If Books Could Kill (13 page)

And there was the kissing.

That thought caused my stomach to tilt, and I must’ve jolted, because the ladder began to sway and the cat meowed in complaint. I clutched the ladder’s railing again to keep myself steady.

Good grief, the man was dangerous to my health in more ways than one. His tall good looks and all-seeing, all-knowing eyes, his quirky smile and sardonic wit could overpower my puny will at times. If I hadn’t seen him at Heathrow with the woman and her baby, I probably would’ve jumped into bed with him while we were here. But now I was hesitant, even knowing the woman was just his sister-in-law. That shock had gone a long way toward reminding me that I needed to think before I jumped.

After all, I wasn’t exactly the best judge when it came to choosing boyfriends, as I’d been reminded so many times by my family members. But hey, they always liked the guys I dated, so maybe it was a genetic thing.

Seriously, Derek Stone was just a bad choice for a boyfriend. Not that I’d ever call him a boy. Anyway, besides the fact that he lived six thousand miles away from me, the man carried a gun.

So even if I were to get involved with Derek this week-and yes, by getting involved, we were talking sex-eventually we would drift apart and I’d forget all about him and his thighs of steel.

“Whoa.” Okay, the genealogy search was no longer providing the distraction I required. Shaking off all thoughts of Derek and, you know, his thighs of steel, I tried to concentrate on the job at hand.

A scuffing noise from the next aisle over surprised me, and I wobbled on the step, causing the cat to meow again loudly.

“Hello?” I called.

Nothing.

I blew out a breath and gazed up and down the aisle. My imagination was going a little crazy, I supposed. It was easy to get spooked back here in these constricted spaces, surrounded by the ghosts of history.

The cat settled itself across my feet as I pulled another ledger out, opened the page and stared at the marriage certificate of Doreen Cathcart and Russell McVee.

“Holy mackerel,” I said. “Kitty, look what I found.” The cat made mewing noises, as if he were just as happy as I was. I figured he was just humoring me.

I gazed at the faded legal paper and thought of Kyle. So at least part of his story was true. Maybe if I did more research, I could find out the truth about Robert Burns and the princess. But I couldn’t do anything else today.

I pressed the book back into place on the shelf. “Come on, kitty. It’s time to-”

Without warning, the bookshelf began to tremble.

“What the-”

An earthquake? For real?

A few books from the highest shelf tumbled down on top of me.

“Crap!” I covered my head with my hand to keep from getting hit, but it was impossible. The bookshelf was rocking so hard, I needed to keep both hands on the ladder railing.

The cat howled and leapt ten feet to the ground, then ran down the narrow aisle and disappeared.

The shaking grew even more violent, and hundreds of books slid out and down, battering me, their sharp leather edges scraping my skin.

“Ack!” The massive bookshelf banged against the ladder, throwing me back and forth like a sailor on a storm-tossed sea. I held on to the insubstantial railing and tried to climb down, but books were everywhere. I tripped over one and lost my footing, fell hard on my ass and slid the rest of the way down to the floor, bumping my backbone against each ladder step as books continued to fall and hit me.

I landed on the ground and stared up at the heavy wood bookshelf as it leaned precariously over me. My throat closed up. I was in serious danger of being crushed. I scrambled to my knees, then tried to stand, but I kept slipping on books. As panic set in, I scurried down the narrow aisle on my knees. Finally, I pushed myself up to run but slid on another damn book. As I fell, I felt my ankle twist painfully.

The bookshelf groaned as it sprang free from whatever bolts had held it in place. I watched it careen and bounce against the bookshelf across the aisle from it. It made an awkward half spiral and I screamed as it crashed to the floor inches away from me.

The silence was sudden. Seconds later, I heard the heavy door slam shut and knew there hadn’t been an earthquake.

I tried to stand but shards of pain shot up my leg and I moaned.

“Okay, that hurts,” I admitted under my breath. Had I really twisted my ankle? It didn’t matter. I didn’t expect emergency medical help to show up anytime soon, so I had to get myself out of there.

