Rex puffed on his pipe with satisfaction at having sorted out the logistics of the situation. There would be plenty for the guests to eat at breakfast. The only inconvenience, Rex supposed, might be the lack of bathrooms. He and Helen had one off their bedroom. A full guest bath with a ball-and-claw-footed Victorian tub occupied the upper landing. A cloakroom—or as the interior decorator had pretentiously described it, a “powder room”—was located downstairs off the hall.
Savoring the last of his pipe, he tapped the contents from the bowl into a flowerbed, with a final wish that all the guests could go home so he and Helen could salvage some time to themselves. When he returned inside, he found the center of the living room emptied of furniture.
“We’re having a ceilidh,” Shona Allerdice whispered to him conspiratorially.
Rex didn’t see the need for all the secrecy, until he saw her slide a surreptitious look in her daughter’s direction. Flora stood in a corner with her brother in apparent nervous anticipation.
“What sort of music would you like for the dance?” Rex asked Shona.
“Oh, I looked through your CDs and found some compilations of traditional Scottish tunes that’ll do grand.”
Rex, who had two left feet, would have preferred some other form of entertainment, but Shona was obviously not to be deterred. The others sat expectantly on the pushed back burgundy velvet chairs and matching sofas, clasping glasses of wine and whisky.
“All Shona’s idea,” Helen murmured, moving close to him as the lady in question busied herself with the stereo system. “The wine must have emboldened her.”
“Blast the woman.”
“Yes, I know how much you hate dancing.”
“She could have consulted with me first.”
“She seems to have some scheme up her sleeve. Don’t look so put out, Rex. The party is a raving success.”
“They’re all staying, I suppose?”
“Alas, yes. Shona asked me if it would be an imposition. What could I say? It’s still pouring outside and, in any case, I don’t think we could find one designated driver among them. The Scots drink like fishes.”
“Och, well, we might as well make the most of it.” Rex looked around the room. “Where’s Moira?”
“She said something about Alistair being kind enough to give up his room, and he went to help her with her suitcase. Looks like she planned on staying for at least a few days.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Here they are now.”
Moira and Alistair entered the room, looking pleased with themselves. Moira went to the stereo to consult with Shona on the music. “The Gay Gordons, followed by some softer music for slow dancing,” she suggested.
Shona concurred with a gleam in her eyes. “So how long were you with Rex?” she asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“A few years. Right up until I went to Baghdad, in fact. I was heartbroken to find when I returned that he had met someone else.”
Rex itched to set the record straight, but good manners prevailed. He would just have to withstand the withering gazes branding him a cad.
“Well, I imagine you and Rob Roy must have a lot in common,” Shona said, dragging Moira toward the journalist. “You’re both well travelled. And both from Glasgow, I heard.”
“She’s a right Mrs. Bennet, isn’t she?” Helen whispered in Rex’s ear. “She’ll have all the single women married off by the end of the evening.”
“One in particular, I’ll be bound—if she could.” He cocked his head in Flora’s direction.
Helen shook her head slowly and sighed. “It’s pathetic the way her poor daughter looks at Alistair.”
“He is a catch. A handsome advocate from a rich family—what more could a mother like Shona wish for?”
“Perhaps we should set her straight, so to speak.”
“Och, let’s not meddle. I hate gossip and silliness.”
“You’re right. We’ll just see how it all plays out.”
Shona Allerdice pressed the button on the CD remote and a burst of bagpipes issued forth.
“Let the games begin,” Rex muttered under his breath.
“Grab your partners,” Shona announced, pushing Flora at Alistair.
Moira and Rob Roy, who had no choice but to dance together since they were standing side by side, joined Flora and Alistair on the cleared floor. Estelle and Cuthbert fell into step, followed by the Allerdice couple and then Helen and Rex.
“Watch your feet,” he warned as they marched backward four steps.
“I must say, the Gay Gordons is a bit of an irony,” she remarked, glancing meaningfully over at Alistair and Flora, whose mother kept watch on the couple over her husband’s shoulder.
