The Things We Said Today

by Lise McClendon

  “We’ve been so worried, Mister Craigg,” Callum said. “No one knew where you were.”

  He grunted, swallowing. “I dinna know meself.”

  “You got lost?” Merle asked. She sat on a stool at the big central table, drinking her own tea.

  He blinked as if trying to remember. “That storm. That warn’t no dream.” He glanced at Callum, eyebrows pulled together.

  “No, sir. It was real. Very bad storm. It took out the bridge and the old oak tree where I used to climb.”

  “It were dark.” He blinked some more.

  “The electricity was cut. The oak fell on the wires.”

  “I went to the barn to see me wee shiltie, see if she were feart. That happens, ya ken, with the thunder an’ all.”

  “It scared me,” Elise said.

  “It scared us all,” Merle said.

  “I heard her. But she wanna there.” He glanced up, worried suddenly. “Was I hearing things in me head?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Pascal said. He’d been hanging back, looking guilty. Now he squatted down by the old man. “My name is Pascal, sir. I’m a guest here. It was my fault. The rain was coming in through the roof so I moved your little horse to another stall, in the back of the barn. It seemed drier back there. But I should have asked you. I’m sorry.”

  Craigg focused on Pascal for a moment, absorbing that. Finally he nodded. “So I’m not losin’ me senses?”

  “No, sir. I apologize,” Pascal said.

  “You were takin’ time for me wee one. I should be thankin’ you, sir.” He grinned suddenly, showing off his tattered choppers.

  Callum refused to let the old man go back to his cottage. He found an old pair of trousers somewhere, and a wool sweater and socks. They stepped into the grand hallway, leaving Craigg to wriggle out of his wet things.

  “I’ll set him up in the drawing room, on the sofa,” Callum said. Elise went in to help. When Craigg stepped into the hall from the kitchen, the blankets around his weary back, Pascal offered his arm. To Merle’s surprise, Craigg took it. He was a proud man but he’d had a bad scare out in the weather.

  Elise joined her in the hall. “He’s settled in, poor old guy.”

  “What luck that you saw him, Elise,” Merle said. How exactly had that happened? “He might have stumbled into that puddle like Vanora.”

  Elise pinched her lips together. She would be saying no more tonight, it seemed. Very well. Merle was exhausted. Pascal and Callum returned and they all climbed the stairs again. Quick ‘good nights’ followed them into their rooms.

  In bed Merle pulled the blankets up to her chin. Pascal rolled toward her and draped his arm over her midsection. He murmured something, eyes shut.

  Despite the hour and the horrendous day she couldn’t sleep quite yet. What was Elise up to? Was she outside, or did she see Mr. Craigg through the window? Why was she up so late? What was she planning?

  The answers lay with Bruno. No two ways about it.

  24

  Saturday

  Callum rose before sunrise, a hard thumping in his temples. When would the police be back to finish taking statements? He hadn’t given one himself because he’d been in the village at the Hydro, enjoying lavish meals and soaking in the hot pools. He felt ashamed when he remembered how much fun he’d had with Rick and his kids, splashing and laughing as the lightning flashed in the sky. The Hydro had never lost power. There had even been a dance party with a DJ. The good times rocked and rolled.

  He dressed carefully in a dark grey shirt and black trousers then put on his trainers instead of dress shoes. He would no doubt be mucking around in the mud today. He peered into the pale light, seeing the devastation anew. The locals called it a perfect sotter, a wet mess. The oak tree upended, slates and shutters and branches scattered, the makeshift bridge. A pile of debris in the car park.

  Moss Cottage looked damper than usual, dark and lonely. At least Mr. Craigg had returned. Where had he been for two nights? Surely he had found shelter somewhere. But he seemed awfully wet and cold so maybe not.

  He was a tough old bird. He’d managed to limp home. For that Callum would always be grateful.

