The Merlon Murders
Book I
By
Victoria Benchley
Copyright
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without prior written consent of the copyright holder. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Although some locations and businesses named may be real, any events involving them are fictional.
Copyright © 2015 by Victoria Benchley
About the Author
Victoria Benchley lives with her husband of over twenty years and their two children on the West Coast of the United States. She grew up reading the classics and counts Dickens and the Bronte Sisters as her favorite authors. After a career in corporate America, spanning public accounting, cash management, and real estate investments, at national and international firms, she chose to become a stay-at-home mom and full time taxi cab driver for her children. She is a Christian and enjoys cooking, quilting, traveling (road trips included!) as well as reading and writing.
Would you like to receive the latest news about upcoming novels and free offers available only to my exclusive mailing list? Please go to https://fb.me/vbenchleyauthor
and click on the Sign Up button, near the top. I'd be grateful if you clicked the Liked button as well.
Follow Victoria Benchley because I enjoy connecting with fans.
On Twitter: http://twitter.com/@vbenchley
On Facebook: https://fb.me/vbenchleyauthor
Website & blog: https://victoriabenchley.com/
Check out my charming tea-themed blog at https://victoriabenchley.com/blog/
Find my books at Amazon Author Page http://amazon.com/author/victoriabenchley
Google+ link https://www.google.com/+victoriabenchley
Acknowledgements
A big thank you goes to my beta readers and editor. Your input was invaluable. Also, a simple thank you is not adequate for my friend, Christine. Her knowledge, help and support has encouraged me through the writing process. Finally, I want to thank my husband and boys who put up with my long hours at the computer and continue to bolster my efforts. I appreciate and love all of you.
Dedication
I wish to dedicate this book to my Scottish ancestors, some of whom I was fortunate to know. Their wit and love of family resounds to this day. Their writings continue to inspire and delight their descendants.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Scotland
Chapter 2 - Brigadoon
Chapter 3 - A New Wardrobe
Chapter 4 - Another Near Miss
Chapter 5 - Police Reports
Chapter 6 - What's in a Sermon?
Chapter 7 - A Saint and a Ceilidh
Chapter 8 - Mingling with Presidents
Chapter 9 - Instinct
Chapter 10 - Evidence of a Death in the Family
Chapter 1 - Scotland
An enticing, warm glow from the open door of the kirk drew Duncan like an insect to a bug zapper. He wanted out of the wind and sleet that stung his face and melted on contact with his skin. The icy water dripping down his neck only added to his discomfort. He was chilled to the bone. Any shelter from the weather seemed a godsend. Once inside the church, he heard the ancient vicar rehearsing that evening's sermon.
"He has hedged me in so that I cannot get out; He has made my chain heavy. He has blocked my ways with hewn stone; He has made my paths crooked."
The reverend's words caught Duncan and riveted him to the spot where he stood, like a bolt of electricity from a summer storm.
* * * * *
Duncan strained to see the road ahead. The rain came down in sheets now, and visibility was almost impossible. His eyes and head ached from the effort. The view out his windscreen resembled an indiscernible, gray impressionist painting. He struggled to make out the proper lane as a gust of wind pummeled the automobile. Two small red lights appeared in front of him. He slammed on the brakes as soon as his brain registered that the ruby dots were tail lights. The Vauxhall fishtailed as the red beams disappeared from view. The other driver probably never knew he had barely escaped a collision. Hyperventilating from the near miss, the Scotsman pulled his car off the road and tried to catch his breath. His hands shook against the steering wheel.
The trip from Edinburgh to Taye normally took less than two hours and in better conditions, that may have been the case. Unfortunately, the weather had not cooperated today. He knew full well it could not be counted on this time of year. He took a deep breath and glanced at his wristwatch. He had been in the car over three hours. Now, sitting on the side of the road, he worried some other vehicle might veer into his. Still shaken from the close call, he tried to calm himself, inhaling deeply, and figure what his next move should be. He switched on the GPS mounted to his dash and entered the address of his temporary lodgings in Taye.
Never a fan of GPS, he found reading a map easier. He preferred seeing the big picture. This afternoon, and it was late afternoon by now, he had trouble navigating the prompts. Truth be told, even his GPS was outdated, an old portable unit. Duncan wanted to know where he was in relation to the village of Taye. He was certain he was on the correct road, as he had traveled a main highway all the way from Edinburgh. Back in his London office, he would never have this problem. He stuck to the Tube there.
As he tried to cajole his GPS unit into working, he reflected on what had brought him to the wilds of Scotland. The Laird of Castle Taye had died in a freak accident over two years ago, crushed by a merlon from the top of his castle. His beneficiary had only just submitted a claim for benefits, a substantial claim. It was the kind of case that could hold Duncan's attention, and it was worth this trip in miserable weather. Even though he was a Dewar, Duncan was pretty sure he descended from the MacNab clan. Castle Taye had been an ancient stronghold of the Menzies clan and most Dewars were Menzies. His heritage and the seat of the MacNabs were not far from Taye, and those facts formed temptations he could not resist. He had decided to act as lead investigator, and a trip to his native Scotland was an added bonus.
