Call of the Clan

by Patti Wiggington

  "It wasn't safe to talk at Kilgraeme,” he said over the roar of the engine.

  "About what? Can we stop now? If you keep jostling me like this, I'm going to have to pee,” I announced. He swung the truck up an incline and whirled it to a halt. “Thank you. I think I'll go throw up now."

  He laughed. “Wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

  I crossed my eyes at him. “Easy for you to say. You at least knew where you were going.” I unsnapped my seatbelt and turned to face him. “Now, what's with all the secrecy?"

  Cayden's face turned serious then. “I thought I should tell you where I'd been all day. Since we found Sandie, I mean."

  I shrugged. “I figured you went home. Or maybe were consoling yourself with a gallon or two of whiskey."

  He shook his head. “I went back to Arrochar, with the constables. I went to the coroner's to see Sandie's ... well, you know."

  I waved a hand. “Okay, well, the police thought it looked like she'd fallen from the balcony over the back patio. Was that what the coroner said?"

  "I don't know. I never talked to the coroner."

  I stared at him. “Then why go all the way to Arrochar?"

  He took a deep breath. “I didn't get a chance to see for sure, when they loaded her up. Brynne, I thought I'd seen something on her, but I didn't want to scare Mary Much by pointing it out at the time, aye?"

  I frowned. “Seen what? What are you talking about?"

  "When I went to the coroner's, I ran into Michael Kerr. He's the detective that was out here earlier, and he's an old friend of mine. Anyway, Michael and I checked."

  "Checked what?” I practically screamed.

  "Her neck.” He motioned to his throat.

  "It was broken, right?"

  "Aye,” he nodded. “But that wasn't what killed her."

  I just looked at him, waiting. I wasn't sure what was coming, but I had a feeling it was bad.

  "Her neck,” he continued. “What I saw. It had marks on it, aye? She was strangled.” He stared at me, and I saw the worry in his steel-gray eyes. “'Twas murder done at Kilgraeme."

  The word hit me like a blow to the stomach. Murder. I had never been close to it before, although I had experienced grief over death. This was different. It was more than just a casual stroke of misfortune, more than a car being driven by someone who had no idea how much gin they had consumed, or a handful of pills being taken when one should have been enough to dull the pain. No, this was not just death. This was sinister and deliberate.

  This was evil.

  I rolled the window down, gasping for fresh air. “That can't be right,” I protested, leaning my head against the cool damp metal of the door. “Quit trying to scare me, if you don't mind."

  "Aye, well, it's right, and I'm sorry if it scares you. But there's someone killed that lass on purpose,” he said determinedly.

  I shifted uncomfortably. “Then who, if you seem to know so much?"

  "I have no idea, and that's why I didn't wish to discuss this at Kilgraeme. The police don't know who, or why, and neither do I,” he finished.

  We sat for a long time. It was now completely dark, and there was no moon. I could hear the soft drizzle of the rain on the windshield, and the occasional lapping of the water on the loch below us.

  "Sandie,” I said slowly, “was going to tell me something."

  "Aye?"

  "I know something about someone, was what she said.” I looked at him, concerned. “Do you think that has something to do with it?"

  Even with the absence of light, I could see him thinking hard, his mind working it through. “You think whoever she knew something about might have done it, then?"

  "Well, yes, wouldn't that make.... “I froze.

  I was alone on the moors with him on the edge of Loch Lomond. I was out in the middle of nowhere with a man that a few people suspected of killing his wife, a wife who had drowned in that very body of water with her alleged lover. And we were discussing murder. I shivered again and inched closer to the door.

  "Make sense? Aye, that it would,” he murmured, almost to himself. Abruptly, he spun to face me, and grabbed my hand.

  I squeaked, and tried to pull my hand away, feeling suddenly as though I couldn't breathe. I fumbled for the door latch, but couldn't locate it. “Get away from me!” I yelped, panicking.

  I could see his eyes widen, pale circles in the darkness, and he dropped my hand. “All right, then. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

  "Take me back to the house,” I commanded from my corner near the window. The day's events had finally caught up with me, and I was on the verge of a meltdown.

