Death in Dalkinchie

by Carly Reid

  “How many other jars of marmalade were there, Mr MacNaughton?”

  “Half a dozen or so. That would be about right, would it not, Margaret?”

  Margaret Mustard, uncharacteristically silent, nodded. She didn’t appear to be relieved by this new information, Jessica noted. In fact, quite the opposite – her expression was one of pure strain.

  Surely this was good news – it showed that Margaret Mustard had not poisoned the jar beforehand. What, then, could be causing her such stress?

  6

  McScunnered’s Trail

  There was a brief moment of silence. Then everyone began talking at the same time.

  The MacNaughton, clearly not getting the reaction he had hoped for, started to repeat his story but more slowly and with more emphasis. “So I went to the pantry see, and I grabbed the first jar to put in the basket, and I don’t know what I did but it just sort of jumped out of my hand and fell. It was like it wis in slow motion, a wee tumble tae the ground where it smashed and made a nice big sticky glass mess! So I cleared it all up then went to a different bit of the shelf where Margaret keeps the batches, and I got one from there…”

  Murdo was wondering out loud: “but if you registered a different jar of marmalade…then it couldnae be the marmalade at all, could it? Or if it WIS the marmalade…then it would need to be tampered wi’ in the judging room? Or is all the marmalade poisoned? Or maybe Mr Wilcott had an allergic reaction to something in the marmalade?”

  Jessica, nervous for her friend, reiterated that Ealisaid had been in the room the entire time the marmalades were being registered and would have noticed anyone opening a jar. The door had been locked when the registration finished, and not re-opened again until the judging. She mused aloud whether the stewards would have noticed anything at that point.

  Margaret, having found her voice, was mainly repeating again and again how she would never purposefully do such a thing, and anyone who knows her could vouch for that – she was well-known hereabouts.

  The Detective Inspector, twisting his head from one speaker to the next, eventually gave up and said firmly, “I’m going to have to ask you all to be quiet. Please, give me a moment.” His voice carried, and everyone stopped speaking. There was a moment of silence, then DI Gordon spoke again.

  “Mr MacNaughton. The jar of marmalade that you entered into the Show was not the jar that Mrs Mustard had intended to enter. The original jar was broken.”

  “Spot on!”

  “Mrs Mustard, you made several jars of marmalade in this batch and stored them all in the pantry at Castle Drummond.”

  “Yes, although I don’t quite see – ”

  “Miss Greer, as far as you are aware, all the marmalade jars were entered into the Show in a single half hour period, after which the door to the room was locked. It was not reopened until the judging began.”

  “You got it.”

  “Then it seems we have ourselves a bit of a conundrum. We will need to await testing on the marmalade – it’s the weekend, so I don’t imagine we will have results before Monday. Mrs Mustard and Mr MacNaughton, I will still need to take short statements from you both but we will try not to keep you longer than necessary. Miss Greer, you are free to go but we will try to speak to you tomorrow for a more detailed breakdown of the people and timings you observed at the Show.”

  Jessica nodded, and left the office. It wasn’t until she had reached the bottom of the stairs that she remembered about the anonymous letter-writer Mrs Wilcott had talked about. Should she have mentioned it to the police?

  * * *

  The Show had begun when Jessica entered, and she wandered around making a note of the prize winners. She knew she would receive a full, official list, but took some detailed notes on how to describe them. It was hard to know whether this Show was typical or not, given that it was her first. Certainly there was a sombre air hanging over the main hall. She couldn’t see Ealisaid anywhere, but numerous signs informed Show attendees of the truncated nature of the event.

  Moving down the middle aisle towards the woodwork class, Jessica ran into Grant Mack. He was alone, having persuaded his mother to stay at the café for a cup of tea while he checked out the situation. “It’s fine though, Jessica - I think I will bring her up for half an hour or so. She’ll be happy to see the knitting and she won’t notice the lack of cakes. I made sure she had a slice of something delicious at Lissa’s.”

