“I think that went well,” Mom said as we walked down the hall to the escalators. Dad and Derek were trailing behind, deep in conversation.
“He thinks I’m capable of murder, Mom.”
“Oh, no,” she said, waving her hand to dismiss my fears. “His sixth chakra was practically glowing indigo, which means he’s highly intuitive and clear-sighted.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“And in combination with his rather stunning Martial essence, he’ll make a passionate lover for some lucky woman.” Mom winked at Robin, who made a strange gargling sound.
“Do you need a Heimlich?” I asked her.
“Stop looking at me,” Robin said between gasps.
I grinned and turned back to Mom. “I’m happy for that lucky woman, whoever she may be. But the fact remains, he still thinks I’m guilty.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Mom said with perky assuredness. “He let you go, didn’t he?”
“He knows where to find me,” I muttered, stepping onto the escalator. When we reached the lobby, Mom and Robin went to the pub, Derek left to take care of dinner reservations and Dad went off to talk to the concierge to get directions for their trip tomorrow. I headed for the front desk to put the Burns book back in the hotel safe.
As I crossed the lobby to join Mom and Robin in the pub, I saw Perry talking to three other men near the entrance to the shopping arcade. So I guessed the police hadn’t detained him, either. He didn’t see me, and I planned to keep it that way.
Mom and Robin had already grabbed a table and ordered our beers, so I sat down and filled them in on some of the details about the murder, such as why I was the prime suspect. When I mentioned the bloody hammer, Mom shrank in horror.
“Honey, you’re attracting some awfully bad juju lately,” she said in a worried voice. “I recommend a spleen wash PDQ.”
“Mom,” I started, just as the waitress brought our beers. I guzzled mine down as Mom studied me.
“Or maybe you should get a cat,” she said finally.
“Cats fix bad juju?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “But they make such sweet companions.”
I glanced sideways at Robin, who looked as baffled as I felt. I took another sip of beer. “Thanks for the suggestions, Mom, but that’s a big ‘no way’ on the spleen wash.”
“You say that now, but it’s obvious that your chi is stagnating, and nothing clears that up like a good old-fashioned spleen wash followed by a granola enema.”
“Ouch,” Robin said. “Granola?”
“It’s a finely ground blend of oats, crisp rice and sesame seeds infused with mineral oil,” Mom assured us.
It was a miracle I didn’t choke on my beer. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
She shrugged. “Or you can always get a cat.”
Chapter 9
The next morning I dressed in jeans, boots and a forest green turtleneck sweater, then went downstairs to meet Mom, Dad and their stalwart spirit guide, Robin, in the hotel restaurant. I slid into the booth next to Mom and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from the passing waitress.
As I poured cream into my coffee, I said, “Wasn’t that a great dinner last night?”
“Oh, yes,” Mom said. “Derek is the perfect host, isn’t he?”
“He was too generous,” Dad said.
I took a sip of coffee. “So, are you all packed up and ready to go?”
No one responded. Robin wouldn’t make eye contact with me. Dad busily stirred honey into his tea. That was when I knew something was wrong. Dad hated tea.
“What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“I knew she’d make a fuss,” Mom said with a flustered wave of her hands.
“What fuss? Who’s making a fuss? What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’re not going anywhere, sweetie,” Mom said defiantly. “And that’s final.”
Dad reached across Mom and patted my hand. “How can we leave you when you’re going through such trauma?”
Alarmed, I turned to Robin, who said simply, “They want to stay.”
“But… but what about the druidic triad?” I asked. “And the vibrating yew tree thingie? Dad?”
“We’ll get there sometime,” he said. “But right now, you need us more than my dosha needs an alignment.”
“Are you sure, Dad? Because you look a little bent.”
He chuckled. “Now, see, Becky? There’s her sense of humor coming back.” Dad wrapped his arm around Mom because she looked about ready to cry. That couldn’t be good.
“Mom, I’m thrilled that you want to stay,” I said quickly, and really hoped I sounded sincere. “But I won’t be able to spend much time with you. I’ve got the book fair.”
“We can amuse ourselves,” she said with a sniffle. “We’ll have our own minitour around Edinburgh.”
“I’ll take care of all the details,” Robin said.
“Thanks, sweetie,” Mom said, then looked at me. “We just want to stay close by in case you need us. In case they put you in… in… oh, God, we won’t let you go to jail.”
“I’m sure that won’t happen,” I said, not so sure of anything. I gave her a hug before she started wailing. “But thanks, Mom. I’m happy you’re staying.”
“I love you,” she whispered as she dabbed her eyes with her napkin.
“I love you, too.”
She composed herself as the waitress brought her a bowl of fruit and rushed off. Mom speared a chunk of pineapple, then said thoughtfully, “You should schedule a high colonic while you’re here. You know how travel affects your nama-rupa equilibrium.”
“Mom, please, not before breakfast.” According to the most basic tenets of Buddhism, nama-rupa was the coexistence of mind and matter. Both contained combinations of elements and sensations. I could go on and on, but seriously, before breakfast? I needed food first.
Mom pointed her fork at me. “It might bring you to moksha; I’m just saying.”
“Come back, Mom,” I said, teasing her. Some believed moksha was comparable to nirvana, or ultimate peace. I was all for that, but didn’t really think I’d attain it with a high colonic.
“I could go with you,” Robin said, winking at me. “I’m always up for getting hosed.”
“I’m having the waffles,” Dad said helpfully, passing me the menu.
Over breakfast, Mom and Robin planned their little tour of Edinburgh sites. Mom said she’d heard from a woman in the elevator that there was an energy convergence circle halfway up the back side of Arthur’s Seat, Edinburgh ’s highest peak, that was rippling with powerful soul medicine. Robin suggested that maybe after their tour of the Palace of Holyroodhouse, they go on a hike up the mountain to find it.
Dad and Mom were both up for the trip.
Then Robin announced that she knew of a shaman out near Rosslyn Chapel who conducted drum circles and occasionally manifested as a crow. Mom started twittering with excitement.
I gave Robin a grateful smile. I hated seeing tears threatening to gush forth from Mom’s eyes. She might be loony, but she was mine.
Once breakfast was over and they’d taken off for the palace tour, I hit the book fair. It was barely ten o’clock, but the great assembly hall was already crowded with people wandering up and down the aisles, checking out some eight hundred booths of booksellers, art gallery owners and vendors hocking ephemera, engravings, posters and maps. Some sellers earnestly discussed their wares, while others bartered and kibitzed with the passing crowd. Many in the mass of people were serious buyers, others just book lovers hoping to see something beautiful, unique or odd.
I stopped at one counter to admire a beautiful copy of Sense and Sensibility. The navy blue leather cover was inlaid with an exquisite miniature painting of the author framed by rows of tiny pearls. I checked the price. Eight thousand dollars.
“A real bargain,” the bookseller said, tongue in cheek.