Just for a moment, I lay on the floor and tried to pull myself together, afraid to move too quickly. I stared at the bottom edge of another bookshelf, one that was still standing, and saw that it was bolted to the floor. Checking the seam between the two shelves, I couldn’t see any brackets holding them together. I guessed they didn’t have earthquake problems in Scotland. If this were California, there would be brackets upon brackets to hold everything in place in case of a temblor.

“Meow.”

“Hi, kitty,” I whispered.

“Meow,” the cat said more loudly, as though he might be complaining about the mess I’d made.

“I know.” I gritted my teeth and pulled myself to my knees. The cat bumped his head against my thigh as if that would help me get up.

Finally, I managed to stand, and the fact that my legs were still working was such a relief, I almost cried. I found my purse and jacket among the piles of ledgers and, with the cat bounding over books to lead the way, slowly made it out of the stacks.

My ankle throbbed but I could walk. Sort of. Slowly. It hurt but it was manageable. I slung my purse across my chest and hopped on my good foot over to one of the low cabinets, then stopped to get myself situated.

At that moment, the door opened and two women walked in and glanced around. They both wore badges attached to their jacket lapels, so I assumed they were librarians.

“I swear I heard something crash in here,” the taller one said. She wore her hair pulled back in a severe bun and she scowled as she surveyed the area.

“Maybe it was upstairs,” said the other woman, a short, older woman with curly gray hair. “They’ve painters working in the offices.” At that moment, she noticed me. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello.” I clutched a nearby drawer pull to keep myself upright. My ankle throbbed and I was getting a headache. “The crash you heard was one of the bookshelves in back. It came unhinged and fell to the floor. The books are scattered everywhere. It’s a real mess.”

The taller woman rushed across the room to inspect the damage. “Good heavens, it’s chaos. Have you ever seen such a disaster?”

“How in the world did this happen?” the shorter one asked as she patted her chest in distress.

“I have no idea,” I said, fairly certain they wouldn’t believe me if I told them someone was trying to kill me. “But I fell off the ladder and the bookshelf almost landed on top of me.”

“Goodness, you could’ve been killed.” She took a moment to consider me. “You don’t look at all well, miss. Do you need assistance?”

I was so grateful, I almost wept. “No, thank you. I just want to get back to my hotel and rest.”

The taller librarian’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you in here? You’re not allowed to use this room without a special certificate.”

“Ah,” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “That explains it, then.”

She sniffed in annoyance.

“Shirleen, the girl is injured,” the nice librarian said.

Shirleen pursed her lips in displeasure. “She shouldn’t be in here. Will you look at this horrible disarray? I’m going to have to report this upstairs.”

She stomped off. I couldn’t do anything about the mess, and my head was pounding in earnest now. “I’m sorry, but I need to leave.”

“Of course, dear. Let me help you out.” The nice woman took hold of my elbow and walked me to the door. As soon as she opened it, the cat flew out and down the hall.

She jumped back. “Good grief, was that a cat?”

“I didn’t see anything,” I said, not willing to get the cat in trouble, too. “Thank you for your help. You’re very kind.”

I limped down the hall to the street entrance, where the cat sat waiting patiently. I opened the door and walked outside and the cat followed. On the sidewalk, the cat looked up at me and meowed once, then took off running.

“Thanks, kitty,” I said, and smiled as the cat disappeared down an alley. “Adios, amigo.”

The wind had died down and the sun felt wonderful on my back. It was a beautiful day for a walk, or a slow shuffle, in my case. The fact that I could put pressure on my foot told me I hadn’t broken anything. It was just sore and bruised, along with the rest of me. Frankly, my butt ached more than my ankle. I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and take a couple of aspirin and a long, hot bath.

As I limped across the George IV Bridge street at the High Road, a black taxi screeched to a stop. I jumped to the sidewalk to avoid being hit and landed on my bad foot.

“Gaaaahh!” I cried.

A man stepped out from the backseat and grabbed hold of me. “Ah, now that’s a shame, isn’t it? Let me help you, miss.”

