The Cracked Spine by Paige Shelton Read Free Book Online Page B

mostly for special occasions. To Benny, this is a special occasion.”
    I wondered if Benny took his security as seriously as Edwin did for his warehouse, but I just nodded.
    â€œCome along, we’re just up here.”
    I hurried after him, working hard to keep up with his long legs, and onto another floor with the same wood-paneled walls but with giant chandeliers above.
    â€œWhat’s the Fleshmarket Batch?” I said.
    â€œOh, aye, that’s what we call ourselves, the Fleshmarket Batch. One of our founders had family that decades ago lived on Fleshmarket Close—a close is an … alley.”
    â€œHamlet mentioned the closes to me. What about Batch?”
    â€œAh, I believe your word would be something like ‘club.’”
    â€œFleshmarket, huh? Sounds gruesome.”
    â€œAye. It was the location of the meat market that led to the slaughterhouse. Not pleasant images to ponder, but a reality from an older time.”
    I nodded as we reached the third floor. “Where is everyone?”
    â€œThey’re either already inside or on their way. Come along.”
    Edwin now sauntered down the long hallway as if he didn’t want to appear to be in a hurry even though I was sure he was. I followed and tried to keep my awe under control. Halfway down the hallway we turned toward a door on our right. Before he opened it, though, he looked in all directions, twice. Finally, he turned the old brass knob, and pushed through. I followed directly behind and he quickly and quietly closed the door behind us.
    The room was expansive, decorated with the same polished wood paneling I’d already seen, but in here the floor was off-white marble with swirls of gold throughout, reminding me of an even more expensive version of the bookshop’s floor. Tall windows offered a view of green grounds in one direction and more buildings and wings in the other. One half of the room was filled with puffy green upholstered chairs and a podium at the end of a middle aisle. The other side held a snack buffet with what looked like empty sterling silver serving dishes. That side was also populated by people. The space wasn’t crowded, but there was a small group of three, and the low rumble of their conversation came to an immediate halt once they turned our direction and saw us … well, probably just me.
    â€œHello, friends!” Edwin said. He was exuberant but not overly cheery. “This is Delaney. She’s from Kansas, in America. Please welcome her in the warmest of ways.” My previous home was becoming a part of my name.
    â€œI don’t see Jenny yet,” he said quietly to me as we walked toward the group. “But it looks as if everyone else is here. This isn’t everyone in the group, mind, but it’s the ones who were interested in the item up for bid today.”
    The introductions went okay, a little strained, but nothing that made me want to run out of the room and catch the next flight back home. No one had expected me to be there, but no kerfuffle ensued, or at least I didn’t think so according to what I thought “kerfuffle” meant. Edwin left me to fend for myself but I didn’t mind, and even a quick one-on-one with each of the three people would help me know them better.
    If she’d been from England, Genevieve Begbie would have been straight out of a PBS television show about aristocracy and their servants. She was clearly Scottish though, and she was young in comparison to everyone else in the room. She was probably somewhere in her early fifties and dressed in clothes that made me think I shouldn’t stand anywhere near her if I held food or drink. She wore her brown hair boyishly short with a small swoop to the right. Her firmly set mouth didn’t smile when she shook my hand, but her eyes did a little bit, so I held out hope that she and I might get along okay, eventually.
    â€œI thought dear Jenny would be coming