A Rip Through Time(102)

I take a moment to find my equilibrium and say, “I wish you’d spoken to me, but we can discuss that later. So you talked to him?”

“I was quite clever about it, if I do say so myself.”

I bite back the urge to say that “clever” is not the word I’d use for approaching a potential killer without backup. But her face glows with the exhilaration of success, and I can’t bring myself to dowse it with a blast of reality. Later, I will. For now, I put myself in her place, her very delineated role, all those walls and barricades that even a progressive family cannot knock down for her.

I have punched a hole through one of those walls, giving her a peek into possibilities beyond. A glimpse of excitement and adventure. Can I blame her for missing the quicksand and the crocodiles and seeing only a glimmering tropical paradise?

She’ll need to see those crocodiles and that quicksand—the sooner, the better. But I can’t treat her like a child. She’s a brilliant and capable woman.

“What did you do?” I ask, knowing she’s waiting for this.

“I went to the stables and found him within, currying the horses. I asked him to step out. That seemed safer than speaking to him inside.”

A sidelong look my way, and I grudgingly acknowledge the precaution with a nod.

She continues, “I pointed out a loose cobblestone as my excuse, so it would not seem suspicious that I summoned him out of doors. Then I commended him for the excellent work he’d done, repairing the path into my garden, how it was quite smooth now, and I no longer caught my heel on the stones.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He was quite confused, as he did not repair the path at all. He reminded me that it is the gardener’s work, and while he will be quite happy to tell Mr. Tull about the loose cobblestone, he did not have the means to do more than temporarily fix it himself.”

“Ah.”

“I said yes, I only meant for him to tell Mr. Tull about the stone. As for the garden path, I said I was under the impression he’d aided Mr. Tull with that. He said, no, he had not—we’d had two funerals that day—but he was glad the job was to my satisfaction.”

“Which proves he really is Simon.”

“Quite. An imposter would have agreed to fix the cobblestone and he’d have taken credit for helping with the garden. Therefore, it is Simon, though I am still concerned that you saw him following us.”

“That was your brother’s doing. The more I considered Simon as a suspect, the less I liked it. I could explain away everything except seeing him today, and so I followed a hunch on that.”

“A ‘hunch’ that Duncan had us followed.” Her mouth tightens. “That is not like him. He can be protective, but he knows I venture into the Old Town on my own.”

“He wasn’t protecting you from unsavory neighborhoods. As long as he thinks I’m Catriona—who stole a locket I knew was very important to you—he’s not going to trust me.”

“A matter which we shall resolve as soon as his paper is delivered.” She rises. “All right then. Have we resolved all questions about Simon? Did anything else connect him to Archie Evans beyond his association?”

“A hash pipe.”

“A…”

“It’s used for smoking opium, and I found residue in it.”

Her lips twitch. “I know what a hashish pipe is, Mallory. I am not that sheltered. My confusion arises from the nature of the connection. Did Evans have one belonging to Simon?”

“No, but they both use opium.”

“And…”

I shrug. “I’m not saying they’re the only two young men in Edinburgh who do, but it could have brought them into contact. Maybe in an opium den.”

“Opium den,” she says slowly.

“Wrong time period?”

“No, it’s the correct one, but … you do realize opium is not illegal.”

“What?”

She walks over and squeezes my shoulder. “Poor Mallory, from a time so backwards that it has outlawed sweet opium.”

She catches my expression and laughs. “I am teasing you. While opium has its uses, it is highly addictive, whether for personal use or for treating pain.”

“But it’s legal?”

“As is alcohol, which I might argue has ruined more lives. No, if Simon indulges, it is minor and irregular use. I’ve seen no indication of impairment. Consider it no different from a young man having a pint or two at the public house, and he would be equally likely to encounter Evans there.”



* * *



Simon is cleared, which sends me back to square one. Who strangled Catriona in that alley? Who from her long list of enemies finally snapped? That sends me in circles, because I only know that she has enemies. Damn the girl for not keeping a journal.

Dear Diary,

Today the butcher’s son threatened to throttle me for stealing from his weekly deliveries. Tee-hee! What fun!



I really need to talk to Davina. I hate the idea of dealing with her bullshit, and I hate giving her what I know is a small fortune for her information, but I need to stop making excuses, grit my teeth, and get it over with. I’ll do that tonight. I’ll slip out, making sure I’m well armed and extremely cautious, with plans to be home before the pubs close.