by Carly Reid
“Testing…are you talking about MY marmalade? Is that what he said? Oh, heavens above! Oh Janet!”
The woman was alarmingly red in the face. Ealisaid, perhaps fearful of another casualty, rushed to her side and took her arm.
“Come away back in and sit down Margaret, I’m sure it’s nothing, they just have to be thorough.”
Jessica, glancing at DI Gordon’s impassive face, was not convinced. If the Castle Drummond marmalade was poisoned, who could have done it?
4
A Walk in the Park
Once Margaret had recovered a little, Ealisaid had thought it prudent to walk her down the hill to the café, where she hoped to calm Margaret with some tea. It also meant that she would be able to relieve Magnus, sort out her staffing problem and return to the Village Hall as soon as she could, in order to further prepare for whatever version of the Craft Show would go ahead. Jessica accompanied them, carrying Margaret’s handbag for her as the woman had complained of feeling ‘wabbit’. Ealisaid had explained that this meant faint and shaky, and the two were not taking any chances. Margaret was a far more healthy color now, however, and in fact had kept up a steady pace as well as dominating the conversation all the way down the hill, almost without pausing for breath. Jessica and Ealisaid listened patiently. They didn’t have much choice, for Miss Janet Simpson had taken her leave on their way down the High Street.
“Of course, I always make my marmalade at Drummond Castle. The Laird is more than happy for me to use his kitchen, and his muckle jeely pots. I’m not sure who would use them if I didn’t!”
Jessica wasn’t sure what Margaret was driving at. She remembered that Ealisaid had already mentioned Margaret making her preserves in the MacNaughton’s large pots, but what could it have to do with today’s events? Was Margaret Mustard just bragging? But it became clear with her next sentence.
“And he’s an awfy man, that Laird. Gillespie never locks his doors and he lets all and sundry away in, whether they’ve an appointment or no. I’ll always mind the day I came into the kitchen and there was a pig under the table. A pig! He was meeting with a crofter, and for whatever reason, who knows what, the man had brought a pig with him. They all just came into the kitchen and then the Laird and the farmer went away upstairs to the study, and they just left the pig snuffling about in my…in the kitchens!”
Jessica made an appropriate surprised noise. Behind that, her brain was whirring. Was Margaret Mustard suggesting that someone else could have tampered with her marmalade in the Castle Drummond kitchens? Wasn’t that jumping the gun a little – it hadn’t even definitely been established that the marmalade had been the cause of death. It seemed a little early to be looking for a potential poisoner. It didn’t seem as if Margaret Mustard agreed though. She had adapted with amazing speed, and was now positioning herself at the centre of an elaborate drama.
“Come to think of it, maybe I did notice someone skulking outside in the bushes when I was making the marmalade. I’m almost positive that I heard something; I was stirring and think I mind going outside to check. I thought whoever it was skedaddled quickly when I went out, but maybe they crept in to the kitchen and put something in my marmalade! Oh, heavens! Is someone trying to frame me? What would make anyone do such a thing?”
Jessica, pondering, asked:
“Did you only make the one pot of marmalade from that batch?”
“What? Oh no, of course not! I made about eight jars. It’s Gillespie’s favourite. I’m not sure what you mean. Oh I see, you are saying they couldn’t have added something to the pot or the other jars would have been poisoned too. Maybe it was later on in the evening then, when the jars were setting and he just tampered with one of them. Come to think of it, I think it was later. That’s right, the sun WAS low. What a wicked, wicked thing to do.”
Ealisaid, eyes resolutely forward as she kept up the pace down the hill, replied.
“Right enough, Margaret. That will be something you should tell Detective Inspector Gordon later, when he wants to speak to you again. Just now I think you should try and put the whole thing out of your mind and have a cup of tea, and maybe a wee cake to go with it.”
“That’s a good idea, Ealisaid. You know, I hustled out of here so quickly earlier, I didnae even touch my eclair! Maybe it was partly low blood sugar that made me feel faint, I’m not used to missing my elevenses. I have a very early breakfast you know.”
