by V Clifford
Viv looked at Mac struggling to hold himself upright. He said, ‘It’ll take too long to fix, we’ll have to move on. But we’ll be back in the morning to take a look round. Someone didn’t want us to stay here. You think about anyone who might want the hotel empty . . . and of course, what you can reasonably charge us for the room for . . .’
Viv glanced at her watch. ‘An hour.’
The poor guy had obviously never had to charge his rooms by the hour, and stood like a caricature, scratching his head, still doing the sucking air thing. Before she lost the plot, Viv got busy, grabbed her things and ushered Mac out to the reception area. She sighed ostentatiously, eyes reaching for her hairline at the inefficiency of the situation. No wonder the place was empty. If she owned the place . . . Blah, blah! She reminded herself that she didn’t. The guy wandered behind them.
Viv asked, ‘Could you get us a lift along the road to Historic Scotland’s car park?’
‘Sure, the barman isn’t doing much.’
Viv looked round and noticed a rope across the bottom step with a sign reading ‘Staff only’. She knew it hadn’t been there earlier and wondered how, if she’d wanted to, she’d have accessed the single room on the top floor. Perhaps their intruder was a member of staff? She’d spotted a couple of unshaven guys at the bar; one of them looked like a younger, thinner version of the skipper. Again, she reminded herself that if you lived around here there were very few places to socialize and everyone was probably related in some way or other.
The monosyllabic barman dropped them at the Audi and as he drove off Viv stretched her hand out. ‘Keys?’
Mac rooted around in his pockets and threw them to her, but immediately regretted the throw.
Viv bit her lip. ‘I felt that.’ She flashed him a cheeky grin. ‘Something quite reassuring about having the upper hand. I must make the most of it, and stop thinking of you as my commissario.’
Mac grinned, ‘I like the idea of you thinking of me, whatever the fantasy.’
Viv shook her head. ‘You wish! Besides, it’s not like you’re capable of anything other than curling up and resting. Listen, we’ll go straight to A&E and get you properly checked over.’
This time he didn’t object.
The Audi was so different from her own car and she couldn’t get the seat into the right position. Then as soon as she drove off she felt the car pulling to one side.
Viv stopped before they’d even hit the road, and got out. ‘Mac. You stay where you are and I’ll take a look.’ She grabbed a torch from her bag and flashed it over the front wheel. ‘Shit! That was not an accident.’ The front tyre looked as if it had been shredded. Now there was no way that the earlier capers had been accidental.
Mac crossed his arms and laid them against the roof of the car. Then resting his head on them, barked, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ His voice, with a bit of energy behind it, sent a wave of reassurance over Viv.
‘No idea, Mac, but if I didn’t know better I’d think that someone had it in for you. Got an angry ex hiding away somewhere that I don’t know about?’
Viv walked to the back of the car and opened the boot. Unlike in her own car it was tidy, so access to the spare wheel was easy. Everything that she needed to change the tyre was neatly stored in its proper place. She hauled the temporary tyre out, laid it against the car and assembled the jack.
‘I can do that.’
‘Yeah, sure! You and whose army? You go and find somewhere to sit while I get this done. It should only take ten minutes.’
But Mac rolled the tyre to the front of the Audi. Then he checked all the other tyres before nodding to Viv. ‘I was worried for a minute that we might fix this and then discover that the others had been ripped as well.’ He blew out a breath of exasperation. ‘Who would want to do this? And who would break a window and run away? I mean how juvenile is that? I don’t get it, first the stone, which, by the way, could have landed on anyone at the site, then the smashed window, and now a slashed tyre. It’s mad, totally mad.’
Viv was already lying on the ground trying to find the jack point with her torch. Once she’d located it she hiked the car up and loosened the wheel nuts, which took some doing because they’d obviously last been tightened by the A-Team. She heaved and heaved again, and eventually she managed to get them free. The rest of the job was easy, and as she’d predicted, only took ten minutes. ‘By the way, if you think about it, each of these attacks were different, different motivations with different consequences. Okay, let’s say the stone could be random. But breaking our window was specific, a sure sign that someone wanted us to move on. This,’ she pointed at the wheel, ‘contradicts the breaking of a window, ’cause it prevents us from going anywhere. Either there’s something that we’re both totally missing or the person behind this doesn’t have a clue and is just pissed off with us. Doing stuff in the hope of annoying us.’
