Horror in the Highlands (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Alison Golden

  “It most certainly is,” Annabelle replied.

  “Where are you from? I haven’t heard a Scottish accent like yours before,” his wife asked.

  “Oh, I’m not a Scot,” Annabelle chuckled. “I’m from the South of England. I’m visiting my brother and his daughter.”

  “My, that sounds wunnerful!” the woman exclaimed. “So you’ve been here before?”

  “Yes,” Annabelle said, wanting to match her companion’s enthusiasm but finding herself far too exhausted.

  “Have you ever seen Clannan Castle?” asked the woman in a hushed whisper.

  “Of course. You can see it from almost anywhere on the island.”

  This reply was met with excited nudges from the couple, as they looked at each other gleefully.

  “Tell her, Mitch!” the woman said in a loud whisper as she elbowed her husband.

  He turned to Annabelle and began. “We’re—“

  “—Laird and Lady of the Castle!” the woman blurted out, too thrilled with her news to wait even a second.

  “Oh my!” Annabelle exclaimed. “It’s wonderful to meet you! I’m Annabelle,” she added, omitting the “Reverend” part. This was to be a holiday away from her responsibilities and she wasn’t going to threaten it. Not this early, anyway.

  “My name’s Mitch Gilbert,” said the American, holding out his hand warmly, “and this is my wife, Patti.”

  “Laird and Lady Gilbert, I presume,” Annabelle said, smiling.

  They laughed warmly.

  “Mitch and Patti is just fine,” giggled the woman. “We’re not going to let it go to our heads!”

  “So your ancestors emigrated from Blodraigh to America?”

  “Oh, no,” Mitch said, fishing in his coat pockets. “Nothing like that.”

  “We bought our lairdship online,” Patti said, as her husband handed a carefully-folded sheet of paper to Annabelle.

  Annabelle opened it up and saw that it was a photocopy of an ornately decorated document of some sort.

  “The original is hanging in our great room, pride of place!” Mitch said, pointing a broad finger at the paper, “This certificate entitles us to three square feet of pasture in the castle grounds. It also means we have the title of Laird and Lady, fishing rights, and lifetime access to the castle.”

  “It also lets us wear the Clannan tartan!” Patti squealed, unzipping her orange raincoat to reveal the vivid red, black, and sky blue crisscrossed sash that she wore.

  Annabelle gazed at the document for a few moments. She had never heard of titles being transferred in this way before and couldn’t help thinking that the delight of the Americans seemed more than a few feet of land merited. Nonetheless, she handed the document back with a bright smile.

  “It all sounds terribly thrilling!” she said, as the boat skipper turned off its engine and coasted to the ferry landing. “I sincerely hope you enjoy your time here. I feel rather privileged to meet such nobility!”

  The Americans looked at each other and embarked on a fit of giggles and loud guffaws, clearly thrilled with their newly purchased status.

  “Maybe we’ll get to show you around our grounds!”

  “I’d like that,” Annabelle said, as they rose from the bench and bid each other goodbye before making their way off the boat. “That would be super.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ANNABELLE SCANNED HER surroundings for signs of her brother as she walked along the small pier that served as a disembarkation point as well as mooring for the ferryboat. Perhaps it was tiredness, her eyes were heavy-lidded with lack of sleep, but she caught no sight of him.

  “Bumble!” came a high-pitched scream from behind, and a moment later a small body forcefully ran into Annabelle, almost knocking her flat on her front. Two slight arms wrapped themselves around her hips and squeezed her hard.

  “Bonnie!” Annabelle cried, when she looked around to find her excited niece’s cheek pressed hard against her bottom, her fatigue evaporating.

  Annabelle set down her bag and knelt in order to take Bonnie in a tight hug, before pushing her away to see how much the young girl had changed since the last time she had visited the island. It was remarkable. Bonnie’s wide brown eyes were even more searching and intelligent than before, while her body had stretched itself out, adding almost three inches to her height.

  “How you’ve grown!” Annabelle exclaimed, knowing full well it sounded cliché, but that her words were no less true for it.

