My fists bunched up under the table. “I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’m trying to figure out who set me up.”
“That’s for the police to handle,” he said rigidly, drumming his fingers on my notebook. “If you’d let them do their job-”
“They’ve done their job,” I whispered irritably. The whole restaurant didn’t need to know I was a suspicious character, did they? “If Angus MacLeod had his way, I’d be languishing in a jail cell right now. The only reason I’m wandering around a free woman is because of you. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but that doesn’t give me a whole lot of confidence in your pal Angus’s ability to be objective.”
He paused a beat too long before saying, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“That was not convincing,” I declared. “Which means you agree with me. This can’t be good.”
“I’m not agreeing with you,” he hedged. “Not exactly.”
“My confidence is soaring.”
“Now, look, don’t worry about Angus. He’s simply a stubborn Scotsman.” He paused, then said, “Now, that’s something to worry about.”
“Oh, great.”
“I’m teasing you.”
“This isn’t a good time.”
He smiled and reached for my hand. “Don’t worry, love. Angus is a reasonable man.”
“I’m buoyed by your optimism,” I said. Despite his claims, I could tell Derek was worried about how Angus was investigating this murder. In other words, I was screwed.
“Look,” I continued, “why should the police go to any trouble trying to figure out who set me up for murder? As far as they’re concerned, I’m the perfect suspect. The murder weapon belongs to me and I knew the victim. I was probably one of the last people to see him alive. End of story. Throw her in jail.”
“You’re being overly dramatic.”
I laughed. “Oh, please. You think this is dramatic? This is nothing. Wait’ll I get rolling.”
He waved his arm. “Check, please!”
“Very funny.”
The waitress came running and I handed her my credit card. A few minutes later, we were out on the street. Derek took my hand and we walked back to the hotel, passing pubs and charming shops. One drew my attention and I stopped to stare in the window. I needed a minute to think before I got caught up in the book fair activities back at the hotel, and shopping for tacky souvenirs for my family was a perfect diversion. And better to buy them now before I got locked away in a dungeon somewhere.
I dragged Derek into the store and bought the plaid shot glasses I’d spied through the window. Plaid shot glasses. The perfect gift for my dad and three brothers. While I was in there, I found cute plaid socks for my sisters and Mom. This place was a treasure trove of tartan madness, and I knew my peeps would appreciate my thoughtfulness. Plus, shopping took my mind off the whole pesky, being-railroaded-for-murder thing.
Derek browsed while I paid for my gifts and then we headed back to the Royal Thistle.
“It occurs to me I didn’t finish telling you about the woman at the airport,” he said.
“Didn’t you?” I said, not sure I wanted to know the truth. I braced myself.
“No, I believe we were interrupted.”
“Were we?”
He put his arm around me and I realized it was going to be bad news. He was married. I knew it. How stupid could I get-again? I should’ve pushed him away but I couldn’t. I would savor the warmth for a few more minutes, then never see him again.
“Her name is Delia,” he said. “She’s my brother’s wife.”
I stopped and stared at him. “You’re having an affair with your brother’s wife?”
He laughed as he shook his head. “No, you daft woman. She was doing me a favor, coming to Heathrow. I hadn’t seen the baby in months, so she picked me up and I took them to lunch.”
“Oh.” Was my face red? “Did your brother join you?”
“No.” He reeled me back to his side and we continued walking arm in arm. “He’s a general with the Royal Army, stationed in Afghanistan. He won’t be back for six more months.”
“Ah.” I felt stupid and small for reacting so badly.
“But thank you for reacting so badly,” he said.
I drew back. Could he read my mind?
“It makes me think you might care for me,” he said.
I stopped again. “Well, of course I care for you,” I said crossly. “Are you blind or something?”
He laughed again as he wrapped his arms around me. “There’s that sweet disposition I’ve missed so much.”
“Sorry.” Maybe I was going nuts, but I really wanted him to kiss me.
And maybe he was psychic, because he reached out and stroked my cheek. “Your eyes make me crazy,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from my face.
“Crazy?” I whispered. “Really?”
“Really.” Then he kissed me, right on the street. Well, on the mouth, actually, but we were standing on the street. Oh, hell. The man turned my brain to mush.
But what a mouth he had.