He tapped the GPS unit. It lit up long enough to show that he was close to the exit for Taye. He started the Vauxhall and carefully pulled back onto the roadway. He had trouble keeping the windows from fogging. He reasoned the temperature was dropping outside. At the last second, he saw the sign for Taye and veered off the A9 onto the A827. It was a slow but short drive to the town. The rain was letting up, but still ran the danger of turning to ice or snow. Duncan thought he felt the Vauxhall slip as he passed over an arched bridge into the village. The driving conditions and his growling stomach set his nerves on edge. Soon, he spotted the Blue Bell Inn, recognizable by its sign, a giant cluster of blue flowers arranged in the shape of a school bell. He rolled his vehicle slowly into the inn's small car park.
The Scotsman grabbed the briefcase from the passenger seat and left his suitcase in the boot. He jogged into the Blue Bell, holding the case over his head to block the rain and being careful not to slip. He still wasn't sure if any ice had formed on the ground. The Blue Bell's pub was dark and Duncan felt a welcome wave of heat envelop his body. He spotted a roaring fire, burning in an enormous hearth to his left, and the bar area to his right. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed the cozy feel of the inn a
nd felt right at home. He was hungry, so he approached the bar and waited for the barkeep to see him. An attractive waitress emerged from a hallway and advanced.
"What would ye like today?" The waitress smiled and asked.
He had worked hard to curb his own brogue since moving south to attend the University of London. He could tell the waitress had not spent much time away from Perthshire by her inflections. He was caught off guard for a moment, having grown accustomed to London's sophisticated accents. Duncan quickly translated what she had said.
"I will have a pint, a ploughman's lunch, and caramel apple betty."
The barkeep, who was now behind the counter, handed him his pint and he headed to a small table near a window. From there, he could gaze at some of the village and surroundings. Taye was tucked into a strath, or shallow valley, on the Upper Taye which helped protect the village from early frosts. It was the Taye River he had crossed coming into town where his car hit that patch of ice. The rain stopped, and Duncan enjoyed the view out the window. Soon a plate containing bread, butter, lettuce, and several slices of cheese arrived. He wolfed the food down until his hunger subsided, and then he slowed his pace, enjoying his pint.
He watched people come and go from a charming shop across the street. A talented mason had constructed the building of small, gray rock and set its windows in large, creamy, hewn stones. Someone had painted the casements an airy shade of light blue, similar to the sign for the Blue Bell Inn. Somewhat shielded by the narrow streets, window boxes stuffed with hearty begonias and hydrangeas hung below the upper panes, and delicate tracery embellished the arches of the ground floor casements. The shop was topped with a steep, slate roof and multiple chimneys. All these details gave the building a fairytale appearance. Inside, crystal chandeliers reflected light, glinting and twinkling as if someone was signaling him by morse code. He looked closer at the structure and discovered cherub heads, carved from the cream stone, on each side of the entrance. In spite of the weather, the Taye Bakery did a steady business.
Behind the bakery, Duncan noticed a hill covered in evergreens towering above the village. The dark pines made a sharp contrast to the gold-green grass and leafless trees visible around town. The area around Taye had already experienced a few frosts this season, turning the bulk of the landscape from a startling emerald to browns and golds. The evergreens were the exception.
As the afternoon light dimmed and shop lights flicked on, his thoughts drifted to the insurance claim. He glanced at his briefcase. It held some police reports, biographies of the deceased and beneficiary, as well as the notes he had already made. He planned to spend the rest of the day in his room, preparing for his visit to Castle Taye tomorrow. Something about this case just did not sit right with him. In the end, science would prove the truth, of that he was convinced. It was the mantra he lived by, although he didn't realize it.
Movement across the street returned Duncan's thoughts to the present. He saw a lovely blonde approach the bakery. She wore a black trench coat and shiny black boots that came above the knee. The contrast between the coat and her tawny mane almost created a golden halo around the woman. He longed to see her face, his curiosity aroused as the apron clad baker rushed to open the door for the lady. While still not getting a look at the woman's face, he glimpsed the baker who was all smiles and eagerness.
Duncan was so focused on the activity across the road, he wouldn't have noticed the caramel apple betty placed upon his table, had the waitress not brushed his arm. She smiled down at him and he could not help noticing again how pretty she was, probably too young for him, but very pretty. Duncan was in his early thirties and dated occasionally back in London. Except for six years spent in the United States, he had grown up in Edinburgh, where his family still lived. In fact, he had spent the last two evenings with them, after the train ride up from London. His parents resided on the outskirts of Edinburgh, in the same house where they raised him and his siblings. He had to "borrow" his old Vauxhall from his younger brother, Angus, who had requisitioned it when Duncan moved to London for college. Angus had kept it running, but there were quite a few dents in the Vauxhall, courtesy of Angus.
"Thank you," he said to the waitress.
