I stared at the next name on my list. Minka. Of course, Minka was always on my suspect list. She hated me, and vice versa. I didn’t know if she even knew Kyle, but she was always up for throwing me under the bus.
Then there was Perry McDougall. Besides threatening Kyle, he’d threatened me yesterday in the hotel store. Did he storm out of the hotel store and go directly to my hotel room and steal my tools?
Thinking of that scene with Perry, I took a sip of coffee and wallowed in embarrassment. What had I been thinking, throwing a fit like that? I chalked up my reaction to a combination of jet lag, two beers, and my recent bout of melancholy. I felt as though I’d lost control of my life, and Perry showed up to make me feel even worse. Naturally, I opened up a can of whoop-ass on him, as my dad would say.
But was that any reason to frame me for murder?
I sat back in my chair, glanced around the restaurant and thought about Perry. What had turned him into such an angry man? I’d heard he was living off a family trust fund, so he was apparently wealthy. He couldn’t use lack of money as an excuse to behave badly.
Well, he could, but he shouldn’t. I know money can’t buy happiness, but still, shouldn’t wealthy people be grateful they weren’t living in a cardboard shack?
Maybe he’d been an abused child. That would explain a lot. Or maybe he was dying of something and it pissed him off. But that didn’t make sense. He’d been a cranky-pants for years. Maybe he had a vindictive wife or a crazy mother-in-law. Whatever the reason, he was one mean sucker.
And if that weren’t enough, he’d hired Minka the Dimwit to assist him this week. He had to be tweaked in the head to do a thing like that.
So, to summarize, Perry was a malicious son of a bitch and a bad judge of character. But did that make him a killer?
I took another slug of coffee and pondered my puny suspect list. Kyle had told two others about the history and secrets hidden within the Robert Burns book. Once the book fair began, it would be easier to track down the booksellers and collectors who’d had relationships with Kyle. Maybe there were a few who didn’t think he was the darling some of us believed he was.
But again I came back to the real question: How did I fit into the puzzle? Whom had I pissed off so badly? Who wanted to see me hang for murder?
The waitress arrived with my breakfast and I pushed the notebook out of the way, picked up a fork and began to systematically devour the beautiful stack of thick, fluffy French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and slathered in butter and warm maple syrup.
I took a sip of coffee between bites and stared out the wide bay window at the lovely view of the ancient rooftops and chimneys that seemed to cascade down the steep hill toward the New Town. Billowy clouds drifted across the blue sky. Small puddles of rainwater collected on the rooftops and reflected the sparkling sunlight. I had another urge to get out and walk around the city, as I’d planned to do yesterday before I was so rudely interrupted by darling Kyle.
Unbidden, tears filled my eyes.
“Oh, great,” I muttered, and grabbed for a tissue in my purse. I still couldn’t believe Kyle was dead. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. What had he done to deserve such a cruel fate? It seemed impossible and unfair that the secrets inside one small book could lead someone to kill another human being. But how else could I explain it? Kyle had told someone about the book and it had cost him his life. I rarely saw him more than once a year, but I missed him terribly now that he was gone.
I sighed, then slowly turned from staring out the window to finish my breakfast-and shrieked.
“Hello, love.”
Derek Stone was sitting across from me. He snagged a piece of bacon from my plate, broke off a chunk and popped it into his mouth.
“Where did you come from?” I demanded.
“ Cambridge, originally.”
“Very funny.”
“I thought so.” He grinned, reached for my small glass of orange juice and took a sip. Then he looked around. “Nice place.”
“I like it.” It was lucky I’d already swallowed my coffee or I would’ve choked when I saw him. “What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you,” he said. “There’s a perfectly decent restaurant in your hotel and yet you’re eating here, all by yourself. Seems a rather desperate move. Are you avoiding someone?”
“Maybe,” I said, looked pointedly at him.
“You mean me?” He waved the idea away. “No, I don’t believe you. The fact is, I was in the hotel restaurant and saw you talking to your friend Helen. Then you rushed out so quickly, I assumed you were up to some mischief. So I followed you here.”
“How clever you are.”
“I know.” He signaled the waitress for a cup of coffee. She rushed over and filled his cup. As she walked away, he said, “I would’ve joined you here sooner, but I was intercepted by a former associate downstairs.”