  Grant was an earnest man, with a serious demeanour. He was rangy, with frank brown eyes, a friendly face, and hair that flopped over his forehead. As his mother’s main carer he was often accompanied by her, and it was unusual in the extreme to see him without his loyal black labrador, Skye. A patient beast, she had tolerated the puppy nonsense from young Willow on the couple of occasions the two had spent time together. Reenie and Grant had grown close since Reenie’s arrival in Dalkinchie, and now spent some time together at least once per week.

  Jessica was fond of her boss, who was in possession of a principled mind and a finely honed sense of fairness. He was also an excellent mentor, challenging her just the right amount so that Jessica could learn, while also teaching her real journalistic skills and everything he knew about living and working in the same small community. She trusted him. Before settling in to Dalkinchie, she had been uncertain about her future as a journalism student and her place at grad school. Although working on a small local Scottish newspaper had not exactly been one of her ambitions, she felt like it was turning out to be an excellent preparation for a future career.

  “Grant, what should we do about the Show feature? I assumed I can’t just write what we planned – it would be disrespectful. I have enough already, plus the winners, to write a pared down report, and I will attend the presentation and write that up too.”

  “I absolutely agree, Jessica, I had similar thoughts myself. I wondered whether it might be fitting to write up this year’s Show as you have suggested, simple listing of the facts and figures, and use the rest of the space for a retrospective of all the Craft Shows during Desmond Wilcott’s tenure as Show Convenor and head judge – perhaps picking out special entries, and particular events of note. I think that could work, but I’m afraid that it might involve quite a bit of research for you. Everything you need should be at the offices; I can show you how to access those old archived issues, but it’s likely to involve some work tomorrow. Would that be a problem?”

  “No problem at all. I’d planned to write tomorrow anyway. I can be at the offices all day. Actually, there’s something else I’d quite like to research.”

  “Oh?”

  “I sat with Mrs Wilcott for a little while before she went to the hospital. She told me about her husband and how he’d had this feud in the letters pages with someone – she didn’t say who.”

  Grant nodded. “McScunnered.”

  “Excuse me?” Jessica wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. She knew that scunnered was a Scottish word meaning ‘annoyed’, but she had never heard it as a surname before.

  “McScunnered. I know all about it. Mr Wilcott and an anonymous letter-writer calling themselves ‘McScunnered’ had entire conversations which played out in the letter pages. Do the police know about this?”

  “Not from me. Mrs Wilcott might have mentioned it to them. I forgot, but I didn’t really have any information about it anyway. Do you think it could be relevant?”

  “Well, if you are looking up old issues anyway, you’ll be bound to come across some of the correspondence and you can see for yourself. Some of the – discussions – got quite heated. I don’t remember anything identifiable, but no harm in looking. It might come in handy.”

  “I will. What time should I come to the office tomorrow?”

  “Shall we say 10.30? My mother will be at church with some of her friends. They come and pick her up. I’ll show you the microfiche, and where I keep the limited hard copies. We will only be looking for August editions, and luckily the Show falls in the same week every yea
r. It shouldn’t take too long. We can make a rough outline as well.”

  Pleased with this plan, Jessica bid Grant goodbye and turned to leave the hall. She had enough material for now, and her heart was no longer in the events of the Show. Looking around for Ealisaid, she spotted that Donald Donaldson had entered the hall. He spotted her at the same moment, and – clearly recognising her – made his way across the room with a clear intention of speaking to her.

  “Miss! Miss!”

  “Hi, Mr…Donaldson isn’t it?”

  “Who can I speak to about retrieving my wife’s cake stand? There is a sign on the door saying that the room is locked, and that no one can have access until tomorrow.”

  “That’s correct, at least, you would probably be better speaking to Ealisaid, but I don’t see her just now. However I do know that the room has to remain closed for the time being.”

  “Well, that’s a terrible inconvenience I must say. That cake stand is a particularly fine one, and at previous shows I’ve always been able to take it back on the same day.”

