by Molly Macrae
“You know, Mom,” she said, coming back to the group, “you left out SCONES when you talked to Constable Hobbs earlier, and no one can blame you for that. But now we’ve left something else out. You told him Daphne’s been here since Monday night.”
“She has.” Janet looked at Christine, then Summer, then Rab. They each nodded.
“It only seems like longer because Norman’s right,” Christine said. “She’s been busy and she’s irritated a lot of people in one short week.”
“What did we leave out?” Summer asked.
“A few words that might be important,” Tallie said. “She’s been here since Monday night—as far as we know.”
19
Before Janet had a chance to do more than draw her eyebrows together and decide whether to say yow, yeesh, or bugger, Christine’s phone rang. It was Danny, asking how the signing had gone. Christine gave him what Janet called afterward an unnecessarily florid rendition of the afternoon.
“But it broke the tension, didn’t it?” Christine said. “And his suggestion that we drop by for a round on the house to decompress was generous.”
“And welcome and, frankly, necessary,” Janet said. “So, thank you, Christine.”
“I do my best. Nev’s in an hour, then? You’ll join us, Rab?”
“Aye. I’ll propose a toast.”
Janet moved past her indecision over yow, yeesh, or bugger on the walk to Nev’s that evening. She settled on the reasonable assumption that Reddick would have already checked the details of Daphne’s arrival.
“If he thought there was any need to check,” Tallie said.
“Mm. And just because he did check, if he did, doesn’t mean there aren’t implications or ramifications if she did arrive earlier. Do you really think someone wouldn’t have noticed her? Or Rachel Carson?”
“What?” Tallie said, feigning shock. “In a tourist town like this? You think she sticks out?”
“Like a wombat in the West Highlands.”
“Or a loon at the library ceilidh,” Tallie said. “But so what if someone did see her?”
“I don’t know,” Janet said. “I’ll let you know if I think of something.”
Christine and Summer were at Nev’s ahead of them. Christine’s parents had declined her invitation to join them and Summer was on the phone to her own mother.
“She says hi and wonders how much time we spend in bars,” Summer said after disconnecting. “She says she’s beginning to recognize voices in the background.”
“Next time tell her this isn’t a bar, per se,” Christine said. “It’s a public house, a place for people to gather, exchange news and views, unwind, and feel a sense of community.”
“Is she worried?” Janet asked.
“Jealous,” Summer said.
Janet and Christine went to help Danny bring drinks. Rab and Ranger came back to the table with them.
“I have a toast,” Tallie said. “To a successful afternoon, a decent turnout, and to Summer, Christine, and the students. You did a great job.”
“Mostly the students,” Summer said. “They were a lot of fun.”
They clinked pints, and everyone but Janet drank.
“A toast to Summer’s scones,” Janet said.
“To Summer’s scones,” the others echoed.
“I can’t help but notice that we aren’t drinking to bampots,” Christine said. “And that you’re not drinking at all, Janet. Feeling all right?”
“Yes, fine. Well chuffed, in fact, but I want to keep a clear head through the decompression portion of the evening. Isn’t that why we’re here?”
“I thought the pints were the decompression,” Summer said. “Salute the signing with Selkie’s Tears and then go off and play darts, or something.”
“Our Summer has a point,” Christine said. “We did our bit with the bampot. And if you don’t mind, I’m going to continue referring to the person in question as the bampot so that we don’t have to worry about being overheard. So yes, we did our bit with the bampot today, and from here on out, she’s the problem of Gillian and the school.”
“You do realize that if you’re going to say ‘she’ and then connect her to Gillian and the school that you might as well use her name, right?” Tallie asked. “Speaking as the anal attorney of this group.”
“Duly noted, counselor. I doubt I’ll stop calling her the bampot, though.”
“Suits me,” Tallie said.
