Thinking of that scene with Perry, I took a sip of coffee and wallowed in embarrassment. What had I been thinking, throwing a fit like that? I chalked up my reaction to a combination of jet lag, two beers, and my recent bout of melancholy. I felt as though I’d lost control of my life, and Perry showed up to make me feel even worse. Naturally, I opened up a can of whoop-ass on him, as my dad would say.

But was that any reason to frame me for murder?

I sat back in my chair, glanced around the restaurant and thought about Perry. What had turned him into such an angry man? I’d heard he was living off a family trust fund, so he was apparently wealthy. He couldn’t use lack of money as an excuse to behave badly.

Well, he could, but he shouldn’t. I know money can’t buy happiness, but still, shouldn’t wealthy people be grateful they weren’t living in a cardboard shack?

Maybe he’d been an abused child. That would explain a lot. Or maybe he was dying of something and it pissed him off. But that didn’t make sense. He’d been a cranky-pants for years. Maybe he had a vindictive wife or a crazy mother-in-law. Whatever the reason, he was one mean sucker.

And if that weren’t enough, he’d hired Minka the Dimwit to assist him this week. He had to be tweaked in the head to do a thing like that.

So, to summarize, Perry was a malicious son of a bitch and a bad judge of character. But did that make him a killer?

I took another slug of coffee and pondered my puny suspect list. Kyle had told two others about the history and secrets hidden within the Robert Burns book. Once the book fair began, it would be easier to track down the booksellers and collectors who’d had relationships with Kyle. Maybe there were a few who didn’t think he was the darling some of us believed he was.

But again I came back to the real question: How did I fit into the puzzle? Whom had I pissed off so badly? Who wanted to see me hang for murder?

The waitress arrived with my breakfast and I pushed the notebook out of the way, picked up a fork and began to systematically devour the beautiful stack of thick, fluffy French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and slathered in butter and warm maple syrup.

I took a sip of coffee between bites and stared out the wide bay window at the lovely view of the ancient rooftops and chimneys that seemed to cascade down the steep hill toward the New Town. Billowy clouds drifted across the blue sky. Small puddles of rainwater collected on the rooftops and reflected the sparkling sunlight. I had another urge to get out and walk around the city, as I’d planned to do yesterday before I was so rudely interrupted by darling Kyle.

Unbidden, tears filled my eyes.

“Oh, great,” I muttered, and grabbed for a tissue in my purse. I still couldn’t believe Kyle was dead. I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. What had he done to deserve such a cruel fate? It seemed impossible and unfair that the secrets inside one small book could lead someone to kill another human being. But how else could I explain it? Kyle had told someone about the book and it had cost him his life. I rarely saw him more than once a year, but I missed him terribly now that he was gone.

I sighed, then slowly turned from staring out the window to finish my breakfast-and shrieked.

“Hello, love.”

Derek Stone was sitting across from me. He snagged a piece of bacon from my plate, broke off a chunk and popped it into his mouth.

“Where did you come from?” I demanded.

“ Cambridge, originally.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.” He grinned, reached for my small glass of orange juice and took a sip. Then he looked around. “Nice place.”

“I like it.” It was lucky I’d already swallowed my coffee or I would’ve choked when I saw him. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask the same of you,” he said. “There’s a perfectly decent restaurant in your hotel and yet you’re eating here, all by yourself. Seems a rather desperate move. Are you avoiding someone?”

“Maybe,” I said, looked pointedly at him.

“You mean me?” He waved the idea away. “No, I don’t believe you. The fact is, I was in the hotel restaurant and saw you talking to your friend Helen. Then you rushed out so quickly, I assumed you were up to some mischief. So I followed you here.”

“How clever you are.”

“I know.” He signaled the waitress for a cup of coffee. She rushed over and filled his cup. As she walked away, he said, “I would’ve joined you here sooner, but I was intercepted by a former associate downstairs.”

“Oh, darn.”

“Yes.” He picked up his coffee cup and sipped. “When I finally broke free, I was afraid I’d lost you. I was determined to pound on every door of the hotel, but then I remembered your peculiar obsession with food and I came directly here.”

“That’s a ridiculous story.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But it was well told, I think.”

“Oh, yes,” I said. “You have a theatrical way of spinning a tale.”

“Do you think?” He took another sip. “I’ve always loved drama. I had aspirations of joining the circus at one time.”

“As a clown?”

“No, tightrope walker, you see. Drama.”

“I can see you wearing stretchy pants.”

He studied me. “I think that’s a compliment.”

“Of course it is.” I dredged the last bit of French toast through the syrup and finished it off, then pushed my plate toward him. “More bacon?”

He pondered the plate, then patted his stomach. “Thank you, but no. My girlish figure, you know.” He saw my notebook, absently picked it up and started flipping through until he landed on the page with my notes and scratchings.

“That’s nothing,” I said, reaching to grab it from his hands. “Just doodling.”

He whipped the book out of my reach. “Just doodling, you say.”

“That’s right,” I said, maybe a touch too defensively.

He studied the notebook page for a moment, then stared at me so long that I started to fidget.

“What?” I said finally.

His dark blue eyes held mine for another beat before he said, “When will you get it through your lovely head that playing these sorts of games can get you killed?”

My fists bunched up under the table. “I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’m trying to figure out who set me up.”

“That’s for the police to handle,” he said rigidly, drumming his fingers on my notebook. “If you’d let them do their job-”

“They’ve done their job,” I whispered irritably. The whole restaurant didn’t need to know I was a suspicious character, did they? “If Angus MacLeod had his way, I’d be languishing in a jail cell right now. The only reason I’m wandering around a free woman is because of you. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but that doesn’t give me a whole lot of confidence in your pal Angus’s ability to be objective.”

He paused a beat too long before saying, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“That was not convincing,” I declared. “Which means you agree with me. This can’t be good.”

“I’m not agreeing with you,” he hedged. “Not exactly.”

“My confidence is soaring.”

“Now, look, don’t worry about Angus. He’s simply a stubborn Scotsman.” He paused, then said, “Now, that’s something to worry about.”

“Oh, great.”

“I’m teasing you.”

“This isn’t a good time.”

He smiled and reached for my hand. “Don’t worry, love. Angus is a reasonable man.”

“I’m buoyed by your optimism,” I said. Despite his claims, I could tell Derek was worried about how Angus was investigating this murder. In other words, I was screwed.

“Look,” I continued, “why should the police go to any trouble trying to figure out who set me up for murder? As far as they’re concerned, I’m the perfect suspect. The murder weapon belongs to me and I knew the victim. I was probably one of the last people to see him alive. End of story. Throw her in jail.”