“That had already occurred to me.”
“Which means one of the Homesteaders is a murderer.”
“Maybe not. Anyone can help build the ship and no one keeps records of who comes and goes. It could have been an outsider.”
Ginny shook her head. “No one could stick something the size of a full grown man into the hull of the ship in broad daylight without being seen. It was someone who had access to the boat after dark.”
“It’s still possible the person who put the body in the boat didn’t kill him. We don’t know how he died.”
Jim pulled the car to a stop in front of her house, then turned to face her, one eyebrow raised. “This makes three since October. You seem to be a corpse magnet.”
Ginny gave him a dirty look. “I didn’t find him, Caroline did. And allow me to point out that none of this started until you showed up.”
“So I’m a catalyst?”
“For all I know, you’re the killer.”
Jim shook his head. “Detective Tran can vouch for my innocence in the other two cases and I’m sure I’ll be able to weasel out of this accusation as well.”
Ginny sniffed. “Better be careful. You might end up as corpse number four.”
He grinned. “Not a chance. If you’d been able to kill me, I’d be dead already. I’m immune to whatever power you’ve got.”
Ginny opened the door and got out, then gave him an exceptionally bland look. “We’ll see about that!”
* * *
Friday
Cooperative Hall
It was Friday night and Ginny sat alone at one of the many tables along the back portion of the hall, staring into her drink, thinking about the body in the Viking long ship.
He hung like Banquo’s ghost over the community, demanding justice. The police had spent the rest of Wednesday sending divers to the bottom of the lake, finding the other pieces of the corpse. Someone had seen the autopsy, or knew someone who had. It said the aorta had been severed, cut all the way through in a single stroke.
The cause of death was listed as exsanguination, so he hadn’t been alive when the archers let loose the flaming arrows. All three had been stoic, but all had been relieved to hear it.
The police had talked to everyone involved in building the Viking long ship. The Committee had supplied lists of volunteers. The Laird and the Parks Department had explained about access to the grounds and permits for building, launching, and sinking the ship. The space allocated to the actual construction had been carefully searched for clues. It was all very disturbing.
Sunk deep in her own thoughts, Ginny was slow to realize there was another person sitting in the back of the room, but he was no longer sober and no longer silent. She lifted her eyes and looked over at him. Charles Monroe was having trouble steering his cup to his lips, spilling some down his front as she watched, brushing at it with a shaking hand, then trying to put the mug down and spilling that.
Ginny felt her heart twist as she looked at him. She knew his story. They all did. Only twenty-seven and a widower. His young wife and two small daughters had been killed by a drunk driver six months ago.
He normally wasn’t this bad. She was trying to decide whether she should do something when another man approached. Geordie Hamilton took the mug away then put one of Charlie’s arms around his shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. Ginny watched the two of them make their unsteady way across the room and out the door. When she turned back she saw Jim approaching.
“Was that Charles Monroe?”
She nodded. “He’s getting worse.”
“Himself was talking to the counsel about it last week.”
Ginny sighed heavily. “Poor man. My heart goes out to him.”
Jim nodded. “But crawling into a bottle is not the answer.”
“I know that.” Very well, in fact. She’d been tempted to do the same when the truth about her former boyfriend got out. She’d been stared at and whispered about and very nearly pushed over the edge by the solicitous busy-bodies in the Loch Lonach community.
She had taken to hiding from them for a while, even missing some of the ceilidhs. That had brought Himself to her doorstep and they’d had a talk about handling adversity. Not a very comfortable talk either.
“Come on,” Jim said. “Himself requests the pleasure of your company.” He held out his hand.
Such invitations could not be refused. Ginny rose and let Jim escort her into the presence of her Laird.
* * *
Chapter 3
Saturday
Loch Lonach Park
Saturday morning dawned fine so Ginny decided to go for a walk in the park. Typical for a weekend, there were numerous runners, walkers, and cyclists on the trail; a handful of preteens on the concrete tubes; a dozen tots, with accompanying parents, on the playground; and a lone man seated at the picnic table nearby. She realized with a start that she knew the man. It was Charles Monroe.
Well, the last thing she wanted to do was disturb Charlie. He would either be drunk again (or still) or hungover. Not good company either way. She started to turn away, but a movement caught her eye and she looked back in time to see him pull a gun out of his pocket and lay it on the table in front of him, his eyes on the playground.
Ginny felt her mouth go dry. He couldn’t mean to hurt the children, surely? He was weeping, his shoulders shaking, his hands lifting, then lowering the gun.
She swallowed hard, then pulled out her phone and dialed 9-1-1, reporting her suspicions, then turning the device off, and stowing it in her pocket. She needed no distractions for what she was planning to do.
She headed toward the picnic shelter, approaching him from the side, making sure she was visible. She stopped at the edge of the concrete.
“Charlie?”
He glanced over at her, then looked back at the children.
“How are you, Charlie?” She stepped under the roof of the shelter and walked very slowly toward him. He didn’t answer, but he did look up. His eyes followed her as she walked around to the other side of the table and slid into place across from him.