Eventually, we started walking again. He stayed by my side as I stopped at the front desk and asked them to hold my bag of souvenir goodies. Then we crossed the lobby and stepped onto the crowded escalator to go downstairs to the memorial service.
“You don’t have to go to this thing,” I said, giving him an out but hoping he wouldn’t take it. Among other reasons, I wanted Derek to be close by in case Angus MacLeod was in the vicinity.
“I don’t mind tagging along for a bit,” he said, and wrapped his arm around my waist as we rode down the escalator. At the bottom, he nudged me off.
“I know how to get off an escalator,” I mumbled.
“Just being helpful.”
“Or not.”
He grinned at me. For some perverse reason, that made me smile.
We followed the crowd to the hall where the service was to take place. Several hundred chairs were lined up in rows, facing a podium at the front of the room. The place was filling up fast. He prodded me into the fourth row from the back while he took the aisle seat.
“You’re being helpful again,” I said.
“Yes, now sit.”
Before I could sit, I spotted Royce McVee standing just across the aisle. I knew I had to tell him about the Robert Burns book. He would probably want it back, since it belonged to his family, but maybe I could convince him to let me keep it for a while. I edged my way to the aisle and called his name.
He turned, saw me, and walked over. “ Brooklyn.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I gave him a hug.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said.
Kyle always said that Royce’s sphincter made him the perfect business partner. While Kyle was the front man, the glad hand, the schmoozer, Royce never took his eye off the bottom line. Kyle would say that combination made for the perfect partnership.
But Royce McVee was more than Kyle’s business partner. They were cousins. They’d inherited the family business from their fathers, two brothers, both of whom had been knighted for their loyalty to the crown. Kyle was the public face, the upbeat personality who had built up the clientele and made the money Royce counted in the back room. Royce was a nice enough guy but bland. He had pale skin, his hair was thinning and his chin was slightly too small. He was hardly the dynamo his cousin Kyle had been, and I wondered what would happen to the business now that he was top dog. I assumed Royce would inherit everything.
And wasn’t that a nice motive for murder?
Royce’s eyes were red and his shoulders were more slumped than usual. He appeared awkward and self-conscious as he glanced around the room. “Everyone loved Kyle.”
“Yes, they did,” I said. “He was one lovable guy.”
“Always the life of the party,” he said with a tinge of resentment. When he finally met my gaze again, he managed a thin smile. “I should go find the committee members. Perhaps we can speak later.”
“Sure.” I squeezed his arm in sympathy and he walked away. This was clearly not the time to tell him about the Robert Burns book after all, but I knew I’d have to do it eventually.
Feeling even more depressed, I took the seat Derek held for me.
“Friend?” Derek asked.
“Kyle’s cousin. I suppose he’ll inherit everything.”
“And you’re thinking motive,” he whispered.
I frowned. “I didn’t say that.”
I heard his snort of disbelief but ignored it as I turned to see who was seated nearby. I nodded to a few familiar faces, then noticed Peter and Benny, two bookseller friends, seated behind us. Peter leaned forward and invited me to their private cocktail party later in the week.
“I’d love to,” I said, feeling a little more buoyant than before.
“Ooh, and bring that one along,” Peter said under his breath as he made eyes at Derek, who paid no attention.
“Pretty,” Benny cooed.
“He wouldn’t miss it,” I said, patting Derek’s knee.
They both giggled.
I turned around in time to see Helen walking past us. I called her name and waved.
“Come sit here,” I said, then took a quick look around to see if Martin was with her. Happily, he wasn’t.
She nodded cautiously to Derek as she slipped past him and sat on my other side. “Thanks. I don’t think I could face this by myself.”
“Isn’t Martin here?” I asked.
She gave me a dour look. “Even if he was, I don’t want to sit with him.”
“Oh.” Well, thank goodness for that.
Peter tapped Helen on the shoulder. “Hey, girl.”
Helen squealed and jumped up. She leaned over the chair and hugged both men, who invited her to the cocktail party, too.
When she sat back down, she was flushed and happy, but she quickly turned serious and grabbed my hand. “I want to apologize for this morning. It was a fluke. Martin happened to come along and I was still feeling vulnerable from last night, so he consoled me. He can be okay when he wants to be.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t stay. I just-”
She held up her hand. “Please, I know he’s a pain. And he wouldn’t take the hint and leave, so I didn’t blame you one bit. Are we still on for lunch?”
