A Corpse at the Castle

by R B Marshall

  “I dunno. Hang on, I’ll ask him,” then her voice slowed, as if she’d just started to catch on to what I was thinking, “he’s just come back in.”

  “No!” I almost screamed. “Don’t,” I hissed, “play dumb. Be nice. Play along. We’ll come and get you.”

  “What’s that you want to ask, darlin’?” I heard Richard’s voice in the background.

  My mind raced. “Tell him you need to know the address to book a taxi.”

  While she asked, I frantically scanned the bowling alley, hunting for Dean. But there was no sign of him.

  On the phone, Richard was saying, “You don’t need a taxi, darlin’, I’ll take you home.”

  “O—okay,” she replied, then spoke into the phone. “Thank you, but I won’t be needing a taxi after all.”

  “Just sit tight,” I told her, “we’ll find you—” but she’d disconnected.

  My pulse was hammering now. Where’s Dean? In desperation, I dialled his number. “Dean, we need to go. Trinity’s in danger. I’ll grab your coat and meet you at the front door.”

  Give him his due, he didn’t argue, and a few seconds later we were hurrying out to his car.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Say again?” Dean said as we jumped into his car.

  “I think Richard Mortimer the farrier is the killer.”

  The policeman's brow creased. “Why?”

  “Before we get into that, can you track down his address from police records or something? I think it’s here in Dundee somewhere. Trinity is with him.”

  He gave me a concerned look and phoned it in.

  While he did that, I was busy interrogating Google on my mobile, trying to track the man down. My stomach was in knots. If he got at all suspicious of Trinity—and I wasn’t sure how good her acting skills would be, seeing as she seemed to have put two and two together—it could all be too late by the time we got there.

  Dean finished his call and put his phone in the centre console.

  “Should we head for the centre?” I suggested. “Then maybe we’d be closer to wherever he lives?”

  He jerked his chin and put the car into gear. “He might live on the outskirts. I’ll wait at the entrance to the retail park. They shouldn’t take long getting back to me. Now, tell me why you suspect him?”

  “He’s got pet snakes. And I think he probably has spiders too.” I remembered the snakeskin cowboy boots. “He left the pub the night Hamish was killed, and he could’ve gone back into the estate. Plus, he seems the type.”

  Dean didn’t try to hide the cynicism in his voice. “Just because you don’t like someone’s hobbies, it doesn’t make them a killer.”

  “How about—” I thought fast, “—he put the spider in Hamish’s boot, and hid outside where he wouldn’t be seen.” Into my head swam the picture Eagle had given me of the shadowy figure in the brimmed hat. A stetson? “When the spider bite didn’t work, Richard followed Hamish to the stable, and scared Eagle with a snake, so Hamish got knocked down and kicked.”

  Dean pressed his lips together as he parked us at the slip to the ring road. “Far-fetched. But plausible. But that doesn’t explain the vet’s death. Or why Richard would kill Hamish.”

  He had a point. I wracked my brains, skimming through the clues I’d discovered like a computer scrolling through data. “The guild!” Inspiration struck. “Maybe he was the one whose membership application got rejected. I saw him sucking up to Oliver at the pub. Maybe he saw Hamish as a stumbling block, and that’s why the man got killed.”

  “Hmmm. I can see why they might not want an over-confident Londoner in their midst.”

  I looked across at him, my mouth hanging open. London. Of course. Suddenly, the remaining pennies dropped into their slots and I jabbed frantically at the keypad on my phone, speaking quickly as I did so. “Oliver is a vet. He would know Richard kept reptiles. Or maybe he just discovered that fact, maybe Richard took a snake to the surgery after hours, and mentioned about spiders. And the vet connected the dots, so he had to be killed.”

  This earned me another sceptical look. “All because he couldn’t get into a secret society?”

  “People have killed for a lot less,” I said, remembering the fiction plots again.

