The Burning Pages, page 21
“And who knows where that might have led, after he told Malcolm?”
“Where indeed. Unfortunately, we didn’t get to talk to Malcolm much about it, but if he’d been angry back then, like the letter Neil wrote to Artair said, he sure seems to have gotten over it. Read it one more time aloud please.”
Apparently it wasn’t just my husband’s singing voice that I felt I could listen to forever, or at least for the rest of our lives.
Tom smiled and then read it again.
THIRTY-ONE
I let the sun warm my face for a good long minute. It was cold outside, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and I couldn’t possibly let the moment pass without enjoying the warm rays on my skin. Winter wasn’t quite as harsh here as I’d experienced in Kansas, but clouds and rain or snow were almost constant cold-weather companions in Scotland.
Still, though, I was in a hurry to get to the bookshop. I’d already received a text from Hamlet saying he was on his way in. Then a text from Rosie saying that he’d arrived. We were all on close Hamlet watch.
“Ready?” Wyatt came up behind me.
“You going with me today?”
“Absolutely. I’m sure Rosie will need my help at the bookshop. You and Hamlet will be off doing something.”
“I really do work hard,” I said.
“I know. I know you, and you don’t know how to not work hard. This is important, though. Hamlet’s a good guy. I don’t want him framed or anything, you know?”
“I agree. Thanks, Wyatt.”
“Of course.”
I’d thought about what had occurred to me regarding Neil’s library coworkers and had come to the conclusion that I needed to talk to Hamlet before I did anything else, to ask him how it had gone with Inspector Winters. I was grateful he’d been released. We all were.
I turned my face away from the sun, and Wyatt and I set off for the bus stop.
Today, Hector didn’t greet us as we entered. Instead, he and Rosie were in the back with Hamlet, probably unwilling to leave his side for the foreseeable future.
“Hey,” I said when we joined them. “You okay?”
Hamlet nodded. “Fine. I told the truth, Delaney. The police know it was me going into the Burns House with Neil.”
I sat. “Well, you’re not under arrest, so it must be okay.”
Hamlet shared a forced smile with Rosie. “I don’t think it’s okay, but it could be worse, I suppose. I didn’t kill him, but I’m not sure they’ll find the real killer. They’ve got absolutely nothing else. They still might come for me.”
“Did Rosie talk to you about the manuscript?”
“She did. I have no recollection of how it got into the shop,” Hamlet said. “I don’t remember reading or filing it, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t.”
“There’s no record of us purchasing it either,” Rosie added. “It might have just been given to us.”
“And you don’t remember that happening?” I asked Hamlet.
“No, not at all. I really don’t remember anyone saying they suspected Burns had written it. That would have been cause to call Edwin.”
I nodded. “We should tell Inspector Winters about it.”
“I’m not sure it means anything to their investigation.”
“What did Lena say?”
Hamlet shrugged. “That it was good I told the truth, though I don’t really think she believed as much. I think she just said what she thought she should.”
“Did you hear about the fire last night?” I asked.
“I did,” Hamlet said. “I’m so glad no one was hurt. It happened when I was still being questioned, but it feels wrong to be relieved about that.”
“I get it,” I said. “Inspector Winters should know about that fire.”
“If his fellow officers didn’t tell him, I did,” Rosie said. “I called him first thing. Had to leave a message. I told him about the manuscript too. Weel, I told him he might be curious about it. I havenae heard from him yet.”
“Good.” I should have known Rosie would do what she thought needed to be done.
“Hamlet, how well do you know the couple who worked with Neil at the library, Barbara and Ethan Cunningham?” I said.
“I don’t really know them at all. I met them when I was there researching, but I didn’t have many conversations with them.”
“Do you think Neil could have shown them the manuscript?”
“I don’t know. Probably. I sensed they were close.”
Rosie nodded and looked at me. “Delaney knows how to authenticate things. I imagine they do too, but that might not matter.”
