Scones and Scoundrels

by Molly Macrae

  Janet decided Hobbs could find her, if he wanted to explain the experiment she’d just failed. She went back to the sales counter, chewing her last sausage roll, and found Hobbs anyway, standing with with Tallie and Rab. As she approached, Hobbs said something that caused the usually imperturbable Rab to react in a way that Janet hadn’t seen before; his eyes widened. Hobbs nodded and Rab left the sales counter.

  “Rab’s gone to try it,” Hobbs said when Janet raised her own eyebrows.

  “He thinks he found an acoustic anomaly,” Tallie said. “A spot where it’s easy to pick up on conversations from several directions at once.”

  “It didn’t work for me,” Janet said.

  “Height must make a difference,” Hobbs said. “I was quite startled. There I was, flipping through Wee Granny’s Magic Bag, when I heard Ms. Wood chatting with some of her admirers. It was rather interesting.”

  “What they were saying or the phenomenon?” Janet asked.

  “Both. Wonderful refreshments, by the way. I’ll go give my compliments.”

  “They’re chatting in a public space, with no expectation of privacy,” Tallie said when he was gone. “In case you were wondering about the ethics of eavesdropping via anomaly.”

  “I was.” Janet was also annoyed that she wasn’t tall enough to have heard anything herself.

  “And we can try it standing on a chair, after everyone’s gone,” Tallie added.

  “Good.”

  A burst of laughter came from the signing area. Janet saw Daphne put her hand on Ian’s shoulder and lean on him as though helpless. Her voice was plenty strong, though, and as people came to see what was going on, it rose.

  “I’m using him,” she said, “but at least I’m honest about it. He wants to show off, I want to get away from pavements and roads for a few hours. It’s a win-win. But what he’s been saying … !” Her words dissolved into another gust of laughter. It was contagious and had others laughing, too. “That we’re going to work on a calendar together. It’s just too funny. I couldn’t. Could not. Could not possibly.”

  “Ouch,” Tallie said to Janet. “That’s Tom she’s talking about. And he didn’t need an acoustical sweet spot to hear it.”

  “She wanted him to hear it,” Janet said. “She had to have seen him come over and stand there.”

  “Shh,” Tallie said. “Here he comes.”

  As Tom passed the sales counter, he handed Janet one of Daphne’s books.

  “Sorry,” he said, heading for the door, “I dinnae want it after all.” He turned as he pulled the door open. “Oh, her wee dog. Female or male?”

  “Female,” Tallie said.

  “A bitch. That’s what I thought.”

  18

  That was quite a show,” Martin Gunn said, pointing first at the door closing behind Tom, then into the signing area where Daphne and Ian were still talking.

  “Not for the paper, I hope?” Tallie asked.

  “Probably not.”

  In a moment of panic, Janet let a small “eep” escape.

  “No, no, Mrs. Marsh. Don’t worry.” Martin put both his hands on the counter, the pink of his cheeks now looking earnest and sincere. “It would only be a human interest story, and not a nice one. More of a human misery story. Not the kind we go in for.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Besides.” He grinned and pointed toward the signing area again. “You heard her flay Tom. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of that. Or the wee one kipping under her chair.”

  “I was sorry not to see your article and review in the paper this week,” Janet said.

  “Not the first time I’ve been disappointed,” he said, “and I’m a firm believer in creating rather than complaining. Get right back to it and eventually you’ll get somewhere.”

  “That’s a good attitude, Martin. I’m sure it’ll take you far.”

  Sales of Daphne’s books came in dribs and drabs, not enough to keep two of them tied to the cash register. Rab hadn’t returned yet, but Janet told Tallie to go ahead and take her turn circulating.

  “I’ll see if Daphne or Rachel Carson needs anything, while I’m at it,” Tallie said.

  “No need.” Gillian, followed by Ian, came from the signing area. “She’s going to fetch it herself. Stretch her legs. Their legs. She suddenly wanted someone to take the dog for a walk.”

  Ian threw his hands up in mock horror. “Not I, said I.”