  "What in bloody hell is wrong?"

  I couldn't answer. After all, it would have been rude to blurt out that I was afraid I might be alone with a killer. “Let's go back, okay?” I whispered. “Just take me home, I mean, back to the house."

  "Suit yourself,” he shrugged, turning the key. “It's not as though I'm the one behind what happened today.” I didn't say anything, and I could feel his eyes boring into me. “Dear God, lass! You think I'm the one who caused Sandie's death? That I killed her?"

  I just looked at him. “Well, did you?"

  "No!” he exploded. “How can you think such a thing?"

  "I don't know ... it's just, well, you know,” I murmured. This was embarrassing.

  "No, Brynne, I don't. Suppose you tell me?” he said, his voice a low growl.

  "Well,” I stammered, “it's just that I had heard ... um.” I stopped.

  "Melissa,” he said. “Because of the stories about Melissa."

  "Er, yeah,” I admitted.

  He laughed then, a low, hoarse sound. “I didn't kill Melissa. I know about the rumors, aye? She drowned out on Loch Lomond with Jamie. Your father. A storm came up and they went over, just like that, and if there was interference from other than the hand of God, it was certainly not from me."

  I don't know why, but I believed him. Maybe it was the sound of his voice when he said her name. I relaxed a little, and shifted back into a less defensive position. “I'm sorry, Cayden. I really am. I didn't mean to jump, but it kind of startled me when you grabbed my hand."

  He rolled down his window, and cool mist blew in. “Aye, well, I'll try not to make that mistake again."

  I looked at him curiously. “Why did you grab my hand, anyway?"

  He put the truck in gear and wheeled down the hill. “I thought I'd like to hold it, if you want the truth."

  I fastened my seatbelt once again. “To hold it?” I smiled to myself, a little. How sweet. I hadn't actually held hands with someone since somewhere around junior high, when I had a crush on Davie Whedon, the only boy in seventh grade taller than me. I held on to my seat as we bounced over the ruts.

  "Aye,” he nodded. I could see the lights of Kilgraeme in the distance.

  "Well, okay,” I said loudly over the roar of the engine. “I suppose if you'd like to hold my hand, it wouldn't bother me too much.” I felt like I was in some weird negotiation ritual.

  Or in seventh grade again.

  He shook his head. “I've decided I don't want to hold it right now after all. You're too twitchy."

  "Twitchy?"

  "Aye,” he grinned. “You spook easily."

  I snorted. Fine. I wouldn't let him touch me even if he asked nicely. What a jerk. “Thanks for pointing out my flaws, Cayden. I appreciate that. Really."

  He laughed again. “I could point out more, if you like."

  I was starting to wonder if we would ever get to the manor. I just wanted to take a shower and go to bed, putting all thoughts of Cayden Spalding and murdered teenage girls out of my mind.

  When he rolled the 4x4 up into the yard, we were a good fifty feet from the covered porch. He had done it on purpose, I thought, so I would have to get drenched walking into the house. I'd show him. Mustering up all of my dignity, I finally located the door handle.

  "Well,” I said politely, “thank you for filling me on things w
ith Sandie MacFarlane. I'll make sure I'm careful."

  He was watching me thoughtfully. “D'you know something else?"

  I sighed. “There's no avoiding this, is there?"

  "No. I've figured something out,” he said with a crooked smile. I could see the small gap between his front teeth.

  "That I should go home to America, and get my old life back?” I retorted.

  "Actually, I was thinking I'm going to have to kiss you,” he said nonchalantly.

  "What?” I blurted, because I couldn't think of anything else to say.

  "But not tonight.” He leaned across me and popped the door open. I toppled ungracefully out of the truck, and before I knew it, he was gone in a spray of mud and gravel. I had to jump out of the way to avoid getting splashed.

  "You're an arrogant son of a bitch,” I called over my shoulder, as I sloshed up to the front door. I climbed the steps two at a time, and stomped the muck off my boots.

  In the main hall, Evan Muncaster was waiting for me. I didn't really want to talk to him, or anyone else for that matter, and made a beeline for the stairs.

