“You’re being overly dramatic.”

I laughed. “Oh, please. You think this is dramatic? This is nothing. Wait’ll I get rolling.”

He waved his arm. “Check, please!”

“Very funny.”

The waitress came running and I handed her my credit card. A few minutes later, we were out on the street. Derek took my hand and we walked back to the hotel, passing pubs and charming shops. One drew my attention and I stopped to stare in the window. I needed a minute to think before I got caught up in the book fair activities back at the hotel, and shopping for tacky souvenirs for my family was a perfect diversion. And better to buy them now before I got locked away in a dungeon somewhere.

I dragged Derek into the store and bought the plaid shot glasses I’d spied through the window. Plaid shot glasses. The perfect gift for my dad and three brothers. While I was in there, I found cute plaid socks for my sisters and Mom. This place was a treasure trove of tartan madness, and I knew my peeps would appreciate my thoughtfulness. Plus, shopping took my mind off the whole pesky, being-railroaded-for-murder thing.

Derek browsed while I paid for my gifts and then we headed back to the Royal Thistle.

“It occurs to me I didn’t finish telling you about the woman at the airport,” he said.

“Didn’t you?” I said, not sure I wanted to know the truth. I braced myself.

“No, I believe we were interrupted.”

“Were we?”

He put his arm around me and I realized it was going to be bad news. He was married. I knew it. How stupid could I get-again? I should’ve pushed him away but I couldn’t. I would savor the warmth for a few more minutes, then never see him again.

“Her name is Delia,” he said. “She’s my brother’s wife.”

I stopped and stared at him. “You’re having an affair with your brother’s wife?”

He laughed as he shook his head. “No, you daft woman. She was doing me a favor, coming to Heathrow. I hadn’t seen the baby in months, so she picked me up and I took them to lunch.”

“Oh.” Was my face red? “Did your brother join you?”

“No.” He reeled me back to his side and we continued walking arm in arm. “He’s a general with the Royal Army, stationed in Afghanistan. He won’t be back for six more months.”

“Ah.” I felt stupid and small for reacting so badly.

“But thank you for reacting so badly,” he said.

I drew back. Could he read my mind?

“It makes me think you might care for me,” he said.

I stopped again. “Well, of course I care for you,” I said crossly. “Are you blind or something?”

He laughed again as he wrapped his arms around me. “There’s that sweet disposition I’ve missed so much.”

“Sorry.” Maybe I was going nuts, but I really wanted him to kiss me.

And maybe he was psychic, because he reached out and stroked my cheek. “Your eyes make me crazy,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from my face.

“Crazy?” I whispered. “Really?”

“Really.” Then he kissed me, right on the street. Well, on the mouth, actually, but we were standing on the street. Oh, hell. The man turned my brain to mush.

But what a mouth he had.

Eventually, we started walking again. He stayed by my side as I stopped at the front desk and asked them to hold my bag of souvenir goodies. Then we crossed the lobby and stepped onto the crowded escalator to go downstairs to the memorial service.

“You don’t have to go to this thing,” I said, giving him an out but hoping he wouldn’t take it. Among other reasons, I wanted Derek to be close by in case Angus MacLeod was in the vicinity.

“I don’t mind tagging along for a bit,” he said, and wrapped his arm around my waist as we rode down the escalator. At the bottom, he nudged me off.

“I know how to get off an escalator,” I mumbled.

“Just being helpful.”

“Or not.”

He grinned at me. For some perverse reason, that made me smile.

We followed the crowd to the hall where the service was to take place. Several hundred chairs were lined up in rows, facing a podium at the front of the room. The place was filling up fast. He prodded me into the fourth row from the back while he took the aisle seat.

“You’re being helpful again,” I said.

“Yes, now sit.”

Before I could sit, I spotted Royce McVee standing just across the aisle. I knew I had to tell him about the Robert Burns book. He would probably want it back, since it belonged to his family, but maybe I could convince him to let me keep it for a while. I edged my way to the aisle and called his name.

He turned, saw me, and walked over. “ Brooklyn.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I gave him a hug.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said.

Kyle always said that Royce’s sphincter made him the perfect business partner. While Kyle was the front man, the glad hand, the schmoozer, Royce never took his eye off the bottom line. Kyle would say that combination made for the perfect partnership.

But Royce McVee was more than Kyle’s business partner. They were cousins. They’d inherited the family business from their fathers, two brothers, both of whom had been knighted for their loyalty to the crown. Kyle was the public face, the upbeat personality who had built up the clientele and made the money Royce counted in the back room. Royce was a nice enough guy but bland. He had pale skin, his hair was thinning and his chin was slightly too small. He was hardly the dynamo his cousin Kyle had been, and I wondered what would happen to the business now that he was top dog. I assumed Royce would inherit everything.

And wasn’t that a nice motive for murder?

Royce’s eyes were red and his shoulders were more slumped than usual. He appeared awkward and self-conscious as he glanced around the room. “Everyone loved Kyle.”

“Yes, they did,” I said. “He was one lovable guy.”

“Always the life of the party,” he said with a tinge of resentment. When he finally met my gaze again, he managed a thin smile. “I should go find the committee members. Perhaps we can speak later.”

“Sure.” I squeezed his arm in sympathy and he walked away. This was clearly not the time to tell him about the Robert Burns book after all, but I knew I’d have to do it eventually.

Feeling even more depressed, I took the seat Derek held for me.

“Friend?” Derek asked.

“Kyle’s cousin. I suppose he’ll inherit everything.”

“And you’re thinking motive,” he whispered.

I frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

I heard his snort of disbelief but ignored it as I turned to see who was seated nearby. I nodded to a few familiar faces, then noticed Peter and Benny, two bookseller friends, seated behind us. Peter leaned forward and invited me to their private cocktail party later in the week.

“I’d love to,” I said, feeling a little more buoyant than before.

“Ooh, and bring that one along,” Peter said under his breath as he made eyes at Derek, who paid no attention.

“Pretty,” Benny cooed.

“He wouldn’t miss it,” I said, patting Derek’s knee.

They both giggled.

I turned around in time to see Helen walking past us. I called her name and waved.

“Come sit here,” I said, then took a quick look around to see if Martin was with her. Happily, he wasn’t.

She nodded cautiously to Derek as she slipped past him and sat on my other side. “Thanks. I don’t think I could face this by myself.”

“Isn’t Martin here?” I asked.

She gave me a dour look. “Even if he was, I don’t want to sit with him.”

“Oh.” Well, thank goodness for that.

Peter tapped Helen on the shoulder. “Hey, girl.”

Helen squealed and jumped up. She leaned over the chair and hugged both men, who invited her to the cocktail party, too.

When she sat back down, she was flushed and happy, but she quickly turned serious and grabbed my hand. “I want to apologize for this morning. It was a fluke. Martin happened to come along and I was still feeling vulnerable from last night, so he consoled me. He can be okay when he wants to be.”