Chapter 6 #2
When Jack took over writing our stories, she offered to join the staff as maid, partly to make that easier.
The first time we met her, she presented as a young man.
She still often does that in public, but it seems mostly for convenience.
The world is much wider to her as a young man than as a young woman.
I suspect there’s also a level of gender fluidity there, given the ease with which she inhabits either role.
So while even as a maid, I never flopped down beside my employer and reached for the brandy bottle, Jack is never going to be a “proper” housemaid, and no one expects her to be.
“So this new case?” she prods as she pours herself a drink.
“It’s not the sort for your chronicles,” I say. “No one has died.”
“Yet.”
I shake my head. “If there is a death, it’s likely that of a dog, which no one wants to hear about.”
Her brows shoot up. “Are you kidding? Everyone wants to hear about dead dogs. Well, dead dogs who perished in some sentimental way. Please tell me he will have died saving his young master.”
In my time, no one wants the dog to die. Kill a dozen humans if you must, but if the movie pooch croaks, it better be followed by John Wick levels of vengeance. Victorians don’t share the same outrage at the death of a dog, but they adore a tragically sentimental ending, be it human or beast.
“It’s Greyfriars Bobby,” I say.
Jack goggles at me. “Greyfriars Bobby is dead?”
“We’re trying to find that out. For now, he’s missing.”
Her mouth drops open, and she gives her head a sharp shake. “You and Dr. Gray are investigating the disappearance of Greyfriars Bobby . . . and you don’t think that’s newsworthy?”
She looks at Gray. “Did she hit her head again?”
“Apparently, it is newsworthy,” he whispers my way.
“You are both . . .” She doesn’t bother to finish that, just shakes her head.
“Your audience is women and children. Of course they like a good murder. And don’t give me that look, Mallory.
Yes, they like a good murder. But they also like dog stories, and this is our city’s most famous dog. Missing. Stolen. Possibly murdered.”
“No one is going to murder Greyfriars Bobby.”
At a noise from Gray, I amend that. “Fine. Dr. Gray and I discussed this on the way home. We have one potential suspect who might have wanted to do the dog harm, though I would hope that only meant transporting him somewhere else. The day watchman is not a Bobby fan.”
“A what?”
“A Bobby . . . enthusiast.”
“Ah.” She walks to the desk and takes a pen and paper, as if the library belongs to her. “All right. So the top suspect is the day watchman—”
I lift my hands. “I’m not saying we want this to be part of our chronicles. Let’s see where it goes first. But if it is, I promised the day watchman he’d be reported favorably.”
I expect her to ask why, but she says, “That’s how you got him to talk.”
Right. She’s a journalist. She’ll know all the tricks, especially that one.
“Yes. So unless he lied to us—or is responsible for the dognapping—we should be kind to him.”
“Dognapping.” She jots the word down. “I like that.”
“He may also have wandered away to die.” I pause. “The dog. Not the watchman.”
She gives me a hard look. “Bobby has not gone to die. If you do discover him dead, he perished in the act of saving a small child.”
“But no small child was saved.”
“Because the child never realized the danger. However, a witness, who is humble and shy and wishes to remain anonymous, clearly saw the dog bump the child before the horse hit him. Then, being a small dog, the horse and coach driver never noticed poor Bobby, and he ended up in a ditch, forgotten, until you found him.”
I open my mouth to argue, but a look from Gray stops me. When it comes to the chronicles, we have veto power, and so this is a battle we can wage later, if needed.
“Possibility one.” Jack lifts her paper. “The day watchman did the deed. Possibility two, Bobby perished in an act of bravery. Possibility three . . .”
I shake my head. “That’s not how we work. We need evidence before we hammer out theories. We’ve considered both a natural death and a devious watchman, because we know Bobby was ailing and the watchman disliked him. More theories require more evidence, which is going to require more interviews.”
“Did you examine the scene of the crime?” she asks.
“We only found a spot on the gravestone, where Bobby scratched ‘Help! I have been stolen by Sam P. McKay!’ but . . .” I shrug. “I have no idea what that means.”
At her sigh, I say, “We examined the spot where he usually sleeps, but if he was taken, the dognapper left no evidence. I’m not sure what kind of evidence there could be.”
“Blood.”
“It rained yesterday. All day. Rained some the day before, too. But we still looked at the grave and the surrounding area. Nothing. It really will come down to interviews. There are regulars in the kirkyard. The woman who brought us the case is reluctant to introduce us to any, but I think I can figure it out myself. I’ll do that tomorrow. ”
“Or you could just ask me.”
I frown at her. “Ask you what?”
She sighs. “Who the ‘Bobby enthusiasts’ are. I know one.”
My brows shoot up. “You do?”
She gives me a haughty look. “I was Edinburgh’s foremost reporter of criminal activities.”
“You gave yourself that title.”
“Advertising. And there is always truth in advertising.”
“Oh? Tell that to the fellow who tried to sell me a rat-fur muff claiming it was beaver straight from the wilds of Canada.”
“I was Edinburgh’s foremost reporter of criminal activities. As such, I know people, which I have said many times. You simply have not needed to take me up on the offer, as you have been off chasing cases in the Highlands without me.” She peers at me. “I am trying not to take that personally.”
“You did help me with the printer one. The blackmail case.”
“Which you would not allow me to report on to protect the lady in question. So you owe me this one.” She taps her paper.
“I believe you mentioned a contact?” Gray says. He’s been quietly letting us natter, but now it’s time to steer this conversation back on track.
“I did,” Jack says. “She is my primary contact in Greyfriars.” A hard look at me. “Because, as a reporter of criminal activity, I would naturally have cultivated a contact there. I will introduce you to her tonight.”