Angus flipped through his notebook. “Royce McVee was interviewed and had a strong alibi for the night his cousin was killed. He was speaking to a group of underwriters that afternoon, and everyone proceeded directly to a cocktail party and dinner that evening.”

“Shoot,” I muttered.

As he continued to read his notes, I stood and paced. It helped me think.

I felt a twinge of guilt but finally said, “Have you talked to Helen Chin’s husband, Martin?”

“Martin?” He skimmed back over his notes. “Martin Warrington? I’ve got his name listed, but I didn’t talk to him.” He called Terrence over and asked him to track down whoever interviewed Martin. It turned out Martin had a number of people who’d vouched for his whereabouts the night Kyle died.

“Helen Chin was with you on the ghost tour,” Angus said.

“Yes,” I said. “But there’s no way she could’ve dragged Perry under the table. And she was in our car on the way back from Rosslyn Chapel.”

“Yes, it’s doubtful she’d get in the car after sabotaging it,” Angus said, frowning. I couldn’t blame him, as we were running low on suspects.

“The cousin was also the partner, wasn’t he?” Derek said.

“Yes, partner in a very lucrative company,” Angus added.

“He had a lot to gain by Kyle’s death,” I mused aloud. “I would talk to him again. He might’ve started out at the meeting, then sneaked out, then returned for the cocktail party.”

I looked up to see both Derek and Angus staring at me with some apprehension. Angus turned to Derek. “You did warn me.”

“What?” I asked.

Derek shook his head. “It sounds like you’re running your own investigation, darling. It almost got you killed once before, remember?”

“I’m just helping,” I said defensively, then thought, Screw it. “In case you didn’t notice, I’ve got a stake in the outcome here. Some clown is trying to frame me for murder.”

Derek’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “She has a point.”

Angus scowled.

I felt tears of self-pity sting my eyes and sniffled and blinked a few times to get rid of them. But it wasn’t fair. I’d just wanted to teach my book-arts class this afternoon. It would’ve been an easy, fun way to distract myself and forget my worries for two hours. I’d always loved teaching the craft. Showing someone how to take a few scraps of cloth and ribbon and paper and turn them into a tangible piece of art was immensely satisfying. The students’ excitement and pride in their finished work were always a great high for me.

Besides, the Edinburgh Book Fair was supposed to be about books. Not murder.

Wherever she goes, someone dies.

I shivered and zipped my down vest as Minka’s words played over in my head. Damn her for saying that. Even if it was true, it was so unfair. And in my precarious-okay, whiny-state, I wasn’t quite capable of breezing over it.

I used my mental Etch A Sketch again to wipe away the thought that any of this was my fault. It was ridiculous and untrue, not to mention destructive to my psyche. After all, wherever Minka went, people died, too. It wasn’t just me.

Still, it was disturbing to once more find myself in the middle of a murder investigation. Why? Was there something in my auric field that was attracting all this nastiness to me? Was I somehow paying for past sins by becoming a witness to violent death?

Maybe I needed a high colonic, after all.

Oh, hell, maybe I just needed a drink.

My book-arts class was postponed until tomorrow afternoon, so I took an hour and strolled through the book fair to relax. Derek was kind enough to walk with me, possibly afraid I might cause a scene or accuse somebody of murder if left to my own devices.

As we walked, I was surprised to realize I was starting to chill out.

Was it wrong of me to enjoy being in the hustle and bustle of book land with a gorgeous British commander holding my hand? Maybe I should’ve been off hiding in my room after discovering another body, or maybe I should’ve been in church praying for poor Perry, but the truth was, he just hadn’t been a very nice man.

Strangely enough, even with the gruesome news of Perry’s murder, the book fair was thriving. We passed booths where people talked in hushed tones, then stopped as I approached. I could only figure that Minka had spread the word about my finding the body, probably adding that I was about to be arrested for murder. The possibility should’ve annoyed me but it didn’t.

No, for some reason, despite stumbling over yet another dead body, I felt good. Calm. I didn’t think I could blame it on Derek’s presence, because I rarely felt calm around him. More like fired up and ready to go. So maybe it was simply because I was in my element, surrounded by books.

I spied an illustrated Alice in Wonderland and rushed over to examine it. It was a 1927 edition in spring green leather, mint condition, with heavy gilding around the edges and on the spine. Ornate dentelles decorated the inside front and back covers. There was a wonderful gilt-tooled White Rabbit on the center of the front cover, checking his pocket watch, and a scolding Queen of Hearts on the back. It was delightful. Expensive, but worth it.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I said to Derek, grinning as I repeated Angus’s words. “I have to buy this.”

“Interesting how staring at books and paper seems to soothe your nerves,” Derek noted.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

“I’d thought it was only food that perked you up this much.”

“Food always helps.” And since he’d mentioned it, I reached into my purse for the small bag of Cadbury Clusters I’d brought with me. I held out the bag to him, but he just rolled his eyes.

“More for me,” I said, and popped one in my mouth.

I paid for the Alice and waited while the bookseller wrapped it for me. Then we continued walking. I stopped and introduced myself to a few booksellers I’d never met and handed out my business card. Derek ended up purchasing a small, leather-bound edition of The Enchiridion by the Stoic philosopher Epictetus. It was a handbook of aphorisms, he explained.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “My parents have one at home.”

“Ah, yes, no spiritual commune is complete without one.”

“Right.” I smiled. “Guru Bob gets all his best lines from the Stoics.”

“I’ll bet.” He studied the book more closely.

“It’s a beautiful binding,” I said, admiring the rich, golden brown calfskin cover and matching cloth slip-case.

“Yes, it is.”

“Sangorski and Sutcliffe does excellent work.”

“I was given a paperback version of The Enchiridion by a favorite professor in school,” he said softly. “I always admired its philosophy and practical application to daily life.”

“Figures a former intelligence officer would find pleasure in Stoic philosophy.”

“Indeed, looking inward to find truth and justice never gets old.”

“That must be why my mother likes you so much. Careful, or she’ll sign you up for one of her colon cleansings.”

He actually shuddered.

I grinned. “So you’ve purchased a philosophy book while all I’ve got is Alice, a children’s story. You’re trying to make me feel shallow, aren’t you?”

“Is it working?”

“Yes, but I should warn you, I’m perfectly comfortable with my superficiality.”

He laughed and I quivered with some kind of joy at that sound. I was happy, I realized.

“You don’t really believe Alice in Wonderland is a children’s story,” he said as we continued walking. “All that symbolism?”

I smiled. “Guru Bob believes that every character in the book is a different part of man’s psyche.”

“Ah, I knew you had a method to your madness.”

I laughed again as we passed the large glass cabinet that displayed all the entries in the bookbinding contest. Derek stopped to look. I’d forgotten all about the contest and the fact that I had a book entered.