  “Hi Sis,” came the unmistakably warm voice of her brother.

  “Roger!” she said, as she stood up and was immediately enveloped in a big bear hug.

  “Was it a tiring trip?” he asked, as he always did. He picked up her sports bag and led the way back to the car.

  “No journey’s too tiring when there’s two people you love waiting at the other end,” Annabelle smiled, ruffling Bonnie’s hair before taking her by the hand.

  Moments later, the three of them sat in Roger’s battered and muddy Land Rover as he weaved the car between dry stone walls and along the sloping roads of the island. It was already dark, and the swirling wind was making bushes and trees perform an ominous rain dance. Inside, however, the car was filled with Bonnie’s sparkling tones as she regaled her aunt with all the news and tales of important events that had happened since she last saw her. The questions hadn’t started yet, but Annabelle knew they would just as soon as Bonnie said her piece.

  It wasn’t long before they arrived at a large, low farmhouse that sat stoically between a pair of hills, a quarter of a mile away from the main village. A long, muddy road led up to it. As soon as Roger brought the car to a halt, Bonnie grabbed her aunt’s hand and led her inside while Roger followed with Annabelle’s bag.

  Unlike her niece, the house itself was much as Annabelle remembered it. It was large enough for a sizable family, and every room was filled with furniture, pictures, and ornaments. With only Bonnie and her father living there, many of the rooms were rarely used, so they heated only the few that they did. But Annabelle’s visit was a welcome exception to that rule, and the whole house was comfortably warm and inviting throughout. After Annabelle had taken her bag from Roger and dumped it in her room, the trio sat down to devour a hearty meal of thick vegetable soup and roast lamb that had been left warming in the oven. They voted to leave the washing-up until morning, and instead settled in the living room where Roger stoked a roaring fire in the hearth.

  As the heat chased away all the chills from her body and the satisfying meal settled inside her, Annabelle smiled contentedly and watched as Roger and Bonnie unwrapped their gifts. Bonnie was delighted with her book. She squeezed her aunt once again before stroking the cover tenderly, savoring the moment before she opened it up. Roger showed his appreciation for his gift by holding his scarf aloft and performing the chant known to Arsenal fans the world over.

  “Ar-se-nal! Ar-se-nal!” he shouted, much to Bonnie’s and Annabelle’s amusement, his voice dropping a note on the last syllable as is the custom. “Thank you very much indeed, Bumble. It’s a wonderful gift.”

  Bonnie looked up from her place on the floor, still stroking her book, and asked, “Daddy, why do we call Auntie Annabelle, ‘Bumble?’”

  “Have I never told you?” Roger asked, with a frown.

  “Your father has called me that since we were as young as you are now, perhaps younger.” Annabelle said. “It’s because I work very hard, like a bee. I’ve been fascinated by bees since I was a child. And I’m also very sweet. Like honey.”

  Bonnie beamed at Annabelle, then at her father, who wore a look of confusion on his rugged features.

  “That’s not quite true,” he said, slowly.

  Annabelle turned to look at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “That’s not the reason I’ve called you ‘Bumble’ all these years.”

  “Well if not that, what was it?” Annabelle asked, curious to know what the answer to her question might be.


  Roger pressed his lips together to squelch a wry grin. “It doesn’t matter now. I like your reason.”

  “Roger!”

  “Yes?”

  “I demand that you tell me this instant!”

  Bonnie’s wide-eyed gaze switched back and forth from her aunt to her father like someone watching a tennis match.

  “Well… “Roger began, reluctantly, “I called you Bumble because… Well, you are, were, rather clumsy.”

  Annabelle opened her mouth wide in a gasp of horror.

  “I was not!”

  “You were,” Roger continued, nodding regretfully. “Don’t you remember when you climbed the fence because we were late for school?”

  “Everyone’s late at one time or another.”

  “Indeed, but most people would have remembered to take their skirt out of their knickers before they ran into the assembly hall in front of the entire school.”