“I think you and Delaney should go up and talk to them,” Wyatt interjected. “You didn’t get the answers from Malcolm that you were looking for. Maybe Neil talked to them about Malcolm giving him the manuscript.”
“I agree.” Rosie nodded.
I looked at Rosie and Wyatt. “You think it might be important?”
Wyatt nodded enthusiastically.
Rosie nodded once. “Lass, you two go. Honestly, I dinnae care if you go to the library or not; you two go for a walk, get some air.”
“Sis, you’re wound tighter than a drum.” Wyatt looked at Hamlet. “You’ve been through the wringer. It’s all good. Rosie and I got this.”
“Okay, if you think—” Hamlet said.
“We do,” Rosie said.
Hamlet and I took off for the library. Once we were outside in the cold, it was obvious that Rosie and Wyatt had been on to something. The fresh air was good, and having a task was even better. We stuck our heads into Tom’s pub on the way and sent his employee and good friend Rodger a quick greeting. Tom had left the house early to meet a supplier and would probably be at the pub by the time we headed back to the bookshop.
At the library, I was glad Les was at the counter again. He recognized me immediately but didn’t seem to know Hamlet. Keeping my voice low because today there were lots of people around the big table, I asked if we could talk to Barbara and Ethan.
Les stepped back from the counter and used the phone on the far desk to call the room upstairs. Only a moment later, he nodded and sent us on our way.
Both Barbara and Ethan were there, in front of the counter to greet us, their wide eyes hopeful and curious.
“Do you know anything new about Neil?” Barbara asked.
“I’m sorry, we don’t,” I said as I closed the door. “Do you guys remember Hamlet?”
“Aye. Lad.” Ethan extended his hand. “Come in. It’s crowded in here, but Barbara and I will move to the other side of the counter.”
As they went around, I second-guessed my decision to come talk to them. They wanted news about Neil just as much as, if not more than, everyone else.
Nevertheless, I said, “Do either of you know anything about a manuscript Neil had, something he thought might have been written by Robert Burns?”
“No,” they both said quickly.
I pulled the papers from my bag and showed them.
They both shook their heads as they glanced at Jacob’s strange adventure.
“No, lass, he never once showed this to us,” Barbara said. She looked at Ethan, who also shook his head.
There was no need to ask if they were sure. It was clear they were telling the truth.
“Thank you. We’re sorry to bother you,” I said.
I didn’t know what it would have meant if they’d seen the manuscript, but the fact that they hadn’t did make me wonder about Neil not showing it to them.
“This is a copy,” I said. “But if he’d given you something that looked like an original … would you mind taking a quick look at this and see if it could have come from Robert Burns’s time?”
They both nodded and slipped on reading glasses. They looked at the manuscript for only a few moments.
“No, lass, this is much more contemporary,” Ethan said quickly. Barbara nodded in agreement.
“The language?” I asked.
“Aye,” the couple said.
“I thought so too.” I paused. “Thank you.”
How had Malcolm not known? He didn’t work in a library, but he’d owned a bookshop, he knew words. Edwin had no doubt it wasn’t authentic.
“We’re sorry we don’t have better news regarding the manuscript,” Ethan said, pulling me out of my reverie.
I smiled. “It’s okay. Thank you.”
Barbara’s eyes opened wide as she looked at Hamlet. “Oh, lad, I might have something for you.”
She turned and made her way around the big shelves, returning only a few seconds later. “I found this.” She handed Hamlet a piece of paper with a copy of a photograph. “That’s the Strangelove women.”
I nudged myself so close to Hamlet, it was a surprise I didn’t knock him over.
Barbara pointed. “There. That’s Letitia, Wilma, and Dora.”
I saw it again, the resemblance between Hamlet and his mother. It was distinct, and I could immediately tell they were related. A heavy sense of foreboding did land in my gut, though. The woman in the picture didn’t resemble the one in the sketch I’d acquired. I was pretty sure they weren’t the same woman. I felt doubts creep in, but I didn’t want to give them a voice. Hamlet had his heart set on solving a mystery. I couldn’t just drop that bomb on him. Turned out, I didn’t need to.