“Of course.” I leaned in closer to her. “So Martin knew about you and Kyle?”
“Oh, God, no.” She clutched my arm for emphasis, then whispered, “No one knew about Kyle and me. Please don’t say anything to anyone.”
“You know I won’t. It’s just that you said he was consoling you.”
Her lips quivered and she blinked back tears. “Because he knew I found the body.”
“Ah,” I said, not believing for a minute that Martin had merely been consoling her. He was the ultimate manipulator and would probably do anything to get her back in his life. I wondered if maybe Helen was wrong, that maybe Martin had known about her affair with Kyle. It would make him the perfect suspect for Kyle’s murder. And there wasn’t anyone I’d rather see behind bars. Well, except for Minka, but that dream would probably remain unfulfilled forever.
The problem with Martin being a suspect was that I couldn’t see him taking the time and trouble to sneak into my hotel room and steal my stuff. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy seeing me squirm in front of the police, but Martin was the poster boy for indolence. He simply wasn’t the type to get his hands dirty. And climbing up that old fire escape to my room would’ve been a dirty job.
And for Martin to actually murder someone would mean that blood might spray all over him and those white linen pants he was forever wearing. And what was with those pants, anyway? What was he, the master of the croquet tournament? No guy wore white linen pants every day, did he? I mean, never mind the dirt. What about the wrinkles?
Okay, maybe I was being snotty. I knew this wasn’t about white linen pants, because to be honest, I owned a pair or two myself. It was just Martin. I didn’t like him, in case that wasn’t clear. He was mean and persnickety. Killing someone would mean getting dirty, and I didn’t think he had the guts to do it.
I glanced out at the crowded room. “So where is Martin?”
Helen looked around nervously. “He said he’d be here, but I hope he doesn’t come. I can’t deal with him. Not while everyone’s talking about Kyle.”
Derek’s shoulder was pressed against mine, so I knew he was eavesdropping and I was glad of it. He was the one person who might be able to get me off the suspect list, so I was happy to have him listen in on any conversation that would help the cause.
Winifred Paine walked to the podium to welcome everyone, then began to talk about Kyle. Winnie was the elderly, powerful president of the International Association of Antiquarian Booksellers. I’d known her forever and admired her a lot. She was like the cranky grandmother who sent you to your room, then secretly sneaked cookies up to you.
“He was one of our own,” Winnie said, then sniffled and blew her nose with a lacy hankie. “Simply a darling man. A bookseller of sterling reputation and such a gentleman. So full of life. I’m… oh, dear, I don’t know what I am. Devastated. Utterly… devastated.” She swept her arms up to include the throng. “As many of you are, as well.”
Winnie Paine was a classy, authoritative woman who ruled the organization with an iron fist. I’d never seen her so overwhelmed with emotion, and watching her fumble her words made my throat swell in sympathy. I must’ve made some pitiful mewling sound, because Derek held out his handkerchief for me to use. And that was enough to cause my own tears to fall.
It’s been said before: Nobody cries alone when I’m in the room. As I dabbed my eyes and blew my nose, Winnie cleared her throat and introduced Reverend Anderson, a local Anglican minister, to say a few words of comfort.
A very tall, scrawny, middle-aged man with thinning hair came to the podium, opened a small book and began to recite prayers. “Most merciful God, whose wisdom is beyond our understanding…”
I tuned out, as I tended to do when religious people started praying on my behalf. I admit I could get a little impatient with mumbo jumbo church talk. I’d been raised in a commune with lots of all-inclusive, laid-back, cosmically lyrical preaching. But it wasn’t just about that. The good Reverend Anderson didn’t know Kyle and it was obvious. His generic words weren’t personal, and I wanted to hear wonderful words spoken about Kyle by someone who knew him.
But then, maybe I was being unfair. Perhaps his words were soothing to others in the room.
I glanced around, noticing the dark mustard wallpaper and somewhat tacky burgundy candelabra sconces for the first time. I imagined Kyle would have been appalled to know that his memorial service was taking place here in this generic hall. He probably would’ve preferred to be memorialized at an elegant winery somewhere in the Dordogne Valley, overlooking the vineyards and meandering hillsides dotted with castles and châteaux and old-world villages.
“Amen,” said Reverend Anderson.
“Amen,” murmured the crowd.
