Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1)

by Victoria Benchley

  Next, he composed an email to Robert Nolan, a forensic accountant at L and G's London office. Robert would be able to get to the bottom of the estate's finances in short order. Duncan asked for a full report as soon as possible and sent the message off. Hopefully, Robert wouldn't even need to come up to Scotland. L and G had an Edinburgh office, but he trusted Robert could do his financial investigation from London.

  There were no pictures in Caroline's file. He had hoped he'd find one there, stuck to the back of one of the papers or otherwise hidden. He decided to Google her. Several references popped up on his screen. He hit the one with wedding in the description. It was an article from an Edinburgh newspaper and yes, there was a photo of the bride and groom, shot in front of the castle. Stuart was quite a bit taller than Caroline. He was tall and thin, "like a stovepipe," Duncan said aloud. Caroline had on a dress and veil. He couldn't see much detail in the photo, but he could tell she had a smashing figure. The article described their wedding in the Kirk of Taye and the reception at the castle. Most of the details focused on Stuart.

  He went back to Google and clicked on another link. Their engagement photo popped up. Here he could get a good look at how Caroline appeared when she married Stuart. He saved the photo to one of his own files and printed it. He always traveled with a small, portable printer. That's why there was no room in his luggage for boots. Boots would have come in handy earlier today, in the mud. Once the picture had printed, he tore Stuart's half away, crumpled it up and tossed it in the fireplace. He studied Caroline's image for some time. She had not aged much for a woman who had lost her husband. Still, there was a certain freshness in the photo that she no longer possessed. Duncan placed the picture in Caroline's file and continued reading.

  The next article also focused on Stuart, the local bigwig. It did mention Caroline's education at SMU and that she hailed from Illinois. Her father had a Dr. in front of his name. She had three brothers, like himself, but no sisters. He had two sisters. He did pick up an interesting tidbit on Stuart. Duncan knew he had majored in history at university, but discovered he had also studied science. That struck him as an odd combination. Maybe Stuart was somewhat intelligent. He had managed to hook Caroline after all.

  He continued clicking on the various links featuring Caroline. There were two related to the accident, no new information there. Another focused on the funeral and featured an early photo of Stuart. He was fair haired, maybe some would describe him as handsome, Duncan wasn't sure. He wondered why Caroline had fallen for Stuart. It was easy to see why Stuart would want to marry Caroline. Everything about her fascinated Duncan, even though she was an American. He told himself it must be something chemical, biological. No one had ever captured his interest like this before. He prayed he'd find Stuart's death a simple accident, nothing more.

  He sent an email to Angela, asking for more information on Peter Menzies. He wanted information on Peter's parents and his sister, Julia. He requested a full profile on Stuart's nephew and niece. That would keep Angela busy for a while.

  After exhausting everything listed on Google, he finished reading Caroline's file. No drugs, no arrests, no trips to rehab, no problems noted. He stared at her engagement photo, printed in black and white. Her eyes looked green in the sun this morning, but blue in the kitchen. Maybe her olive overcoat made the difference. He thought of her wrist. It didn't swell much, but it sure turned an ugly color. She bruised easily. He'd have Angela check for medical reports from the local doctor. Perhaps there would be something there.

  When Duncan realized his room was getting dark, he had been at it for several hours. It was four p.m. and his eyes hurt while a mild headache began to throb. He had skipped lunch and his stomach now rumbled. He decided to head downstairs for dinner. First, he'd have to clean his shoes, though. They were caked with dried mud.

  He needed a drink. He stopped at the bar and ordered a pint. The bartender seemed surly and there was no sign of Skye. He'd hoped to find a friendly face or two in the pub tonight. Once seated, he ordered the steak and kidney pie. He needed something hearty to fill up his empty stomach. This was a dish his mum made and it was one of Duncan's favorites. She used ox kidney in hers, and it made all the difference. The individual pie at the Blue Bell came with a horseradish and sour cream twice baked potato and green beans. He wanted a custard for dessert.

