When Murder Comes Home

by Shana Frost

  A cluster of three ladies stood, laughing and jesting with each other, while young children marched their way to school. They were primly dressed in uniforms, even though a few of their uniform skirts had muddied helms.

  Nowhere else in town could you find more of a crowd.

  Scattered around this junction were all the essential shops: the grocer’s, the butcher’s, the baker’s, a general merchandise store and a confectionary.

  Aileen had no time to waste. She quickly bounded towards the bakery. If memory served, the inn had bought bread here every day for the past fifty years.

  The mouth-watering smell of bread tickled her nose, and her stomach growled, demanding breakfast.

  ‘How are you this morning?’ A cheery red-headed lad beamed at her from behind the counter.

  ‘Oh hello! Fine weather, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye! What would you like?’ He waved a hand to indicate the stacks of bread-loaves.

  Aileen hesitated. Would this be too intrusive?

  ‘Well, I wanted to know how many loaves you supply at Dachaigh every morning.’

  ‘Dachaigh? You mean the inn?’

  Aileen nodded.

  ‘We don’t sell our bread to them anymore...’

  That perked up Aileen’s curiosity. She choked her doubt and continued, ‘Why’s that?’

  The lad considered for a while and then leaned in as if to let her in on a secret.

  ‘Have you seen the looks of that place? If it wasn’t for Siobhan, the police would’ve shut the place a long time ago!’

  Goosebumps appeared on Aileen’s hand when the door jingled. A short healthy woman walked in.

  As if it was the actual police, Aileen! she rebuked herself.

  The woman’s cat-like green eyes twinkled with unfiltered exuberance, her cheeks flushed pink, and an aura of energy beamed from her and settled throughout the bakery. Her smile was brighter than the sun.

  ‘I heard but... Aileen Mackinnon in flesh and blood!’ She hopped enthusiastically in place.

  Aileen’s heart palpitated. She wasn’t yet used to how gossip worked in Loch Fuar.

  At Aileen’s confused look, the woman bobbed her head and continued, ‘Your grandma always spoke about you. She doted on you, showed me all the pictures too. Are you back to fix the old inn?’

  ‘Um, aye...’ Aileen was unsure what to say, but she didn’t get a chance to offer anything more before the lady spoke again.

  ‘The innkeeper is a rude nut! Hope you fired her.’

  When Aileen shook her head solemnly, the woman turned an exasperated set of eyes on her. ‘Well, ye should! What are you waiting for?’

  Swatting a hand at the air, she continued, not waiting for a response, ‘Don’t worry a bit now, lassie. You see this entire village has yer back. Say the word and we’ll all be down there, mopping and cleaning up the place. Siobhan is ours. She treated my husband and his friends like hers when they were bairns.’

  Aileen grinned, her fondness for her grandmother shining through. Siobhan was a grandmotherly woman when she wanted to be. But Aileen remembered that one time an awry guest had tried to sneak out an old bedside lamp. Her grandmother’s wrath had been enough to scare the ghosts from all the Scottish castles combined!

  ‘My grandmother is that sort of a woman. The bed rest the doctor suggested makes her restless – more so day after day,’ Aileen managed finally.

  It looked like the lady had run out of steam. She panted for a while, sucking in gulps of air, giving Aileen the chance to study her. With her wild red hair and pink cheeks, she looked similar to the lad behind the counter, though she was older – middle-aged. His mother perhaps?

  Having finally caught her breath, she flashed an energetic smile at Aileen – then, before Aileen could deflect, the woman engulfed her in a ferocious hug.

  ‘Isla McIntyre,’ she announced finally. ‘I forgot to introduce myself! I’m so excited to meet you.’

  Aileen filled her lungs with much-needed air when the woman let her go. It had been a tight hug! Random conversation and now hugs? Aileen shivered slightly. She’d never get used to this friendliness!

  ‘Isla, have ye—’ a gruff voice approached with slow heavy footsteps.

  ‘Ah, the talk of town.’ The tall yet broad man pointed a finger at Aileen. ‘Mackinnon, the loved yet absent grandwean.’

