The first thing I notice as I enter the library is that one of the older guests has helped himself to a whiskey. I sigh. It could be worse. Then I see that is in fact much worse. The blonde woman isthumbing through an ancient edition ofDr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, licking her finger each time she turns a page.
I’m about to take it from her hands when a crack stops me in my tracks. A man is holding a record sleeve; the record itself is shattered into hundreds of pieces at his feet. My face feels numb as I take the sleeve from his hands. Turning it around to see which album it is.
Please don’t let it be hers, please.
It’s the Rolling Stones “Sticky Fingers.” Relief washes over me. One of my favorites, but mercifully not one of Mom’s.
“The tour is over..”
There are a few groans, and no movement to leave.
“Thank you so much for coming.” Again, not one person moves. The older gentleman is still sipping on our whiskey.
“Everyone needs to leave. Now!”
The group shuffles out the door with mutters of “money back” and we should’ve gone to Urquhart Castle. Once I am alone again it hits me what I’ve done. I can practically read the Yelp reviews now.
Dad’s at a “business meeting” whatever that means. I’ll tell him tomorrow. Today I’m done. I take a long bubble bath in our claw foot tub with a glass of wine and head for bed.
The bells jingleon the bookshop door, and it sounds like home. Better than home, because there isn’t any work to be done. No leaks to be patched. No chickens to feed. No tours to give. I still haven’t told Dad about the disaster tour yesterday, but I’m not going to worry about it now that I’m in my happy place. I can pick a book at random and live any life, not the one where I’m a grown woman still living with my father.
Endless shelves of stories to escape into.
Okay, not really endless, as the bookstore in Foyers is actually quite small, possibly one of the smallest in all of Scotland. The stock is crammed into what used to be a living and dining room of a whitestone cottage. I browse the shelves filled to bursting with books, walking past the small sitting area in the middle of the room with a red shaggy papasan chair. The shop is empty—completely empty.Where is Gabby?
“Gabby?”
“Is that you, Skye?”
“Yes. Is everything okay?” I suddenly feel like I walked into one of the mysteries I write. Is there a killer lurking around the shelf?
“Just making tea, dear! Want any?” she calls from the back.
“No, thanks.”
I show myself to the crime fiction section and run my finger along the dusty spines, trying to decide which one to lose myself in. I reach to the top shelf, where the A’s are, and touch the spot where my novel will go someday, if I ever get to publish one. Of course, in order to publish one, I'll have to get over this writer's block that has descended upon me like the fog on the loch in the morning—thick and impossible to see my way through. It's been months since I've written anything. Well, except for the instruction booklets I write for my job, but the ins and outs of a toaster oven won't snag me a book deal.
The bell on the door jingles. My friend Kate runs in, her black hair billowing behind her along with some stray leaves and a cool fall wind.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s okay.” We hug, and she gives me a kiss on the cheek, leaving a gooey smudge. I’m sure I have a fat red mark from her lipstick, her signature look since we were sixteen.
“Don’t you want to get a bite to eat before your shift?”
She shakes her head. “Books are more important.”
I laugh, but she’s absolutely right. As we browse, Gabby comes out of the back holding a steaming cup and fills the small space with a floral scent.
After a while, Kate finds me in the reference section and hands me a pink book. Two people lean together, about to kiss, flowerssurrounding them. It’s cheerful and not something I would ever read. “What’s this?”
“I finished it last week. It’s delightful. You have to try it.”
I hand it back to her. “I’ll stick to murder.”
Kate smiles as she places the book on top of my stack. “You need to broaden your horizons. If you don’t love it…” She looks around, her green eyes searching for inspiration. “I’ll give your next tour.”
“I wouldn’t inflict that on my worst enemy.”
