Heading back to work the day after she returns from her European honeymoon, Delaney Nichols is excited to get back to the Cracked Spine. But as she disembarks the bus and hurries toward the shop she and another woman collide, sending a stack of books the woman is carrying to the ground.
Delaney's hapless victim's name is Mary, and she and Delaney can't help but notice that they bear an uncanny resemblance to one another. According to Mary, they both also look like the long-beheaded Mary Queen of Scots. Even stranger, Mary believes she is reincarnation of the Scottish queen. But peculiar as Delaney's doppelganger is, she doesn't have time to dwell on it: on her arrival to the bookshop, she learns the Edinburgh city council wants to close the Cracked Spine, citing code violations, and she's determined to stop them.
But when Mary's husband dies in a car explosion—and Delaney learns he was the very member of city council who proposed that the city take a closer look at the bookshop's construction—she starts to wonder if her meeting with Mary wasn't an accident. Edinburgh has become as filled with intrigue and deception as any European court, and Delaney is determined to get to the bottom of this royal mystery.
Release date:
April 7, 2020
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
304
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I must really love my job. There was no other explanation for my happy, hurried footsteps. I couldn’t wait to get to work.
I hadn’t been inside the most wonderful bookshop in the entire world for the last two weeks. Instead, I’d been with the most perfect man on the most perfect honeymoon. We’d seen more of Europe than I ever thought I’d see when I first moved to Scotland just over a year ago. Of course, I also hadn’t planned to meet Tom Shannon, Scottish pub owner, and then marry him. Sometimes, it’s all about the surprises. Maybe it’s always about surprises, but it takes a few big ones for us to notice. And, boy have there been some big surprises along the way. It’s been better than I could have ever anticipated.
I leapt off the bus and set out in a quick pace. But then I skidded to a stop and took a deep breath. I’d quit having moments of staggering awe, moments when I wondered if it was all really … well, real, a while ago. I had accepted that it was okay to be so happy, to be grateful for all the amazing moments that had happened since I’d answered an online ad about a job in an Edinburgh bookshop. Was I up for an adventure? A secretive sort of job in a bookshop with a coveted place behind a desk that had seen the likes of kings and queens? Oh, yes, it seemed I had been. And here I was.
As I stood there in Grassmarket, I looked toward the shop, The Cracked Spine. Nothing about its façade had changed since Tom and I had had our wedding inside. The awning above was still there, and I could see a couple stacks of books on the other side of the window. I’d put those stacks there, and I’d been the one to organize them. I always did the window displays, and this one had been about a color. None of the books in the window were part of our rare or valuable collections. They were used books, some of them I’d read, some I’d never heard of; only a few of them spoke to me. I’d used books with blue covers, and from this vantage point I thought the stacks were still exactly as I’d arranged. If that was the case, none of the books had sold, and though the shop seemed never to have any financial challenges, I decided I needed to redo the display, create something that would better sell a book or two. I could do that.
The owner of the shop and my boss, Edwin MacAlister, had plenty of money. There really was no need to worry about the financial future of the Cracked Spine, but, still, we were there to sell things.
The Tudors hated to be wrong, and therefore never were.
I blinked at the bookish voice. I looked around. It was a strange comment, coming to me from some place I didn’t understand.
The Tudors? The royals?
Had that really been my intuition speaking to me as it did sometimes, through the books I’d read? If so, I didn’t remember the book, and I didn’t have a sense that I needed to be listening to my intuition. All was well, or so I thought. Maybe someone had actually spoken to me, or I’d overheard the words.
I looked around. Nope, that didn’t seem likely.
I plunked my hands on my hips and looked toward the bookshop again. I didn’t know what exactly had just happened, but I didn’t dwell on it long.
My eyes scanned over to the bakery, its front window fogged around the perimeter from the early morning baking. I could imagine the delicious smells, and I decided to pick up breakfast. I didn’t know if everyone would be in this morning, but Rosie would be there, with Hector, the miniature Yorkie she cared for but was worshiped and waited on by all of us. A thrill zipped through me at the prospect of seeing them both.
Hamlet might have class, but he’d be in at some point, even if only for a little while. A student at the University of Edinburgh, he was a young man, and had become much like a younger brother to me now. He’d been gifted with an old soul and named appropriately. If reincarnation was a real thing, there was no doubt in my mind that Hamlet had hung out with Shakespeare himself, had probably given the old bard a run for his money, maybe even did some editing.
It was doubtful Edwin would be there. He didn’t come in as much as the rest of us, and since he’d started dating a restaurant owner from Ireland, Vanessa Morgan, he’d been around even less.
I decide to see who was inside the bookshop first, and then get breakfast accordingly.
