The Cracked Spine (5 page)

“Aye, that's correct,” he said without any hesitation at all. “I'm old. I'm not sick. In fact, I'm in the best of health, but I believe it's better tae be prepared than tae have tae scramble later. Don't you?”

“I do. What kind of auction? A book auction?”

“Not today. No, today it will be for something else, but I can't give you the details quite yet.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn't mention out loud that details might help me be able to take over sooner rather than later, but he got it.

“You will understand soon enough,” he said quickly.

Edwin bit the inside of his cheek and inspected me. He was handsome like Cary Grant had been, or maybe more like Jimmy Stewart—classic and precisely groomed, but pale in the same way I'd noticed Hamlet and Rosie were pale, and topped with salt-and-pepper hair that was only salt in his thick eyebrows, which seemed brushed and plucked to perfection. “I've thought about the best way tae introduce you tae everything here at The Cracked Spine. I have a room, Delaney, that is full of things you will find interesting, and it's the place where you'll have a desk. But I think I won't show it tae you quite yet. I think it might be overwhelming at this point.”

“Okay,” I said again. I couldn't imagine why it would be overwhelming, but I liked hearing that my desk would be in the mysterious room. I remembered the red, ornate door, and since I was now mostly over the jet lag I wished I'd tried to convince Rosie to take me through it yesterday, and hoped there'd be enough time to see it later today.

“Very well, let's be off and we'll discuss more as we make our way.” Edwin stood. “Rosie?”

“I'm up at the front,” she responded.

“Will you ring Jenny? Tell her we'll meet her at the location I mentioned tae her yesterday.”

The silence that followed was so heavy that I stood quickly and followed Edwin around the corner. Rosie was sitting behind the front desk and Hamlet stood frozen in place on the rolling ladder, his eyebrows close together as he peered at Edwin.

“Jenny's going tae the auction?” Rosie said.

“Aye, she is. It's part of our … new agreement,” Edwin said. He turned to me. “Jenny is my sister, Delaney.”

I nodded, but was more interested in the now blanched faces on the other bookshop employees.

“I … weel, I'll figure that … somehoo,” Rosie stammered. Hector had been resting on the corner of the desk. He sat up and looked toward Edwin and me.

“Jenny didn't mention…” Hamlet said.

“You talked tae her?” Edwin said.

“Well … not really, it's not … That's brilliant, Edwin.” Hamlet smiled unconvincingly.

Rosie rummaged around in a bag at her feet. A moment later, she pulled out a mobile phone and pushed some buttons. She seemed even more nervous than I felt.

Shortly, she held the phone away from her ear. “Should I leave a message?”

“Aye, do. I'm certain she'll get it. She'll be there on time.” His voice was unsure.

Rosie left the message and I glanced sideways at her and Hamlet as I followed Edwin out of the shop. Rosie was on the verge of being distraught again, and Hamlet had turned his attention back to the books on the shelves.

They were deathly silent, those books. Briefly, I welcomed them into my mind, was willing to listen to them, hoped maybe they'd tell me something important, but their bookish voices weren't talking today. It was the first time that had ever happened, but certainly not the right time to ponder the reasons why. I quickened my pace to keep up with my new boss.

The good part about the tense moments inside the bookshop was that I was no longer thinking so much about myself and I wasn't nearly as nervous by the time Edwin opened his passenger-side car door for me—which was on the wrong side of the vehicle. My brain rebelled. Of all the things I thought I might have to get used to in Scotland, this was not one that had been at the top of the list. Of course, I'd known Scottish people drove on the other side of the road, but it seemed that fact should simply be something understood, not something that would take any sort of supreme effort to comprehend.

The car was a Citroën, a make I recognized because my high school history teacher drove one. His was white and from the '70s, and I thought Edwin's blue one was also from the '70s, but his was in much better shape. The low, curvy vehicle was made in France and always seemed like such a cool vehicle because such a cool teacher drove it. Edwin's ownership of one only made it cooler.

