Chapter 3
Chapter Three
I lead Gray up the hill and toward the kirk, far from Davina. The dog follows so closely I nearly trip over it. I reach down to give it a reassuring pat. Reassurance that I’ll find it a safe and secure home . . . with someone else.
I can’t adopt a dog. The choice would be Isla’s, as lady of the house.
However, we already have an animal in residence.
Last month, our parlormaid helped rescue a litter of Scottish wildcats, and Isla let her adopt the three-legged kitten who can’t be rehabilitated.
That’s enough pets for our housekeeper, Mrs. Wallace.
After giving the dog a good scratch, I turn to Gray. “I don’t need Davina’s information. Not at the price she’ll demand.”
“I will happily pay it for your peace of mind.”
I smile and touch his arm. “Thank you. But if she does accept money, it’ll be too much, and it’ll also tell her that she has a new golden goose, one who will give more if she ‘remembers’ anything else about Catriona.”
“Obviously, she cannot be trusted. But you are curious—and concerned—about Catriona’s past.”
I glance down the hill to where Davina is sashaying up behind an elderly couple dressed far too finely for this part of Edinburgh. Someone is about to get their pocket picked, but I can’t make that my problem. Not right now.
Do I want to know more about Catriona? Yes. I’m in this young woman’s body, feeling as if I stole her life, and I know next to nothing. Even to her employers, she was a cipher.
Isla hires staff in need of a second chance. Our parlormaid was a child pickpocket. Our housekeeper was a con artist. Simon was framed for murder. Isla didn’t ask where they came from—what mattered was where they were going.
That’s a fine philosophy, but it leaves me knowing nothing about the body I’m inhabiting. Did Catriona have family? Were they relying on her? I wouldn’t advise anyone to rely on Catriona for anything, but the thought still nags at me.
Who was Catriona Mitchell before she came to work for Isla? No one seems to know . . . except Davina.
A modern-day friend of mine once inadvertently moved into a former drug dealer’s apartment.
She left after a few months because she couldn’t deal with the constant stream of visitors who didn’t believe her when she said he’d left.
I can tell Catriona’s enemies that a head injury means I no longer am Catriona—I don’t even use that name—but they don’t believe me.
“For your safety,” Gray says. “It would be wise to know.”
“It would—but it’s hardly insurance.” I look up at him. “Davina can’t provide an exhaustive list of people Catriona betrayed. We’ve already had one encounter, and I handled it. That’s all I can do, sadly. Handle issues as they come up.”
When he doesn’t answer, I lower my voice. “I know this isn’t ideal, Duncan. Always needing to worry that I’ll attract trouble because of Catriona. Trouble that could affect you and Isla—”
“It will not. It never has before. No matter who Isla has employed, we have never been personally threatened.” His lips twitch. “Apparently, the greatest danger was Catriona herself.”
Who is now gone. Where? I don’t know. She didn’t swap into my body. I know that for a fact, having briefly returned to my time last year.
Gray continues, “My concern is for you.”
“I’m fine. It’s been a year, with only one encounter that I couldn’t have avoided even with a list of enemies.” I look up at him. “Let’s drop this. You’ve given her a sovereign for the dog. Good enough.”
His jaw works in that way that tells me we are not dropping this.
“You would rest easier knowing who Catriona was,” he says. “Whether anyone is wondering what happened to her.”
“As far as we can tell, she cut all ties.”
“Which doesn’t mean there isn’t someone. We always suspected she visited family on some of her half days. She would return out of sorts.”
I don’t answer. Of course I want to solve this mystery. I’ve made a few attempts, but I suspect Catriona Mitchell isn’t even her real name. I also suspect she came from the middle class, which is unusual for a girl who ended up on the street.
Or not so unusual, depending on what happened at home.
“Do you want to find Bobby?” he says.
I look up sharply. “What?”
“The dog. Forget paying Davina. Forget Davina at all. Do you want to find Greyfriars Bobby?”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s low.”
“Is it?” One brow lifts. “I refused Davina because I knew you would not wish to work for her. But I suspected, once we got away from here, that your detective brain would begin to churn, and before I knew it, I would be out looking for a missing terrier.”
“I wouldn’t drag you along.”
He only gives me a hard look that says no “dragging” is involved.
If I investigated, he would too. The undertaking business has its established clientele, and it’s mostly a matter of waiting for one of those illustrious families to send a message that they require Gray’s services.
McCreadie hasn’t had a case needing our help since we returned from the highlands .
. . and his spare time is spent wooing Isla, so he’s not exactly taking on extra investigations.
In short, we have time. In short, too, we’re bored.
“Unfortunately,” I say, “the poor dog probably went off somewhere to die. I don’t know the exact time—or cause—of his death. But I’ve seen him. He’s old. And you noticed a tumor.”
“I did. However, it would not hurt to ask a few questions. Assess the likelihood that he has simply gone off to die. Or been taken in by someone who recognized that he was dying.”
I look down at the dog at my feet. “And if we don’t answer the question of what happened to him, Davina will just keep finding new Bobbies.”
“I believe so.”
“If we discover he’s dead, Jack can make sure that’s reported in the papers, which stops Davina from finding replacements. So should we just do it on our own? Not involve Davina?”
“If you would prefer that,” he says slowly. “But she may have information on the dog’s disappearance. And she seems to have information on Catriona, which she is offering for your assistance.”
“Take her up on it?”
“If you are comfortable with that.”
I’m not comfortable allying with Davina, but I’m even less comfortable making an enemy of her.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s find a missing pup.”
“We will look for Bobby,” I say to Davina. “We will not look for a replacement. If you find a replacement, it needs to be a dog who doesn’t have to be tied to a gravestone.”
She grumbles but agrees.
“It’s very likely that we will not find him alive,” I say. “He’s old. He’s sick. We have no control over what has already happened, and if we discover he has died, our job is done.”
More grumbling. More grudging agreement.
I continue, “I don’t trust you to pay me if I don’t find him, despite the fact that getting that answer will take as much work as if I did find him.
So I want answers of my own. About me. My life before.
Twenty minutes now. Twenty minutes each day that I report back with my progress.
And then everything once I find Bobby—dead or alive. ”
“How does it help me if he’s dead?” she says. “I’ll have given you valuable information and gotten nothing in return.”
“Detectives get paid for their work, not their results.”
“You’ll get it all when you bring me the dog. Any dog.”
“And I said I’m not doing that. If you want my help finding the real Bobby, this is the deal.”
She crosses her arms. “If you want my help remembering who you are, that is the deal.”
I shrug. “All right. You have overestimated my curiosity.” I turn to Gray. “Do you require information about my past, sir?”
“I do not.”
“Then have a good day, Davina, and good luck finding—”
“Scraps,” she spits. “I will give you scraps before you find him.”
“All right. You’ll start by telling me who is a danger to me, and then, when I find what happened to him, you can tell me what I’ve forgotten about my past.”
She snorts. “The reverse. I will keep the valuable information for last.”
I argue, and I do a fine job of it, considering this is actually what I want. A laundry list of enemies doesn’t interest me as much as Catriona’s past, but I knew Davina would believe the opposite.
“Fine,” I say finally.
She tries to hide a smirk, obviously pleased with her negotiating tactics. “We are agreed. Now, where do you wish to start?”