Mac nodded. ‘Let’s get going.’
Chapter Seven
Once on their way Viv looked at Mac. ‘You done in?’
‘Really sorry about all this, Viv. You’re meant to be up here having a break. A well earned rest, and look what I’ve got you into.’
She patted his leg. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides you didn’t get out of bed this morning thinking, now what can I do to piss Viv off today, did you?’
He shook his head. ‘I sure as hell did not, but if you hadn’t come to Sheriffmuir with me you’d be tucked up in that cosy cottage with a book and Moll. My God. Moll, did you ring . . .’
‘Relax. It’s sorted. I phoned Brian and he’s more than happy to go and check her. Although she’ll be delighted to see us, I’m sure.’
Viv drove as slowly as she could get away with on the windy road back. After half an hour they had to make a choice between taking the fork to Stirling or continuing to the cottage. Within ten minutes they were entering the estate gates and bumping up the track.
Mac continued to argue his case. ‘You know even if there are a couple of broken ribs there’s nothing they can do about them. If you strap me up it will do just the same job.’
Viv was incredulous. ‘Strap you up? You should be so lucky.’ Then she grinned at him. ‘Only kidding. Let’s get you inside. Nothing like a cup of tea to sort out the problems of the world. Then we can make a decision about what’s best.’
Moll was already barking, and the security light on the porch flashed on as they slammed their car doors.
They both smiled and Mac said, ‘Reassuring. I guess that’s why people have dogs.’
‘Yeah, that and the small but crucial fact that they never judge you. Unconditional love.’
‘I can do that.’
Viv spun round to check whether he was kidding or not, but he looked serious. ‘You don’t honestly think that it’s possible for a human to love unconditionally, do you?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
She snorted. ‘Because it’s bollocks. We carry too much freight. We all have an agenda and distort our lens to make things fit what we want. Life’s an emotional soup. No way you can separate your crap from the rest of the pot.’
‘God, Viv, you’re such a cynic.’
He edged himself down onto the sofa and groaned loudly, as Viv crouched on the floor fussing over Molly. ‘What now? Tea!’ Viv dusted off her thighs and straightened up. ‘I’ll get the kettle on. Feeling a bit peckish actually. So much for dinner at the Inn. I guess you’re not hungry?’
‘Not really. Tea and a biscuit would do me.’
After tea Viv asked Mac to strip his shirt off so that she could dress his wound. Sal’s medicine cabinet came up with creams and bandages enough for an army. She smiled, wondering what Sal had had in mind when she’d bought such a huge first aid box. Viv had once cracked a rib playing tennis and had it strapped so she kind of knew what to do.
‘Better straddle an upright chair so that your back is straight. And, here, just in case.’ She handed him a couple of painkillers and watched with d
isgust as he popped and swallowed them dry.
‘If they are broken this is going to hurt. So bite on this. Those things won’t kick in immediately.’
She handed Mac a piece of folded cotton gauze.
‘I won’t need it.’ But as soon as she tightened the bandage he yelped and tucked it into his mouth.
As Viv bandaged, Mac distracted himself by trying Coulson’s mobile, but his call went straight to her answering service. He removed the lint from his mouth and turned awkwardly to look at Viv. ‘In that chancel it would have been mighty difficult to get up there without anyone noticing. I mean the height of ladders it would take, never mind trekking over from the mainland with them . . . the boatman or those other guys we met must know something.’ He sent Coulson a text. ‘There’s no way that they’re ignorant of the grave . . . I was going to say robbers but we don’t know if they took anything. Although they did leave something behind that they shouldn’t have.’ He took a deep breath and stared at her. ‘I wonder if that was the point. Maybe they saw the grave as a good place for storage. What a caper . . . What did you think about Sheriffmuir?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘I thought that woman was odd. Why do you think she took off?’