  Jessica looked at the man in amazement. Could he really be so insensitive as to make a big deal about the cake stand now, when a man had died? A man who had apparently been his friend? Perhaps Donald Donaldson didn’t have any other way of communicating. Perhaps he was so used to people listening to every word he had to say that the minute he met with any resistance this was the reaction.

  “Mr Donaldson, I know you are aware of what happened earlier, and the death of Mr Wilcott. Unfortunately the room has to remain closed until that can be investigated further. After that, I’m sure the committee will make sure that everyone’s belongings are returned to them as soon as possible.”

  The man backed down, a curious expression coming over his face. He rubbed his open hand over his large, florid face. When he next spoke, his words were less abrasive.

  “Oh, yes…yes…a terrible affair. Terribly sad. Desmond Wilcott was a close personal friend, and he will be sadly missed, sadly missed. We have his wife in our home at the moment; she is extremely distressed as you might be able to imagine. We’ve had the doctor out.”

  Jessica found it hard to picture the scene. Everything she’d seen of Patricia Wilcott up until this point had displayed a woman with a calm, even temperament. She hadn’t yet seen her in distress. Even upon receiving the news of her husband’s death she had remained in control. In fact, the most agitated Jessica had seen her was when she had overheard her conversation about rebooking flight tickets to Australia.

  “Of course, Desmond and his wife didn’t always get along, sometimes things were famously frosty between them, but she is still very upset of course. I mean, Every relationship has its ups and downs, but perhaps theirs more than most. They just could not seem to agree on what best to do to support their daughter. Still, I suppose it’s all water under the bridge now. We must move on. A terrible tragedy. Anyway, if you do see Ealisaid Robertson, please let her know that we will be back to pick up the cake stand tomorrow. And thank you for your help Miss – ?”

  “Greer. Jessica Greer. I’m glad to have been able to help. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend.”

  Donald Donaldson nodded distractedly, then exited the Hall as quickly as he had come in. Jessica watched after him. Could the Wilcotts’ strained relationship have more impact on this case than she had previously realized?

  * * *

  “And then he just left!” Curled up on one of Reenie’s sofas, Jessica had just finished telling the whole story to Reenie, who was sitting on the floor trying to settle Willow on her puppy bed. Willow preferred cozying up on Reenie’s feet – or Jessica’s, or indeed anyone’s who stayed still for long enough. Reenie was persevering with settling her in more appropriate locations, but Jessica secretly loved the warm weight of the puppy lying across her feet.

  “Interesting,” commented Reenie. “So, do you really think the Wilcott marriage was in trouble?”

  Jessica shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m certainly getting the idea that Desmond Wilcott was a difficult man, a strict man, perhaps someone who was hard to live with. But I’m not sure I can imagine that it went any further than that.”

  Reenie was quiet for a moment. She had given up trying to settle Willow, and was instead now playing with her, running her fingers across the wooden floor and causing the puppy to nose at, and then chase them. Willow let out a short playful bark and bounced backwards into a play bow, which made both women laugh.

  “Tell me again about the marmalade – I’m still not sure I understand completely.”

  “The marmalade that Desmond Wilcott ate was not the one that Margaret Mustard had intended to enter into the Show. It doesn’t exonerate her completely, but it does mean that she didn’t put poison in one jar and enter it in the show. That’s assuming it is poison,” finished Jessica, aware that she was getting ahead of herself. There was no such evidence yet.

  “The police are taking it pretty seriously, though,” said Reenie, having successfully managed to get Willow to lie down on her dog bed for a few seconds.

  “Yes. Yes, they are. They are definitely pursuing this line of enquiry. I don’t know whether they perhaps know something that I don’t, maybe some information from the hospital or his medical records. It does seem as if they believe there was something in the marmalade.”

  “And enemies are mounting up? People who have a problem with Desmond Wilcott?” Reenie said this enquiringly.