  "Brynne?” he called. I stopped reluctantly. He bounded up behind me, like a big eager puppy. “Where have you been? I've been searching all over for you."

  Although he stood a step below me, his eyes were level with mine. “Hi, Evan. I'm sorry, I had an errand to run."

  He frowned. “What sort of errand did you need to run in the dark and rain, with Cayden Spalding no less?"

  Although I knew he was concerned, I suddenly felt like telling him it was none of his business. “It was no big deal, Evan. Look, I'm really tired. It's been a long shitty day and I want a hot shower,” I said, by way of excusing myself.

  He followed me all the way upstairs. “Look, Brynne, I know this thing with Sandie has all of us on edge. But you can't just be up and disappearing with people!"

  I had just gotten my door open and whirled to face him. “Why not?"

  "It's not safe."

  I squinted at him. “Not safe to go off with people, or not safe to go off with Cayden Spalding? That's what you're saying, isn't it, Evan?"

  He trailed me and perched on the love seat beneath my bedroom window. “Brynne, lass, you don't know the man at all."

  "I don't know you very well, either,” I snapped, “but that doesn't seem to prevent you from barging into my room, making yourself at home, and telling me who I should or should not be around!"

  He leaned back, and I could tell the dig had struck home. “I'm sorry, it's just that I worry about you.” His eyes lit up. “Let's go off somewhere for a day."

  "What? Now?” I wasn't going anywhere else until it stopped raining.

  "Actually, I thought maybe tomorrow. You and me, away from Kilgraeme. I'll take you shopping in Arrochar, and show you the local sights. Get your mind off things,” he offered.

  I flopped down on the floor and pulled my muddy boots off. “What kind of sights?"

  "Well, there's an old priory down the loch. It's in ruins, for the most part, but still quite pretty."

  I was intrigued. Gil was fascinated by stuff like that. I would have to take some pictures and send them back to him. It sounded nice, and it would certainly be a welcome change to get away from Kilgraeme's depressing atmosphere. “Okay,” I agreed, “on one condition."

  "Name it."

  "Stop hounding me about where I've been or who I'm with. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

  He smiled gently at me, and extended a hand to help me up from the floor. “I have no doubts at all about your ability to take care of yourself.” He pulled me to my feet, but didn't release his grip. I realized then that this was a banner day for me. It was the first one I could recall in which not one, but two men had been giving some thought to kissing me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Evan tapped on my door early the next morning, carrying a tray of hot sticky buns. He looked fresh out of an department store catalog.

  "Yum,” I said, not entirely sure if I meant the sticky buns or Evan. “Just set those on the table. I need to finish brushing my hair."

  I had showered already, and toweled my hair dry. I probably needed to get it cut sometime soon, but I would worry about that later. I was dressed comfortably in my hiking boots, which were still caked in mud from last night, jeans, and a sweatshirt with a tank-top underneath. The sweatshirt was actually Gil's. I missed him, and it kind of smelled like the sandalwood incense he burned at the Air Apparent.

  I ran a brush through my hair, and discovered, as I peeked in the mirror, that it had actually grown a bit since my arrival. My mind wandered again to the portraits in the main hall, near the steps. “Hey, Evan?"

  "Hm?” He was staring out the window at Loch Lomond.

  "You know those pictures in the hall downstairs? The ones of Dugald, and his brother and sister?"

  "Oh, aye. Dugald, Lachlan, and Catharine."

  "Right. Sandie MacFarlane once told me Catharine haunts Kilgraeme,” I said with a grin. “That she's looking for hidden treasure."

  He didn't smile back. “Aye, well, Sandie said a lot of things that weren't quite true, aye?"

  I shrugged, remembering what the girl had said. I know something about somebody. I wondered what she had known, and about whom. More importantly, I wondered what the someone might have thought Sandie knew.

  "Is it true? I mean, about Catharine?” I asked. I then told him about the night I had heard the strange noises on the stairs.

  He snorted. “You can't believe all of that tripe. Just a bunch of old wives’ tales. There's no haunting at Kilgraeme, and if there was, Catharine would be the least likely of all the Murrays."