“No problem, Margaret, if Mairead didnae keep it for you we will get you another one, on the house. Come away in.”
They had reached the door of Lissa’s and Ealisaid pushed the door inwards, then held it for the older woman to go in first. Margaret Mustard was instantly greeted and fussed over by another table of older women, of which there seemed to be an inexhaustible supply in Dalkinchie. Jessica supposed that they were probably Women’s Guild members as well. Just as Jessica was about to follow Margaret in to the café, Ealisaid leaned in and whispered:
“I don’t know what you made of all that – oor Margaret has never shied from a drama. But I cannae help but think that she’s worried folk will remember that she had a huge grudge against Desmond Wilcott.”
* * *
Jessica didn’t have much time to process this statement. Reenie, whose flower shop The Bloom Room lay directly across from Lissa’s at number 12 Dalkinchie High Street, saw them arriving and nipped over, coaxing Willow on her red leash across the street after first, unsuccessfully, trying to get her to stop and sit at the side. Jessica, who was only just standing inside the door, went back out to meet her. Ealisaid had already whirled into action, serving customers, speaking to Magnus – who looked fine in his green apron – and Mairead, and reassuring everyone that yes, the Show would be going ahead.
“What on earth’s been happening Jessica? I’ve had a few customers in the shop this morning that have mentioned a problem at the Craft Show. Has someone taken ill?” Reenie stood on the sidewalk outside the café. Willow nosed around their feet.
Jessica made a decision. “Let’s walk Reenie, and I’ll fill you in on what I know. Have you closed up the shop?”
“Yes, it’s my lunch break. I was going to take Willow for a short walk to the park anyway. It would be lovely if you had time to join us.” Still a young puppy, Willow was having regular walks of around twenty minutes so as not to put unnecessary strain on her developing muscles and bones. Jessica smiled at the excited pup, who was trying to jump up despite their attempts at training her. She crouched down and fondled the dog’s silky ears.
“I have a little bit of time. Let’s go.”
Jessica and her aunt headed into the park, a large sweep of recreational land that ran through the centre of Dalkinchie. It contained a children’s play park as well as numerous interconnecting paths, rougher ground over adjacent fields, and smaller areas that had been individually landscaped by local community groups. The most direct path from Reenie’s cottage to the village ran right through the park, and Jessica loved it. She was looking forward to exploring more of the intertwining pathways as Willow grew bigger and could cope with a longer walk. For now though, she was enjoying their frequent strolls and Willow’s evident delight at all the new sensory experiences she was having.
The park was relatively busy today – at least, busy for small-town Scotland, which simply meant that it wasn’t completely empty. As it was a Saturday and towards the end of the school holidays, there were plenty of children using the swings and slide in the play park as well as small groups hanging about by the Burn, a small river that wound its way through the green slopes. What an idyllic childhood, thought Jessica, having the run of the park for the whole summer. Parents pushed babies and toddlers in strollers, and there were quite a few other dog walkers as well, including some whose dogs could be trusted to run around off leash. Jessica couldn’t imagine Willow ever being so mature, although everyone had told them that she would grow quickly. The trees were in full, lush leaf and the banks covered with yellow wildflowers and sm
all pink thistles. Bees buzzed lazily around them.
As they walked, Jessica told her aunt about everything that had happened that morning. Reenie, always a good listener, didn’t interrupt until Jessica had completely finished. It had been an uncharacteristically dry summer, and the route they took was cracked and uneven underfoot until it wound under the trees where the thick canopy of leaves had preserved the dampness of the bark path. Willow, not yet used to walking on a leash, darted this way and that, exploring smells, textures and every movement, meaning that both women had to be vigilant that she didn’t wind in between their feet and trip them up. Reenie carried a pocketful of small treats to reward her every time she walked nicely for more than a few seconds in a row. Willow did not receive very many treats on this particular walk.