  “Not exactly enemies, but quite a few people who maybe could have a grudge. There was a scandal at the bank where he worked, although he wasn’t affected. I’m going to look into something tomorrow actually. Mrs Wilcott told me about a feud with a letter writer, and Grant says I will see this for myself in old editions of the newspaper. I’m speaking to the police again later on tomorrow too, and if they think it’s useful I might end up investigating it more.”

  “Well, just you look out for yourself, Jessica.” Reenie always took her role in loco parentis seriously, and sometimes spoke to Jessica like a child. “I know you enjoy this type of mystery, and you certainly have a flair for it. But if somebody did intentionally poison Desmond Wilcott, then they probably won’t take too kindly to you looking into it. Particularly when one of the people is anonymous, and you won’t know who it is until possibly it’s too late.”

  “I’ll be careful,” said Jessica. “At the moment it’s just doing some research in old newspapers, which I have to do anyway to put together a feature on the Show. No one will know what I’m really doing. I’ll pass on anything I find to the police immediately – if they want me to, that is.”

  Reenie nodded, evidently reassured. Jessica took the opportunity to ask her aunt for some further advice.

  “Reenie…I’ve been wondering about visiting Mrs Wilcott. I sat with her for a while before she got the news about husband, and I think she would appreciate the company. Would that be appropriate do you think?”

  Reenie’s response came immediately. “Yes, I think that would be fine. The poor woman is probably feeling incredibly lonely. If you like I can give you a gift from the shop – not cut flowers, I always find it too complicated to deal with at times like this, perhaps a nice flowering plant. I’ll find the perfect thing for you.”

  “Thank you, that would be great. I might try and go tomorrow evening. I think Ealisaid might come too, and she’ll probably take some food.”

  “That’s a good idea, too. One less thing for Mrs Wilcott to think about. So that would be the evening? You are working tomorrow during the day?”

  “Yes. I’m meeting Grant at 10.30.”

  “I hope you have fun. I am going to enjoy my one day off.” Reenie yawned and put her feet up.

  * * *

  Jessica watched Grant as he methodically showed her how to use the sturdy microform reader in the corner. She had never used one before – the college she attended had had an extensive digital library but nothing on microfilm or microfiche. The Herald’s back issues were held o
n microfiche, flat sheets of film stored in papery archival envelopes. Secretly relieved, because the lack of film meant that she wouldn’t have to spool the roll on to the feeder, Jessica watched as Grant loaded the sheet carefully on to the glass, moved it under the light and demonstrated the manual zoom, focus and rotate functions. He then stepped aside for her to have a try. Jessica followed the instructions exactly, holding the fiche delicately by the edges as she transferred it to the plate, and took hold of the dials herself.

  Grant smiled at her seriousness. “We thought this was the future, we really did. The space saved was amazing. All those bundles of newspapers, reduced to a tiny little stack of envelopes. Now, of course, we have all this microfiche film that we have to keep relatively stable, and meanwhile the readers are slowly breaking down. I don’t even think they can be repaired any more, certainly there’s no maintenance contract. I’m sure there’s an up-to-date reader, or something that will convert them all to another digital form for us but strangely, local Scottish newspaper archives don’t seem to be much of a funding priority. Maybe one day I’ll do a fundraiser, try and bring some money in to get it done. Not right now, though.” Grant passed a hand over his furrowed brow and, not for the first time, Jessica wondered how he managed to get everything done. Perhaps the digitization project could be something she could take on during her year in Dalkinchie.

  Grant then explained the filing system, which was organised chronologically by year and month. “We should definitely have all the issues covering Desmond Wilcott’s tenure as Show Convenor. I’m less sure that we will have a complete run of letter pages. I have a feeling that they weren’t considered high priority at the outset, but I’m sure at some point that they were converted to microfiche too. Anything we don’t have is available in the City Archives in Dundee. They have more on film, and also an extensive collection of hard copies. However, that’s probably getting ahead of ourselves. Focus on the Show for now, and if the police make the identity of McScunnered a priority, we will tackle that then.”