  Dean’s phone chirruped, and he snatched it up. “Yes?” He listened carefully, then put the car into gear and drove off. “Old Glamis Road. Not far.”

  “C’mon, c’mon.” I stared at the screen on my phone, willing it to work faster.

  “I’m driving as fast as I can, Izzy.”

  “Not you—ah! Yes! Here it is.” I punched the air in triumph, like a jockey winning the Grand National for the first time. “Family tree records show that Richard Mortimer was born in London, and that his father was Marcus Serjeant. The guy who tried to shoot the Queen.” It all made sense now. “Richard was out for revenge on the man who thwarted his father’s bid for fame and got him locked up in an institution.”

  Dean’s face was grim. “I’ll call for backup.”

  “No, wait, that might get Trinity killed. Can we try the nice way first? Say…” my thoughts raced, “We were in the area and… I got a call that a horse is sick and I need her help?”

  He puffed out a breath. “It might work. But I’ll get them on their way.” Picking up his phone, he punched a button and called for help. This probably wasn’t the time to remind him about it being against the law to speak on the phone while driving.

  Seconds later, we drew up outside a nondescript semi-detached house, and I almost fell out of the passenger door in my haste to get to Trinity.

  Dean was already opening the garden gate and ushered me in. “You’re on,” he said. “I’ll back you up if need be.”

  The doorbell chimed somewhere inside the house and I hopped on one leg as I waited. It seemed to take forever, but finally the door swung open, revealing the farrier in his customary black outfit.

  “Hi, sorry to bother you, Richard, I’m looking for Trinity. One of the horses is sick and I need her help.” I hoped my face didn’t show the worry I was feeling.

  He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “You’re too late, darlin’. She already left.”

  “Oh, I thought you were going to give her a lift home?”

  “I was. But she said she had to go, and then she went and jumped in a taxi.”

  I had to work hard to keep my teeth from grinding. There was no way she’d ordered a taxi in the short space of time since I spoke to her—especially since she didn’t appear to even know the address he was at.

  “Okay, mate, thanks.” Dean took my arm in a strong grip and turned for the gate. “Let’s get you home, Izzy, so you can look after that horse,” he said in an over-loud voice. For a second, I contemplated arguing, but Dean hissed at me like a ventriloquist. “Wait!”

  By the time we got to the car, Richard had disappeared back inside, the knots in my stomach had turned into macrame, and Dean’s face was carved in stone.

  “Sorry for hustling you away like that,” he said, “but we’re in a potential hostage or kidnap situation now. We need to wait for the backup.” He started the car.

  “I’ll try phoning her,” I said, pulling the handset from my pocket as I clambered into the passenger seat. Then I yelped in fright as something darted across my peripheral vision.

  The back door opened, and Dean spun round angrily. “Stop right there or I’ll…”

  “It’s just me!” From the rear seat, Trinity raised her hands like the baddie in a cowboy movie, her chest heaving.

  I almost cried with relief. “How did you get out?”

  “Through the garden. And over a fence. He left a ventilation window open in his reptile shed. He’s—”

  The front door of the house burst open, and Richard charged out, brandishing a machete.

  Dean took one look at him and floored the accelerator.

  In the distance I could hear police sirens, and as I peered out the back window of the car, I saw squad car
s screeching to a halt outside the house and burly policemen overpowering the farrier. My clenched fists relaxed. “They got him.”

  “You sure?” Dean glanced at me quickly.

  “Yeah.”

  He did a u-turn and went back to report to the officers outside Richard’s house. “Wait there till I check the status,” he said, and jumped out.

  I put my arm between the seats and clasped Trinity’s hand. “You okay?”

  “A bit shaken, if I’m honest. But not stirred.” Her breathing was getting back to normal.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay. And that you managed to escape.”

  She nodded. “Had me a bit of luck there.” She made a face. “But I wish I’d never agreed to go out with the man. He’s a weirdo. Has all these John Wayne posters everywhere, and then these sheds of animals in his back garden.”