  Annabelle huffed a little as she sought an excuse. “Still, Roger, one incident is no reason to call me—”

  “And then there was the time you rode your bike straight up a ramp into an open delivery truck.”

  “There was an incredibly cute puppy tied to the lamp post, Roger. I told you.”

  “And then there were the numerous occasions you got your coat caught in the car door, tripped up when stepping off escalators, dropped your sunglasses looking over the balcony, sat on things, walked into things, got your hands caught in things—“

  “Yes, yes! Alright!” Annabelle said, laughing at the memories. “I get it. Clumsy. But I like my explanation better. Busy. Bees. Honey. Sweet.” She laughed again, looking at Bonnie who gave her another quick squeeze.

  “So anyway, how are things down there in sunny Cornwall?” Roger asked, in between sips of his large mug of tea.

  “Rather well, in fact,” Annabelle replied. “We’ve finally renovated the cemetery, we have some interesting projects lined up for the young people in the village, and the congregation is as large as ever.”

  “And the Inspector?” asked Roger, disguising a smirk behind his hefty mug.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The Inspector,” repeated Roger. “You mentioned him in your last email. Several times.”

  Annabelle was flustered for a few moments, and had she not been rosy-cheeked from the warmth of the fire, would have found herself blushing profusely. “Well, he’s a good man – a good detective. He’s been very helpful whenever we’ve needed him. That’s all.”

  “Okay,” Roger conceded with a sly smile. “If you say so.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HOW HAVE YOU two been?” Annabelle changed the subject to safer ground.

  “Good, good,” Roger sighed. “Bonnie’s doing very well in school—“

  “I’ve decided I’m going to be a pilot when I grow up!” Bonnie announced.

  “Oh yes?” Annabelle smiled.

  “Yes. I’ll fly to every country in the world!”

  Annabelle and Roger chuckled, but the Vicar detected an air of melancholy in her brother.

  “That’s all any of the young people on the island seem to care about,” he said, sadly. “Leaving it.”

  “It’s much the same in Upton St. Mary. Most of them can’t wait to see the bright lights. It’s the nature of youth,” Annabelle said.

  “I suppose,” Roger sighed.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the crackle of wood in the fire.

  “Do you still hire that lovely lady who I met last time? “

  “Mrs. Cavendish? Yes. Even more so now that I have plenty of work. She still picks up this little scamp from school. She cooks and cleans. It was she who left the soup and roast for us.”

  “Well, it’s nice to see things have remained pleasantly stable on the island. Rather that than the excitement of trouble and upheaval.”

  “Hmm, it’s not all plain sailing. We’ve had somebody famous move to the island since you were last here. In that house by the ruins. Caused quite a stir, he has. A Pip Craven, would you believe?”

  “The Pip Craven!?” exclaimed Annabelle, leaning forward so quickly she almost spilt her tea.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  Annabelle put her tea down and sat back. She threw up her hands.

  “Well, I was young once, you know! Are you sure it’s him? He’s one of the wildest rock stars this country’s ever seen! Drugs, drink, women – why would someone like that come to such an out-of-the-way place as this?”

  “Precisely because it is out of the way, I suppose. From what I hear, he’s cleaned up his act. Apparently, he had a few too many brushes with the law. And probably close calls with death, I shouldn’t wonder. He had to get himself away from the high-life. And you can’t get much further away from it than up here.”

  Annabelle nodded, picking up her tea again.

  “Of course, it hasn’t stopped people talking,” Roger said, brushing a hand through his short, brown hair. “Satanic rituals, magic, cults, that sort of thing. The villagers are letting their imaginations run wild. He seems to live quietly and stay at his house most of the time. We don’t see him about much. He doesn’t bother anyone, but that only makes the people around here even more enthusiastic to fill in the gaps for themselves.”

  Annabelle scoffed lightly. “Sounds familiar. The more you tell me of the island, the more it reminds me of Upton St. Mary.”

  “I guess some things are very much the same no matter where you are.”

  After a moment of silence, Annabelle once more put down her tea and leaned forward.

