Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

“Crap,” I muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Derek said.

“Three tools are missing,” I said, poking my fingers in the empty pockets.

“That’s unfortunate,” Derek murmured, glancing at MacLeod.

“Yes, isn’t it?” MacLeod said. “Can you tell which ones are missing?”

“I can’t remember what was in this pocket. One of my knives, I think. Or maybe the polishing iron I brought. No, that’s still here.”

He reached out and stopped me from pulling the polishing iron out of its compartment.

“Don’t touch anything, please,” he said. “We’ll need to dust the remaining tools for fingerprints.”

“Sorry.” I grimaced at the thought that I might’ve destroyed evidence and backed away from the bed. The photographer moved in and snapped a bunch of pictures, then stepped out of the way so that rubber-gloved Richie could move in and fold up the tools. He put them inside another large envelope, then left the room with the photographer and my tools.

“We’ll get everything back to you presently,” MacLeod said.

“I have a workshop in two days,” I said. “Do you think I could have them back by then?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, then dug in his pocket for a business card and handed it to me. “I’ll be around to see you tomorrow, but please call me in the meantime if you think of anything else to tell me.”

I slipped the card in my purse. “I can tell you right now that Kyle received a phone call on his cell while we were at the pub. He told the caller he would meet them in five minutes and he took off. And no, he didn’t tell me who the caller was.”

MacLeod made a note in his pad. “We’ll follow up on that. Thank you.” He nodded at Derek. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

I had a sneaking feeling whom the subject of their conversation would be. Lucky me.

MacLeod reached the door, then turned and pierced me with a look. “I must warn you not to leave the city without informing me.”

I licked my very dry lips. “I won’t.”

“G’night, then,” he said, and took off.

“That was pleasant,” Derek said, tugging on his jacket. “How about a nightcap?”

I should’ve said no, but how could I pass up such a charming offer? Besides, I knew that despite the jet lag, I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. “Maybe just one.”

We went downstairs to the pub and found it packed with book people commiserating over Kyle’s murder. At one table, two women talked quietly while dabbing their eyes with tissues. Over at the bar, several groups were toasting his memory.

I scouted out a small table at the far side of the room while Derek went to the bar. He came back with two healthy shots of Scotch and a small pitcher of water.

He held up his glass and I clinked mine against it. I took a sip and let the heat trickle down my throat, warming my insides all the way to my stomach.

“Better?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said, and took another sip, and felt the warmth slide down my throat. I put my glass down on the table and sat back. “Getting there.”

Derek poured several drops of water into my glass. I took another sip and savored the subtle change in flavor.

“Even better,” I admitted. “Thanks.”

“Good.” He sat back in his chair and studied me as he sipped his Scotch.

“Oh, crap,” I said, smacking my hand on the table and squeezing my eyes shut.

“Now what?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I completely forgot to tell him about Perry.”

“Perry?”

I glanced around the room, then related an abbreviated version of the Robert Burns story. I told him that Kyle had shown the book to three people. The only one I knew for sure was Perry.

“This man Perry is a prime suspect,” he said. “How could you forget to mention it?”

I rubbed my forehead. “I started to but we were interrupted. Then I dropped the ball. Maybe the sight of that bloody hammer caused my brain to empty.”

He shook his head. “Only you.”

“I know.”

I pulled MacLeod’s business card out of my pocket. “It’s late. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow.”

Derek checked his wristwatch. “Call him now.”

I sighed and dialed the number. When MacLeod answered, I told him everything Kyle had said about Perry. I also remembered to mention the poison-pen letters Kyle had told me about. Unfortunately, he’d thrown them away, but you never knew what might help the investigation. He thanked me and promised we’d talk again tomorrow.

I disconnected the call, then noticed Derek staring at me so intently, I began to squirm. “What is it?”

He smiled. “It occurs to me that you owe me a boon for your freedom.”

“I don’t owe you a boon.”

“Of course you do.”

“Hey, what’s a boon, anyway?”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, then blurted, “Maybe you should just go home to your little family.”

“My what?”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Now that I’d opened the can of worms, far be it from me to shut up about it. “I saw you outside Heathrow this morning, getting into a Jaguar with a very pretty woman and her small child who looked just like you, Dad.”

He looked puzzled, then thoughtful. Then he chuckled. “Oh, that’s rich.”

He laughed a little more.

“It’s not funny.”

“No, it’s hilarious,” he said, and barked out another laugh.

“Oh, stop it,” I said grumpily.

He grinned at me. “Where the hell were you? Why didn’t you say hello?”

“Oh, and when would I have done that? When you were hugging your wife? Or maybe when you were laying a big fat wet one on her lips? Or maybe when you were cooing at your little baby who, I repeat, looks remarkably like you, God help him?”

“He is the handsome lad, isn’t he?” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh, whatever.”

He laughed again. “A big fat wet one?”

“I should go now.” I took one last sip, then pushed my chair back.

He grabbed my hand to keep me seated. “You silly git, that wasn’t my wife and baby.”

“I’m a silly git now?” I said, my voice rising. “Git. What does that mean, anyway? Some kind of feeble-brained nutball or something? That’s real nice.”

I tried to stand but he clutched my arm tightly to hold me down.

“It means you’re wrong, love.”

“Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t matter. It’s been a long day. I should-”

“No.”

“Yes, really, I’ve hit my quota of humiliating moments for the day.” I managed to stand. “Thanks for vouching for me earlier. I appreciate not having to spend the night in a cold jail cell. Good night. Sweet dreams. Ciao.”

He stood, too, and blocked my escape. “You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I’m delighted.”

“And I live to delight you.” I turned and walked out of the pub.

He caught up and took hold of my arm. “Listen to me, those people are not my-”

“ Brooklyn, is that you?”

I turned at the sound of my name. “What? Oh. Hi, Helen.”

Ignoring Derek, she threw her arms around me. “I’m so glad the police let you go.”

“Well, of course they let me go,” I said with a nervous laugh as I pulled away. “What did you think?”

“But I saw you leave with that detective,” she said, wringing her hands. “Nobody’s seen you for hours. I was so afraid they’d arrested you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if-”

“I’m fine,” I said, rubbing her arm consolingly. The woman was turning into a basket case. “Helen, this is Derek Stone. Commander Stone, this is my friend, Helen Chin.”

He frowned at me, then turned to Helen and smiled politely. “How do you do?”