He was really good-looking, with closely cropped dark reddish hair, and was nicely dressed in black wool trousers and a black turtleneck sweater. Normally I would’ve been more polite, but I was tired and in pain and just wanted to get back to the hotel.

“I’m fine,” I said. “The cab startled me.” I started to leave, but he held my arm.

“There, now, miss,” he crooned. “You must be more careful.”

I smiled. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Thanks.” If the cab hadn’t spooked me, I wouldn’t have to be so careful. I pulled my arm away, but he wouldn’t let me go.

I no longer cared how cute he was. I was getting mad. “I don’t have time for-”

“You’ll make time,” he said, and shoved something hard against my back.

A gun?

I froze. I couldn’t breathe.

“There, now, I think we understand each other. Let me help you to the cab.”

“No way,” I said, knowing that if I got in, I might never be seen again.

“Get in the cab or I’ll-”

“I’ll scream.”

“It’ll do you no good.”

I screamed anyway, as loud as I could.

“Jesus, that’s not necessary,” he said, wincing.

I kept screaming as the back door swung open and another man yanked me into the backseat next to him. The gunman jumped in after me, and the driver peeled off around the corner.

If I weren’t so scared to death I’d be totally pissed off. I was already in pain, and now I was being kidnapped? Who were these guys? I glanced at the two sitting on either side of me. They looked like nice guys who enjoyed a whisky at the pub once or twice a week, not hired gunmen.

“I don’t have any money,” I said. Not on me, anyway.

The good-looking guy next to me frowned. “We don’t want your money.”

“What do you want? Where are you taking me? I need to get back to my hotel. People are waiting for me. And there were witnesses. Somebody had to have seen me and they’ll-”

“Darlin’, please,” the driver said, meeting my gaze through his rearview mirror. “We’re just wanting your word that ye’ll not be making a mackedy of our Rabbie.”

“A
mackedy
?” I repeated. “What’s a mackedy?”

“It’s what we’re stopping you from doing,” the third guy said firmly.

The driver turned and glared at me. “Ye’ll not be mocking our beloved hero.”

“Oh.”
Mockery
, he’d said. Not mackedy. So much for a common language.

“I would never mock your hero,” I protested.

Frowning, the gunman eyed me. “The society looks askance at such disrespect.”

“You have a society?”

“Aye, the Robert Burns Society,” the third man said, beaming. “We’re Freemasons, sworn to uphold the dignity and good name of our own best man.”

“Aye, Rabbie Burns,” the gunman said, nodding.

“Miss, are ye familiar with the sights of our fair town?” the driver asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

He pointed out the window. “If ye’ll look between the two hills, you’ll catch a glimpse of the engineering marvel that is the Forth Bridge.”

“Crosses the Firth of Forth,” the gunman elucidated, then leaned back to give me a better view out the window.

“Can you see it now?” he asked.

“A beautiful sight, that,” the driver said proudly.

“Um, yeah.” I stared out the window to my right. “It’s beautiful.” And it was. Dramatic and impressive. On my last visit to Edinburgh I’d taken a tour of the city, during which I’d learned firsthand that Scotsmen were fiercely proud and knowledgeable of their history and heritage-and their bridge. The tour guide had positively gushed as he explained that the Forth Bridge was one of the world’s first major steel bridges. Its unique cantilever design was considered a miracle of modern technology back in the 1890s.

But what in hell did that have to do with me and these men and this cab? What was I doing here? I furtively checked my watch. I’d been on the road with these would-be kidnappers for less than ten minutes and still had no idea what they wanted from me.

The cute gunman noticed me looking at my watch and tapped the driver’s shoulder. “We should get her back.”

“Aye,” the driver said.

“But we’ll need your word on this matter, miss,” the third man said.

“Okay,” I said hesitantly. I was willing to agree to almost anything, but God only knew what he was going to insist upon. They all seemed a little nutty, as though I’d stumbled upon a Freemasons’ mad tea party.

The gunman held up his finger. “First, this notion that our Rabbie might’ve loved a royal Sassenach bitch?”

The third man glared at the gunman, then said pointedly, “You’ll pardon Tommy’s French.”

The gunman, Tommy, grimaced. “Ach, pardon my French, miss. But it’s daft.”