Viv waited, certain he just needed a sounding board again. But he raised his eyebrows in a query. ‘Anyone home?’
‘Sure, I think she might have had something on her mind, or something she wanted to hide from us. But a connection to the dig, I’m not so sure.’
‘So you think she took off just for fun?’
‘No, I’m saying I don’t know why she took off. But if her family have been on that moor for generations, which by the way was the only thing that she seemed willing to give us, and with a touch of pride, she’ll think of that land as her own. Doesn’t matter who actually owns it. All her life she’ll have played there and walked it. It must feel weird when people, strangers, come along and start digging it up. But before I get even more fanciful, maybe she had a dental appointment or something. Don’t let’s do that complex equivalence thing.’
He screwed up his face, ‘Complex what?’
‘You know, when something happens and you jump to the conclusion that it must be one thing, usually the worst case scenario, but it turns out to be perfectly simple, innocent . . . like a dental appointment and not an affair or a murder.’ She smirked. ‘It comes from NLP.’
He snorted, ‘You and your psychobabble.’
‘What would you do without it?’ She grinned at him. ‘You couldn’t live without my insights; you have to admit psychobabble’s had its uses.’
‘I concede it has, but it still doesn’t mean she was going to the dentist. Why didn’t she come out and say hello, like any normal person, and tell us she was in a hurry? But no, she sneaks out to the barn, gets in her pick-up and takes off. Only stopping because I stepped in front of her. Call me suspicious but that did make me kind of suspicious.’
‘Okay, okay, just sayin’.’
She helped him back into his shirt, then cleared the first aid kit away.
When she was in the kitchen she heard his phone beeping, but continued washing up before returning. ‘Any news?’
‘Yes. That was Coulson. The boatman has been given notice to retire and he doesn’t want to. He’s being difficult about a few things.’
‘According to who?’
Mac shifted awkwardly in his seat. ‘The Historic Scotland guys said he’s been a pain in the arse. Making their lives difficult by not doing stuff that they need him to. One of those things is ferrying equipment like grass cutting replacements etc. etc.’
Viv shook her head. ‘Nah, he didn’t look fit enough to run away as quickly as the person that smashed the window. You heard him huffing and puffing trying to pull the boat against the pier . . . Or am I just being ageist? I can’t see him up a ladder either. But that definitely is ageist. If Sal’s aunt was anything to go by she was up clearing the rones ’til her nineties. Slashing tyres, anyone could do that, but I just can’t see it. Okay, delete my comments about the boatman. But surely if you wanted to hang onto your job you’d do everything possible to keep them sweet. Make yourself indispensable.’
Mac nodded. ‘What could he possibly have against me? I don’t know him from a bar of soap . . . On another note, when you asked if I might be having difficulty with an ex I did wonder. I’ve had a few emails from . . . Oh, never mind, I’m being paranoid now.’
‘Fuck off, you! Don’t do that ‘Oh never mind’ thing. It totally gets on my tits.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘Again. You wish! What sort of emails?’
‘Nothing that I can’t sort. Look I’d better get myself home . . .’
‘Eh, I don’t think so. There’s a spare room.’
He looked appalled, ‘No, no, I’d be better off in my own bed.’
‘Okay, here’s the deal. You can go home to your own bed, if I drive you. Leave your car here and I’ll pick you up if you need transport.’
He was about to protest, but she shot him a look. ‘Deal.’
Once inside her car she slipped out of the drive onto the lane, over the humpback bridge and up to the T-junction. ‘Which way? I’ve no idea where we’re going.’
‘Sorry.’ Mac shook his head. ‘I wasn’t thinking. Take a right. After five minutes on the main road he said, ‘Left here.’ They travelled for another ten minutes up onto the Braes of Doune before reaching a really rough track on the right. ‘Up here.’