"Can I get ye anything else? A coffee maybe?" she asked.
"No, I think this will be all I need," he replied.
The waitress walked away, and he turned his attention back to the bakery. The lights were off and the woman was nowhere to be seen. He had missed his chance to see what she looked like. Something about her had captured his interest, and he felt a surge of disappointment when he realized she was gone.
Duncan savored his dessert and thought about last night. His mother had asked him if he'd met any nice girls lately. Early career success brought him public notoriety, and a national magazine even featured him on a cover. After that, he had more than enough female admirers. He adopted the hair style given to him for the magazine photo shoot, a short cut that still allowed a chunk of hair to drape effortlessly across part of his forehead. He swapped glasses for contact lenses, and his appearance and confidence improved. He assumed the attention would last forever, that it was his new way of existing. He even dated a model, briefly. Labeled the "Dashing Duncan" by the magazine and "A Cute Actuary" in the article changed his personal life dramatically. He went from a math nerd to a desirable bachelor like an exotic car does zero to a hundred kilometers per hour.
Of course, he wasn't an actuary. Few people understood what he did back then, the math involved. But, with his face on a magazine, it all somehow seemed sexy. Now, he told people he was an insurance investigator and they recognized that. It didn't sound sexy though. Lately, he felt like his mother had placed a target on his back. He loved his mum and they had always been very close. Now, every time he saw her, she grilled him about his love life. She tried to arrange meetings for him with the single daughters of her friends and acquaintances. He realized he wasn't getting any younger, but he wasn't desperate either.
At dinner last night, after talk of his non-existent love life subsided, his family asked about his current case. He drew a crude likeness of the accident scene for everyone to see.
"The defensive walkway around the top of a castle is called the battlement. It is protected by a notched wall, known as a crenellation." Duncan pointed to the feature on his drawing. "These empty spaces in the wall are crenels. The teeth-like protrusions are merlons. The crenels and merlons create the notched appearance and protect warriors on the battlement. A merlon that fell from the battlement killed our victim," he explained.
Angus remarked that it was a gruesome way to go. His mum shuddered, stating, "How morbid," before changing the subject to an eligible young lady she had just met.
Spooning the last bit of caramel from his plate, Duncan's thoughts now drifted back to Taye. It was getting dark outside. The sun set early, this far north in November. He began to think about the case. He knew the claim by heart. A piece of stone from the crenellation of the castle crushed Stuart Menzies. The better part of a merlon had fallen on him or with him, crushing him to death. Unbeknownst to his wife, the laird had insured himself for eleven million pounds. This was to ensure his estate remained intact. He had also insured her for a lesser five million pounds. The wife had no knowledge of the life insurance. She only recently filed the death benefit claim when she found the policy in her husband's papers. Premiums had been made automatically from their bank account, so the policy had never been cancelled.
He decided to see his room and then go back to the car to fetch his bag. He grabbed his briefcase and walked through a timbered doorway. Duncan followed a sign shaped as an arrow with the word INN carved in the center. He entered another room, adjacent to the pub. This room was a tad fancier and acted as the lobby or lounge for the Blue Bell Inn. Behind the front desk was an older man, sitting on a bar stool that resembled a small, leather wing chair.
"Hallo. I've a reservation in the name of Duncan Dewar for this evening."
&n
bsp; "Aye, Duncan Dewar with Lawful and General", the clerk read from a ledger. "Ye've got room nine. Do ye need help with yer bags?" The desk gentleman asked with a strong, local brogue. He smiled as Duncan made sure he understood him. Then the man added, "Ye've got a good Scots name, ye have," and gave him the key.
"Yes, I have!" Duncan smiled back and said he'd get his own luggage. He was getting the hang of the local accent.
"Well, I'm the proprietor. If ye need anything, just ask for Donald."
He thanked Donald and headed up the stairs, per the man's hand gesture. Carpet covered the steps, but they were still somewhat uneven. He guessed the building was at least three hundred years old. The dark navy, floral carpeting led Duncan down the end of the hall to room nine. It was a relief that he only shared one wall with a neighbor. The door was diminutive and the tall Scotsman thought he might have to duck and turn sideways to enter his room. He unlocked the door, dipped his head and stepped inside, flipping the light switch next to the door.
He could tell the room was large, even in this poor lighting. He moved around, searching for other switches to flip and lamps to light. After he had activated every bulb in the place, he located the bathroom, or part of one. A toilet and sink filled one dormer window, facing the street. The shower inhabited another cubbyhole on the adjacent wall. The windowless shower dormer was on the end of the building, not tucked into the roof like the others. Duncan looked forward to viewing this strange architecture from outside. These dormers had doors, so the tenant of room nine could have privacy if needed. He would have to stoop to enter his bathrooms as well. A third dormer, next to the one housing the toilet and sink, created an alcove which housed a desk and chair. He could tell the window glass was quite old by its wavy texture. The windows were tiny and not much sunlight would enter this room, even if he kept the bathroom doors open.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 1