“Maybe you’re wrong aboot him,” Rex suggested.
“I don’t think so.”
“Fabulous party,” Estelle called out, baring her long teeth. “I could dance all night!” And off she galloped with Cuthbert, who was perspiring all over his red face.
“Yes, jolly good show,” he wheezed in Rex’s direction.
“We really should do this more often,” Shona added, arms entwined with her husband’s. “After all, we’re only a stone’s throw away!”
Helen grinned at Rex’s discomfiture. “That’s what you get for throwing such good shindigs.”
“It’s your fault. Your cooking is irresistible, as are you.”
His attention was suddenly diverted by a commotion across the room. Donnie, who had been horsing around on the dance floor, had accidentally tumbled into Rob Roy Beardsley and sent him tripping headlong across the rug. The journalist’s spectacles flew off and, retrieving them, the boy tried them on and grinned.
Rob Roy snatched them off the boy and whisked them back on his nose. “You wee imp! They’re the only pair I have.”
“He didna mean any harm,” Flora intervened, taking her brother’s arm.
“He should watch where he’s going.” Beardsley’s normally pale face had turned scarlet. “He could cause someone harm, charging about like a bull in a china shop.”
“Och, save yer breath to cool yer porridge, Rob,” the boy’s father told him. “Donnie just gets a wee bit spirited at times, but he’s harmless as a newborn lamb.”
“Why don’t you come and sit down.” Shona prodded her son toward a sofa, but he shrugged her off.
“I’ll go check on Honey,” he said sulkily with a black look at Beardsley.
When the boy left, the dancing resumed, good humor restored.
“Rex, I bag the next dance,” Moira declared breathlessly as Rob Roy twirled her beneath his finger.
“Och, you know I’m not one for dancing.”
“The next one’s a slow waltz. I’ll lead you.” She and her partner joined hands in a ballroom hold and skipped away in a polka around the room.
Rex sighed miserably.
“Don’t worry on my account,” Helen said. “If she tries anything on, I’ll slit her throat with the cake slicer. And you’re doing quite well, by the way. My toes are still intact.”
“That’s because my mind’s elsewhere. If I think too hard aboot where I’m placing my feet, I trip over them.”
“Are you thinking about me?”
“Aye. I’m thinking how lovely you look tonight with that pink flush in your cheeks.”
“Ha! This is a strenuous dance. That’s why I’m flushed.”
When it came to an end, everyone stood in place and clapped. A slower piece ensued, and Moira claimed Rex. Helen found herself with Rob Roy.
Moira’s head barely reached Rex’s shoulder. He lightly touched the small of her back and took her hand.
“I like your new place,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Helen is a very lucky woman.”
There was no tactful answer to this, and so Rex kept quiet.
“I won’t cause any trouble,” Moira said gravely. “There are plenty more fish in the sea.”
“Many,” Rex
agreed. “And much fancier ones. Why settle for a minnow when you could catch a trout?”
“Do you consider Alistair a trout?”
“Aye, a rainbow trout. He comes from a very wealthy family and has impeccable credentials.”
“He lost the MacClure case,” Moira pointed out. “You’d have won it.”
“Och, there’s no guarantee. The prosecution had very little to go on.”
“That poor wee lass. Imagine being left to die out on the moor, alone wi’ her teddy bear.”
Rex stopped in mid stride. “Och, I wish you hadna brought it up. It’s right depressing.”
“I can’t stop thinking aboot it. She’s the third bairn the police have found. There might be others. Dozens of children have been reported missing in the Highlands over the years. Some bodies will never be recovered, especially on Rannoch Moor. It’s a wilderness of crag and peat bog, and no road for miles around in most places. What if the perpetrator is never caught?”
“We’ll just have to pray that he is. Parents will have to be more vigilant.”
Alistair came up to ask Moira for the next dance. He winked at Rex over her head, and Rex understood that he was thoughtfully taking her off his hands for Helen’s sake.