“Well, that’s quite a lot going on. How terribly sad for Mrs Wilcott, and awful for the Show organisers too. It’s not easy to arrange an event of that size and now I imagine they’ll have to cancel, or what have they decided to do? I must call Grant. I know he was planning on bringing his mother down to the Show this afternoon. Would it be better if he didn’t come?”
Jessica considered this. Grant’s mother was an elderly woman who sometimes required a high level of care, especially if the situation was unpredictable. She also did get a lot out of her visits to village events though, and it would be a shame if people pulled out when Ealisaid was working so hard to ensure that there still was a Show to attend.
“Definitely call him, but the Show is going ahead so it’s probably fine to bring Mrs Mack down for a short while. Ealisaid is crazy busy, but she has managed to arrange for a lower-key version of the Show. She’ll be headed up there herself again shortly, once she has sorted out cover in the café. Murdo’s been pulled away on police business. They will need to speak to us both because we were witnesses. I’ve arranged for that to happen in the newspaper offices. Actually, can you let Grant know I have done that, and I’ll catch up with him a little later to work out what to do next?” Jessica had just realised that their feature on the Craft Show could probably not run as planned, and that she would need to have a conversation with Grant about the angle to take now that Desmond Wilcott – both Show Convenor and head judge – had died in suspicious circumstances during the judging.
Just at that moment, Jessica was accosted by a man who was garishly dressed, wearing burgundy pants topped with a knitted, diamond patterned vest over a green button-down shirt. His sandy-coloured hair was thinning on top, but he clearly spent a lot of time on his neat little moustache, apart from which he was clean shaven. Nicholas Pringle. She had completely forgotten to return his call; the events at the judging had put it out of her mind. He no doubt would not be very happy with her.
“Miss Greer! I’m glad to run into you.” Nicholas Pringle looked with distaste at Willow, who was trying to jump up on him and whose paws and snout were less than clean after an active few minutes of scratching and rootling in the undergrowth beside the path. Reenie successfully managed to distract Willow with a treat. “Did you not receive my message?”
“Mr Pringle, yes I did. I’m sorry I haven’t had a moment to get back to you. With the Craft Show, things have been busy…” Jessica trailed off, realising that unless she repeated the full story that she had just told to Reenie, the excuse sounded lame at best.
“Miss Greer, I do think that it’s imperative that we meet to discuss the item you are writing for The Drummond and Dalkinchie Herald. I would hate readers to get the wrong impression of the meeting. If we could just go over some salient points and I could give you some assistance on the type of report that usually works best for these sorts of events. I understand that you are new to both journalism and the country, and might not have a firm grasps on how it works.”
Reenie made a scoffing noise, and Jessica feared that her aunt might say something. Instead she spoke up herself. Truth be told, Nicholas Pringle had touched a nerve. She didn’t have any formal training in journalism and, while she had enjoyed her work and the writing process over the last couple of months, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she sometimes felt unqualified for the job, especially since aspects of the local culture were completely new to her. There’s only so far a Scottish mother will get you.
She hadn’t particularly felt nervous about this reporting job, though. It had seemed routine – a formal community meeting with minutes being taken. Grant hadn’t allocated much space to it at all, meaning that Jessica had only focused on reporting the minimum details. She had considered it complete. Was she mistaken?
“Thank you Mr Pringle. I understand. Can you follow up with me in a couple of days? I’m completely tied up with Craft Show reporting at the moment.”
“Not so tied up that you can’t go for a walk in the middle of the day!”
This time Reenie did interject. “Everyone is entitled to a lunch break, Mr Pringle. Now if you’ll excuse us, we will need to be getting back to the village.”
Reenie’s determined march would have been far more effective had Willow not protested at the sudden change of pace and dug her heels in. Nicholas Pringle was scarcely mollified, looking after them with exasperation. Jessica wondered if they had gone too far, but perhaps it was better to take a stand in the face of his rudeness.
