We arrived at the main entrance and waited to leave as several more customers, men and women alike, arrived through those ornate doors.
It was a glimpse. At the corner of my eye, no more, and I might have ignored it as a reflection in the glass doors as more customers arrived for a day’s shopping.
Except for the way the woman stood there, not moving, staring at me, and for several moments it seemed that she waited expectantly. I turned to look at her.
She was dressed in a worn and stained skirt and a thin, plain blouse, her hair in disarray, in sharp contrast to others who swept past. And there was a sad, mournful expression on her face.
Dory stood there! As real as I remembered her, as if I could reach out and touch her.
Impossible, I thought. She was dead. I had found her body and then seen her at the police morgue. Yet...
Her expression was sad. It seemed that she tried to say something, but I couldn’t hear with the chatter of others who passed by. She smiled, then slowly turned.
“Don’t go!”Had I said it or only imagined it?“Dory?”
She didn’t stop. Instead, she slowly walked into the crowd of customers who passed by, then disappeared.
“What is it?” Munro asked. “Are ye all right? Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”
I was not at all certain that I hadn’t. Except that I didn’t believe in them.
If not a ghost, then what had I seen for those few seconds? Someone who looked like Dory? Or was it all my imagination?
I shook my head even as I looked back over my shoulder, everything as it was moments before, as customers arrived and moved past us.
Attendants greeted them to see to their needs, and across that wide aisle in the haberdashery department, Mr. Woolsey spoke with an older gentleman at the counter.
I had no explanation for what had happened. Yet, I was certain I had seen my friend. But for what reason?
How was it possible? What was it she tried to tell me before she had disappeared?
The driver foundthe taxidermist shop on George Street in good time.
It was a discreet shop north of the Royal Mile in the New Town, situated in a line of other shops that included a tobacconist and a millinery shop. It might have gone unnoticed except for the large owl that appeared to take flight in the display window.
“Aye, taxidermist,” Munro commented as we entered the shop. “What might the man feed the poor creature.”
There appeared to be several possibilities, even though the owl was long past caring what his next meal might be. An assortment of creatures, dead as well, were displayed across the shop and mounted on the walls.
“How may I serve you this morning?”
I would have sworn the red deer that stood a few feet away had spoken, except for the balding man with shirt sleeves rolled back who suddenly appeared from behind the deer.
“Señor Petrelli?” Munro inquired.
“Yes, and this is Pepito, one of my finer specimens recently completed, awaiting his new owner to arrive,” the taxidermist replied with a smile.
“How may I help you? Something for the young woman perhaps? More and more ladies choose my work. Often a beloved pet that has passed on.”
“I have questions,” I replied as I stepped around another specimen of the small dogs that were popular among the ton in London, and approached the counter as Señor Petrelli stepped behind.
“The ladies often have questions,” he explained with a faint accent. “They want me to know all about their pet before they have it delivered.”
Munro made a sound that might have been a cough from the cold weather. Or not, as he stood before that wall and appeared to be quite fascinated by the stag heads mounted there.
“You have a variety of birds as well as the deer and other animals.”
I did wonder if they were still animals once they were dead and stuffed.