  “You dodged a bullet with that one.”

  Her peal of laughter was like music to my ears. “I see what you did there.”

  I grinned. “But if you hadn’t gone out with him, I’d never have worked out he was the killer.”

  “You really think he is?”

  I nodded. “He’s Marcus Serjeant’s son.”

  “Never?”

  “Yep. Hopefully the police will find more evidence, now they’ve got a proper suspect.”

  “An’ at least Craig’s off the hook.”

  Craig. My face fell. I’d been so intent on rescuing Trinity that I’d forgotten how royally I’d messed things up with him. He’d never speak to me again.

  A little bit of my heart died inside.

  It was the early hours of Sunday morning before a squad car dropped me and Trinity back at the cottage.

  Worn out from all the questions, we opened the front door to let Jorja out, and stumbled round the stable yard, quickly checking all the horses. Then we clambered up the stairs, too tired to speak.

  I fell in a heap on my bed, fully clothed, and Jorja leapt up beside me, snuggling in. “You’re not supposed to be here, your bed’s downstairs,” I whispered to her. But I was too exhausted to make her leave. Instead, I gave her a hug. She squirmed closer. “I wish you were Craig,” I muttered, tears pricking at my eyelids.

  How was I ever going to fix things with him?

  When I looked back at the times we’d spent together, I could see how good he’d been to me—buying me soup when I was recovering from Eagle’s vision, rescuing me from Richard’s attentions in the pub, and then keeping me company over dinner. And he’d made me laugh.

  Yet all I’d done was be suspicious of him, thinking he might have killed Hamish, even though I’d ruled out all the motives, and thinking he was a philanderer, only because of what Pat McDade said. A tear rolled down my cheek and I swiped it away. Really, I didn’t deserve him.

  And maybe some things just couldn’t be fixed.

  But there was a lesson for me to learn here, something positive to take from the mess I’d made with Craig. Kicking off my shoes, I pulled the blankets over me and cuddled Jorja closer.

  Next time—if there ever was a next time—I’d take Trinity’s advice to heart, and learn to be better at showing what I felt. Or even just letting myself feel things. Locking my heart away was all very well, but look where it’d got me with Craig? Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.

  As my head sank into the pillow and sleep finally overtook me, I made a resolution. I would try to show my feelings more, and let the people I cared about know that they were important to me. That couldn’t be so difficult, could it?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rain drummed on the slate roof of the cottage as I stumbled downstairs the next morning. Outside, everything was grey, and it matched my mood.

  Flicking the kettle on, I yawned and rubbed my eyes, which felt like they had half of Portobello beach in them.

  The front door swung open and Trinity came in, shedding a dripping overcoat and hanging it on a hook by the door. “Morning, boss,” she greeted me.

  I didn’t have the energy to tell her for the hundredth time not to call me that.

  “That’s all the horses sorted. And Eagle is keeping Allegra and Daisy entertained.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, grab your coat while I change my boots. I’m taking you out for breakfast. It’s our day off today.”

  I groaned. “Not sure I can eat anything.”

  “Coffee, then.” She held out my coat. “My treat.”

  A short time later, at one of the cherry-red tables in Kaffe Kalista, I had my hands warming on a massive cup of cappuccino.

  Trinity placed a blueberry muffin in front of me. “Eat that. You need some carbs.”

  Over by the window, the misses Large were in full flow.

  “Tried to kill the Queen, he did, back when he was part of the household calorie.”

  “The Household Cavalry, aye, that’s the one.”

  “And then he tries to kill that wee lassie. The one who’s the saucy dancing teacher.”

  “Salsa dancing, aye.”

  I jerked a thumb at the spinsters. “You should go set them right, Trin. Make friends. Cultivate your sources.”

  She glanced at the door, then shrugged. “Okay.” Picking up her herbal tea, she made her way over to their table.