They stopped in the back of beyond, but when she got out of the car and looked back over the Carse of Stirling she couldn’t believe how beautiful it was, with lights beneath the Castle and twinkles way into the distance. ‘I bet on a clear day you can see a huge swathe of Scotland.’ She turned to see him struggling with his key in the door. ‘Watch out, I’ll get that.’
The house, an old stone building with two storeys, was surrounded by rough ground with evidence of sheep right up to the front door. There was a wisp of smoke coming from the chimney, but overall the place looked pretty sad. Shabby paint on the windows and gutters were probably first on his to do list for this weekend.
He managed to get the key to behave and said, ‘No probs. See, I can look after myself.’ He bit his lip.
She smiled and shrugged. She’d got to do more for him than she’d expected. She’d done well to persuade him to let her drive.
‘It’s isolated.’
He nodded, ‘ That’s why I’ve kept it. No one to bother me for miles. But great phone reception.’ He pointed to a huge mast on the brow of the hill. ‘You coming in?’ He asked without conviction.
‘No. No, I’ll head back. But I’ll see you in the morning. Ring me when you’re up and about.’
Chapter Eight
Viv returned to Sal’s cottage, ignored her own loud yawn, and booted up her laptop. She typed, ‘Folklore of Stirlingshire’ into Google and a whole bunch of wonderful tales about the area, including Sheriffmuir, turned up. She settled on the sofa with Moll’s chin on her knees to read through them. The more she read the more wrapped up in them she became. The actual battle of Sheriffmuir in 1715 sounded like a shambles. The Earl of Mar allowed Argyll to retreat; consequently both sides claimed victory for a campaign that wasn’t finished. She smiled. No texting in those days. She was attracted by names that she’d heard from Sal and read about in a couple of ancient books from the conservatory shelves. Viv had learned more about Sal from this cottage than Sal had ever let on. The man who carried the standard into battle was a staunch Jacobite, James Edmonstone. Viv remembered Sal saying that a cadet branch of the Edmonstone family once lived in the old tower house up the hill. She snorted at the polite use of ‘cadet’ − in other words, born on the wrong side of the bed sheets.
There were a number of sites on the Edmonstone family, but Viv was determined to contain her research to documents concerned with Sheriffmuir. She read on, until one story grabbed her attention; its title, ‘Maggy O’ the Bog’. How interesting
that the woman on the smallholding had the same name. Family connection? Viv didn’t believe in coincidence. Maggy, of the late eighteenth century, had made her name selling illicit booze to passing trade, but more specifically to soldiers who rode out to see her, from the garrison at Stirling Castle. The story implied that they didn’t all make it back to their posts. Intrigued, she was tempted to ring Mac, but resisted – he needed to sleep. There was definitely a subtext, ambiguity about Maggy’s real trade. Viv smiled as she reread it. She’d made her own illegal booze, and sold it to anyone who passed by, but the article also implied that the soldiers were looking for more than a flagon of ale. Was she responsible for their disappearance? Did she actually knock the soldiers off? And if she did, had they ended up in the bog?
There were two similar stories, as was often the case when oral traditions were finally written down. So she stood to go and print them off. Molly, blissed out after an extended ear massage, grunted at the upheaval. Viv laid the prints side by side on the table and scanned each for discrepancies. The first difference was the name, Maggy O’ the Bog and the other was called Muckle Mary, but their stories were the same; each sold alcohol from an illicit still from a bothy on Sheriffmuir, and each had offered other services to passing trade and troops. Viv scratched her head. These were anecdotal stories collected in the mid-nineteenth century. The current Maggie O’ the Bog must be related to this woman. Viv smiled at the notion of continuity in their family business; the woman today had been proud to mention how many generations had lived on the land.
Her final task was to have a quick look for the Byron Ponsonbys. There wasn’t much to go on, although she did find one thing of interest − court proceedings about a land dispute. No house, but quite a few hectares at stake. Realising that she might have to collect Sal from the airport in the morning, she decided to call it a night. She opened the front door and called on Molly to go for her final pee. The clouds cleared to expose a half moon, and as in childhood she recited ‘Hey diddle diddle’ in her dad’s memory.