She held his gaze. “What’s the gun for, Charlie?”
His eyes brimmed with tears. “For me.”
Ginny sighed. “I cannot imagine how badly it must hurt to think of your family.”
He shuddered with the grief, his face contorted. “Today is Annie’s birthday. She would have been three.”
Ginny reached across the table. “I’m so sorry!”
He picked up both of his hands, the gun still clutched in the right, and covered his face with them, sobbing. Ginny waited. He took a gasping breath and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
“I can’t live without Mandy. I can’t function anymore. I can’t sleep. I can’t work. I can’t do anything. What’s the point of trying?” He put the gun to his head.
Ginny kept her voice low. “You don’t want to do that, Charlie.”
He closed his eyes and his finger tightened on the trigger.
“Charlie.” She softened her voice further, trying to stay calm, for him and for herself. “Those little children over there, some of them are the same age as Annie and Beth. Think. If you hurt yourself, they will look over here. Would you want Annie and Beth to see a man covered in blood? Would you want that for them?”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “No.”
“Put the gun back down on the table and let’s talk. We can figure this out.”
He shook his head. “No. We can’t.”
Something in the tone of his voice made Ginny pause. “Why not?” she asked.
“Because I killed him.”
Ginny was momentarily disoriented. “Killed who?”
“The man in the boat. He killed my family so I killed him. There’s no life for me here anymore.”
Ginny felt her stomach knot as the image of the half-burned man rose in her mind’s eye. She didn’t have to stay. She could leave, let him shoot himself, or be taken by the po
lice and dealt with however they saw fit.
Or she could try to help.
Charles Monroe was one of their own, the victim of both a heinous crime that took the lives of his wife and children and a miscarriage of justice that released the culprit back onto the streets of Dallas with no punishment and no way to prevent him from killing again. She could not condone Monroe’s act, but she could understand it.
She heard sirens approaching and pulled herself together. It wasn’t her place to judge. The Loch Lonach council could send him back to the police, if they decided that was the best solution, or deal with him themselves. They had the authority. She had none.
She leaned across the table and put her hand on Charlie’s gun arm.
“Charlie! Can you hear me? LISTEN to me! Say nothing about the dead man. NOTHING. Do you hear me?”
He swallowed and nodded. “I hear you. Why?”
“I want to talk to Himself before the police find out. Can you keep your mouth shut for a little while?”
He nodded, lowering the gun and laying it back down on the table, the muzzle still pointed in Ginny’s direction. She pulled her hand back. The police were already on their way up the hill, moving fast.
“Okay. Here’s what you say. You tell them you were planning to kill yourself because of the grief. You couldn’t stand it any longer. Got that?”
He nodded.
“They’ll take you to the hospital. You cooperate with them.”
He nodded again.
“Remember, say NOTHING else. We’ll find you.”
“Put the gun down!” The police officer had his service weapon trained on Charlie’s right ear.
“Let go of the weapon,” Ginny said.
Charlie blinked, then did as she said, allowing the gun to slip from his fingers. The police officer moved in swiftly to secure it. As soon as that was done, others approached from the far side of the pavilion and took him into custody.
Ginny sat without moving, waiting for instructions from the police.
“Are you all right, miss?”
She nodded.
They marched Charlie off, locking him in the rear of the patrol car, then settled down to take her statement.
Ginny told them what she had decided they needed to hear. She had seen the gun, called for help, and intervened, talking him down until they arrived. He was here because this was where he would have been to celebrate the birthday of his dead daughter. Here he could feel the anguish of what he had lost and that pain would carry him through to his suicide. He needed mental health care. She was fine.
It was almost two hours before they were through and released her to go home. She hurried back to her car, pulled her phone out to tell her mother what was going on, and found a message waiting for her. She looked at it in surprise.
She got hold of her mother and let her know. “I’ve been summoned.”
“When do you have to be there?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Then you’d better go straight over. You can tell me all about it later.”
“Yes ma’am.” Ginny turned the car around. If she didn’t get held up in traffic, she would just make it.
* * *
Saturday Afternoon
Cooperative Hall
Jim sat off to the side, here at the Laird’s request, but sworn to silence. He’d gotten a call from Himself and been told what Ginny had done at the park. He’d come, of course, dropping everything and hurrying over.
He watched as Ginny walked the length of the hall and came to rest six feet in front of his grandfather.
“Virginia Forbes.”
“Mackenzie.”
Neither smiled.
Jim felt a tiny chill go down his spine. If this was an informal hearing, what was a formal one like?
Having established their respective places in the clan, the Laird sat down, his cane planted firmly between his knees, his hands resting on the knob.
“I hear things o’ ye, Ginny, that I wish to ha’e clarified. I’m told ye sat down in front o’ a loaded pistol at th’ park this day.”
“I did.”
“Why was that?”
“To make sure, if it went off, it would not hit any of the children on the playground.”
There was a longish silence as the Laird studied her face. Jim could see no evidence of remorse or doubt in her expression.
