by Hannah Reed
“Well, thank ye very much. Now I don’t have tae bother the hairdresser. And that’s sarcasm if ye missed it comin’ by.”
What was wrong with everyone this morning? A bunch of crabs. By now I was hopping from one foot to the other, trying to keep warm.
“I only wanted to share information,” I explained, wondering why I bothered.
“Okay then, but ye better be gettin’ inside me car before yer ears turn black and fall off.”
So we sat in his car. I turned up the heater while I told him about my conversation with Janet Dougal.
“Bridie tried tae avoid her,” he said. “And had managed up tae a point. Then she had tae deal with her at the tasting, but only briefly as the hostess retired early.”
“Janet Dougal is a piece of work. She hadn’t even been invited to the tasting, but she went anyway. She’s lucky Bridie didn’t throw her out. By the way, have we narrowed down the time of death?”
“Not by much. Bridie says she didn’t see Henrietta after the back o’ four. Her hair appointment was fer half past.”
I didn’t want to ask what back of four meant, but I could guess. I interpreted it my own way—the last time she saw her companion was shortly before four. The tasting had begun at seven, and I was convinced she’d already been dead when the gathering began while we were sipping fine whisky. Was Bridie the last one to see Henrietta alive? Or had another family member seen her after that?
I needed to speak with Patricia to find out if she’d been in touch with her sister in the afternoon. The inspector would be asking me about that interview with Patricia the next time we spoke, and I really didn’t want to have to tell him that I hadn’t pinned down the sister. In a few minutes, after this conversation with Sean, I decided I should go back to the Whistling Inn and demand to see her even if it meant barging into her room. I shouldn’t be waiting on her convenience.
Sean continued, “I need tae establish that the hair appointment was kept. Ye never know who we’re dealing with.”
“I doubt that Bridie Dougal is capable of killing anyone,” I pointed out. “She’s an old woman. Besides, Henrietta was her longtime companion. What reason would she have to murder her caregiver?”
“Aye, we agree on that, we do, but ye know the inspector. He’s a cautious one and doesn’t skip over steps in an investigation like this one. He’s thorough.”
Which was certainly true. No stone unturned by Inspector Jamieson.
Reluctantly, I got out of the warm car to go back to the inn. But before I could get from the sidewalk into the warmth of the reception room, my cell phone rang.
It was the inspector.
“Get yerself over tae the hospital,” he ordered. “It’s Katie Taylor.”
“The young caterer?”
“Aye. She’s been injured, and it wasn’t an accident.”
“I’ll be right there.”
CHAPTER 9
The inspector and a dark-haired woman were in the critical care waiting room. He introduced her as Gayle Brown. I guessed Gayle to be approximately the same age as Katie, midtwenties, and fashionably dressed, a special talent during these snowy months, one I’ve never been able to achieve. I tend to look as shapeless as a polar bear once I bundle up. But Gayle wore her form-fitting white jacket with class. She also was visibly worried about her friend, the smeared mascara under her eyes an indication that she’d been crying.
“Gayle was aboot to run out tae pack a small bag fer Katie,” he explained to me. The fact that both of them were still in their outerwear meant the inspector had phoned me as soon as he learned about Katie. “Katie was staying with Gayle when it occurred. She’d made arrangements prior tae the tasting due tae the bad weather. Then o’ course, after the murder, she was prepared tae stay there until we completed our interviews.”
We? I felt privileged.
“Can ye tell us once more what happened?” the inspector asked Gayle with a gentle tone. “Constable Elliott should hear what ye have tae say.”
I was rather amazed by his uncharacteristic inclusive attitude. Usually my boss handles situations single-handedly unless the task is too large for him to deal with alone. This time, he’d included me when he didn’t necessarily have to.
Gayle shifted her attention to me. Neither Katie’s friend nor the inspector suggested that we sit down. A moment later I found out why. Gayle paced while she spoke, only a few steps, then a turn, a few steps, then a turn. It was obvious she was highly agitated.
“I help out at the bakery in the wee hours o’ each morning over at A Taste of Scotland, so I wasn’t at home when the break-in occurred. Although I can hardly call it a forced entry, since I hadn’t locked up and all the person had tae do was waltz right in. This is all my fault.”
She began crying. I could sympathize. I’d felt exactly the same way when Henrietta was murdered. I’d blamed myself. We waited patiently. I handed her a tissue from a box on a coffee table.
“If only I’d thought tae lock the door, but how could I have known,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Anyhow, I finished up with some lovely lemon burst meringues and the regular trays o’ morning rolls . . . families like tae stop off fer takeaways on Sunday mornings.”
“It’s a top-crust bakery,” the inspector said, but I could tell he was anxious to talk about the incident rather than A Taste of Scotland’s reputation and products. “Go on.”
“When I returned home from the bakery, it was pitch-black inside, not a single light on, which wasn’t out o’ the ordinary bein’ earlier than Katie gets up. Except there was Katie, lyin’ on the floor near the fire stove, with a poker tossed down beside her.”
“What time was this?” I asked.