  Downstairs he eased open the drawing room door. The sofa was empty except for heaped blankets. He threw back the door and looked for Craigg in the shadows. Gone. He nearly ran to the kitchen, skidding to a stop as he spied the old man back in his chair by the stove, being fed toast with jam and tea by Mrs. MacKeegan. Killian, Jinty, and Gunni sat nearby at the big table.

  “Lookit, sir. He come back,” Mrs. MacKeegan exclaimed.

  “He knows,” Jinty said. “He found him.”

  “Where’d you find him, sir?” the cook asked.

  “It wasn’t me,” Callum said. The old man wore the too-large sweater and trousers from the night before. He was stuffing toast into his mouth as fast as Cook could make it. “Elise Bennett found him. Isn’t that right, Mr. Craigg?”

  “Huh?” He blinked at Callum.

  “The girl, Elise. She said you were wandering outside. It was very late. In the night.”

  Craigg chewed then said, “Oh, aye. One of the deems. Sister of your bride, eh?”

  The staff looked at Callum in unison, curiosity and pity on their faces. He straightened, staring back. “That’s right. Sister of my Annie.”

  Jinty bobbled her eyebrows at that. The other two looked away, embarrassed.

  Mr. Craigg was not privy to the latest. “Not meet her, have I, Callie?”

  Callum was startled at the use of his childhood name, one he hadn’t heard in decades, not since his father died. The year he stopped being a child and took on more serious chores.

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “You not been home for some years, eh?” Craigg stopped eating and stared at Callum. “Or did ya sneak back without seeing your old friend?”

  Callum felt a knife to his heart. “No, sir,” he muttered. “I’ve not been back.”

  Gunni began to hum ‘Danny Boy,’ until Jinty gave him the elbow. ‘From glen to glen,’ thought Callum, the Celtic disease rising up in him like the black dog it was. The hills had called him back, against his better judgment. Could a person die of melancholy in these hills? Why, yes, it was completely possible. He’d seen it first hand. It took his father before his body failed him.

  Callum was staring at his dirty black trainers when Jinty said, “Did you tell him? About you-know-who?”

  He blinked and came back to the kitchen, pushing back dark thoughts. To Mr. Craigg he said, “Did anyone tell you about Vanora?”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Petrie. She brings you dinner, right?” Mrs. MacKeegan frowned down at him from her position at the range.

  “Ah, yes, Miss Vanora.” He waved a hand around as if clearing his mind. “Fergot her name fer a sec. Havin’ a lie-in, is she— the lazy wench?”

  “Vanora is dead, Mr. Craigg,” Callum said solemnly. “She was found in that big puddle out the back door.”

  “Found?” He pushed out his old lips, disgusted. “Splashing about? She couldna swim?”

  “The police think someone may have helped her along.”

  Mrs. MacKeegan gasped.

  “Police?” Craigg struggled to his feet. Callum urged him to sit down.

  “They’re not here yet,” he said. “Have all of you given statements?”

  The three nodded. Killian said he hadn’t been asked to give one. Gunni curled his lip in disgust. His damp hair dripped down his weatherbeaten cheeks. Had the sheep man had some run-ins with the law? Some feeling there.

  Callum said, “Mr. Craigg, the police need to talk to everyone who was around the night Vanora died. They’ll want to talk to you.”

  Craigg made a rude sound and ate more toast. He’d be a lot of help to the investigation. He couldn’t even remember her name.

  Callum looked at his watch. “The policeman is Mrs. MacKeegan’s nephew, Mr. Craigg. DI Grassie. So please be helpful. They’ll be here about nine. Jinty will g
o get you some clothes from the cottage, all right? Shoes and socks and everything.”

  Craigg grunted. He was warm and comfortable now.

  “Breakfast will be ready at half past, sir,” the cook said, stirring eggs in a pan.

  “Extra coffee please,” Callum said. “The Americans drink it by the gallon.”

  * * *

  Callum spent a few minutes putting the drawing room to rights, replacing cushions, picking up mugs and plates and glasses, returning them to the kitchen. No point in his mother knowing Craigg spent the night here. They would have bigger issues.

