Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

I explained that I was giving a seminar on book fraud and two bookbinding classes at the book fair this week.

“Can we sit in on your workshop this afternoon?” Mom asked.

I laughed. “You didn’t travel over six thousand miles to sit in a stuffy conference room with me, did you?”

“Of course we did,” she said with a grin.

“Suit yourself, but the subject matter’s pretty dry.”

“You’ll make it sing,” she predicted.

“Why don’t we blow this place for a while,” Dad said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Take a look around town. We’ll be back in time to see you in action.”

“Great idea,” I said. I could tell he was antsy. Dad thrived in the outdoors. He loved working in the vineyards back home, any time of year. Raised to join the corporate banking world of his wealthy father, Dad had rebelled and gone off to follow the Grateful Dead. Then, thanks to the Fellowship, he’d morphed again into a happy, successful farmer. He would have a grand time tramping through the Highlands.

“Helen, do you want to come with us?” Mom asked gently. “Some fresh air might do you good.”

“I’d love to,” Helen said excitedly, then grimaced and looked at me. “But we’re having lunch.”

I laughed. “We can always catch up later. Mom’s right about the fresh air.”

Relieved, she turned to Mom. “I’d love to go with you. Thanks so much.”

Mom had worked her magic again. Maybe she truly did have an enchanted stick somewhere in her purse. If she did, I guess I could’ve used a shot at it myself. On second thought, I was going to let that go.

“I must run off to a meeting now, but I’d like to take you all to dinner tonight,” Derek said out of the blue.

“Really?” I said, pleased by his offer.

“Yes, really,” he said, aiming an intimate smile at me. Was I blushing?

“Oh, Derek!” Mom said after a quick exchange of looks with Dad. “We’d love that.”

“But we’ll take you,” Dad said, getting an early start on the manly tradition of fighting over the bill.

“No, you’re in my territory and I insist,” Derek said with a firm smile. “You’ll be my guests.”

Dad knew when to capitulate. “That’s very generous. Thanks, Derek.”

Helen started to stand and Mom helped her up.

“Thank you,” Helen whispered. “I hate feeling so weak.”

Mom tucked Helen’s arm through hers. “You should try to get your ojas replenished while you’re here. I understand there’s an excellent panchakarma clinic in the Grassmarket.”

Helen raised an eyebrow in my direction and I stepped in to translate for Mom.

“Ojas,” I said. “It’s Sanskrit. Basically, it’s the body’s essential energy, or fluid of life, both physical and spiritual. So this panchakarma clinic will clean you out physically and set you right spiritually through enemas, some therapeutic purging and bloodletting. The usual stuff.”

Her eyes widened.

“Don’t frighten her,” Mom admonished.

“Me? I’m not the one who-Never mind,” I said when Mom gave me the raised-eyebrow look.

She patted Helen’s arm. “When you get to be my age, you’ll find out it’s better to relieve psychic cramping than live with it.”

“Hear, hear,” Dad chimed.

The door opened. “I hate to interrupt.”

I turned to see the burly presence of Detective Inspector Angus MacLeod standing in the doorway. Oh, great. Was I about to be arrested in front of my family and friends? What would my mother do if that happened? Would she threaten MacLeod with an ayurvedic cleansing? Talk about your international incidents.

“Hello, Angus,” Derek said, moving to stand beside me. It wasn’t a good sign.

“Hello, Detective Inspector,” I said, wondering if there was some shorter version of his title I could use, since we were getting to be such close, personal friends.

He glanced around the room until he spied Helen. “Are you all right, miss? The hotel is trying to locate a doctor.”

Helen shook her head. “Please, I’m fine. I don’t need a doctor.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll let the front desk know.”

“Thank you,” Helen said.

MacLeod signaled to an officer outside the door to call the front desk. Then he turned and handed me my canvas tool bag. “We’re finished with these. Please put them in a safe place, Ms. Wainwright.”

“I will. Thank you for returning them so quickly.”

“You’re welcome. Now, I had a few more questions.”

I quickly swept my arm out toward my parents. “Let me first introduce my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright, and this is my friend Robin Tully.”

“How do you do?” he said, tipping his head slightly to my parents. He turned to Robin and said, “How do you…”

His mouth hung open but he was no longer capable of speech. I’d seen it happen before. Some men found Robin, who was gorgeous and petite and fun-loving and stylish, utterly captivating. Apparently, MacLeod was one of them.

“I do just fine,” Robin said in a sultry voice.

I stopped my eyes from rolling back in my head at her obvious come-on, because this was a new and welcome development. Maybe MacLeod wouldn’t be so quick to arrest me if he suspected it would displease the fair Robin. Ooh, maybe he’d get so busy with Robin he’d forget about arresting me altogether.

Hey, we all have dreams.

I didn’t know if she read my mind or not, but Robin turned her charm to full strength and aimed it right at MacLeod. “I was just on my way out to explore your beautiful city, Detective Inspector.”

He slowly salvaged his senses. “I’d be pleased if you’d allow me to act as your guide.”

“How lovely,” Robin purred. I swear, she purred.

“Didn’t you have questions for me?” I asked.

MacLeod didn’t tear his gaze away from Robin as he said, “They can wait.”

“Isn’t that sweet?” Robin murmured.

“Sweeter than pumpkin pie,” I said with a grin. “You kids go enjoy yourselves.”

Left alone in the lobby, I headed for the front desk to retrieve Kyle’s book from the hotel safe. As I stepped forward to speak to the clerk, Royce McVee stormed up to the desk.

“I’ll be checking out directly,” he said, sliding his credit card toward the clerk. “Please prepare my bill.”

The clerk grabbed the credit card and started typing on the keyboard in front of him.

“Royce?” I said. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

He jolted. “Good heavens, Brooklyn. Didn’t see you there.”

“Are you all right?”

He fussed with his collar, huffing and puffing. There was a light sheen of perspiration on his ruddy forehead. “No, nothing’s all right. I’m leaving. With Kyle gone, I don’t know what to do with myself. My clerks can handle the booth and the book fair particulars but I… I need to go.”

“But the police are still investigating.”

Clearly insulted, he darted a look at the clerk before whispering to me, “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing,” I said, waving my hands in protest. “Just thought you might want to take an interest in their findings.”

“They know where to reach me.” He tapped his foot, then exhaled heavily and shook his head. “I’m no good at this. I don’t have Kyle’s facility for superficial small talk. Never did. I have nothing to say to these people. I want to get home.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “Is Kyle’s wife going with you?”

His eyes flared and he clenched his jaw. “That lying tart is not my cousin’s wife.”

I blinked. “Really? Are you sure?”

“I’ve never seen her before in my life,” he said in a quietly furious tone. “And if she thinks she’s getting one iota of McVee Partners Limited, she’s got another think coming.”