“Ye’re a braw lass. Ye’ve nae need tae prove it tae anyone. But I ha’e tae wonder about yer judgment.”
She said nothing, her eyes still on his, her face immobile.
“Why did ye no sit down at his side?”
“He needed to be able to see me and the only way I could be sure he would was to sit down in front of him.”
“Did ye try to take th’ gun frae him?”
She shook her head. “I’m not such a fool as that! We both know I could not have done it. He’s faster, and stronger, and desperate.”
“Ye told the police he didnae intend tae shoot the bairns.”
“The gun might have gone off accidentally.”
“So ye made th’ deliberate decision tae substitute yerself.”
Ginny stood up a bit straighter. “If I had to die to save even one of those children, it would have been worth it.”
Jim felt his heart contract. ‘Not to me, Ginny,’ he thought.
The Laird’s eyes narrowed, his expression stern.
“Virginia Ann Forbes. Y’er too valuable tae us tae tak’ such chances. I forbid ye tae do so agin.”
Jim watched the two of them stare at one another and held his breath. He knew just how stubborn Ginny could be. It was a full minute before she lowered her eyes.
“Aye, Mackenzie,” she said, sinking into a graceful curtsy. When she rose, she stood in front of him, her head bowed, her eyes on the floor.
The Laird relaxed noticeably, his eyes still on his wayward child. “And now, lass, tell me what else Charlie Monroe said.”
Her head came up swiftly. “What makes you think there was more?”
A small smile appeared at the corner of the Laird’s mouth. “I’ve known ye since ye were a wee bairn. Ye had something on yer mind when ye got here.”
“Yes.”
“Out wi’ it, then.”
“Charlie Monroe confessed to me that he killed the man we found in the Viking long boat.”
Jim caught his breath.
“Auch, aye?”
“It’s the man who killed his family.” Ginny took a deep breath. “He shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong to take vengeance into his own hands, but consider his provocation. The drunk had been arrested, tried, convicted, then released onto the streets of Dallas without any controls or penalty. What self-respecting Scot wouldn’t do what the criminal justice system failed to?”
She held her hand out toward the Laird. “I ask only that you bring him before you. Examine him. Decide what to do with him. He’s one of ours. We owe him that much.”
The Laird studied her face, his brow furrowed. “I’ll gi'e it some thought. Ye may go.”
She nodded then turned and left the hall.
Jim rose, crossed the space between himself and the Laird, then took a seat facing him.
“Ye ha’e questions, Jim?”
He nodded. “Several.”
“Go on, then.”
“First, did I see her curtsy to you?”
The old man laughed. “Aye, ye did, and a rare thing it may be, too, but she’s well brought up.”
Jim shook his head. “Why?”
“Why did she gi’e in tae me, ye mean?”
“Yes.”
“Because she kens how much damage it would do tae th’ clan for her tae throw awa’ her life.”
Jim felt a small stab in the region of his heart. “Will she keep her promise?”
“Aye, she will, but she’ll reserve th’ right tae decide. ‘Tis in her nature.”
Jim snorted. “If by that you mean she’s stubborn, you’re right. All she had to do was
call 9-1-1 and wait. She didn’t have to put herself in danger.”
The Laird cocked his head to the side. “Th’ lass puts herself in danger every time she reports tae work, does she no?”
Jim squirmed. “Well, yes, but it’s not the same. That’s her job.”
“An’ why do ye think she chose such a job?”
Jim met his grandfather’s eyes. “The same reason I did, I suppose, to help people.”
“Perhaps she thought tae help Charlie.” His grandfather studied him for a moment. “Wha’ would ye ha’e done, had ye been there?”
Jim sucked in a breath. “I wouldn’t have let her use her body as a shield.”
“Ye think ye could ha’e stopped her?”
He nodded. “If necessary, I would have slung her over my shoulder and dumped her in the sandbox.”
He saw the corner of his grandfather’s mouth twitch. “Force her tae obey ye? Ah weel.”
“What do you mean by that?”
There was a definite twinkle in Angus Mackenzie’s eye as he looked at Jim. “Ye’ll find out, lad. Ye’ll find out.”
* * *
Chapter 4
Tuesday Afternoon
Cooperative Hall
The grapevine within the Homestead was a finely-tuned machine. By Monday evening, everyone knew the police had identified the body in the boat and, as a result, knew he was the man who had killed Charlie’s family.
On Tuesday afternoon, Ginny slipped into the chair Jim had saved for her and looked around. The Cooperative Hall was full to bursting point.
Monroe had been released from the hospital that morning and brought here, in the custody and care of the clan. There was no doubt as to his guilt. He had confessed. The question was what to do with him. He now sat and waited. At the appointed time, he rose and faced the Laird.
“Have ye decided?” the Laird asked.
Monroe took a deep breath. “Aye.”
“What will it be, then?”
“I choose exile.”
A murmur swept through the crowd. Exile. As good as death to a Scot since there was no chance of reprieve.
“So be it.”
Jim leaned over and spoke in Ginny’s ear. “Himself asked us to stay.”
Viking Vengeance Page 2