I stared at the backs of all the people and suddenly realized the murderer might be in the room. He had to be here, gloating. He wouldn’t miss it. The smug bastard.
The thought made me shudder.
Derek must’ve noticed, because he took hold of my hand and tried to rub some warmth back into it.
Next, Royce stood up and went to the front of the room. His eulogy was banal, but at least he’d known Kyle and could say something from the heart. His speech was mercifully short, and everyone seemed grateful for that.
I watched Royce as he walked back to his seat. He was a few years older than Kyle, about the same height but a bit pudgy and soft around the middle. I wondered if he might’ve killed his more attractive, popular cousin. I’d met Royce once or twice when I was dating Kyle but didn’t really know him. Which meant he probably didn’t hate me enough to steal my hammer and use it as a murder weapon.
Damn, that hammer was a real sticking point.
Winnie returned to the podium, scanned the crowd of three hundred or so and asked, “Would anyone else like to speak?”
She waited a beat, and when no one stood up, she said, “Is Brooklyn Wainwright in the room?”
“Huh?”
Derek was taken aback, too, and frowned at me.
“I didn’t do anything,” I whispered.
Everyone turned and strained to get a look at me. Was she going to point me out to the cops?
“ Brooklyn, dear,” Winnie said kindly, “I know you were one of Kyle’s special chums. Would you be willing to share some memories with us?”
I groaned inwardly. This felt too much like high school, with me in the role of bad student being culled from the herd for purposes of ridicule. I hated high school.
“Come on, dear,” Winnie coaxed.
Derek squeezed my hand. “You can do it, old chum.”
“Oh, shut up,” I whispered. Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I stood and walked down the long aisle to the podium.
I coughed once to clear my throat. “Kyle was, well, more than a friend,” I said humbly. “He was-”
A door banged open at the back of the room, and some woman shrieked at the sudden noise. That caused a few people to jump to their feet to see what the commotion was all about.
My view was blocked, so I stood on tiptoe to get a look. No luck. The chattering crowd grew louder as more people stood up to watch whatever was going on.
I left the podium and moved toward the aisle and finally saw what was causing the disturbance.
Minka LaBoeuf.
Why was I not surprised?
We all watched in amazement as she half dragged a sobbing woman down the aisle with her. Minka’s face alternated between apprehension at the crowd’s disapproval and disgust with her sniveling companion. But I detected a gleam of triumph in her beady eyes.
I didn’t recognize the woman with her. She was taller than Minka but wispy, as though a soft breeze would knock her off her feet. She was blond and her face was pale and thin. Her gray raincoat was buttoned up tight and she wore a pink pashmina over her head and around her neck as though she’d been grabbed on her way to church. She looked fragile and frankly terrified, like a lamb being led to slaughter.
Minka, on the other hand, looked like a derelict Goth in frayed, tight black leather pants and matching way-too-tight vest over a purple mock-turtleneck sweater. And too much makeup, as usual. Wait. Were those pants pleather? Oh, dear God.
Minka marched right up to me and snarled, “Am-scray.”
I held my hand over the microphone and whispered, “Are you nuts? Get out of here. I’m not finished.”
Heck, I hadn’t even started.
She elbowed me out of the way and leaned into the microphone. “Everybody sit down and shut up. I have an announcement to make.”
“Wait a minute,” I said.
Minka snapped her fingers. “Serena. Stand over here.” She pointed to the other side of the podium.
Before the wispy woman could move, I grabbed Minka’s arm and pulled her away from the podium.
“You can wait until I’m through talking,” I said.
“Fuck off, Brookie.” She wrenched her arm away, then tried to push me again, but before she could do it, I caught her hand, twisted it and shoved it away from me.
“Ow! You bitch!” she shrieked. “That hurts.”
“Yeah?” I gave her hand another rough twist. “Well, don’t call me Brookie.”
She yanked her hand away and darted back to the microphone.
I got hold of her slimy pleather vest and hauled her farther away from the podium as three hundred people-some of them potential clients, damn it-attempted to watch every move and hear every word.
“Let go of me!” she wailed. “I have a right to talk!”
“After me,” I said through clenched teeth as I clutched her arm tightly. I hadn’t even wanted to talk before, but now I was determined not to let Minka push me off the stage. Kyle had been my friend, damn it. Minka didn’t have the right to talk about him.
“We take our turns,” I said. “It’s how civilized society operates.”