  “That reminds me, do you know who lives at Clannan Castle?”

  “Yes. Robert Kilbairn. Australian fellow. Keeps himself to himself, but you can usually find him in the pub if you want him. Why do you ask?”

  “I met an American couple on the ferry – rather nice people. They told me that they’d purchased a title, and three square feet of land around the castle. It seemed a little…odd.”

  Roger frowned as he mulled this piece of information over.

  “Interesting. I can’t say I know anything about that, which is strange in itself. There are only a hundred and fifty people on the island, and it can be hard to keep a secret when there are so few distractions. Then again, when people do have business that they want to keep quiet, they tend to keep it very quiet indeed.”

  “Hmm,” Annabelle said, as she watched the dying embers of the fire fade out in the hearth.

  “Anyway,” Roger said. He pushed himself out of the armchair, “It’s time both of you ladies got a good night’s sleep.”

  “Can Bumble read me a story, Daddy?”

  Roger exchanged an apologetic look with his sister.

  “Another time, Bonnie. Your aunt’s had a long journey—“

  “But you promised, Daddy!” Bonnie pleaded, her face at its most vulnerable and imploring. “I’ve waited so long for her to come. I don’t want to go to bed without her reading to me!”

  “It’s fine,” Annabelle said to her brother. “I’ve waited a long time to read Bonnie a bedtime story, too. I don’t want to delay it a moment longer, either.”

  “Yesssss!” squealed the happy girl.

  “Okay,” sighed Roger, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on their foreheads. “I’ll see you two mischief-makers in the morning. Make sure she cleans her teeth properly, won’t you?”

  “I will,” Annabelle replied.

  “I was talking to Bonnie,” Roger responded.

  Once they had readied themselves for bed, Annabelle tucked Bonnie into her patterned, very pink sheets. She gazed at Bonnie’s well-stocked bookshelf.

  “So what would you like me to read? Nothing scary, I hope!”

  “The book you gave me! I can’t wait to read it!”

  Annabelle smiled softly as she pulled her gift from the bedside table. She nestled herself in beside Bonnie and opened the book to the first page. Quietly, she began to read the tale of young magicians, dragons, and
terrible villains that commanded hordes of monsters. Bonnie beamed as she listened to her aunt give voices to the characters and describe the fantastic locations with flourish.

  They were only a few pages in, however, when Bonnie noticed her aunt’s voice slow down, pause frequently in all the wrong places, and begin to draw the words out in long, low slurs. Eventually, Annabelle ceased to speak entirely. Bonnie turned to face her aunt. Her lips were moving but weren’t producing any sound whatsoever. Her eyes were completely shut.

  Realizing they would make no further progress on her book that night, Bonnie gently pulled it from Annabelle’s limp hands and climbed carefully out of bed. She grasped her quilt and pulled it over her sleeping aunt, smiling fondly at her slumbering face. The young girl quietly crept out of the room and padded down the landing. Tonight, she would sleep in Annabelle’s bed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Saturday

  “BUMBLE’S AWAKE!” BONNIE shouted. She jumped off the couch and gave Annabelle a big, warm hug.

  “Morning, Bonnie!” Annabelle said.

  Annabelle had awoken in a strange environment for the second morning in a row. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Bonnie’s bedroom’s walls were colored an inoffensive magnolia and were dotted with various artwork that she had done at school. They were stuck alongside photographs of Bonnie and her friends. On one side, next to her antique pinewood wardrobe, was a vast bookcase filled with colorful books, toys, and other bits and bobs familiar to parents of little girls the world over. On the other side, above a small desk with pens and paper neatly arranged on it, the particularly smoky light of a Scottish day peeked through the closed curtains.

  Annabelle had shut her eyes again to enjoy the birdsong for a few moments, then pulled the quilt aside and got out of bed. Once she realized that she must have fallen asleep as she was reading to Bonnie, Annabelle smiled. She made the bed, stepped into the fluffy bunny slippers she had brought with her, and went to find the others.