“Cheer up, Rex,” she said, approaching. “You actually look depressed that Moira’s dancing with another man.”
“It’s no that. It’s just that she brought up the murder of Kirsty MacClure. Did you hear about it in England?”
“Of course. It was all over the news. That blond child with the angelic face? It was heartbreaking.”
Rex hugged Helen to him and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll go make coffee for the guests.”
“Good idea. I’ll give you a hand.”
After coffee was served along with a tray of liqueur chocolates, Rex went to dig up some extra sheets and blankets. The Aller-dice couple would have to put up with the leaking radiator, since Alistair had relinquished his room to Moira.
Beneath the shelter of a huge golf umbrella, he took an armful of bedding out to the stable, where he found Donnie already asleep on the trundle bed, and covered the boy with a woolen rug. In a nearby stall, the Shetland pony snuffled contentedly, her nose buried inside a bucket of oats. Rain lashed the stone building, but in here reigned a reassuring aroma of dry hay and old leather. A cast-iron Victorian conservatory heater emitted radiant warmth from its coals. Satisfied that the boy was comfortably settled in for the night, Rex tiptoed out of the stable and charged back through the deluge.
At the house, the party was breaking up, the guests yawning and stretching. Estelle was searching for her shoes, which she had discarded for the dancing. Cuthbert mopped his brow with a paper napkin.
“Donnie is dead to the world. It’s warm and dry in the stable,” Rex assured the boy’s parents. “And there’s a bit of light from the heater.”
“We’re sorry to put you out like this,” Shona apologized.
“Not at all.”
“If we stay much longer, we’ll eat you out of house and home. That was a delicious buffet, Helen.”
“Aye,” Hamish agreed. “Fancy a job at the hotel?”
Helen beamed. “I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed preparing it—in Rex’s fantastic new kitchen.” She put an arm around his waist.
“Well, we had better let these two lovebirds get to bed,” Hamish said in a suggestive way that Rex did not appreciate in the least.
“Aye, well there’s some tidying up to do first,” his wife replied.
“Oh, leave that, Shona,” Helen insisted as Mrs. Allerdice stacked the cups and saucers. “I’ll see to it.”
“Och, nonsense. I’m used to it.”
Moira announced she wanted to take a bath and effusively bid everyone good night, saying she needed her beauty sleep.
“You’re quite beautiful enough, my dear,” Cuthbert said gallantly, taking her hand and kissing it. “Have you ever seen such tiny hands?” he asked his wife.
“You are incorrigible, Bertie. Just ignore him,” Estelle told Moira. “That’s what I do.”
Rex offered the Farquharsons the use of his en-suite bathroom while he and Helen finished clearing up downstairs with Shona and Flora’s help.
“Hopefully we’ll make it back to the hotel before our guests get up,” Mrs. Allerdice remarked. “We only have six of them, none of them particularly early risers, fortunately.”
“Where did Hamish disappear to?” Rex asked her.
“I don’t know. Do you need him?”
“Och, I can manage myself.” He started to put the living room furniture back in its place. Alistair had retired to the library.
“I’ll give you a hand,” Beardsley offered.
“Aye, thanks. Will you be okay on this sofa?”
“No problem. I’ll just use this throw rug.”
Rex hesitated. The throw rug was mohair, and he wasn’t sure Helen would approve of anyone using it as a blanket. He decided to let it go. There were few enough blankets in the house.
As he went to check under the stairs for more pillows for the guests, he heard Hamish’s voice on the upstairs landing.
“Off for a nice bath, then? Can I scrub your back for ye?”
A tinkle of laughter floated down the stairs. “What would your wife say?” Moira’s voice responded.
Rex placed his foot on the first step and listened.
“Och, she’d never have to know.”
Moira said primly, “I don’t go for married men.”
Since when? Rex asked himself. That Aussie photographer was married. Probably had three kids too!