“Oh, screw you and your civil society.” She struggled to get away. “When I’m finished talking, nobody’ll care what you have to say.”
I still had a tight grip on her arm, so she swung her other arm around and smacked the side of my head.
“Damn it,” I said. “I’m sick of you hitting me.” I snatched hold of her oily ponytail and pulled until she was bent backward and bellowing like a farm animal. I continued to pull her down until we were both on our knees. She had both arms free to punch and slap me as I jerked and twisted her head every which way.
Without warning, two strong arms pulled me back; at the same time someone else pulled Minka away from me.
“No!” I protested. “Let me kill her, please.”
“Easy there, champ,” Derek said as he effortlessly hauled me out of harm’s way.
“Son of a bitch,” I grumbled. “I almost had her.”
“Yes, you did,” Derek uttered close to my ear as he scooted me farther away. “We’re all really proud of you.”
“Thanks.”
I noticed with some satisfaction that Detective Inspector Angus MacLeod was the one struggling to hold on to Minka. She wasn’t going meekly.
The wispy blonde, Serena, stood a few feet away, wide-eyed and trembling.
“Who the hell is she?” I wondered aloud.
“I’m afraid we’ll find out soon enough,” Derek said as he urged me back toward our seats. I stopped in the middle of the aisle and watched Minka grapple for the microphone despite the detective’s grip on her. I should’ve warned him about the pleather. That stuff made her slippery as a seal.
“Listen to me,” Minka yelled, causing feedback to scream back at her. She pointed at the pale blond woman she’d dragged in with her. “This is Serena McVee! She’s Kyle’s wife. Or I should say, his widow.”
“What?” I said, and turned to find Helen in the crowd.
“No.” Helen gasped, and jumped to her feet. “No, she’s-” She stopped, couldn’t seem to catch her breath and began to sway. I stood watching as her eyes rolled back in her head and she dropped like a stone.
“You know how I feel about women fainting,” Derek said as he paced the floor in front of the settee where Helen lay passed out.
Despite his ambivalence, minutes ago he’d swept Helen into his arms, yelled at Angus to call a doctor, and carried her out of the memorial service into the smaller sitting room down the hall. I’d shut the door and now the two of us stood by as she remained passed out on the couch.
“I seem to remember you had a slight problem with it,” I said.
That was putting it mildly. Derek and I had met when Abraham died. Derek had pointed a gun at me and accused me of killing Abraham and stealing a priceless book, and I’d fainted right in front of him. He’d been unmoved, apparently, and had slapped me a few too many times trying to revive me. I hadn’t appreciated it. It was the beginning of our beautiful friendship.
“Maybe I should find a washcloth for her forehead,” I said.
“She’ll come around when she’s ready.”
“Did she hit her head on anything?”
“No.” Derek turned his attention to me. “How are you doing?”
I flexed my fingers and massaged my knuckles. “Great. That’s been a long time coming. You should’ve let me pummel the wicked witch.”
He grabbed my hand and examined it. “I would have, but she fights dirty. I was afraid she’d mar your pretty face.”
With a sigh, I said, “I don’t suppose MacLeod heard what I said out there.”
He pursed his lips. “You mean the part where you begged me to let you kill Minka?”
I closed my eyes, nodded. “Yeah, that part.”
He chuckled. “I believe everyone in the room heard it.”
“Oh, swell.”
“If it’s any consolation, the bookies had you at four-to-one odds.”
“Did you have money on me?”
“Of course, and you held the crowd’s sympathies, as well.”
“That counts for something.”
“Bet your ass,” he said, then tugged me closer. “Now tell me where it hurts.”
“Everywhere,” I whispered.
He kissed my cheek and moved his lips to my ear. “Much better,” I said, sighing.
“Wild women fighting,” he murmured in disapproval. “Half the men were drooling over the prospect of watching a real live catfight. I thought I might have to battle some of them, as well.”
“My hero.” I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck as he ran his lips along my jaw.
“Hey, there y’all are!”
That voice. I knew that voice.
“Oh, Christ,” Derek muttered. “I don’t believe it.”
He pushed away in time for me to be swooped up in a hug so tight, I nearly swooned.
“Oh, sweet Mother of God.” I gasped.
“That’s right, baby girl,” my mother said. “Look out, Scotland, here come the Wainwrights!”