  “She should have put ‘dog walker’ in her list of demands,” Tallie said. “Maybe I should circulate my way into the tearoom, first.”

  “Thanks,” Gillian said, then crooked a finger, beckoning Janet closer. Ian leaned in, too. “I’ll tell you why she’s been living alone in the woods. It’s got nothing to do with Thoreau or St. Pekingese or anyone else she quoted the other night. It’s self-defense.”

  “She’s terribly funny and clever, though,” Ian said. “Do you know, she recognized my name and acted as though I’d made an arduous trek to see her this afternoon, from whatever more cosmopolitan metropolis she thought I must live in, and she congratulated me on not being tied to so provincial an area. And then she said being stuck in a bookshop for the afternoon is like being in a forest full of dead trees.”

  Janet didn’t quite see the humor, but Ian, apparently as helpless to mirth as Daphne, threw an arm around Gillian and rocked with laughter. In a slick move, Gillian slipped out from under, leaving Ian unbalanced so that he had to catch himself against the counter. He had decent reflexes, though, and immediately righted himself, straightened his jacket, and disappeared down the nearest aisle of shelves.

  “Honestly,” Gillian said when he was gone, “the only thing that’s gone smoothly from the beginning of this grant was writing and winning it. The rest has been one thing after another.”

  “I’m sure Tom agrees at this point,” Janet said. “I sort of wondered if you’d leave with him.”

  “Och, he’ll be all right.”

  “She wasn’t very kind.”

  “I warned him about her, though, and that’s why he wouldn’t thank me for following him out. Too much like ‘I told you so.’”

  Not more than five minutes later, Daphne and Rachel Carson returned from the tearoom. “I’m thinking of calling it a successful signing,” she said, “and then calling it a day.”

  “Sorry?” Janet said.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “You’ve only been here half an hour,” Gillian said.

  “It feels like so much longer. I must be operating in dog years. Very well, we’ll stay, although between you and me, the book-buying public seems more interested in scones and haggis balls than having books signed.”

  As if on cue, one of the culinary students, in her toque and white apron, approached them with a tray on one arm and a stack of small plates in her opposite hand. Janet thanked her and took a scone and a haggis ball—not because she particularly wanted either, but because she was feeling petty. She smiled at Daphne and ate the scone. The scone was delicious, but the pettiness was wasted. Daphne was watching another student offering a tray to Gillian’s father near the front window.

  “‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever,’ isn’t it?” Daphne said.

  Gillian gave Daphne a quick look, also wasted, and went to join her father. She tucked her arm into Alistair’s and said something that made the student smile. She took a macaroon and a scone, and then pointed to a couple browsing down the aisle from them. The student made a shallow curtsey and moved on. Alistair kissed Gillian goodbye and left.

  “Didn’t Alistair look taken with that charming creature?” Daphne said. “And isn’t he lucky to have a daughter like Gillian.”

  “He is. That was a really nice thing to say, Daphne.”

  “Well, I hope you know that I didn’t say that thing about beauty. That was someone else, and I’d be willing to debate the issue.”

  Janet turned away so Daphne wouldn’t see how hard it was for her to keep from rolling her ey
es. Happily, she saw several people waiting patiently at the table near the fireplace. “Good news, Daphne. Fans are lining up for your signature.”

  “Lovely!”

  Daphne and Rachel Carson returned to the signing area, and almost immediately Rab reappeared behind the counter. When Janet looked back toward the display window, she saw Christine there talking to Gillian.

  “Take over for a few minutes, will you?” Janet asked Rab. He nodded and she joined Christine and Gillian.

  “I really like that wombat,” Gillian was saying. “I don’t care what Daphne says.”

  “She doesn’t like it?” Christine asked.

  “I don’t care. I do. It’s a good wombat. It reminds me of Tom. It’s something subtle around the eyes. And the smile.”

  “Hmm.” Janet took a closer at the small animal. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “If you ask me,” Christine said, “it looks more like Rab. And the way it looks as though it’s about to disappear from sight around that stack of books, that’s typical Rab MacGregor behavior.”