  The weight of guilt lessened on his shoulders with the reappearance of old Craigg. There was time to make amends for all his lapses. To help him, to reconnect. To explain? Maybe not. The old man would know. He was there. The Scot rarely explained or apologized.

  But what did that mean with Annie? How could he explain his anger at his mother? Did he have to? Must he make excuses for his own mother? Let her apologize.

  But he knew. He’d have to apologize for his mother’s behavior if he wanted Annie back.

  He had to talk to Annie. He had to tell her what happened with Davina. About the family health — what did you call it, a problem? A condition? A genetic predisposition, the doctors said. That term never fully worked for Callum. Not after seeing the horrible, slow decline and death of his father.

  He didn’t want to tell her. All his life he’d avoided the explanation. He began bargaining with himself, trying to rationalize never telling her. Taking it to his grave. It seemed possible for a few minutes, even preferable. Definitely the way to go. No drama, no tears. Just one big secret never revealed.

  Then, it all came crashing back. He had to tell her. How could he not? He loved her and wanted her trust. Would she understand? Would she be repulsed, or comforting? Would she run? He’d already alienated her. Acted the fool.

  Even if it didn’t work: Nothing but full disclosure would remedy their breach.

  25

  Annie washed her hair and braided it into two long plaits. She put on her comfortable clothes, the ones she’d be wearing at home, if only she was there: harem pants, an embroidered peasant blouse, Birkenstocks. Smearing face cream on she peered at herself in the mirror and realized she was back. Her essence. She’d missed herself but now she had returned to her authentic self.

  No more ‘tea dresses’ and ‘formal wear’ for her. Mrs. Logan can go jump in a mud puddle.

  As she made her way to the dining room for breakfast she steadied her nerves. Callum would be there. They would see each other for the first time in days. She tucked in her blouse nervously and pushed through the door. The room was nearly silent. Only Pascal drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.

  “Good morning, Annie,” he said, setting down the tiny tea cup. His eyes sparkled with good will and curiosity. But he didn’t ask how she was. “The usual, eggs and bangers.” He smiled. “Is that correct— bangers?”

  Annie piled food onto her plate, famished. “You may say sausages.”

  She sat down with her food. “Where did the paper come from?”

  “The police. I asked them yesterday for one. We have been a bit cut off from the news.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  He let her eat for a few minutes then added, “Did you hear the old man wandered back?”

  “Where was he?”

  “Somewhere in the hills. He was very wet.” Pascal looked up. “The police are talking to him now.”

  “But they don’t think he had anything to do with Vanora.”

  He shrugged. “It seems unlikely.”

  “Maybe he saw something that night. She was on her way to, or from, his cottage.”

  “Peut-être.”

  She dug into her breakfast. She was buttering a second triangle of toast when she felt his presence. Callum stood at the door, his eyebrows low over hot eyes.

  “Good morning, Callum.” Her voice was flat. Or so she hoped. She felt a tremble in it. He looked good, lean and handsome except for dark circles under his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping either. It made her a little bit happy.

  Pascal stood, grabbing the newspaper and his coffee. “I’m off to see Merle.”

  After he exited, she asked Callum, “Have you eaten?”

  He nodded. He seemed unable to move or talk. A wave of sympathy for him went through her. She’d never seen him like this. He looked miserable. As well he should.

  She bit her tongue to stop her from helping him. It was his move. She chewed on her toast.

  “Would you like some more coffee?” he said at last. He moved to the buffet.

  “Sure.”

  He poured coffee from the silver pot and set the cream next to her, remembering how she liked it. “Thanks.”

  He returned the pot to its place, paused, then turned to face her. “Can we talk?”

  She nodded slowly. “Of course.”

  He opened his mouth to speak just as Elise and Francie burst in, laughing. They stopped abruptly when they saw Callum. No one moved for a good ten seconds. Then Annie said, “I’ll find you later,” and Callum left the room.

  “Sorry,” Francie whispered.

  “We didn’t mean to run him off,” Elise said. “Is everything okay?”