  Aileen groaned internally. Was there one person who didn’t know who she was?

  His heavy footsteps thudded on the stone floor, and Aileen noticed that, despite his sure footing, his gait wasn’t regular.

  A pair of eyes – electric blue mixed with some grey – assessed her. He wore black trousers with a black leather coat. His equally soot-black hair was neatly trimmed, almost in a military cut.

  Holding out a hand, he gripped hers and flashed a dazzling smile. ‘Callan Cameron, detective with the Loch Fuar police.’ Pointing a finger at the door, he mock smirked. ‘Have ye got a licence plate under all that...?’

  The detective pouted as he racked his brains over what to call the muck on her car.

  Isla chirped in, ‘Oh, Callan, don’t scare the lass.’

  She turned to Aileen. ‘He’s a regular, here for a cup of coffee and a warm loaf. Why, you can show her around sometime. There’s no crime in Loch Fuar...’ she teased the detective.

  He flashed another smile. ‘Now that’s stretching it a bit too far. Why, only this morning Ms McHugh was complaining about her neighbour helping himself to some apples from her tree.’

  ‘Oh that old woman – always complaining she is!’

  The detective exchanged a few pence for his steaming go-cup. ‘Have a good day. Ye find yer licence plate through all that mud. Stay safe, especially ye Lowland folk,’ he dismissed Aileen.

  That got Aileen’s blood boiling. She wasn’t from the Lowlands! She’d grown up in the Highlands!

  ‘I’m not...’ she flustered but the annoyingly rude detective was already gone.

  Chapter 2

  Adventurous, that’s what the past week had felt like.

  Isla, as she’d insisted Aileen call her, had been serious about the entire village pitching in to help. That same evening she’d sent her cousin, the lad who’d greeted Aileen in the bakery, along with his friends to lend a hand.

  Before their arrival, Aileen had made a detailed list of what needed to be fixed. She shuddered even thinking about it.

  The lads had helped her clean the guest bedrooms and dispose of the soiled bedsheets.

  So appalled at the condition of the inn was she that the first thing Aileen disposed of – even before the stinky food – was the snooty innkeeper.

  However, her happiness at ridding Dachaigh of its former innkeeper was short-lived. Even if she was as friendly as a jail guard, she’d at least known a thing or two about running an inn.

  You are an accountant, Aileen reminded herself for the thousandth time that week. She could take inventory and figure out the expenditures that ate into profits, but running an inn?

  Aileen sighed ruefully at her self-doubt.

  Wasn’t this precisely why she’d left her former life behind? She chided herself – it was time to be spontaneous and courageous. The new Aileen didn’t second-guess herself. No, she was a confident woman who embraced spontaneity.

  More determined than ever, Aileen clambered down the wooden stairs into the disastrous reception area – and took an involuntary step back.

  Somehow the tall, muscled figure of Detective Inspector Callan Cameron in ripped jeans and workman’s boots suited the unruly plastic-covered reception area.

  ‘Dachaigh was very different the last time I came down here,’ the detective observed with a judgemental frown.

  CALLAN REMEMBERED MAKING a stop at Dachaigh when he’d first returned to Loch Fuar. The grandmotherly Siobhan had embraced him and cooked a warm, sumptuous meal as a welcome-back gift.

  It was her spirit that had kept this place going over the years, and this was more evident than ever given
the way Dachaigh was falling apart.

  He’d only heard the rumours after Siobhan had left for the nursing home – everyone had gossiped about how the innkeeper was more like the gatekeeper to Hell.

  It was a good thing that Aileen had fired her, though Siobhan’s granddaughter seemed more lost than in control of the situation.

  Callan studied the pitiful state of the inn and then the figure of Aileen Mackinnon, trying to hold in a snort – she looked like a sleep-deprived corpse in denim overalls.

  Isla had subtly hinted every time he’d gone to get his morning coffee about the inn needing a hand for repairs. She’d also deliberately let it slip how Aileen was working tirelessly to get the place up and running before spring had finished blooming. Her interfering intention had been to sneak a date for her new city friend.