“Makes no sense a’tall,” said the third man, shaking his head.

The driver nodded. “Aye, Rabbie was a great lover, but he would’ve drawn the line at a snooty English royal.”

“Och, aye, he was a lover, he was,” Tommy agreed, chuckling. “He loved many a lass.”

The third man laughed. “Aye, that’s our boy Rabbie.”

The laughter stopped abruptly as the driver wrenched the wheel. The cab lurched to the side of the road and stopped. The two men beside me tensed up, and I started to panic as the driver maneuvered himself around to face me.

“Understand, miss,” he said. “Robert Burns was a Freemason, a well-known dissenter who supported both the French resistance and your own American Revolution. He was a Scottish nationalist and a harsh critic of the Church of England. He never would’ve consorted with the auld enemy, and that goes double for the royal family. This you must believe.”

“All right,” I said, talking slowly as I nodded. “I see your point. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not very familiar with the history of your country, so I appreciate your patience with me.” I would’ve said anything at that moment to get back to the hotel. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed that the legend of Robert Burns and the princess was too good to be true.

“Do you mean it, miss?” the driver said.

“Absolutely,” I said. “And I want to apologize for upsetting you. I didn’t realize that what I was saying might be so offensive.”

“Ah, see there?” said the third man, slapping the back of the driver’s seat. “She didn’t realize what she was saying.”

“I didn’t,” I said promptly. “I swear. I’m so glad you’ve enlightened me. And now that I know the truth, please believe I’ll never again say anything contradictory to the facts.”

“There’s a fine lass,” Tommy said, patting my knee fondly.

“Thank you,” I said, determined to make eye contact with each of them. “I really appreciate knowing the truth.”

The driver breathed a sigh of relief. “We’ll thank you as well, then. We didn’t know what else to do when we heard you were spinning tales but try to appeal to your higher principles.”

By kidnapping me? I thought, but resisted saying it, instead asking, “How did you hear about me?”

“Anonymous phone call,” the driver said with a shrug. He settled back behind the wheel and started the car, leaving me to wonder who had made that anonymous phone call. It could’ve been anyone attending my workshop, but my money was on Perry McDougall.

We drove the five miles back to the Royal Mile in silence. When they reached the drive in front of my hotel, Tommy turned and faced me.

“We’ll come in with you and spring for a pint to celebrate.”

“Oh, no!”
Dear God, just let me go in peace
, I thought. But I squeezed out a smile and said, “I would love to, but I injured my ankle earlier and should probably soak it in Epsom salts.”

“You’re injured, miss?” the third man said.

“It’s probably nothing serious, but I should take care of it.”

“Are you sure it’s not serious?” Tommy said. “Harry’s a doctor.”

I gaped at the third man.

“Aye, I am,” Harry said, then glared at his partner. “Did Tommy push you too hard?”

Good grief, thoughtful kidnappers. Only in Scotland. And a doctor among them? I was truly going mad.

“Uh, no, it happened earlier today,” I said, waving a hand in dismissal. “It’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Walk her to the door, Harry,” the driver prompted.

“Aye.” Harry the doctor whipped out of the car and held his hand out for me. I had no choice but to allow him to help me. My ankle throbbed and my back was stiff. I swayed once before steadying myself.

“There, see?” I said, giving Harry my best smile. “I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Absolutely.”

“We’ll take a rain check then,” the driver said as we passed by his open window.

“Perfect,” I said.

Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “You’ll call if you have any problems while you’re in town.”

I glanced at the card and I prayed my eyes didn’t bug out of my head. HARRISON MCFARLAND, MD. It was true, then. One of the men who’d kidnapped me was a doctor. Maybe Tommy the gunman was a lawyer.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

I stared at him. “Absolutely. Thanks.”

“Go inside and rest, miss. You’ve had a day.”

“Thanks for making it more interesting.” I waved good-bye to my new Freemason friends and hobbled to the door.

The first person I saw when I entered the lobby was Derek Stone, and I almost wept with relief. And hunger. Dear God, I was hungry to the point of starvation.