“You dinna ken what you’re missing,” Hamish said. “We’re desperate and easy to please.”
“Ta, but no. Please remove your foot from the door so I can have my bath.”
“Show me what’s beneath your dressing gown and I’ll leave you alone, I promise.”
“Go away before I scream.” Of a sudden, Moira sounded alarmed.
Rex was about to rush up the stairs when he heard, “Tsh, tsh, I didna mean no harm. There you go.”
The bathroom door closed, followed by the click of the brass bolt. Heavy footsteps made their way across the landing. “Wee tease,” he heard Hamish mutter. Rex ducked out of sight as his guest opened the bedroom door at the top of the stairs.
The door next to Rex’s bedroom opened, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. Returning to his post, Rex strained to hear.
“I say, is everything all right, Moira?” Mr. Farquharson called out.
The bathroom door creaked open. “Aye, thanks, Cuthbert. Hamish Allerdice has had a wee bit too much to drink, but he went on his way.”
“A filly like you should be married. A slip of a thing such as yourself needs the protection of a man. By Jove, you look barely twelve years old wrapped in that towel …”
“I appreciate your concern, but I can look after myself.”
“I know, you were in Baghdad with bombs going off all over the place and all that. Hardly a fit place for a woman. Arabs take a different view of women, you know. If you were my daughter, I’d—”
“Mr. Farquharson,” Moira said firmly, “there’s a draught and I’m getting cold standing here. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Eavesdropping?” asked a voice behind Rex.
Helen stood behind him with an unreadable expression on her face. How long had she been standing there? he wondered.
“Hamish was pestering Moira,” Rex explained to Helen at the foot of the stairs. “Cuthbert’s up there offering assistance.”
“Why don’t you go up and join the adoring throng?”
“I just wanted to make sure she was okay. She is, after all, a guest in our house.”
“Our house,” Helen repeated wonderingly.
“Aye, and whether we like it or not, Moira is, for now, a part of our lives.”
Helen sighed in desperation. “Oh, I know that. It’s just a bit unnerving when she pops up out of the blu
e. At least Clive has the good manners to stay away.”
Clive was the mathematics teacher Helen had been dating before she and Rex met. She and Clive used to go skiing in Aviemore, a winter resort not far from Gleneagle. “Well, he still teaches at your school, as far as I know,” Rex pointed out.
“As far as you know.” Helen shook her head. “That says it all. If you were the least bit jealous, you would know. You would have asked.”
“Why would I be jealous? You said you found him boring.”
“I did not!” Helen exploded. “You just assumed he was boring because he teaches mathematics.”
“And drinks micro brews. And presumably won’t get on his bike without one of those stupid helmets that make cyclists look like aliens on wheels.” Rex laughed—until he noticed Helen’s angry expression, and realized he had gone too far.
Suddenly she dissolved into laughter too. “You’re right. What a dweeb!”
No voices came from upstairs now. Rex draped an arm around Helen’s shoulders and guided her down the hall. He went into the kitchen and set the dishwasher in motion. “Don’t worry about the glasses,” he told the Allerdice women. “I’ll take care of them in the morning.”
After locking the kitchen door to the outside, he bid them goodnight and climbed the stairs with Helen, glad to finally get to his bed.
She followed him into the room and shut the door. “It’s past midnight. Should we set the alarm for tomorrow?”
Rex groaned. “I’m not getting up before seven. Fortunately, it’s a solid old house so we shouldn’t hear too much noise. In any case, I’m so tired I could sleep through anything.”
He brushed his teeth and got into bed. A creaking floorboard and muffled voices reached him from next door, where Estelle and Cuthbert Farquharson were staying. He expected the wall would be thicker. He’d never had overnight guests before, other than Helen. Then the old water radiator started clanging as though struck repeatedly with a tire iron. Rex bunched a pillow against his ear. Just as he closed his eyes and murmured good night to Helen, an urgent knock rapped at the door. He thought about ignoring it.
Murder on the Moor Page 4
