Plaid and Plagiarism by Molly Macrae

Author:Molly Macrae
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pegasus Books

15

If we’re sticking to facts, then we don’t know for certain that this letter is written to your Curtis,” Christine said. “Or typed to him, to be completely accurate.”

“That abominable rat,” Janet said.

“There are enough details, though, to be reasonably sure it is him. It mentions the university. And a specific mole on his . . . back.”

“Putrescent rat. Who wrote it?”

“Believe it or not, the two of you—you and whoever did write it—are on the same wavelength. The rat’s ears would fry to a crisp if we read this out loud.”

“Then we should,” Janet said. “And the louder, the better. Let me see it.” She snapped the letter from Christine’s fingers and scanned it, turning it over and back again. She ended by waving it. “Unsigned? Who writes a letter like this and then doesn’t sign it?”

“Or doesn’t send it?” Christine said. “What’s the point?”

“There’s no date. No other names at all. How are we supposed to know who this child is, or how old he or she is? Or who the mother is? Oh, my God, what if it’s someone I know? What if it’s someone I run into in the fresh vegetables at Tesco’s?”

“The mother?” Christine asked.

“Mother or child. Oh, my God, what if this other woman is Jess? Holy, holy cow. Rosie could’ve found the letters in Jess’s office, read them, and then brought them here, playing her silly psychic game.”

“You’re getting worked up,” Christine said.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t get worked up.”

“We don’t know if the letter is true.”

“It’s believable, though, given the rat’s recent history. And you believe it, or you wouldn’t have left the tearoom like that. But you’re right.” Janet made an effort to slow down, calm down. “We don’t know who wrote it. We don’t know if either the mother or the child even lives in Inversgail.”

“Although if neither one of them does, then why is the letter here in Inversgail?” Christine asked. “More specifically, why is it here in our business, in a tin that was empty the last time anyone looked? And what does Rab ‘Pandora’ MacGregor know about all this?”

“Stop it. I’m trying to be rational, but you’ll send me right over the edge if you ask me to be rational about too many things at once. Okay, we don’t know when this . . . affair happened. Ten years ago? Twenty? And we don’t know if it really did. But if it isn’t true, then why write the letter?” Janet pointed at the stack on the desk. “What’s in the rest of the envelopes? Are they all letters to Curtis?

“Can you handle it if they are?”

“Hand them over and watch me.”

There were eight more envelopes. Christine gave half of them to her, and Janet sat down at the other desk. She opened them one by one, took out and unfolded the sheets of typewritten paper they contained, and laid them side by side. Christine did the same with her envelopes.

“Each one to a different person,” Janet said. “This one is two pages.

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