Once on the road and after I'd told myself to quit expecting the g-forces to come from the other direction I inspected my boss's serious and handsome profile.

I wanted to ask what was lying underneath the unspoken words in the bookshop but I couldn't, not so soon in our new employer/employee relationship. Maybe he'd volunteer something as the day went on.

“The locations for the auctions change all the time, Delaney,” Edwin said as he guided the Citroën through a left turn. He was much less jerky with the wheel than the cabdriver Elias had been. “But we do have a favorite place. I can tell you now because we are in the auto, away from curious ears. Today we're going tae Craig House.”

“The location's a secret?”

“Aye, very much so. I can't even tell Hamlet or Rosie, and they are two people I consider my family.” He paused, tapped his finger on his lips, and then continued. “I've only recently told my sister, Jenny. You'll meet her today.”

I mentally wrestled with the wording of my next question. Finally, I just went with the simple version. “Why hasn't Jenny been involved in the past?”

Edwin glanced at me briefly. “There's a history of difficulties with my sister. She's had some issues.” He took a deep breath. “I don't want tae burden you with the details, but she chose a path that led her tae a life that someone like you could never imagine.”

“I have a pretty good imagination, Edwin. I might have grown up on a farm, but I've seen a little grit and ugliness. What sort of choices did she make?” Actually, the only real grit and ugliness I'd seen was from books, television, and movies, but I hadn't been sheltered.

“Drugs. Evil workings, they are. For a long time the worst sort of drugs you can think of. Then the drugs that doctors, mostly bad doctors, prescribe.”

“I see. I'm sorry.” Edwin was at least seventy. “How old is she?”

He sent me a knowing smile. “Fifty-five, much younger than I am, but long old enough tae know better. It's a miracle she's made it this far. A few months back, she and I formed a sort of truce. She promised she'd left that life behind, and I told her I wanted us tae be closer, her tae be involved in my life, my business.”

Drugs. The bad stuff and the bad prescribed stuff. I'd seen some of that, actually, and I knew that welcoming an addict, even a family member, more deeply into your life could be a challenge. But Edwin and Jenny were siblings, and bonds like that tended to thrive on the hope that trust wouldn't end up misplaced.

“How's it been going?” I asked.

“Well,” he said doubtfully.

I waited. He finally looked at me again.

“Maybe not as well as I'd hoped,” he conceded.

“I'm sorry,” I said again.

“Don't worry yourself. I've given her a giant responsibility.” He gulped so hard and in such an unsophisticated way that I could hear it, and I had an urge to put my hand on his arm and offer supportive words, but I didn't do either. “I hope she doesn't disappoint me. She and I argued yesterday, but I hope we mended things enough that today will be better.”

“What did you argue about?” I asked. I sat up higher in the seat.

“Forgive me, lass, but I don't think that would be appropriate tae share.”

“I understand.”

“Here we are anyway. Craig House. It was at one time home tae a psychiatric hospital. It's a lovely old estate, and private. One of our members is a surgeon who acquired the room for us. We all donate tae the upkeep as a thank-you.”

“Sounds like an interesting place.” I looked up at the large, red brick and gray stone building that reminded me of a hospital from another time with its rounded window tops, domed corners, and differing wings, sectioned off but still one with the original architecture. It was perched on a green hill and though it was beautiful, with the appropriate dark sky and murky camera filter it would make the perfect set for a scary movie.

“This part is Craig House. The other parts are a university now.”

“It's old but well cared for.”

“Aye, 'tis. There's history on every corner in Edinburgh. This house, like many others, is thought tae be haunted by the ghosts of its past. Of course when the ghosts were once psychiatric patients from a time when mental illness was treated with cruel and unusual methods, those ghosts are bound tae be a wee bit livelier. But before the hospital owned it, others lived here too. One was John Hill Burton, who was a fascinating man in his own right. He was, among other things, a Scottish historian. He was also secretary to the Prison Board of Scotland and prison commissioner. The way he did and presented his research was unique at the time, and he was well respected. I've heard stories about his ghost being one tae haunt the old place, along with the distressed hospital patients.”