  When he'd finished his pint, his dinner still hadn't arrived. It wasn't crowded tonight, but the service seemed slow. Duncan fumbled with his serviette. He thought about having another drink, but decided against it. He didn't want to fall asleep in the chair again tonight.

  Finally, a waitress brought his meal. He dug into the individual pie immediately. It was delicious. The chef obviously used ox kidney. As Duncan was about to take his second bite, he noticed something odd about the pastry. There was some sort of shape baked on its crust. He eased the hot crock around using his serviette, until the image was right side up. Someone had added another layer of pastry on top of his pie. The dough formed a horse's, no, a donkey's behind, complete with tail. He looked around to see if the waitress was nearby, but no one, not even the bartender was in sight.

  "Very funny," Duncan murmured.

  He would pretend not to notice and finish his meal.Clearly, news of his behavior today had reached the village. Caroline had said she had a friend working at the Blue Bell. Maybe it was the chef. Or maybe she had several friends working here. He hoped they hadn't poisoned his supper as well. He was too hungry to skip dinner and wasn't going to give whoever did this the satisfaction of knowing it bothered him.

  It took forever for the waitress to come back to his table. In the meantime, he cleaned his plate. She brought the check. Duncan tried to order a custard, but she said they were out of custard. He paid his bill and left her a hefty tip. There was no one at the bar even if he had decided to have an after dinner drink. So, he strolled back to his room as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  Room nine was dark. He flipped the switch near the door and one light came on. No turn down service tonight. The staff of the Blue Bell Inn must be really angry with him. Duncan glanced about his room. It was downright atmospheric. Unlike last night, the place had taken on a gloomy mood and it was contagious. Duncan knew at six p.m. it was too early to go to bed. He decided to watch the telly. He turned a few more lights on and searched for a remote. There wasn't one. So, he found the On button and waited for the set to warm up. Gradually, the picture came to life only to go out again. He tapped the side of the set, but there was no response. He didn't feel like dealing with the inn's staff tonight, so he decided to get ready for bed and read. He'd report the problem to Donald tomorrow.

  He had not brought any recreational reading with him. That was a mistake. So, he climbed in bed with his laptop and insurance files. He sent another email to Angela asking her to summarize any medical files relating to Caroline Menzies from the last four years. He also asked for the same for Peter and Julia. Angela was to call him immediately if she found anything significant. Then, he shot a quick email to his parents, just to let them know he'd made it to Taye in one piece and had an excellent steak and kidney pie. That would fuel his mum's competitive nature and he was sure she'd bake one for him when he returned to Edinburgh.

  Duncan's mother ran a small catering business out of the home. She got the idea in America after noticing how often families ate fast food. Margaret Dewar prepared home-cooked meals for several families, three to four nights a week. Both parents in these families had successful careers and no time to cook weekday meals. Duncan's mother saw a need in the community and filled it, supplementing her income along the way. Her popularity grew to where she had to turn down customers. She successfully juggled the different families, providing enough food with each meal so that leftovers could be served on a later night.

  Duncan tried to loosely plan his activities for tomorrow. If the weather was good, he'd start with a run. That would clear his head for the day, he hoped. Then, he would have to make
a visit to the police, his least favorite part of field work. He needed to speak with the Inspector and Chief Inspector. If he could get all this done before noon, he'd take the afternoon off and visit the ancestral home of the MacNabs, about forty kilometers away. He hoped a day would be enough time for Caroline to cool off a little and perhaps forgive his rough questioning. He still needed to examine the accident site and the merlon which had fallen from the battlement. He'd have to get up on that battlement and take a look at the crenellation.

  His room was frigid without a fire. Duncan pulled all the bed covers up to his chin. He moved his files to one side of the bed, placed his laptop on the other, and switched off the swing arm lamps. He could hear the wind whistling through the village outside his windows. His thoughts were on Caroline as he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 3 - A New Wardrobe

  Duncan rose at first light. He had not slept well. He never got warm. He trusted a hot shower would help. He stepped out of bed and found his files on the floor again. He must have pushed them off the bed while he tossed and turned. He scooped up the paperwork and left it, in disarray, on the bed. He wanted that hot shower now.