On the return walk Willow did a little better, finally seeming to make the connection between the rewards in Reenie’s pocket and her own behaviour. She trotted obediently at her owner’s ankles for around twenty seconds before a pigeon alighted on the grass nearby causing her to bark and lunge, sending Reenie stumbling across the path despite the puppy’s small size. Jessica smiled. Willow was a work in progress, just like Jessica’s own career as a junior reporter.
Reenie and Jessica arrived back in the High Street, and Reenie returned to The Bloom Room with a promise to update Grant on the situation. Jessica moved back across the street to Lissa’s where she could see from the outside that Ealisaid was still working. She could also see that Murdo and DI Gordon had arrived, presumably to arrange to speak to Ealisaid, Margaret Mustard and herself. As she entered the café she could tell that it was not going well. DI Gordon was standing at the front, trying to speak to the group of women sitting at the table with Margaret Mustard – who, Jessica noticed from the crumbs lying on the plate in front of her, had managed to finish her eclair this time around.
“I’ll have you know that Margaret has been entering that marmalade for years – years, young man! Not once has there ever been any complaint whatsoever about the quality of her marmalade. In fact, it has been a top prize-winner on more than one occasion!” said Janet Simpson indignantly, clearly Margaret Mustard’s self-appointed champion.
“We just need to ask a few – ”
“Margaret Mustard has been an absolute pillar of the community in Drummond and Dalkinchie – a pillar I say – since before you were in nappies. It’s outrageous that she is being accused of this!”
“Mrs Mustard has not actually being accused of anyth – ”
“You’ll not find a more helpful woman than Margaret in these parts! She’s involved in everything and works herself to the bone to make a better community around here. What have we come to, when you waste your time targeting innocent folk like Margaret while criminals just roam the streets in those cities, doing whatever they please! You’d be far better aiming your energies at them, and leaving decent, upstanding Dalkinchie folk alone.”
“Can I just reiterate that – ”
The situation seemed useless. The Women’s Guild were too formidable in their high dudgeon. Jessica has never seen DI Gordon so flustered, or lost for words before.
Murdo intervened.
“Ladies, we don’t want tae upset Mrs Mustard, but I think what DI Gordon is trying to say is that she might have valuable information which could help us find oot what happened.”
This got a far better response than DI Gordon had, perhaps because most of the women present had known Murdo since he was a child
and were inclined to look kindly upon him, or perhaps because Murdo’s manner was less imperious and more conciliatory. Throughout the whole tirade Margaret Mustard had been quite content to sit there, taking as her due the praise that her friends heaped upon her. Now, however, she lifted both hands and made a calming gesture, while also saying in a noticeably martyred tone:
“I appreciate all your support ladies, I really do. However it is my duty to pass on any information to the police that might be useful in finding out who killed poor, unfortunate Desmond Wilcott. I have no doubt that it will be unpleasant, but I’m sure I have never been the type of person who shies away from her duty!”
Her friends demurred, “No indeed, Margaret. You certainly have not.”
Margaret Mustard drew herself up to her full, stately height and said graciously: “I will come with you, Detective Inspector Gordon and Constable Murdo Smith. I will put my own feelings aside and do my duty to the community. I will assist in any way I can in the terrible murder of Desmond Wilcott.”
“We don’t know that it is a murder yet,” said DI Gordon, but Murdo cut across him saying:
“We appreciate that, Mrs Mustard. We’re awfy grateful. We’ll do our best no’ to keep you too long. Can you come away up the hill wi’ us noo, to the newspaper offices? That’s where we will hold the interviews.”
Margaret Mustard inclined her head. “I can.”
DI Gordon replied.
“Thank you, Mrs Mustard. Now, Miss Greer, Mr Smith – and Miss Robertson, if you would be so kind to join us as well. We will try to keep the interviews as brief as possible.”
“Aye, that would be handy.” This was Ealisaid, who had joined them from behind the counter. She had removed her green tartan apron and was able to leave the café because, finally, more support had arrived in the form of another young woman who Jessica recognized as one of Mairead’s friends. Magnus looked relieved to be escaping his café duties, and removed his apron with alacrity.