“Oh,” Hamlet said, the word sinking.
“What?” I asked, but knowing what he was concluding.
He looked up at me with a sort of panic in his eyes. “This isn’t the woman Neil knew as Dora. I have no doubt that this isn’t her. I’ve never seen this woman before, even an older version.”
“Are you sure?” I looked at it again. “She would have aged a lot since this picture was taken, Hamlet. It was probably … well, before you were born.” But I knew too.
“No, that’s not it. There’s no way this is the same person. Clearly, this woman is small-framed. The performer isn’t. I mean, she’s thin, but has wide shoulders. And, here, I get a sense of Dora’s height—I’ve met Letitia, and she’s petite. So is Dora in this picture. The street performer is tall.”
“But she said her name is Dora, right?”
“Aye.” Hamlet shrugged, trying hard to hide his disappointment. “That’s what she said.”
“If not Dora Strangelove, who is she, then?” I said.
Hamlet shrugged. “I have no idea.”
I looked at Barbara and Ethan, who also shrugged.
The manuscript suddenly didn’t matter at all. This new information seemed much more important. Was someone impersonating Dora Strangelove? And why?
We thanked the couple, promising once again to let them know if we learned anything new, and then left the library with the copy of the picture.
“Do you mind if we go talk to Letitia?” I asked Hamlet.
For a moment, I thought he might tell me he didn’t want to, and I couldn’t have blamed him. Letitia was his great-grandmother. Things had shifted in the universe since the last time he’d visited, and maybe she would recognize him now, or he might tell her who he was. Something other than a friendly visit could occur. I’d go by myself if he wasn’t ready.
“Sure.” Hamlet nodded. “Aye. Let’s go.”
THIRTY-TWO
Letitia was working.
The last time I was there, the door had been unlocked. This time, it was not only locked, but a sign hung from the knob that said FORTUNE UNFOLDING INSIDE. COME BACK IN AN HOUR.
“Now what?” I said.
“I don’t know, Delaney.” Hamlet looked at the picture of the Strangelove women again. “I can’t believe this is my mother. I can’t believe I thought the other woman was. I’m trying to catch up to everything.”
The door opened suddenly, the force sending Hamlet and me back a step or two.
A young woman exited. She wasn’t upset, but she didn’t return my quick smile. She was surprised to see us and started, then took off before we could say anything.
“Everything okay?” I asked Letitia, who’d come to the door as well.
Letitia frowned but didn’t answer. I saw recognition in her eyes when she looked at me and then even more when she looked at Hamlet.
“I thought you’d be by soon enough,” she said as she turned to make her way back to her side of the table. “Come in and close the door.”
I lowered my voice and said to Hamlet, “I bet that’s what all the fortune-tellers say.”
The small joke was enough to relax us both, at least a little, as we made our way inside, shutting the door and sitting across from the old woman.
“Did you find Dora?” she asked me.
“I don’t think so. I mean, we thought we did, but it turns out it’s likely not her.”
“But you thought you had? Tell me,” Letitia said.
I’d thought about how to approach this. There were a few different angles, but it seemed all of them except one contained too many lies to keep track of.
I sighed. “Letitia, I think you know more about what happened to Dora than you’ve shared, but that’s your right, of course. I wish you’d tell us more now, though.”
She lifted her chin in slight defiance, but I suspected it was just for show.
“It’s time,” I said. I nodded at Hamlet. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
Her defiance melted, and, as if she’d turned on a faucet, tears flowed from her eyes. Whatever façade she’d been maintaining, it crumbled.
“I didn’t. Not at first.”
Hamlet and I waited as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue and then stuck it up the sleeve of her fortune-teller robe. It was an endearing gesture.
