CHAPTER ONE
“I know of no single formula for success. But over the years I have observed that some attributes of leadership are universal and are often about finding ways of encouraging people to combine their efforts, their talents, their insights, their enthusiasm.” The familiar voice came through the taxi’s radio speakers.
I sniffed and then grabbed another tissue from my bag.
“Lass, are you all right?” Elias glanced at me as I sat in the passenger seat.
I smiled sadly and dabbed my eyes. “I’m fine.”
Elias and his wife Aggie had shed plenty of tears too. They’d been at my and Tom’s blue house by the sea when we heard the news of the queen’s passing.
Queen Elizabeth II had died, right here in Scotland, in fact.
Though it hadn’t been a surprise, it had most definitely been a shock. Her death would have made me sad had I still been in Kansas, but here in my new home in Scotland, I thought it probably hit me even harder. In one way or another, she’d been a part of my everyday life since I’d answered the online ad for my job and traveled across the sea, chasing the promise of an adventure. The promise had been more than fulfilled, and the queen had been a part of it, even so far as surprising us all one day by making an appearance on behalf of my boss, Edwin MacAlister. If she hadn’t been endeared in my heart already, she certainly would have been then.
Edwin was more upset than the rest of us, unable to discuss her death without breaking down into sobs. Edwin’s sobs were executed in a more sophisticated way than mine would be, but they were sobs nonetheless.
I’d asked him, as well as my coworkers, how well he’d known her, and he said that his sadness was wrapped around what a lovely woman and public servant she’d been. Both Rosie, my grandmotherly coworker, and Hamlet, my other coworker who had become like a younger brother to me, claimed that Edwin had never told them any more about his relationship with any of the royals than that he’d simply had the opportunity to meet the queen a long time ago and had been fiercely loyal to her since.
Rosie did confide in me that the queen was their favorite royal, and she would always be close to the hearts of the people I cared for. I understood completely.
Though she had passed a week ago now, tributes were still resounding from all media outlets. Elias had tuned his taxi’s radio to a station that had been playing snippets of her speeches throughout the years, and we had just listened to an inspirational moment.
My bookish inner voices seemed to be on respite, making way in my head for only her voice. I kept hearing her words, via the radio and television, as well as when all else was silent and my mind worked to conjure what I’d heard earlier in the day. In fact, I felt somewhat distracted. We’d all been having trouble focusing.
As if knowing I needed a distraction from all the distraction, Edwin had called me the night before, telling me he had a project specifically for me, something different than I’d ever done.
I’d been excited to hear all about it, a new endeavor to sink my teeth into was exactly what the doctor ordered.
After I’d spoken with Edwin and told Tom about my new assignment, I’d called Elias, asking if he would be willing to drive me to a destination, at least on the first day of my new project. After that, I’d borrow Tom’s car and drive myself.
I was a capable driver. At least I had been, back when I’d driven on the right side of the roads and the steering wheels were on the left sides of the cars. The differences in Scotland, along with so many narrow two-lane thoroughfares, had been a dizzying change from Kansas roadways. Wichita had its fair share of heavy traffic, but Edinburgh congestion had been a new and sometimes terrifying experience.
Nevertheless, I’d adjusted—mostly. But this trip was a little south of Edinburgh, in a village called Roslin, known for many wonderful and historic things, not the least of which was its big role in The Da Vinci Code, popular back in the early 2000s. The Rosslyn Cathedral had been a key location for the main characters’ hunt in the book as well as the movie.
Another of its claims to fame was the Roslin Institute, where Dolly had become the first cloned sheep. The institute was still there, its mission to make the world a better place for animals and humans.
But my new project had nothing to do with the institute or any sort of treasure hunt—though treasure might be involved.
Roslin was seven miles south of the city, but I’d never been in that direction before. Since it wasn’t too far away, Elias would drive me and then pick me up later. He’d been more than happy to do it. In fact, as I’d gauged his excitement, I’d realized that I probably should have been asking him to drive me more often. Today’s ride might be melancholy, but we still had a chance to catch up with each other’s lives.
We were on our way to an estate that belonged to a woman named Jolie Lannister, a “grand old broad” according to Edwin. I’d been startled by my buttoned-up boss’s words. “Broad” wasn’t something I thought he’d ever used to describe a woman. He’d chuckled then and said, “Her words, not mine.”
I couldn’t wait to meet her.
I was excited about the project that I was being sent to explore, retrieve if at all possible, and keep to myself at all costs. At least for now. Edwin had asked me not to give Elias any details. He’d suggested I might not even want to tell Tom quite yet, though he would never ask me to keep any secrets from my husband. I’d gone ahead and told Tom everything, and he’d been mightily intrigued.
Jolie Lannister had found something she was sure was rare and valuable, and had immediately thought of Edwin. She’d called to ask him if he wanted to take a look at it, maybe buy it or sell it in those auctions she knew he was a part of. That was the story he’d given me, though I sensed he’d left out things he didn’t want me to know yet. I was too intrigued by all of it to push him for more information. I’d learn everything I needed to eventually.
Fleshmarket Batch, the auction group, was, at its most intrinsic level, a group of rich people who got together secretly (mostly) so they could buy and sell thing things for more money than most of us could understand. During his call, Edwin shared with me that a long time ago the group had invited Jolie to join but she’d declined, telling Edwin that she was unable to part with anything, ever. She liked her things and wanted to live her life and die with them surrounding her.
