The Cracked Spine (4 page)

“Oh, I'm not a customer,” I said. “I work here. I'm Delaney Nichols from America.”

“The one from … Kansas?” Rosie said.

“Yes.”

“How delightful, and ye're a wee bit of good news. I can use some good news.”

“It's good to meet you.”

“Ye too. Now, here, hold Hector, and I'll tell ye both all about my morning over a cuppa. I really could use some tea.” She handed me what I'd thought was a small brown rolled-up scarf.

When the scarf licked my hand, I almost dropped it. I realized that she'd handed me a small dog that had only been disguised as winter wear.

“Oh, my.” I smiled down at it through its bangs. It panted back up at me; its pink tongue was the tiniest one I'd ever seen.

“Ah, look there, he's taking a liking tae ye already,” Rosie said.

“I like him too,” I said. It would have been impossible not to immediately fall in love with the creature/dog/teddy bear/scarf imposter, whatever it was.

“Good. Now, Hamlet, let's put a kettle on. I'll tell ye all about my morning run-in.” The kettle whistled, another far-off distant sound like a late-night train. “Ye were prepared? Come along then.” Rosie walked past us to the back table. I caught the scents of lavender and chocolate as she passed.

Hamlet put his hand on my arm.

“She's a wonderful lady, Delaney. You'll get used tae her,” he said quietly.

“I have no doubt,” I said.

Everything inside me was churning. I was a classic case of tired and wired. There was no more waiting, no more “it's almost here,” no more anticipation. I was there, in the middle of a rare manuscript and bookshop, smack-dab somewhere in the middle of Grassmarket in Edinburgh, Scotland, and I'd just met two of the most fascinating coworkers I'd ever had. And I was holding an adorable dog. Not to mention that there was a mysterious warehouse close by. “I have no doubt at all.”

“All right then. Here we go.”

 

THREE

Rosie was old, probably closer to seventy than to sixty, but she wore her age well, proudly, with little attention given to her short, gray coarse hair that stuck up stubbornly in every direction. There was not a stitch of makeup on her face and her wrinkles looked as if she'd ordered them to fall so that they fanned out from her mouth and eyes in an appealing way. She was a lot smaller than I'd originally thought. When she took off her jacket and the scarves around her neck, she proved to be petite and skinny.

The shopping bags had also been filled with scarves. They were her creations. Before we got into the conversation and as he was helping her get comfortable in one of the chairs around the shop's back table, Hamlet explained that Rosie knitted scarves that were sold in a hair salon down the street.

I also learned that Hector went everywhere she went, and though he was hers, he had laid claim to everyone who worked at The Cracked Spine. He rested comfortably on my lap, welcoming the new girl I supposed, as Rosie explained what had happened to her that morning. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to give the dog back to her.

“Och, t'was a horror!” she began, after which she shook her head slowly and then took a sip of tea. Hamlet and I looked at each other. Rosie continued, “I dinnae ken hou the driver didnae see that poor man. I mean we're all crossing at all points all the time. Intersections that dinnae make much sense. Usually, the coach drivers are sae aware.”

“What happened, Rosie?” Hamlet said.

“I was walking down Candlemaker Row minding my own business as I usually do, hauling my scarves and holding tight tae Hector.” At his name, Hector's small head rose briefly and his ears perked, but he relaxed again when he realized there was nothing important to attend to. “And right there, when I wasnae far from Greyfriars Bobby”—she paused and looked at me—“that's a statue of a dog, we'll show ye one of these days.” She took a deep breath and continued, “I heard the screech of brakes, not just any brakes, mind, but big brakes. Big, loud, noisy brakes. I looked up tae see the coach—t'was one of our tourist coaches, double-decker, open top.” She looked at me again, this time as if to see if I knew what she was talking about. I honestly couldn't recall if I'd seen one on the way to the shop or not, but I had a good idea of what she was describing so I nodded. “I looked up just in time tae see it come tae a crooked, lumbered, and infinitely long stop. In those small moments, I saw the man. He stood there in the road, not even at a crossing! Like a fool, he just stood there with his mouth open and his hands in the air. Why-oh-why dinnae he leap oot o' the way? Why didnae he cross at a crossing spot? I just dinnae understand.” Rosie plunked her elbow on the table and then let her forehead fall into her hand.