  Callan dismissed those comments for what they were – pesky interference. But he was intrigued enough to drop in and maybe get a rise out of the prim and proper Aileen Mackinnon.

  ‘HOW MAY I HELP YOU?’ Aileen asked as politely as she could. The last thing she needed was an assessment by the police – and Detective Cameron in particular.

  She couldn’t put a finger on why, but he irked her – enough to make her forget about her self-doubts and personable manners.

  Callan made a show of assessing the plastic covers before pinning her with his intense gaze. ‘Ye know, most people wouldn’t travel to a small town up in one of the coldest regions of the Highlands to run a dilapidated inn.’

  Aileen raised one shoulder with an air of superiority but filled with hollow confidence. ‘Well I did and Dachaigh wouldn’t be like you see it now – it’ll be the best it’s ever been.’

  ‘That’s saying something! Everyone here thinks Siobhan ran it best.’

  Aileen folded her hands across her chest. ‘You haven’t seen my way yet.’

  The detective circled his forefinger. ‘Isla has faith in ye. She’s sent me here to ask if ye need help fixing the leaks. I’ve a few friends willing to help this weekend.’

  ‘Nah, I’ve got it covered.’ Aileen couldn’t possibly acknowledge that she hadn’t a clue what to do about the leaks. Especially to this man who was waiting for her to make a mistake, or worse fail – badly.

  What a snob! Hadn’t he just enunciated his thoughts about her: a city girl who knew not a thing about village life? Well, the joke’s on him, Aileen thought: she learned well and learned quickly.

  MAYBE SPENDING SUMMERS in a village was different from residing in one as an adult and innkeeper.

  Stepping inside the handyman’s shop had been a mistake.

  The brawny yet friendly man behind the cash register had asked Aileen what she needed to fix her inn.

  ‘We haven’t got our stock of the claw hammer yet. I can send it over to the inn if ye like,’ he informed her.

  Aileen had no clue what a claw hammer did or what it was used for. She’d checked a YouTube video or two on fixing a leaking ceiling. They said she needed a drill, but the inn didn’t have any sort of equipment on hand, hence this fateful trip.

  Aileen blushed a little. Only that morning she’d climbed onto the ladder and poked the sagging ceiling with a long screwdriver, the only one left in the supply closet. At least that’s what the internet had told her to do. Damn the internet!

  No one specified that the entire thing might collapse on her head, leaving an evil hole in the ceiling! She’d been completely drenched!

  Hadn’t it been sheer luck the water was from a fresh-water pipe? The last thing Aileen wanted was to stink like a dunghill, and even though the reception area of the inn was flooded... she’d fix it.

  Aileen cleared her throat and approached the middle-aged man. ‘Er, um, you see I need some minor help with the leaks,’ she began as bravely as she could.

  ‘Och, worry not! Isla told me about it! Isla’s my wife. She told me ye’d be down here soon.’

  ‘Okay.’ If Isla knew, her miserable failure would soon be the talk of town. Aileen cringed at the thought. With embarrassment flushing her cheeks, she stared at the ground.

  Adventurous! she tried to boost herself.

  ‘My partner’ll be along anytime now. Maybe I can come down and assess it for ye?’

  Aileen looked at her clenched hands. ‘That would be helpful.’

  ‘AH, MISS MACKINNON, this is a mess, I tell ye.’

  She didn’t say a word.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get the troops assembled and at work by tomorrow morning. It’ll all be fine in a week or two...’

  At least Mr Daniel McIntyre wasn’t a snob. He wanted to help.

  True to his word, he had driven down with a bunch of men, armed with tools and equipment to set her roof to rights, as well as the plumbing and the reception area’s ceiling.

  Isla joined her husband most days. She kept Aileen company, talking nineteen to a dozen.

  ‘When I came over from Stirling, I didn’t have a clue what to do with a broken light! That’s how I met my Daniel.’

  She began helping Aileen clear out the soiled food cans.

  ‘Oh, didn’t Callan visit you? I had asked him to. He’s handy with a hammer – helps Daniel out sometimes.’

  That meant he’d find out about her situation earlier than Aileen had calculated. She winced. He’d surely gloat for a while. But mistakes were stepping stones to success, she reassured herself.