I set out again, forgetting about the strange bookish voice and enjoying the temporarily clear skies above the lively morning crowd. Old Town Edinburgh and Grassmarket drew tourists from all over the world, and this morning the square seemed busier than usual. I was back to doing fine in my fog of happy. Until I ran into someone else who’d probably been enjoying her own version of a beautiful morning.
“Lass, watch where you’re goin’,” she said.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
The woman had dropped the books she’d been carrying. We both got to work picking them up.
Books, lots of books. I was curious about the titles, but we had too many to retrieve to take the time to look closely. There were no dustcovers, no protection on any of them, and the old, hard bindings all seemed to have damaged spines and worn corners. In all, we gathered thirteen well-worn books. It was quite a load.
“Can I help you carry these somewhere?” I said as I balanced five of the books on my hip.
My voice fell off as I looked at her. It couldn’t be possible. For an instant I wondered if I was looking at an older version of myself; had this person I was looking at traveled back through time just to give her younger self a stack of old books?
The woman might have been twenty years older than my thirty-one, but her hair was identical to mine, both the bright red color and the frizzy texture; it rained far too much in Scotland to worry about trying to tame it.
But the similarities went even further. Our blue eyes were the same tint of diluted sky, and we both had too many freckles.
“Goodness, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” she asked, her accent as light at Edwin’s—or I’d just become so used to the range of accents that I no longer really noticed the lighter ones anymore. “If I’d had a daughter, I’d wonder if you were her.”
I smiled. “The resemblance is … uncanny. I’m Delaney Nichols.”
We both held too many books to shake hands.
“Mary Stewart,” the woman said with a nod. “At least we don’t have the same name. That would have been quite the conundrum.”
“I agree.”
For a few seconds, we just looked at each other. There was no denying the resemblance, but we stared long enough that it was almost weird.
“Can I help you get these somewhere?” I said.
“I’m looking for a bookshop. I was on my way to it.” She looked behind her, down the longer part of the Grassmarket square, the area toward Tom’s pub. The Cracked Spine was at the other end, along a shorter street.
“The Cracked Spine?” I said.
“Aye, that’s the one.” She smiled. “Do you know it?”
“In fact, I do. Come with me.”
Mary walked next to me, and I wondered if we looked odd, the two of us, with matching flaming hair and freckled skin, both carrying books as we made our way toward the bookshop. At least I was in slacks and she was in a dress. Chances were that everyone was in their own world, but I couldn’t stop glancing over at her. She kept glancing at me too. We smiled curiously at each other.
The sign on the bookshop’s door had been turned to Open. I peered in through the window as I balanced the books and reached for the door handle. Rosie was at the front desk, and I was suddenly struck by two things: I was once again infused with excitement to be back, but even with only that brief look at my grandmotherly coworker, I knew something was wrong. Maybe something just wasn’t as right as it needed to be, but the pinch at the corners of Rosie’s eyes and mouth told me that at least something wasn’t normal. She was upset, but I’d have to wait until we were alone to ask for details. I pulled the door and the bell above jingled.
“Lass!” Rosie said as she smiled big and came around the desk. “Ye’re back!”
“Rosie, Hector.” I placed my stack of books on the table that held the blue-book window display. I wasn’t going to ignore Hector’s quick approach, no matter what else was going on. I picked up the small dog and let him whine happily at me as he licked my cheek. It was so good to see them that, momentarily, tears burned behind my eyes. As I still held onto Hector, Rosie and I hugged tightly.
“Hello there,” Rosie said to Mary when we disengaged. “Are ye a relative of our dear Delaney?”
“No,” Mary said.
“Rosie, this is Mary Stewart,” I said. “We ran into each other out in Grassmarket. She was looking for the bookshop. Mary, this is Rosie.”
“Aye?” Rosie said. “Nice tae meet ye. And the two of ye ken ye look alike?”
“Aye,” Mary said.
“Yes, we noticed.”
“Well, that’s … interesting.” She stared at Mary a moment and then turned back to me. “How was the honeymoon? Was it … romantic?”
“The most romantic,” I said with an exaggerated dreamy tone. But then I remembered we had a guest and cleared my throat.
“Oh, that’s lovely,” Rosie said.
“Congratulations!” Mary said, still holding books and smiling at the happy reunion she witnessed.
“Thank you.” Reluctantly, I handed Hector back to Rosie and turned to Mary. “Here, let me take those. You were on your way here to see if we want to purchase the books?”
“I was.” She handed over her stack.
I carried the books to Rosie’s front desk and then retrieved the ones I’d brought in.
“You work here, and you just got married?” Mary said as she followed me.
“Yes, and yes.”
“You’re from America though? That’s what I’m hearing in your voice.”
“I am. I moved here a year ago for this job, and it looks like it all … stuck, I guess.” I smiled as I placed the second stack next to the first one on Rosie’s desk and put a hand on top. “Are you from around here?”
She hesitated a long beat before she answered. “Aye, in a way.”
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