“Calling her a bampot isn’t kind.” Janet stared at her glass as she moved it in circles on the table. “But it’s better than Tom’s thinly veiled insult this afternoon. And I’m glad our part is over, but I’m beginning to worry that she’s a bigger problem than Gillian can handle. I’m not sure I can really explain why I think that, though.”
“Undercurrents,” Rab said.
“That works. That’s part of it. Thank you, Rab. Didn’t you say you had a toast, too?” Janet asked.
“It’ll keep.”
“Sure? Okay, so, yes. Undercurrents and nebulous stuff and a whole Pandora’s box of ‘what if’s that Tallie let loose this afternoon by saying ‘as far as we know.’ There’s an awful lot we don’t know about her, and I want to hear what you’ve noticed or heard or overheard. Maybe that’ll give my thoughts some direction. Or some peace. Decompression, anyway. Okay?”
“Wait,” Summer said, “is this just from this afternoon, or—?”
“From any point this week.” Janet took a notebook and pen from her purse.
“You’re going to write it down?” Summer asked.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, but why don’t you record it on your phone? That way you can concentrate on listening and you’ll have all the details.”
“The girl’s a genius,” Tallie said. “And you go first, Mom, to give us an idea of what you’re looking for.”
“It’s going to sound like gossip, but I don’t mean it that way.”
“If what you’re looking for is awareness and understanding, then there isn’t so much wrong with gossip,” Christine said. “Don’t think of it as the blather of nosy neighbors; think of it as an earful of empathy.”
“That actually makes sense to me,” Janet said. “Should I worry about that now?”
“No,” Tallie said. “You should never worry about anything Christine says, because she’s a genius, too. Now, tell them about Tom’s insult.”
“It’s what came before the insult, too.” Janet told them about Tom taking Daphne on photo shoots without mentioning the trips to Gillian, and about Tom’s excitement at the ceilidh when he told them he and Daphne were going to work on a calendar. “Here’s where it gets murky, though, and it’s more about Daphne’s behavior than Tom’s. Friday night, at the ceilidh, I got the feeling Daphne enjoyed seeing Gillian’s reaction when she heard about the calendar project. That’s an impression, though, not a fact.”
“You said Daphne had a predatory smile,” Christine reminded her.
“Still, it’s only my impression. Here’s a fact, though. This afternoon, Daphne was laughing and told Ian she’s only using Tom to get out of town and that she couldn’t possibly work with him on a calendar. Tom heard her, and I’m almost positive she knew he was there.”
“It sounded to me as though she raised her voice to make sure he heard,” Tallie said. “She was laughing, but it was pretty vicious.”
“Tom left then,” Janet said. “On his way out, he called Rachel Carson a bitch, but—this is an impression, again—he wasn’t talking about her. I would say I’m surprised he had that much self-control, but I don’t really know him.”
“I’m surprised Maida hasn’t clocked her one,” Christine said. “The bampot has been rude about the house from the beginning.”
“Not to mention serving up Maida’s houseplants in a salad,” Janet said.
Christine told the others about the confrontation between Maida and Daphne that afternoon. “It was either ‘The Case of the Missing Plant Pots’ or ‘The Cas
e of the Hissing Bampot’; take your pick. Ian was there for that episode, too, and even he said he doesn’t think she’s quite right.”
“Those were his words?” Summer asked.
“Close, if not exact.”
“I guess I didn’t tell you that she asked if we could put her up in the B and B,” Summer said. “But there’s no reason for me to tell you every time I have to turn someone away. It happens frequently enough, so yay us. Her request went a bit beyond the usual, though. She complained about the house, said it’s too Spartan. Complained about Maida, too nosy. She wanted to know when the next room would be available. And then she wanted me to make a room open up.”
“When was that?” Tallie asked.
“I don’t know. Tuesday, Wednesday?”
“Interesting,” Tallie said. “Thursday she didn’t say anything about the house or Maida, but said she wanted to spend a night or two in the B and B so she could get the full Inversgail experience.”
“Baloney,” Christine said. “We haven’t been open long enough to be part of the Inversgail experience.”