  Unfortunately, the water heater at the Blue Bell did not cooperate. The best he got was lukewarm water in his tiny shower. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he wiped the condensation from a window to see what the weather looked like outside. He planned on going for a run this morning. It looked as though it was going to be mostly sunny, but cold. He thought he could see where some ice had formed on the side of the roadway. Duncan would skip his run. He was too cold and wet to brave those temperatures. He towel dried his hair, and dressed quickly, throwing on his jacket as he left his room.

  "Hallo, Donald."

  Downstairs, he was relieved to see Donald behind the front desk and the lobby prepared for breakfast. He greeted the Blue Bell's proprietor with a forced smile. He wasn't sure what kind of reception he would get from the inn's owner after the way the staff had treated him last night.

  "Hallo. How are ye, Mr. Dewar, this morn?" Donald replied with his own smile.

  "I'm well. But my room was a little cold last night and the water was tepid this morning. Is there anything that can be done about that?" Duncan asked as politely as possible.

  "Aye, room nine does run cold. I'm afraid ye'll have to get up earlier if ye want yer share of the hot water."

  "Ah, I see," Duncan said. He thought he had risen early this morning. He continued, "The other night someone lit the fire for me while I was at dinner, but last night they must have forgotten."

  "Aye, they probably did it at turn down. We don't do turn down every night. But I'll see they light the fire from now on."

  "Thank you," he responded and took a seat at one of the tables.

  He looked over the menu. He would need another hearty meal this morning. He still felt cold.

  He had only been sitting a moment when a waitress appeared. It was Skye. She smiled at him and Duncan felt so grateful. Her manner remained warm and friendly. Since he was hungry, she recommended The Special, which consisted of fried haggis, potato hash, eggs, oatcakes, grilled mushroom, and bacon.

  "Perfect," Duncan agreed, "and tea as well, please."

  Skye returned promptly with a large pot of piping hot tea. She sat the vessel on the table and left again. She soon was back and without saying anything, sat down at his table. Duncan turned to see Donald behind the desk, pretending to read a newspaper.

  "How is it going?" Skye asked nonchalantly, smiling. Again, with those rounded O sounds. He was sure she knew all about how it was going, so he decided to be candid.

  "Well, I didn't handle myself so well yesterday and I think your employees wanted to let me know it." He tried to sound as easy going as possible.

  "Aye, so I heard. Have some tea. Ye're practically shivering."

  She paused and poured Duncan his tea, since he hadn't yet. He did as he was told and the tea did warm him some.

  Skye waited for him to take several sips and then continued, "The folks around here are pretty fond of Mrs. Menzies. They feel for her, understand?"

  "Yes, I understand and I'm going to apologize to her. I don't know what came over me," he confessed.

  "I'll wager it was that creepy Peter that come over ye!"

  He looked at Skye for a moment and then they both broke into a laugh. Duncan chuckled and she giggled.

  She continued in almost a whisper, "He's enough to make anyone a bampot."

  Ignoring the label of idiot, Duncan asked, "Does he live at the castle?" This was his chance to get some information.

  "No. He lives nearby. He's a sleekit one though. I dinnae trust him. Dae ye ken?"

  Yes, Duncan understood. Skye recognized that Peter was cunning, sly. Peter had slipped up behind him in the kitchen without a sound.

  "So, Caroline Menzies is well thought of around here? Why is that and why does she put up with Peter hanging about?" he asked.

  He thought he saw a glimmer of something in Skye's eyes, something that told him she might have guessed his attraction for the beautiful widow.

  "Caroline has always been good to everyone here about, and I suppose her husband was fond of Peter. Peter works on the estate too."