“Not long ago. About eight. I came home a wee bit earlier than usual. I didn’t sleep well and so decided tae start bakin’ earlier. I have a key tae get in tae the shop, ye see, so it doesn’t matter what time I get there as long as I finish before it opens.”
“I suspect that she’s been hit over the head with the fire poker,” the inspector added. “She musta startled the intruder.”
Ginny nodded. “I couldn’t wake her, and called an ambulance. She has tae be all right, she just has tae.”
The inspector and I exchanged glances. Mine was questioning, wanting to inquire into Katie’s prognosis, but reluctant to do so in front of her friend. His return look showed real concern.
“In the end, your actions might be responsible for saving her life,” I told Gayle, sure she would grasp for any straws of reassurance to exonerate her from the heavy burden of blame.
“And how do ye see that?” she asked, and I could see the hope in her eyes.
“By getting there when you did,” I said, punting. “If you had stayed at the baker the usual length of time instead of going home early and calling for prompt medical attention, it might have been too late by the time help arrived.”
Gayle hadn’t considered that. I could tell it had a positive impact. “I might have heard something when I came in,” she said, speaking hesitantly, “now that I’m thinking back on it.”
“Go on,” the inspector said, pressing her in the calm professional tone I’d come to recognize and recently found myself imitating. “Anything you can remember is useful.”
“At the rear o’ the house. I mighta heard a sound, like the back door closing.” She thought hard while we waited, then shook her head. “But I can’t be sure.”
“Was anything taken?” I asked, thinking perhaps it was a robbery gone wrong. The thief could have been familiar with Gayle’s morning routine and expected an easy in and out, not anticipating a guest staying at the house.
“I rushed tae hospital, not stayin’ tae check my belongings,” she answered. “My personal effects don’t matter at all in the scheme o’ things. But I do vaguely remember seein’ the telly where it usually is. It’s an old thing. Nothing st
ruck me as out o’ place except the poker. Besides, I don’t have much in the way o’ valuables.”
“What do the doctors say about her condition?” I asked, looking from Katie’s friend to the inspector.
“They aren’t sayin’ other than they are doin’ scans and such,” Gayle answered. “And will speak further with the family once they arrive.”
“I couldn’t get more out o’ them, either,” the inspector offered.
Not surprising. From my experience dealing with doctors when my mother was gravely ill with MS, they don’t like to express any opinion one way or the other unless they’re forced to do so by a persistent family member. And then only if pinned right up against the wall. The medical world is more gray than black or white. Anything is possible.
“I’ve notified her family,” Inspector Jamieson told us. “They’ll be here as soon as possible. They live in one o’ the villages a ways out, although the roads are goin’ tae be icy and snow covered. That will slow them down a bit.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Gayle said. “I want tae get a few o’ Katie’s things fer her.”
“We’ll leave ye tae yer task then,” the inspector said to her.
Gayle set off to gather personal items for Katie’s overnight bag.
Once she was out of sight, he added more detailed information. “I’ve been through the house and nothin’ seems tae be obviously missing. Sure money or jewelry might have been taken, but if it was, there’s no sign o’ a hurried search. No drawers or closets left open. As Gayle told us, other than the lass and fireplace poker on the floor, nothin’ was out o’ order.”
“If the intruder wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the house and suddenly came upon Katie, that might account for the fact that nothing is missing. She interrupted.”
“Aye, it’s possible that it’s as simple as that.”
I peered into his serious blue eyes. “But you aren’t buying it?”
“I don’t know what tae believe at this point. It happened too close in time tae the murder tae discount a connection. Especially since Katie Taylor was in the tasting room last night. Whether there’s a common thread here or no, I can’t say as yet.”
“You questioned Katie along with the other guests. What did she say?”
“The lass didn’t know a reason fer what happened tae Henrietta. Other than her hirin’ Katie tae cater at the tasting, she’d never heard o’ Henrietta McCloud before that. The only connection between the two o’ them is Tainwick.”
“Tainwick?”
“Aye, the both o’ them are from the same town. Although Henrietta left years ago, before Katie was even born.”
Tainwick. That name again. Where had I heard it before? Of course, Patricia had mentioned it at the tasting when we’d briefly spoken of the sisters’ pasts. But even then it had a familiar ring to it.
A moment later I thought I’d figured it out. I enjoy studying maps, and I pull out a map of the Highlands whenever I get a chance. There seem to be thousands of small villages, all with unusual names. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’d seen Wick on the map. And a Tullich. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was one named Tain. Or maybe I actually saw Tainwick on the map and that was where my familiarity with it came from.
The inspector interrupted my wandering mind by saying, “Noo that I’m thinkin’ o’ that bit o’ information, that both o’ them have a Tainwick background, I better stay here and question Katie Taylor’s family members. It’s not much o’ a clue, but it’s not like we have any others at the moment. Have ye uncovered anything o’ importance this morn?”
I filled him in on my conversation with Janet Dougal earlier in the morning, omitting the personal tidbit regarding her expressed interest in his marital status. If she intended to pursue him, he’d find out soon enough on his own. I could imagine his dismay at that revelation. He wasn’t exactly fond of her. “Space cadet,” as he’d referred to her, was hardly a term of endearment.