“And those are two different stories,” Janet said. “Is that an example of her eccentricity?”
“You’re asking us to draw a conclusion on too little information,” Tallie said.
“It sounds like she’s rude, mean, or trying to manipulate people,” Summer said. “Or all three.”
“Or is she a social klutz?” Janet asked. “That’s part of what I don’t know.” She told them about Daphne’s despondent musings when she arrived late for the sword demonstration. “She seemed genuinely confused about the how and why of friendship. She said she wanted to be called Laurel, but she never told anyone. Did you know her when she lived here, Rab?”
Rab shook his head. “There’s another reason she wants to stay at the B and B,” he said quietly. “She says she’s sensitive to energy and spirits. Auras, too. She says she can learn something about Sam Smith if she spends the night where he slept.”
“She told you that?” Christine asked. “Utter baloney.”
“She heard I read tea leaves and reckons I’ll understand her gift. She asked me to help her get access to the B and B.”
“What did you tell her?” Janet asked.
“What Alistair said to her at the ceilidh. It didn’t bother her the first time round.”
“What was that bit of Gaelic?” Christine asked.
“The gist—”
“Let’s have the full translation this time,” Janet said.
Rab cleared his throat. “‘You are stupid and unpleasant. Welcome to Inversgail. Walk carefully.’” He took a large swallow from his pint. “More poetic in the Gaelic, but.”
“Do you think she really believes she has this gift?” Janet asked.
“Aye, I reckon she does, and that’s the honest reason she wants to get into the B and B. But does she have such a gift? That’s about as likely as finding answers in the dregs at the bottom of a teacup.”
Summer stared at him. “You realize what you just said, don’t you? You admitted you’re a fraud. You’re saying that when you sit in the tearoom and read peoples’ tea leaves you’re just making sh—you’re making stuff up.”
“A wee bit of blather, is all,” Rab said mildly. “But I’ve never said it was anything different. People like to believe what they see.” He sat back with his pint and scratched Ranger between the ears.
Not knowing how Summer would react to Rab’s blithe admission, but seeing that she continued to stare at him, Janet slipped in a two-part question of her own. “What kind of ‘aura’ does she expect to get from the B and B? Wouldn’t it make more sense for her to try her mumbo jumbo here where the poor soul died?”
“She seems to tailor her message for the audience,” Christine said. “She’s irritated Danny a time or two this past week. I’ll go see if the man himself can come tell you what she’s said. Another round for anyone while I’m up?” She had no takers, so she went to see if Danny could spare a few minutes.
“Maybe she gathers auras and whatnot the way you’re gathering information, Mom,” Tallie said. “You don’t know what you’re looking for, so you’re listening broadly at the outset, with plans to refine your focus as you go.”
“You make my method sound almost scientific. Here come James and Martin.”
“Evening, all,” James said. “You look glum. I hope nothing’s amiss. The signing turned out well, didn’t it?”
“It did,” Janet said.
“Good to hear. Fancy a game, then, Summer? Cheer you up?”
“Sure.” Summer scraped her chair back. “See you guys tomorrow.”
“Tallie?” Martin asked. “Anyone else?”
“I’ll be along in a few,” Tallie said.
When Summer had gone, Janet put her fingers on Tallie’s arm. “She really did look glum. Is she all right?”
Tallie leaned closer to her mother and whispered, “Mom, dear? Your mom-ness is beginning to glow.”
Janet patted Tallie’s arm and looked up as Danny came back to the table with Christine. The two of them sat, Danny moving a chair so he could keep an eye on the bar.
“Chrissy says you want to know what I think of your author,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I told Chrissy. I don’t like spreading stories about my customers.”
Janet sat up a little straighter.
“That’s not to say I don’t like listening to them,” Danny said. “But what I hear stops with me. You can call me Saint Danny, if you like. The person in question is not one of my customers, though, so I’m happy to spill anything and everything she’s told me.”