  “Oh,” Janet said, looking over at the sales counter. “He was just there. Where’s he gone?”

  “Exactly,” said Christine.

  “He’s probably helping—there he is.”

  Rab appeared from the next aisle with a stack of paperback novels, followed by a giddy-looking elderly woman who barely came up to his elbow.

  “Mystery solved,” Gillian said. “It pays to keep tall help. I’ll go keep Daphne company so she doesn’t get bored or antsy, or at least so she stays as long as we agreed she would.”

  “Hang in there, Gillian,” Christine said, and then to Janet, “That was brilliant advice, don’t you think? If Summer ever gives up the advice column, I might apply. Here’s a further example of my keen insight. Assume someone has written a letter asking how to deal with a bampot author, giving details of said author’s behavior.” Christine posed, elbows out, hands lightly clasped at her midsection. “Dear Befuddled, it appears your author is less of a mystery and more of a mind-boggler.”

  They heard a soft laugh behind them and turned to see James Haviland. He bowed to Christine.

  “Masterful,” he said. “The job is yours if Summer decides to quit.”

  “Good to hear,” Christine said. “And good of you to come, even if you weren’t allowed to fiddle around. Did you enjoy the afternoon anyway?”

  “You mean, ‘Apart from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?’”

  “I hope you didn’t feel that badly about it,” Janet said.

  “No, no, not at all. I’ll tell you something I don’t like, though,” he said. “It’s the way that wombat is looking at me. Cheers.”

  After the door jingled shut behind him, Janet asked, “Is Summer thinking about quitting the column?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Christine said, “but here come Maida and Ian, and neither of them look happy.”

  “Oh, dear,” Janet said.

  “This might be another chance for me to practice giving advice.”

  “Oh, dear,” Janet said again. “Hello, Maida, Ian. Is there something we can do for you?”

  Maida told them she hadn’t come to get a book signed, but to ask Daphne about her plant pots. “And do you know what she said? She said, ‘Houseplants are like caged animals in a zoo.’ Then she hissed at me.”

  “Oh, Maida, I’m sorry,” Janet said. “I told you I’d get the pots for you, and I didn’t. But where’s Gillian? I thought she was over there with Daphne.”

  Maida pulled her cardigan tighter around her. “If she had been, I would have told her I want out of this house agreement—out of the agreement and yon hissing bisom out of my house.”

  “Why don’t we take this into the office,” Christine suggested. She looked at Janet, who nodded.

  “No need for that,” Maida said. “I’m leaving.” But she made no move to leave. Instead, she replanted her feet and crossed her arms so firmly she set the purse hanging from her forearm to swinging.

  “I’m concerned about Ms. Wood,” Ian said quietly. “I mean to say, she’s not—”He stopped, thought, and started again. “She’s in the business of using words.” He stopped again.

  “And?” Christine prompted.

  “Her words to Maida were disturbing. I honestly think she’s not quite right.”

  “Ah, well, we’re ahead of you there, Ian.” Christine slapped him on the back, something Janet knew she enjoyed doing because he never seemed to expect it.

  “Christine,” Janet warned.

  Christine glanced toward the signing area and lowered her voice. “Let’s think of her as eccentric. We might go as far as exceptionally eccentric. She was rude to you just now, Maida. She was rude to the GREAT-SCOTs, Alistair, and the whole town at the ceilidh. And, don’t forget, she accused you of attempted murder. So, no, she’s not your garden variety former Inversgailian, but we have the power to render her harmless. She uses her words like weapons, but as long as we know that, then we can protect ourselves against their sting.”

  Ian looked impressed.

  “Rubbish,” Maida said, possibly biting back a more colorful word. “But all right, if we can’t say her words are disturbing, then I’ll say this: She’s disturbing. I feel it in my heart and in my bones.”

  Ian’s loyalties shifted. “I feel I have to agree with Maida. She has a sense for this sort of thing, you know. She proved herself by using it to bring—” He shuddered. “To bring that villain to justice a few months ago.”

  “She used a frying pan to bring that villain to justice,” Christine said. “It was a combination of luck and violence.”