“You know your ghosts.”

“I know my Scottish history. My … well, interests are a result of my love for my country. My country is as important to me as the oxygen I breathe. I will bore you at times, I'm sure.”

“I doubt it. Have you ever seen a ghost?” I asked.

“I have, but not with enough definition tae know exactly who it was when it was alive. For me the ghosties are like charged waves in air, there one minute and gone the next, but leaving one with an unmistakable and memorable jolt.”

I studied his profile again. There was no glimmer of jest in his eyes, no pull of a smile at his mouth.

“Where were you when you saw them, or sensed them?”

“Many places. I'm fairly sure we have one at The Cracked Spine, but he or she doesn't show themselves all that much. Hamlet hasn't seen them. I doubt you will. They seem tae be bothered by Rosie mostly. Sometimes things move of their own accord in her office. It's all very harmless.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Edwin laughed as he turned the key, silencing the engine to cooling clicks. “Have you never experienced something that made you wonder for a brief instant at its validity?”

“Hmm. Not things moving, really. When I was a kid I remember sensing some strange things, but that might have just been because I was a kid. And sometimes I hear books.” I'd said the last part quickly and casually, and then held my breath.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just lines from books I've read, characters' words. They play in my head sometimes. Nothing really. I hope to run into a harmless ghost or two here. Maybe someday.”

“Interesting,” Edwin said.

I nodded but didn't say anything more as we both turned our attention to a burly gentleman walking our direction. He trod heavily, as if he was perturbed, and was dressed in a green and yellow kilt with, as I'd come to think of it, all the trimmings—a sporran around his waist, kilt hose that I would have just called socks with fringe, and a white shirt that reminded me of the one Hamlet had been wearing. The discussion Edwin and I had been having and the approaching man's Scottish postcard look made me wonder if we might be seeing a ghost. I looked for a sword or a dirk, but he held no weapon.

“Here we go, Delaney. Just follow along whatever I say or do. No one will be expecting you today. I hope there won't be too much of a kerfuffle, but watch yourself.”

Edwin got out of the car and came around to my side to open my door. I hesitated a moment before getting out, but it wasn't because I was afraid.

I just happened to think the entire scene was wonderful and crazy enough to want to soak in every detail.

 

FIVE

“Benny, good tae see you,” Edwin said as he extended his hand. “May I present Delaney Nichols from America. She's a new Cracked Spine family member. She'll be attending the auctions.”

Benny scowled. “I thought yer sis was tae be the one a taken yer place some time doon the road, MacAlister,” he said.

“No, Jenny is involved on her own. Now, please help me welcome Delaney. Delaney, this is Benny Milton. He organizes the Fleshmarket Batch auctions. We've shortened it tae just Fleshmarket though. Benny doesn't bid. He's a pub owner by trade, with a law enforcement background. Benny became a permanent fixture with us when he was investigating one of us, who turned out tae be innocent of all charges. He keeps us on the straight and narrow, and would report any of us tae the police with no second thought at all if he thought it necessary. He's a good man and friend.”

I'd hit a mental speed bump when he'd said, “Fleshmarket Batch,” but I caught up soon enough and extended my hand.

“Lass,” Benny said a moment later as he reluctantly pulled his thumbs from the waistband of the kilt and shook my hand like he was both in a hurry and might need an extra arm to take home.

Benny was mostly bald with a few long stray pieces of black hair swooping dramatically back along the sides of his head, all hairs coming to a curled and pointed end at the back. He was big in a way that Kansas folks would describe as beefy. Thick everything, on the heavy side but not terribly so. His dark eyes were disturbingly intelligent and suspicious.

“Well, there, that wasn't so bad,” Edwin said as he placed one big pat on Benny's shoulder.

“Come along then,” Benny said after sending a sideways look toward Edwin. He turned and led the way to the doors, which were located at the end of a small walkway. We followed him in between two reddish brick pillars and then up a short stairway. Two giant white glass ball fixtures hung from the walkway's ceiling.