  "Why is that?” I asked, brushing my teeth heartily in the corner washbasin.

  "She died young, as I recall. And I think it unlikely that the ghost of an eighteenth-century lass would be creeping about the hallways, looking for buried treasure,” he laughed. He furrowed his brow. “You might ask Trish about it, though. If there's a treasure, or a rumor of it, she'd be likely to know, aye?"

  Trish, as far as I know, was still off in Stirling at the records office, and to tell the truth, I had not found her at all helpful in the entire time I'd been at Kilgraeme. She was bitchy and manipulative, but then again, maybe I was prejudiced because she'd been fooling around with my father before his death. Trish had informed me a week ago that she had decided not to teach skiing in Michigan again this year, and was going to be staying at Kilgraeme for a while longer. She said she hoped it wasn't an imposition.

  I was trying hard to like her. Really, I was.

  I decided not to think about Trish anymore for the day. I also tried not to think about poor dead Sandie, or the things that Cayden Spalding had said about the marks on the girl's neck. He had to be wrong. I would wait until I heard something for sure from the constables.

  As it turned out, I didn't have to wait long. We were just climbing into Evan's Saab when the first police car pulled in.

  It was the constable from yesterday, Michael Kerr, and he was very pleasant. He explained in a calm and controlled voice that Sandie had been a victim of foul play, by way of strangulation with some sort of object. Cayden had been right after all. A toxicology screen was still pending to see if the girl had been under the influence of drugs or alcohol at the time of death. It also didn't look as though she had been killed on the back porch; rather, she had died elsewhere and been left at the door for someone to find. The remains of a campfire had been found on a hillside nearby. It looked as though some drifter had killed the girl, and was well on his way to new territory by now.

  I watched as Evan and Constable Kerr chatted politely, and followed them around back. The yellow “caution” tape was still up, although now it was actually considered crime scene tape. Kerr explained that he would need to get additional statements from everyone at Kilgraeme, just to see if anyone had remembered anything unusual since the previous morning. As I went out to the fields to round up some of the
Fleming boys for the constable, it occurred to me that pretty much everyone had a verifiable alibi. We had all been at Council.

  All of us but Trish MacGregor, that was.

  * * * *

  I stared out the window of the Saab, watching the green hills pass. It was now the first weekend of September. Back home, Gil and Mark would be celebrating Labor Day with a big cookout at the beach house, bidding farewell to the summer. They'd be shucking oysters and listening to music, while I was getting rained on practically every day, and dealing with a homicide at my ancestral home.

  After talking with Kerr and giving him our statements, as well as free reign to come and go about Kilgraeme buildings, Evan and I set off. We were leaving three hours later than we originally planned, and my mood was dampened by my conversation with Constable Kerr. On the flip side, it obviously meant a lot to Evan to show me the priory ruins so I was trying to be a good sport about the trip. In spite of all that had happened, I determinedly told myself I was going to enjoy my day. On the way, he once again brought up the idea of a Gathering.

  "Tis a tradition,” he began, sounding thoroughly Scottish.

  "You're rolling your r's again,” I pointed out.

  "Aye,” he laughed, and thickened the accent even more. “And you, me lassie, seem to be learning a wee bit about your family's heritage."

  "Mm. Well, you don't seem to be too interested in family heritage yourself, Evan Muncaster,” I said. “You only sound Scottish when you want something."

  He rolled his eyes. “Ouch. I suppose I should be walking about in a kilt, playing a bagpipe, and eating a haggis? Maybe have a tattoo of Nessie on my arse?"

  I burst into laughter at the very idea. “A kilt might be kind of sexy, but I can't picture you having a tattoo anywhere. You're not really the type."

  "Thank you, I think,” he smiled. “Now, about the Gathering."

  "Do you really think we should have one? I mean, we did just have a murder at Kilgraeme. Do you think it's safe?” He waved a hand dismissively. “As sorry as I am about young Sandie, it really doesn't seem that anyone else is any danger, aye? If Kerr is right, then whoever killed her is probably long gone by now.” He sighed. “The funeral is to be Wednesday, I believe. If we plan the Gathering for the end of November, I don't think that would be too soon."