The heft of Rosie's accent was somewhere between Hamlet's and Elias's. I understood her, but she'd spoken the last few sentences so quickly that I'd had to focus extra hard not to miss a word. I knew now that Elias had slowed his speaking just for me, but though she was undoubtedly a friendly person, I didn't think it would ever occur to Rosie to slow down. It would be my job to keep up.

Hamlet leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, then?”

“I'm fine, Ham, but that coach, it hit him. It wasnae the driver's fault, not really, but no matter whosever fault t'was, I just dinnae ken if that man will make it.”

“So you witnessed that it wasn't the driver's fault?”

“Aye, of course. I
saw
that the man was in the road, not a crosswalk. He was alone. Coach drivers are good at what they do. They stop when they're supposed tae stop, but when someone is in the middle of the road, and the streets aren't at normal angles over there…” Rosie's words trailed off. She blinked and her eyes unfocused as her attention moved to the tabletop in front of her. As an afterthought, she added, “At least, I'm fairly certain that's what I saw.”

“But you're not one hundred percent certain?” Hamlet said after a long thoughtful pause.

“I
was
sure. When the police talked tae me I was as sure as I could be. There was no doot in my mind that I saw what I saw.”

“But there's a chance you didn't?”

“I just dinnae ken, Hamlet,” she said.

Rosie was probably in some shock, and it would be difficult for anyone to digest what she'd witnessed.

“Did you get the police officers' phone numbers?” I asked.

Rosie nodded and patted her pants pocket.

“If you think you saw something different, all you have to do is call them. They'll understand; they run into this sort of thing all the time. They understand that the mind can play tricks on people.” I didn't really know if they'd understand or not. They probably hoped for only reliable witnesses, but I didn't think Rosie should torture herself over perhaps misinterpreting something so awful. Even if the police weren't happy with a changed story, certainly they were used to such a thing happening. I hoped.

“I suppose,” Rosie said. She hadn't shed a tear yet, but I sensed she was on the verge.

“Delaney's right,” Hamlet said. “I'm sorry you had tae see what you saw. I'm sure it was traumatic.”

“Me too,” Rosie said. “They hurried the man who was hit off in an ambulance. Do you think it would be oot of line for me tae stop by hospital and see if he's well enough for visitors?”

Hamlet's eyebrows came together again.

“I guess you could call the police and ask them if that's a good idea,” I said.

“Och, I will. Today, I will call the police and let them know I might not have seen what I thought I saw and ask if it would be all right tae check in on the man. Oh, gracious, I do hope he lives.”

“You know what you should do now, though?” Hamlet said, slapping the tops of his own breeches—I suddenly remembered the word for the type of knee-length tight pants he wore.

“What?” Rosie said.

“You should show Delaney the warehouse. I bet she'd love tae see what's in there.”

“Oh, dear,” Rosie said with an earnest sniffle, “I forgot all aboot the other thing I was tae remember. Edwin wilnae be in today. He has some … well, some family matters tae attend tae. I think he would like tae be the one tae show Delaney the warehouse, and he didnae think she'd be in until tomorrow. In fact, I think he'd be upset if either ye or I did it in his place. He's been blethering on so aboot how best he was tae bring her aboard.”

“Oh,” Hamlet said.

“Shall I ring him, Delaney?” Rosie said.

“No, not at all. I
wasn't
supposed to begin until tomorrow. And, frankly, I'm kind of tired. No, all of a sudden, I'm really beat. I'll grab some sleep so I can start off fresh tomorrow.”

“Ye must be shattered, dear girl,” Rosie said.

I blinked.

“
Extremely
tired,” Hamlet said with a smile.

“Yes,” I said.

“Tomorrow will also begin with an adventure,” Rosie said before she bent forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Edwin's been called tae an auction.”

“A book auction?” I said.

“I dinnae think so,” Rosie said, now just above a whisper.

