If Books Could Kill

I scouted out a small table at the far side of the room while Derek went to the bar. He came back with two healthy shots of Scotch and a small pitcher of water.

 

He held up his glass and I clinked mine against it. I took a sip and let the heat trickle down my throat, warming my insides all the way to my stomach.

 

“Better?” he asked.

 

“Not yet,” I said, and took another sip, and felt the warmth slide down my throat. I put my glass down on the table and sat back. “Getting there.”

 

Derek poured several drops of water into my glass. I took another sip and savored the subtle change in flavor.

 

“Even better,” I admitted. “Thanks.”

 

“Good.” He sat back in his chair and studied me as he sipped his Scotch.

 

“Oh, crap,” I said, smacking my hand on the table and squeezing my eyes shut.

 

“Now what?”

 

I shook my head in disbelief. “I completely forgot to tell him about Perry.”

 

“Perry?”

 

I glanced around the room, then related an abbreviated version of the Robert Burns story. I told him that Kyle had shown the book to three people. The only one I knew for sure was Perry.

 

“This man Perry is a prime suspect,” he said. “How could you forget to mention it?”

 

I rubbed my forehead. “I started to but we were interrupted. Then I dropped the ball. Maybe the sight of that bloody hammer caused my brain to empty.”

 

He shook his head. “Only you.”

 

“I know.”

 

I pulled MacLeod’s business card out of my pocket. “It’s late. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow.”

 

Derek checked his wristwatch. “Call him now.”

 

I sighed and dialed the number. When MacLeod answered, I told him everything Kyle had said about Perry. I also remembered to mention the poison-pen letters Kyle had told me about. Unfortunately, he’d thrown them away, but you never knew what might help the investigation. He thanked me and promised we’d talk again tomorrow.

 

I disconnected the call, then noticed Derek staring at me so intently, I began to squirm. “What is it?”

 

He smiled. “It occurs to me that you owe me a boon for your freedom.”

 

“I don’t owe you a boon.”

 

“Of course you do.”

 

“Hey, what’s a boon, anyway?”

 

“That’s for me to decide.”

 

“I don’t think so,” I said, then blurted, “Maybe you should just go home to your little family.”

 

“My what?”

 

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Now that I’d opened the can of worms, far be it from me to shut up about it. “I saw you outside Heathrow this morning, getting into a Jaguar with a very pretty woman and her small child who looked just like you, Dad.”

 

He looked puzzled, then thoughtful. Then he chuckled. “Oh, that’s rich.”

 

He laughed a little more.

 

“It’s not funny.”

 

“No, it’s hilarious,” he said, and barked out another laugh.

 

“Oh, stop it,” I said grumpily.

 

He grinned at me. “Where the hell were you? Why didn’t you say hello?”

 

“Oh, and when would I have done that? When you were hugging your wife? Or maybe when you were laying a big fat wet one on her lips? Or maybe when you were cooing at your little baby who, I repeat, looks remarkably like you, God help him?”

 

“He is the handsome lad, isn’t he?” he said with a chuckle.

 

“Oh, whatever.”

 

He laughed again. “A big fat wet one?”

 

“I should go now.” I took one last sip, then pushed my chair back.

 

He grabbed my hand to keep me seated. “You silly git, that wasn’t my wife and baby.”

 

“I’m a silly git now?” I said, my voice rising. “Git. What does that mean, anyway? Some kind of feeble-brained nutball or something? That’s real nice.”

 

I tried to stand but he clutched my arm tightly to hold me down.

 

“It means you’re wrong, love.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Doesn’t matter. It’s been a long day. I should-”

 

“No.”

 

“Yes, really, I’ve hit my quota of humiliating moments for the day.” I managed to stand. “Thanks for vouching for me earlier. I appreciate not having to spend the night in a cold jail cell. Good night. Sweet dreams. Ciao.”

 

He stood, too, and blocked my escape. “You’re jealous.”

 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“I’m delighted.”

 

“And I live to delight you.” I turned and walked out of the pub.

 

He caught up and took hold of my arm. “Listen to me, those people are not my-”

 

“ Brooklyn, is that you?”

 

I turned at the sound of my name. “What? Oh. Hi, Helen.”

 

Ignoring Derek, she threw her arms around me. “I’m so glad the police let you go.”

 

“Well, of course they let me go,” I said with a nervous laugh as I pulled away. “What did you think?”

 

“But I saw you leave with that detective,” she said, wringing her hands. “Nobody’s seen you for hours. I was so afraid they’d arrested you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if-”

 

“I’m fine,” I said, rubbing her arm consolingly. The woman was turning into a basket case. “Helen, this is Derek Stone. Commander Stone, this is my friend, Helen Chin.”