  ‘Um, I wasn’t sure he’d know. He’s a detective not a—’

  ‘Aye, not to worry – between them, the inn’ll be as shiny as new before you know it!’

  And thus days continued into weeks.

  As nature bloomed with spring, Dachaigh came into itself.

  Daniel’s team – Callan included on the weekends – repaired jammed windows, leaking pipes, chipped tiles, worn wallpaper, peeled paint and fixed the creaky furniture.

  Apart from the cost of materials, all Daniel had asked in payment was a daily lunch for him and his men for the duration of their work at the inn. That was one thing Aileen could do very well – she was a decent cook and an amateur baker.

  Isla helped and joked about, her larger-than-life personality lightening up Aileen’s lonely days.

  She told Aileen it was her cooking that brought so many helpful hands to Dachaigh, and it was true that everyone had complimented her on her cooking – everyone except Detective Cameron. He was being nasty, Aileen decided. Even if he helped Daniel out and laughed with the others, he had an aloof air about him.

  In just over a month, a new website announced that the Dachaigh Inn at Loch Fuar was open to guests once more, waxing lyrical about the incredible views from the inn’s rooms: tall snow-clad peaks, green grasslands and the shimmering blue Loch Fuar in the background, kissed with a breeze as refreshing as melodies of birdsong.

  A week after that, Aileen had her first ten customers booked. They’d all be here in the last week of April.

  Fantastic!

  The new Adventurous Aileen couldn’t wait!

  Chapter 3

  The morning of 29 April arrived with magic frolicking in the air.

  Birdsong danced around the old cottages, wafted through tall trees heavy with cheerful blossoms and settled on the sleeping village of Loch Fuar at the crack of dawn.

  Isla was up before the birds, excited for Dachaigh and for Aileen.

  Baking had always been her passion. That was before leaving the big town she’d been born and raised in. Now baking had become a beloved profession. It was the way she made her mark in this world, spreading joys with lip-smacking aromas of bread and pastries.

  Isla hummed to herself as she thought about coming to Loch Fuar in search of something amiss in her life. She remembered how at home the locals had made her feel.

  Smiling, Isla measured out the flour and got to work. She had to be as quick as she could this morning. Aileen depended upon her to provide the bread.

  The new innkeeper at Dachaigh was as green as the meadows in spring. Some would find her naive
ty a fault, and maybe it was. The coming days would tell if Aileen Mackinnon had inherited her grandmother’s genes...

  Isla knew just how it felt to be an outsider. Thus she’d decided she would help the pretty young girl out. So what if she made a friend in that process?

  And it didn’t hurt if this friendship helped get her some extra business from the inn, did it?

  A couple of hours later, when the earliest risers in Loch Fuar stirred from the sleep of the innocent, Isla was armed with fresh loaves, cookies, cakes and scones.

  She packaged some up for Dachaigh, ordered her sleepy-eyed cousin to guard the fort and whizzed off in her car, heading straight for Aileen’s inn.

  It was time for the guests at Dachaigh to arrive. She couldn’t wait to see what they were like.

  TEN GUESTS? AILEEN almost bit her nails in worry. How was she to manage?

  She’d never entertained ten guests for supper! And now here she was taking in paying guests at her gran’s inn!

  The tips of her fingers were a better bet than her dilapidated nails. Aileen gnawed on them instead. Her nerves were close to combustion. She’d given herself so many pep talks today, she’d lost count.

  Perhaps they’d hate the look of Dachaigh – ask for a full refund. How would she scrape together the money to repay them? She’d used it all for the renovations and the website.

  Confidence.

  Adventure.

  Those two words were the only reminders she needed. She would not doubt herself.

  Squaring her shoulders, Aileen picked up her detailed list. Lists could always be counted upon.

  It took her an hour to check the bedrooms. She made sure there were bath towels, hand towels, bathrobes and a scented candle in every bedroom, along with a set of necessary complimentary toiletries.

  Another run through and the bedrooms were ready. She then scoured the reception area, now all warm and cosy with not a hint of unwanted moisture or dirt.