  “Exactly. Violence,” Ian said. “And that’s what I feel now.”

  “Do you really think she’s violent?” Janet asked.

  Ian thought about that then asked, “At this point, who are we talking about? Maida or Ms. Wood?”

  When she heard about Daphne’s confrontation with Maida, Gillian found Janet and apologized. Tallie was with her.

  “She didn’t want tea, but I needed some,” Gillian said. “I shouldn’t have left her alone, though.”

  “She shouldn’t need a babysitter,” Tallie said.

  Janet looked at the time on her phone. “We said this would go two hours. Do you think we can make it? Can she?”

  “Let’s not ask her to,” Gillian said. “The kids are doing a fine job. You have more customers chatting in the tearoom and browsing than lining up to see Daphne. Let’s tell her that her part is over and be done with it.”

  “Will she mind?” Tallie asked.

  “I won’t mind.” Janet immediately clapped a hand to her mouth.

  “Right,” Gillian said. “Care to come help her gather her things, Tallie?”

  “Delighted.”

  Daphne was delighted, too. She insisted on making a “farewell tour” of the bookshop and tearoom, thanking people for coming to see her. Tallie and Gillian accompanied her. Janet stayed at the sales counter, imagining the atmosphere, like a fog, lightening and lifting with each minute Daphne drew closer to being gone.

  “She thanked the students when we got to the tearoom,” Tallie told Janet back at the sales counter. “Really, she was very sweet. Then she took a thermos and bag from her backpack, filled the thermos with tea, and picked half the scones off a couple of trays and put them in the bag. All of that went back into the backpack and then she left. Gillian left with her. She said something about going all the way home with her, just to make sure she doesn’t come back.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. The students did all the cleaning up in the tearoom and checked the bookshop for stray plates, cups, and napkins left on shelves. Norman Hobbs helped Rab fold the signing table and stow it, and then move the chairs back into their accustomed positions near the fireplace. Hobbs then came to the register to buy Wee Granny’s Magic Bag for his niece.

  “Thank you for helping, Norman. I hadn’t realized you were still here.”

 
; Hobbs blushed above his brush of a mustache. “I sat down in the comfy chair, there with the picture books and, I’m sorry to say, fell asleep.”

  “I imagine they worked you hard on your course,” Janet said.

  “You have a kind imagination.”

  “How’s Jess?” she asked. “We haven’t seen much of her lately.”

  “Neither have I,” Hobbs said.

  “Well—” Her imagination thought quickly for something kind to say. “You’ve been away.”

  “Aye.” He handed the book to her.

  “Did you pick up any intel from the acoustic anomaly?” Tallie asked.

  “It’s more of a party trick than useful,” he said.

  “Or more of a technique for amateur sleuths than professionals?”

  “Only for amateurs who depend on flukes,” Hobbs said.

  Christine, coming from the tearoom with Summer, overheard him. “And as we all know, amateurs who depend on flukes aren’t worth their weight in liver. What kind of amateurs are we talking about?”

  “Sleuths,” Janet said.

  “Have you told Norman about Daftie Daphne’s idea of us teaming up together to solve Sam Smith’s murder?”

  “His murder isn’t a joke,” Summer said.

  “Amen,” Christine said. “I mean that in all seriousness, Summer. Norman is our constable, though, and now that he’s back, he needs to be aware of what’s been going on. I don’t know how focused Daphne is on actually investigating, Norman.”

  “Since returning, I’ve been hearing reports.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Janet said. “She’s given us a name. I think I left that out when you called. She says we should call ourselves the SCONES—the Shadow Constabulary of Nosy, Eavesdropping Snoops.”

  Hobbs’s lips disappeared for a moment, and then he said, more mildly than Janet expected, “I see. How long has Ms. Wood been in Inversgail?”

  “A week,” Janet said. “Since Monday night.”

  “I see.”

  “What do you see, Norman?” Christine asked.

  “That Ms. Wood has been busy.” Hobbs saluted with Wee Granny and headed for the door. Tallie went with him and turned the deadbolt after he’d gone.