  I watched her go, surprised that she hadn’t argued. Then, with a shrug, I turned my attention to my coffee. And the muffin. Maybe just a bite, I thought, breaking off a little piece and tasting it tentatively. In the background, a bell pinged, but I was oblivious. I took another bite. Delicious. My flatmate was right. I needed carbs.

  “Morning.”

  I startled, then, slowly, my eyes travelled upwards, tracking from the cake on the plate before me to black jeans, then a grey v-neck jersey, dark stubble, and finally—brown eyes. Those melting chocolate eyes. “Dean.”

  Putting a rain-speckled leather jacket over the back of the chair opposite me, he sat down, and somehow a coffee appeared in front of him. “Looks like we’ll get Richard put away for Hamish’s murder. Thanks to you.”

  I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak just yet.

  “Heard this morning that I’m getting a special commendation for my part in solving the crime. It should stand me in good stead for the detective exam. Also thanks to you.”

  All this praise was making me blush. “That’s good news.”

  He swallowed. “But I think you deserve more than just thanks. Maybe a slap-up afternoon tea at one of the fancy hotels in Perth? Or even Gleneagles if you don’t mind the longer drive?”

  My eyes widened. Didn’t see that coming. I picked up my cappuccino to gain some thinking time. Last time I’d been out with the copper it had ended with Craig finding out and me almost in tears. My chest constricted. Did I want to risk it again?

  Then my phone buzzed. “’Scuse me,” I said, and swiped it open.

  Craig: I’m getting sent to Windsor to cover for the stable manager there. He got injured. Queen says to keep Eagle at Glengowrie for now. She’ll pay. Bye.

  Rocking back in my chair, I stared at the screen. Craig is going to England. Almost as far away from here as he could get. And he hadn’t sent an X at the end of his text message. Which pretty much confirmed that there was no way I’d be able to fix things with him now, even with my new resolution to be more open and better at sharing my feelings. I sighed.

  Me: Thanks for letting me know. That sounds like a good opportunity. All the best.

  “Everything okay?” Dean’s voice was gravelly.

  Blinking hard, I glanced over at the window table, relieved to see that Trinity was keeping the ladies occupied, her face animated and her hands waving as she described the events of yesterday. Nobody was eavesdropping on our conversation. “Yeah, just a client.”

  Dean raised his cup to his lips, and met my eyes over the top. “So. Gleneagles?”

  It was undeniable, he really was very dishy. The epitome of the tall, dark and handsome stranger. And he was good company, even though I’d not felt the same connection with
him as I did with Craig. Perhaps if I spent more time with him, he’d open up to me and share more about himself, be less of a stranger?

  I shrugged. “Why not?” It would be exciting. And I’d get to know Dean better.

  And life up here was turning out to be pretty exciting as well. In the space of three days I’d met the Queen, been interviewed for the paper, solved a murder, and now I was going for the very first time to what was probably the fanciest hotel in Scotland. Whoever was it that said things in a Highland village would be boring?

  Not me.

  THE END

  Want to read more about Izzy and Trinity, and the mysteries they encounter in the Highlands of Scotland?

  Order the next book, A Right Royal Revenge:

  A note from the author

  As I wrote the final chapters of this novel, the coronavirus pandemic became more and more of an issue in daily life.

  Escaping into Izzy’s world was a wonderful antidote for me—and I hope it has been for you too. Stay safe, stay well, and I hope to see you soon for some more Scottish cozy mysteries!

  The Highland Horse Whisperer series

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  rozmarshall.co.uk/newsletter,

  or find the series—and my other books—at:

  rozmarshall.co.uk/books.

  Also by R B Marshall

  The Highland Horse Whisperer series:

  Cozy Mystery set in Scotland (and London for the prequel).

  The Secret Santa Mystery

  A Corpse at the Castle

  A Right Royal Revenge (releasing 30 Sept 2020)

  A Henchman at the Highland Games (due in 2020)