“She continued to claim that her spat with Henrietta was insignificant,” I finished. “Barely worth mentioning, in her opinion.”
“I have a feeling that woman would butt heads with a goat over a single bit o’ hay in a haystack. Bridie doesn’t have any good tae say about this distant relative o’ hers, and I find the woman more than a bit over the top as well. What’s that little smirk on yer lips fer?”
“Nothing. I’m not smirking!” But I must have been. I just couldn’t get over the image of Janet Dougal chasing Jamieson far and wide over the snow-covered hills of Glenkillen. I attempted to straighten my expression appropriately.
After a piercing gaze, he abandoned the possibility of an explanation and asked, “Ye haven’t mentioned Patricia Martin. What’s on with her?”
That was exactly the right question to wipe the smirk off my face. So much for staying one step ahead of him. I’d really tried and would have succeeded if not for Katie’s attack. I’d been on my way back into the inn when the news of Katie reached me. “I was about to find out when you called me away to come here.”
“It’s probably my own fault that ye haven’t managed tae pin her down. After all, I strapped ye with yer fellow American, and she took up all yer time.”
“Please don’t stereotype me. That woman is not typical in any way.”
“We’ll see.” A light in his eyes danced. “The jury’s still out on that one.”
CHAPTER 10
“I gave her yer message, I did,” Jeannie told me when I returned to the inn and firmly insisted on speaking with Patricia Martin in person. “She was on her way out, saying she was goin’ tae visit Bridie Dougal tae see how she was coping. And in spite o’ me insistin’ that she take care o’ yer business first, she went right out the door.”
“You did what you could,” I reassured her. Inwardly, I groaned. There was more than one reason I was disappointed that Patricia had slipped away. First, she’d disregarded my request, which most likely wouldn’t have happened if it had been the inspector making the same demand. She wasn’t taking me seriously and that was annoying. But it was her destination that bothered me the most. I wasn’t ready for another encounter with Bridie, one in which she was sure to bring up the side of my family I wanted nothing to do with.
Just don’t let her get me off alone, I warned myself, my thoughts turning to my father in spite of my efforts to ignore his existence.
Based on the short conversation with Bridie the morning of the murder, she hadn’t been in contact with my biological father since my grandfather’s funeral over thirty years ago. So he’d gone into hiding someplace far removed from his past acquaintances and their disapproval. He probably obtained some sort of Scottish divorce and remarried and has a new family that he actually cares about. But if he needed my mother’s signature, which I wasn’t sure about, only positive he hadn’t made the request of her, he could be living with someone without the benefit of marriage. And if he’d passed on, my last wish for him was that he had suffered as much as or more than my mother.
I took a few deep breaths and talked myself down from a volcano of erupting bitterness and disappointment that had been my constant companions as long as I could remember, dating back to my earliest memories of my mother’s diagnosis of MS, to the moment I realized he wasn’t ever coming back.
Sitting in my car outside the inn, the heater turned up full blast, I wondered (not for the first time) if Ami Pederson had had ulterior motives when she’d suggested a Scottish Highlands setting for the series. As a longtime friend, she’d been perfectly aware of my history and my father’s abandonment. What if she considered this one of her brilliantly executed subplots? Ami had pushed and prodded until she got her way. As always.
If my suspicions were correct about her motives, she’d been right about one thing, though. The setting was perfect for a romantic novel. But she’d been wrong if she had thought my trip to Scotland would reu
nite me with any members of the Elliott clan.
Why did I have to run into these issues now? I’d managed to avoid hearing a single word about my ancestors for the months I’d been in the Highlands. I’d barely thought about them at all. And now, less than two weeks before I was scheduled to depart, I found myself dealing with a clan chieftain who had known my grandfather and father. And on top of that, I was working a murder that put me in an orbit around Bridie. Like the pull of gravity, I was trapped in some sort of magnetic attraction and I couldn’t break away.
Which brought me back to the problem of questioning Patricia Martin and steering clear of Bridie Dougal. Bridie was a delightful person, one I would have enjoyed keeping company with, if not for her affiliation with a certain part of my past I’d buried long ago and wished to remain buried while she intended to dig it up.
Maybe if I remained in the car outside the inn long enough, Patricia would return. To while away some time, I dug around in the glove compartment and pulled out a road map I’d purchased my first week in Glenkillen. I unfolded it, spread it out across the steering wheel, and began a search for Tainwick. I found Glenkillen and Loch Ness and began reading the names of villages north of the lake.
There it was, not more than a thirty- or forty-minute drive when roads were in good shape. I spent ten or fifteen minutes studying the map, before realizing I could be sitting in the Peugeot for a long time. Replacing the map, I had an afterthought.
I should have offered to hang around at the hospital and let the inspector chase down Henrietta’s sister. Sitting and waiting was more special constable–like anyway.
Thinking that was an excellent idea, I tried calling Jamieson’s cell phone. He didn’t pick up. Coverage inside the hospital was probably limited. I could drive over there. Then I went on to reason that it would be awkward showing up at Bridie’s home to interview Patricia. That wouldn’t be very professional. What had I been thinking? Besides, wasn’t Sean out at the Dougal home? Why couldn’t he interview Patricia?