I blinked again.

“The auctions are … I suppose Edwin will want tae explain that tae you, too,” Hamlet said.

When I looked at him he smiled easily again, but I was pretty sure I saw a glimmer of the artistic torture I'd noticed earlier. Pain. Perhaps something bigger than I'd thought it had been when I'd first noticed it. I sensed something was off between my new coworkers, but it was too soon to know if my instincts were correct or if jetlag was making me overly observant and sensitive. I hadn't even met Edwin yet. It was far too soon to be reading anything into anyone's behavior.

“I can't wait,” I said sincerely as I shook off the wonky vibes.

“All right, weel, I'll check with the police and Hamlet will walk ye up tae yer hotel. Edwin will be in at around seven tomorrow. Will that work for ye?” Rosie said.

“Absolutely,” I said.

The most difficult part of leaving was relinquishing Hector. I was promised that I'd see him again the next day.

When I stood from the chair I realized I was beyond shattered, tired all the way through, the crash now coming on fast and heavy.

Hamlet walked me up the hill to the hotel where I checked in and zigzagged my way through the building to find my comfortable room. I sent my parents a quick e-mail telling them I was safe and sound and would be in touch again soon. I was too tired to do anything else, even look out the windows that probably had a great view of the market. I noticed that it was only around noon when I put my head on the pillow.

I didn't wake again until my alarm sounded the next morning at five.

 

FOUR

He was all elbows. And long legs. Tall. Aristocratic came to mind, but I wasn't sure if that was because of the way he spoke—so beautifully accented and toned—or because of the way he carried his height.

Edwin MacAlister welcomed me with a hug, exclamations of how happy he was I'd made it in one piece, and a box of pastries from the bakery next door. I wasn't hungry and even a French pastry that had been created a mere North Sea away from France couldn't convince my taste buds to come back to life. I nibbled on something with lots of pastry cream, but I didn't really taste it.

I was rested, but deeply nervous.

We'd gone directly to the table in the back, where Hamlet and Rosie both veered by to grab a pastry before moving on to their projects. Rosie, much less distraught than the day before, wore one of her bright red scarves around her neck. I didn't sense a good moment to ask her if she'd visited the man in the hospital but I hoped to later. Hamlet rearranged items on the table and placed some pens in a short, wide drawer on the other side of it. I gathered that this was his work space, but he didn't mind clearing away a few items to make way for the pastry box. He wore old, faded jeans and a white shirt that tied loosely at the neck. Even when he wasn't dressed for a performance, it seemed he held somewhat true to Shakespearean characters.

I might have been watching Hamlet too closely, looking for the strain I thought I'd seen the day before, but I wondered if I caught a tense moment between him and Edwin. They greeted each other tersely and with a too quick release. However, I was now so nervous that I knew I still wasn't in any shape to accurately read what might be going on. I wished my instincts would stop nudging me to pay attention.

I'd woken up a wreck. It had started with the vexing realization that I'd slept almost seventeen hours without stirring once; I wasn't even sure I'd rolled over. That was a lot of sleep, a lot of time to lose. I'd never experienced jet lag, but if the hours I'd spent in a passed-out state had taken care of it like it seemed they had I'd be good to go. Once I relaxed a little.

Then the realities set in. I was starting my new job today. I was meeting my boss. I'd uprooted my life in one of the biggest ways possible. What if I didn't like Edwin or he didn't like me?

We'd arrived at the shop at the same time, and after the hug and friendly greeting, he held the door open and signaled me inside with the pastry box. We'd had nothing but an easy, cordial conversation, but I still couldn't quite relax.

“Today, Delaney, you will learn about one of the tasks I would like for you tae take over from me, very soon if possible, but it's a big task so you'll just need tae be perfectly honest with me as tae when you're ready.”

“Of course,” I said.

“We're going tae an auction. I'll someday give you the leeway tae bid for me.”

“I'll get to spend your money?” I smiled. Truthfully, the idea of spending someone else's money didn't sit quite right with me and my Midwestern make-your-own-way attitude, but I figured I needed to show some confidence.