Daphne had stopped by Nev’s twice. The first time she’d come in through the front door. “Like a normal person,” Danny said. She’d introduced herself and then told him she was championing the dead man. She’d asked the staff questions. She’d sat down, uninvited, with other patrons, and asked them questions, too. “I suggested she move on from the subject, or move on, full stop. She chose the full stop version, after some choice words.”
“Oh, dear,” Janet said.
“A wee bit closer to the gutter than ‘oh, dear,’ Janet. But my ears and most of the rest of me belonged to the navy for more years than I care to remember, and they’ve heard worse. I’m sure I sounded cold and uncaring when I told her I wished her man hadn’t ended up dead just here.”
“She came back, though?” Tallie asked.
“I found her out back greeting.”
“Crying,” Christine whispered to Tallie and Janet, “not practicing for a job at Walmart.”
“Ta, Chrissy,” Danny said. “Crocodile tears, I thought, but she said she knew the boy’s mum and her family.”
“Did she?” Janet asked.
“You never told me,” Christine said.
“Because it isn’t true. With a name like Smith? And the lad being American?” Danny shook his head. “She created a whole story for him. How he came to Nev’s because it’s next door to Smith Funerals. She knows he was related to those Smiths because she ‘felt’ it in the ‘energy’ he left behind. His ‘energy’ told her who his mother was, too—one of the daughters. She claims she knew her.”
“That would be easy enough to check,” Tallie said. “Well, apart from the ghostie and ghoulie aspects. But maybe he was here looking up family.”
“Maybe he was,” Danny said. “But her story is only a story.”
A group of half a dozen people came in, stopping just inside the door to marvel and remark. The words “quaint” and “authentic” seemed to hit Danny’s ears hardest. He muttered about tourists and becoming known as the “murder pub.”
“I’m needed,” he said, getting up. “They might be blood thirsty, but thirsty’s all that matters.”
“One more quick question?” Janet asked.
“Aye?”
Janet touched her ear. “A quiet one.”
Danny put a hand on the back of her chair and one on Christine’s and bent his head between t
hem.
“The police still haven’t released a cause of death,” Janet said. “Could there have been other injuries?”
Danny sighed. “The lad was neatly dressed when he came in, shirt still tucked when he died. But a blow like that to the head makes a fair mess, ken, and I didn’t study him in great detail.”
“Sorry, Danny.”
“Dinnae fash. I’m not blessed with a photographic memory. Chrissy, tell them about Smith’s.” He touched her shoulder and went back to the bar.
“There hasn’t ever been a Smith family at Smith’s,” Christine said. “Do the De Vuyst’s still own it, Rab?”
“Aye, Morag and her son.”
“Belgian refugees at the start of World War One,” Christine said. “They named it Smith Funerals so the business didn’t look so foreign.”
“But they didn’t change their own name?” Tallie asked.
“There’s business sense on the one hand,” Christine said, “and family pride on the other.”
“But why is Daphne spouting nonsense like that?” Janet asked. “Not just nonsense, but lies. She can’t possibly think people won’t know or find out. Look how many people she’s annoyed or upset in one short week. It doesn’t stop.”
“Will you be drinking that?” Rab pointed to Janet’s untouched pint.
“Do you want it? It’s been sitting.”
“For my toast.” He lifted the glass. “To the stoops, the steps, and the low walls in our lives, where we can stop to take off a shoe and tip out the wee stone that’s been irritating and won’t let up.”
“Is that a traditional toast?” Janet asked.
“Just something I’ve been working on,” Rab said.
“It works for me,” Christine said. “Our bampot has become the stone in a lot of shoes.”
“And that worries me,” Janet said. “It’s a legitimate worry, too, so don’t any of you start in on me. She’s been spreading it around that she’s working with us to find Sam Smith’s killer. That means to whoever did it, we might be a stone in the shoe, too, and that person might try to tip us out.”
“She’s less of a wee stone, then,” Christine said, “and more of a blister.”