  Skye pressed her chair back, eyeing Duncan all the while, and left for the kitchen. She was back in a minute with his breakfast.

  "Here is some good scran for ye."

  Duncan smiled as Skye disappeared into the pub. He noticed that Donald had been paying close attention to them all this while. He hoped his troubles at the Blue Bell were over. He felt that Skye would see to it that everyone knew he would humble himself and apologize to Caroline. He sat at the table for some time, enjoying his tea, savoring The Special. He had extra time since he had skipped his run.

  He sauntered, stomach full, back up to his room. To his surprise, someone had lit the fire and room nine was warm! The bed had been straightened, his laptop placed on the nightstand, and his paperwork set on the table. News travels fast.

  After an hour's nap in his cocoon-like room, he left the inn for the nearby village of Tyne, location of police headquarters. The Vauxhall roared to life and sped through the countryside. The sun was out and it looked like all ice had melted. It was a cold but beautiful day. Duncan enjoyed driving on these narrow, rural roads. He just enjoyed driving, in good conditions, period.

  He slowed the car as he entered Tyne, a lovely town with a diminutive village green. Small, smart shops ran down one side of the town lawn. This was the high street. He glimpsed plastered low houses opposite the high street. He'd find Police Scotland's office located on the street behind the shops, per his GPS. Duncan made the necessary turns and parked in front of the headquarters, a small, stone building with a porch and glass doors, Police professionally painted across them. Duncan strode up the steps to the doors. He felt good.

  Duncan glanced through the doors before entering. He could see one young constable at a desk beyond a low, dark wood barrier. An older officer sat at a table behind the young man. Duncan pushed the door open and went inside.

  Headquarters felt extremely warm. He knew the heater in the Vauxhall wasn't very efficient, but this was more than just adjusting to a heated building.

  "Hallo," Duncan said to the constable, the officer nearest the entry. "Say, aren't you William from the Blue Bell? I think we had drinks the other night," he said cheerfully.

  He recognized the young officer as one of Skye's friends from the pub. The officer took his time looking Duncan over.

  "Aye. I'm Constable Ainsley," William paused, glaring at him. He added, "And you're lucky you're not under arrest."

  "Pardon?" Duncan replied, puzzled.

  He couldn't understand William's attitude toward him today. He had been so friendly over drinks at the Blue Bell.

  "Easy now," a voice spoke from the rear of the station.

  An officer in the back of the room stood, a tall, hulking fellow of about forty, Duncan guessed.

&n
bsp; "I think the lad is here to see me," the big one said as he walked passed William, briefly placing his hand on the young constable's shoulder.

  He approached Duncan and held out his hand, "I'm Inspector Smythe. The chief inspector will be in later. Let's sit in here." Smythe pointed to a glass walled office to Duncan's right.

  Once inside the room, with the door closed, Duncan asked, "What did he mean, I'm lucky I'm not under arrest?"

  Smythe glanced at Duncan, running his eyes up and down the insurance investigator. He was tired of being gawked at this way.

  "We got word of a wee bit of a disturbance up at Castle Taye. That's all," Smythe replied.

  So some news traveled fast and some news didn't, like his forthcoming apology. Duncan was finding out just how well liked Caroline Menzies was and how protective these people felt towards her. He thought he'd better get that apology over with sooner rather than later.

  Duncan looked at Smythe. He was weighing if he should offer an explanation like he'd done with Skye at breakfast. He and Skye were developing a friendship, but he had no personal connection to Smythe. He decided it was none of the inspector's business and just sat tight, waiting for Smythe to start the conversation.

  "What do ye need?" Inspector Smythe got right to the point.

  "I'd like to see all the accident photos, witness accounts, post mortem, and the reports from anyone else on the scene. You can send them all to my email if you have those capabilities." Duncan rattled off his requirements.

  Inspector Smythe's heavy lips curved into a wily, condescending smile.

  "We've the capabilities. Just give yer requests to Constable Ainsley on yer way out."

  Smythe stood, signifying the interview was over.