Edwin had also told me that in setting up this meeting, Jolie had surprised him by stating that she was now “ready to throw it all in a bin.”
But before she did that, though, she wondered if Edwin wanted any of it, particularly the secret item that had recently been found on the grounds of her home. Edwin had told me that he’d been willing to take a look at everything himself but preferred that I do it instead, or at least first. This sort of thing was my job now, or it should be. He hadn’t loosened his grip on the reins enough, he claimed, but he wanted to now. This was going to be my project until I thought he should become involved.
And I was grateful to have this new distraction.
Though I felt like I knew him and knew how he would want me to handle most things, I had asked if maybe he should come along on the first visit, and then I could take it from there.
“You will do fine, Delaney,” he’d said. “In fact, I would guess you would do better than I’ve ever done. You have my blessing to make whatever decisions you deem appropriate.” He’d paused. “Honestly, I’m not sure Jolie has what she thinks she has. You and I will discuss later, but, aye, give it a go.”
So here I was, giving it a go, and very excited about it too.
The assignment had accomplished one thing already—I hadn’t been quite as sad after the call with him as I had been before. Hearing the snippet of the queen’s speech on the radio had brought more tears to the surface, but I was able to wipe them away for now so I might focus on the job. I would be sad about the queen’s death for a long time, and I was okay with that. She was worth being sad over.
Jolie’s estate, named West Rosebud House, was a mansion that had been in her family for a hundred years. According to Edwin, the family had always been populated with “lively characters,” though he didn’t go into more detail, telling me I’d enjoy learning about them on my own.
“Here we are.” Elias nodded to his left.
I leaned forward and looked out the windshield toward the mansion. “Oh.”
“Not what you expected?”
“Not even a little bit. It’s … it looks like it could fall down any minute.”
“Aye. It does.”
The house belonged in a horror film. The wide, dark-brick structure was two gothically tall stories in height. Windows that were probably a normal size reminded me of castle windows that always seemed too narrow for the building, made more for shooting arrows out through than letting in the light. The tall façade overpowered the windows.
Nothing appeared plumb. None of the edges were without imperfection. A cobblestone circular drive appeared neither welcoming nor all that utilitarian—potholes throughout, even though two vehicles—a bright yellow van with illegible and faded red letters and a boring blue car—had already parked on it, one directly behind the next. A partially broken cherub sculpture sat atop a fountain in the middle of driveway, but no water ran through.
“More cars? Did you expect anyone other than Ms. Lannister?” Elias asked.
“I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Aye, and maybe they belong to her.”
Elias pulled the taxi to the available spot behind the second vehicle.
“I’ll be coming in with you,” he said.
“Elias, I’ll be fine.”
“Aye, I’m sure. But I willnae drive away from here without checking things out inside. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or breaks Edwin’s rules.” He slipped the taxi into park.
I nodded. Edwin would never send me someplace unsafe, but he might not have known about possible other visitors or the state of the house and the impression of danger that it presented.
Tom and I had visited my family in Chicago a few months ago. It had been a wonderful trip, and moments with my own father had reminded me again how alike Elias was to him. He’d been the one I’d gravitated to that day I’d arrived in Edinburgh, stepping out of the airport in search of a ride.
I’d been lucky to have so many good men in my life, even when I’d just been looking for a taxi.
Carefully, Elias drove over the cobblestones, or what was left of them, and toward the three stairs that led up to the front stoop.
As we stepped out of the taxi, a man came around the side of the house. His head was down, and he appeared to be deep in thought.
“Aye?” Elias said as he cocked his head and looked hard at the man. “Homer, is that you, auldjin?”
The man stutter-stopped and looked up. He squinted one eye as he looked at Elias. Another moment later, a smile, with one missing front tooth, lit up his wrinkled and age-spotted face.
“Elias?”
“Aye!”
The two men came together and hugged and patted each other’s back heartily, lifting a cloud of dust from Homer’s jacket.
“’Tis so good to see you,” Homer said as they pulled away. His accent was just as strong, if not even stronger, than Elias’s. “I’d’ve ken you anywhere.”
“Same.” Elias laughed. “I ken you by yer walk, lad.”
I thought I saw tears in their eyes. It took another beat for Elias to remember I was there.
“Och, apologies. Lass, this is an old friend from a long time ago, Homer Vanton. We worked the docks together a hundred years ago. Homer, this is Delaney, a lass I’ve come to think of as my own kin.”
Homer extended his hand. “A pleasure.”
We shook. “Nice to meet you.”
“Are you on here?” Elias asked.
“Aye. I’ve been the groundskeeper for nigh on thirty years now. Ms. Lannister’s parents hired me, and here I’ve been.”
I hadn’t taken the time to look at the grounds, but I did now, at least the parts I could see—the front and a downward slope on the side. They were green and well-groomed, in far better shape than the house. I knew the main item I’d come to investigate had been found somewhere on the grounds—had Homer been the one to find it? I didn’t ask that question. “How much land do you care for?”
“Near a hundred Cunninghams,” Homer said.
Elias, catching the question in my eyes, clarified. “A Cunningham is a wee bit more than your American acre.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of land,” I said.
“Aye. Much of it is untended woods, but I’m still able to manage the parts that arenae.”
Elias was still strong—he was the type of man I thought had probably always looked that way, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest, not sunken yet with age. I could tell Homer’s arms were thin, though, underneath the worn jacket.
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