  She and Elise hadn’t really spoken since everything went south, Annie realized. Of course everything wasn’t okay. Merle hadn’t told them. That was up to her.

  “That might be an overstatement,” Annie said. Elise seemed so young to her, so inexperienced. But she was over 40. Almost the same age as Callum.

  The age thing. Never far from her mind.

  “You don’t have to get married, Annie,” Francie said blithely. Annie winced. But you had to love her bluntness. “Just live together. It’s, like, the latest fad. Everybody’s doing it.”

  Annie smiled. “I heard it on the news.”

  “But you have to talk to the person first,” Francie added. “Clear the air.”

  “You’re not talking?” Elise asked.

  “Try to keep up,” Francie said.

  Annie sat back, enjoying her little sisters’ banter. “The old man came back last night.”

  “I found him,” Elise said proudly. “He was stumbling around the yard. He was really out of it.”

  “What were you doing outside?” Francie demanded. “You said you were hungry.”

  Elise hadn’t perfected her poker face. She looked instantly guilty. “I was hungry. I— I saw him through the kitchen window.”

  “The window that faces the back of the house?”

  Elise bit her lip.

  “What were you doing outside, Elise?” Annie repeated.

  “Nothing. Honestly.” She tweaked her shoulders. “You’d think I did something bad. I rescued the old man and put him in the kitchen.” Francie and Annie raised their eyebrows. “He almost died, you know. He was wet and hypothermic. Chilled to the bone. Ask Merle.”

  “Good thing you were outside then,” Annie said. “Looking for someone.”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “Okay,” Francie said. “Whatever.”

  “I’m going to ask if we can go into Aberdeen to see Daddy,” Annie said. “That was your idea, Elise? It was a good one.”

  Elise looked appeased. “The detective said we couldn’t.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “She has powers, Elise,” Francie said with her dramatic voice in full flow.

  “Ooh. Like magical powers?”

  “Powers of persuasion. Listen and learn.”

  As they finished breakfast a red-haired policeman in a smart uniform poked his head into the dining room. “Miss Annie Bennett?”

  She stood.

  “We’re ready for you in the library, miss.”

  * * *

  Annie brushed crumbs off her pants as she stepped into the library. It was cold this morning, no fire in the grate. These old lodges were notoriously drafty. You could almost feel a breeze seeping through the window frames. O
utside the sun was shining weakly, as if it was on a training mission for full summer.

  The round policeman with his double chin and cuddly manner would put most people at ease. Annie felt no real threat from him either but mostly because she had seen nothing and knew nothing. Vanora Petrie was a cipher, a shadow in the hall. They hadn’t spoken more than a ‘good morning’ to each other.

  She sat in the warm chair, someone else’s posterior having prepared it for her. The old man? Whoever it was, she was grateful on this chilly morning.

  Detective Inspector Grassie was scribbling on a spiral notebook. He poked a final period and turned the page, looking up with a smile.

  “Miss Bennett. Excuse me, please. If I don’t write it all down immediately it just flits away on the wind.” He waved his hands like flying birds. “I used to have such a memory.” He shook his head as if ashamed.

  Annie recognized the strategy. Downplay your skills, put the witness at ease. She played along, leaning back in the small leather chair and relaxing against the armrests.

  “I have the same problem,” she said. “But I hope I can remember something useful for you.”

  “My fervent wish, Miss Bennett. Now. You were acquainted with the deceased, Miss Petrie?”

  “Not really. I nodded to her a couple times in the hall. That’s all.”

  “But you went out with the others to look for sheep that night, is that correct?” He consulted his notes. She said yes. “Can you describe what happened that night? Specifically between Miss Petrie and the others in the search party.”

  “I walked out with them but I stopped in the side yard. I didn’t search for the sheep. I changed my mind and went to look for my sister, Francie. She had gone out earlier and I was worried she’d get lost. She’d had a few drinks and we all were feeling a little weird about the power being out and all that.”

  “Ah, yes. Francine. She says she was alone for— how long?”