Page 33 of Disturbing the Dead
“By leaving me below, in a dark tunnel frequented by killers? You just wanted to be first up the ladder.”
Once I start climbing, I realize he actually had a point. Even without the cage, my dress is not meant for climbing. Also, I’m wearing crotchless underwear. All bloomers in this time are crotchless, and when I feel that tickle of air, I’m reminded of it… and the fact Gray is below me. Luckily, he’s too much of a gentleman to look up my skirts.
With far too much effort, I reach the top. It’s a hatch with no sign of a handle, so I give it a shove and it pops open. An oath erupts from above as the hatch clatters open. I look up to see two men in constable uniforms. One I recognize as Iain, a young Highlander who has helped us before. As I climb from the hatch, the other officer gapes at me, and I realize I might not be exactly what he expects to see emerging from a subterranean lair.
Iain grins as he leaps forward to help me out. “Greetings, Miss Mallory.”
“Greetings to you as well,” I say. “Lovely evening for a tunnel crawl, is it not?”
His grin grows, and he lifts the lantern to survey me. “That’s a fine dress you’re wearing this evening, Miss Mallory.”
I twirl my skirts. “Isn’t it just? I had it specially made for fleeing through filthy tunnels. The color goes so well with dirt.”
His companion’s gaze glides over me, and I realize my joke could be taken for flirting. Damn it. Back in my time, colleagues would know I was goofing around. Here, in Catriona’s body, with guys who are not actually my colleagues, it’s a very different thing. Hell, as Catriona, I only need to breathe deeply, and my heaving bosom can be interpreted as flirtation.
I glance back at the hatch. “Dr. Gray. There you are. Took you a while, sir.”
“I have no idea why,” he grumbles. “It is not as if there was someone above me, with dirty boots, clods falling on my head.” He gives himself a shake and looks around. “I presume Hugh sent you, Iain?”
“He did.” Iain lifts a satchel and a suitcase. “Came to fetch Mr. Awad’s bags.”
“They were right here then? Where he said he left them?”
“They were.”
“All right. If you can return those, Miss Mallory and I will take a look around. We will close the hatch when we are done and come around the street way.”
“You… may want to shake some of the dirt from your clothing before you do.”
Gray sighs. “Of course. Thank you, gentlemen.”
ELEVEN
We find nothing in the shed. As Michael said, it’s a small and ruined building in a private garden. I remember coming to Edinburgh’s New Town in my time, seeing gardens on the map and going to one for a pleasant walk, only to find gates barring my way. Locked gates. The gardens are owned by a private collective, and you can apply for membership and get a key. I’d been baffled by the idea that huge gardens in a downtown core were not open to the public.
This is a small version of that. The shed would have been for the gardener retained by the collective. But there’s another shed in a more convenient location near the entrance, and this one has been left as an ivy-covered ruin.
The old shed is kept locked, but Michael—and Selim—have keys, the children having located two in a drawer of old keys after they first found the tunnel.
After a look around, we leave and make it back to the house without neighbors shrieking about the two vagrants wearing fancy clothing they clearly stole from corpses. I could say the lack of attention proves I don’t look as bad as I think I do, but I suspect it has something to do with it being three in the morning. Also, might I point out that it’s very cold at three A.M. in late November when you’re dressed only in party attire.
We ask Selim about his attacker’s hands. He hadn’t thought of that, but looking back, he remembers what was either dark skin or dark gloves. He didn’t see well enough to be sure.
Next we examine the exhibit room. McCreadie joins us, but really, both the detective and I would admit that the person best suited to this task is Gray.
Gray says that I’m better at figuring out people—seeing clues and connections in their speech and mannerisms and expressions. Maybe that’s true, but it feels like he’s tossing me a bone to make up for the fact that the actual detective is worse than him at, well, detecting. Gray has an eye for detail that I can’t match. It’s not quite on Sherlock Holmes’s level, but sometimes it feels that way.
I find Gray crouched over a clod of dirt, examining it with the end of a pencil.
“Let me guess,” I say. “That comes from the tiny village of Cearc, where they only have that specific composition of soil.”
“Hardly. Everyone knows the soil in Cearc is largely composed of nitrogen and potassium, given that the land is apparently inhabited by chickens.” He glances at me. “I applaud your commitment to studying Gaelic, Mallory, but you might not want to use it just yet.”
“Hey, Chicken is a perfectly valid town name. There’s one in Alaska. It was supposed to be called Ptarmigan, but the founders couldn’t spell that.”
He looks up to see if I’m joking. Then he shakes his head and turns back to the soil. “This might not be from the fine village of Cearc, but I do believe we will be able to confirm or reject it as coming from the tunnel. The soil there was somewhat different from what we see outside, possibly owing to the age or depth. We will take this and compare it.”
McCreadie walks over. “Because if it does come from the tunnel, that suggests our killer not only fled that way but entered that way.” He glances at me. “Do I even want to know what that discussion of chickens was about?”
