” he said.
I cringed. “No, that was terrible. And, again, I’m sorry I asked you to participate. Thank you again.”
“Are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had in ages. Have you forgotten, I’ve just finished a dissertation? I deserved a little adventure.”
Oh geez.
“Come on. I’ll buy you lunch and talk you out of a further life of crime,” I said.
“Good luck with that.” He smiled, way too big.
SIXTEEN
After a hurried lunch (Joshua did have to get back to work), as I made my way to the offices of the Renegade Scot, I wondered if Dr. Eban had seen the article and was just being polite about not bringing it up, or if he hadn’t seen it yet.
What did Bridget Carr want from him? Was it just because he was a professor at the medical school, or had she found out that he’d sat at the same table in a pub with Mallory the night she’d been killed? Had she also found out that I’d been a part of that group?
Though I was glad I hadn’t opened the unopened email, I felt a tiny bit of regret over not having read it. I wondered if I could steer a conversation with her in that direction.
However, I had something else I wanted to talk to her about first.
As I peered inside the window of the small newspaper office, I remembered a friend’s story. She told me that the best way to figure out if a newspaper is getting readers is for a business to advertise something in it they’ll give away free of charge, then see how long the line grows. Not a technical method, but reliable.
I’d called Rosie to see if the bookshop had had any other calls. She said no and that there hadn’t been an unusual rush of customers. I hoped the article wouldn’t cause people to stay away, but the fact that there hadn’t been more curiosity made me wonder just how many people really had read it. I knew that the people in my circle had, but that would be expected.
I didn’t know the circulation of the Renegade Scot, but it had a small staff. Bridget sat at a desk in the back of the room, her concentrated focus on the computer screen in front of her and not on the guy who was peering over her shoulder, staring at the same screen.
Two other desks were manned with people also concentrating on their screens, and three other people were up and moving around, all of them carrying things like papers, pens, and smart phones.
I opened the door, but didn’t hear any sort of ding to announce my arrival. For a long few moments, nobody noticed I was there.
“Help you?” one of the young men walking by asked. He tried to look friendly, but I could tell he was frazzled.
“I was hoping to talk to Bridget.” I nodded toward her desk.
She looked up, lifted her eyebrows, and forced a confidence into her expression before she scooted herself away from the desk.
“Hello,” she said as she approached. “What can I do for you, Delaney?”
I shrugged. “You got my name right, but you made up the rest.”
“I didn’t make anything up.”
“You intimated.”
“That’s not making things up.”
I sighed. “Can we talk somewhere?”
“Now you want tae talk?”
I glared at her—I could feel the heat in my eyes—before I turned to leave. I hadn’t come to her office for a friendly conversation, but this wasn’t going in a good direction at all.
“Wait!” she said as she followed me out the door and to the sidewalk. “Hang on.”
I turned around slowly.
“Look, there was a murder right outside your bookshop. No one would talk tae me. It’s my job tae write the truth. That’s what I wrote, even if there might have been a few unclear things.”
“Those unclear things have put me in a bad light. I did nothing wrong,” I said as we sidled over to an out-of-the-way spot of the sidewalk.
“You wouldn’t talk tae me.”
I sighed again. We were going to keep going around in circles.
Before I could turn to leave again, though, she said, “All right, maybe I stretched things a bit. I’m sorry about that, but I didn’t write untruths.”
She’d apologized. It was a wimpy apology, but I’d take it if I could manage to get any other information out of her.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay. So, are you here tae tell me more about what happened?” she asked.
“I don’t know much