She sighed even heavier than I had. “I came to the conclusion that this young man … was Dora’s son after he left here recently, but, still, I was afraid to hope. I didn’t know you two knew each other, and I don’t understand what is going on to have brought you both to me, but in doing so you stirred up the past. I don’t like to look back there very often because I’ve been disappointed so many times, but you’ve forced me to.”
If she wanted an apology, it seemed that neither I nor Hamlet were willing to offer it.
After a long moment, I said, “What do you know about what happened to Dora?”
Letitia’s eyes took in Hamlet. Years might have folded over in her thoughts. “Your mother loved you very much.”
It was Hamlet’s turn to tear up. I put my hand on his arm as Letitia handed him the box of tissues. He took a tissue and nodded. “Please, tell us whatever you can.”
“Of course,” Letitia said. “The time for secrets is gone, I suppose. It’s not a pretty story; you need to know that before I begin.”
I looked at Hamlet and really hoped he didn’t mind hearing an ugly story, because my curiosity wasn’t to be denied. He took a long moment to consider her warning, but he eventually nodded. I tried not to show my relief.
“Dora was gifted,” Letitia began. “I know that most people doubt our skills, but if what we have is indeed a gift of some sort, Dora was exceptional. Her mother, Wilma, couldn’t hold a candle to her. Neither could I, frankly. Wilma was … probably defined as wild. I was too, you must know that. We never did live by conventional rules, dear boy, and men weren’t as important to us as they are to some women. We never felt the need to keep them around, but … that’s only because we knew what we were born to do, and men seemed to get in the way.” Letitia smiled. “Until you came along. We were all quite smitten with you.”
My heart tumbled. Letitia was telling the story of the beginning of Hamlet’s life, and I knew bad stuff was to come. He was an adult, but I hoped he could handle it. I hoped I could.
Letitia frowned but then smiled again. “Unfortunately, Dora wasn’t made to take care of a baby. Neither was Wilma—in fact, Wilma was so ill equipped that I raised Dora more than she did. I tried, Eddie—that’s what we called you.
“I go by Hamlet now.”
Letitia nodded slowly. “Hamlet. I tried to take you away from Dora, but I was too old and considered far too strange to get much help from the authorities. Nevertheless, I did … well, I even snuck into places where Dora was living and took you while she was sleeping, brought you to my home. But she always came for you the next day, knowing it was me who was caring for you. She never said a word, just walked in and took you back. I had no right to stop her.”
“Was she in a single room back then, near a bookshop that burned?” I asked.
“Aye.” Letitia seemed impressed and then turned her attention back to Hamlet. “It wasn’t the best place, but I made sure the rent got paid every month. She tried, and she loved you so much, but she just couldn’t quite do what she needed to do. I would have allowed you both to live with me. I would have paid her rent forever, but she didn’t want my help. She wanted to get away from me and her mother. It was rough. I believe Dora was what we now know as bipolar. It was described as manic-depressive or something like that back then. She would never allow herself to be properly diagnosed, and she’d never take medicine because it would dilute her ability to understand her visions.
“I had plans. Though I couldn’t manage to steal you away from her while she slept, I was preparing for her next low. She would be most vulnerable, and I would take advantage of that. I know that sounds horrible, but that’s exactly how I thought—get her while she’s down. I finally found someone to help me, who listened to my story and took me before a judge. If I could get Dora to sign you over to me, you’d be mine legally. I could have cared for you.
“I had the paperwork at the ready and I was just waiting. Dora’s ups and downs weren’t exactly predictable, but the cycle was never-ending, that much we knew. And then it happened. I knew she was on a downswing, so I went to her flat to meet with her.”
Letitia’s face fell.
“Go on,” I said.
Letitia shook her head out of her thoughts. “I made it into the flat, but she wasn’t alone. There was another woman there. I didn’t know her. I’d never seen her before. I was confused by her behavior. She seemed to be taking the boy, taking you. I didn’t understand, and neither did Dora, really. She was so very down in a dark place, but she wasn’t agreeing to give you to this woman. There was a fight.” Letitia fell silent a moment.
