Scones and Scoundrels

by Molly Macrae

  20

  Before she left Nev’s that evening, Janet decided to let her mom-ness shine through. Tallie had joined the darts game. Janet went to find her and told her she was leaving the car for her.

  “I’ll get a lift from Christine. You take Summer home. Do you hear that, Summer?”

  Tallie gave her a thumb’s up. Summer didn’t look as aggrieved as Janet thought she might. Rab assured her Ranger wasn’t afraid to use the sharp end of his teeth.

  As they walked to the car, Christine asked, “Did any of that, back there, help your thinking? Give it direction? Provide decompression? We depend on your brains for simple things like planning cockamamie life-changing adventures, so we need to keep them from exploding.”

  “Direction? Possibly. Increasing the murk of nebulous worries and fears? Definitely. Decompression? Definitely not.”

  “There’s nothing silly about healthy fear.”

  “Good, then I won’t feel silly asking you to come into the house with me while I make sure no bampots are lurking or hiding.”

  Neighbors were home with lights on when they pulled into Janet’s driveway. She saw Ian appear and disappear in his upstairs window. He was checking to see who’d arrived, no doubt, and she realized his nosiness was a comfort. The kitchen light was on at Daphne’s, too, and Janet pictured her and Rachel Carson gobbling the bounty of scones she’d stuffed in her backpack. Christine insisted on checking around the outside of the house before they went inside to do the same. They found no bampots, and a few of Janet’s worries and fears dissipated like tendrils of mist. Christine waved when she was back in her car with the door locked, and Janet locked up behind her. She went into the family room and sat, shoulders and arms relaxed, eyes closed—and mind back on overdrive.

  Decompression hadn’t come at Nev’s. The atmosphere that Janet had felt lighten when Daphne left the shop that afternoon now felt like wet wool. She took out her phone and listened to the recording they’d made. The quality was better than she’d expected. It was just too bad the clarity of the recording didn’t make anything else clearer. She got out her laptop and listened a second time, pausing it every so often to make notes in a new document. She played it a third time, letting it run in the background, and added notes about other incidents no one had mentioned:

  Tom at the school, interaction with Hope, the way he watched her walk away

  Her comments about Alistair. Odd chemistry with him? With Gillian?

  She knows how to use a sword

  She doesn’t remember details of childhood friendship with Gillian?

  But she remembered something Gillian didn’t?

  She doesn’t like bookstores or houseplants, but she has a pet lapdog?

  She hasn’t been in contact with anyone in Inversgail since she left?

  Tallie arrived home as the recording ended for the fourth time. She came into the family room and flopped into a chair.

  Janet saved the document, but didn’t close the laptop. “Good game?”

  “Fun more than championship quality. Summer’s getting good. I kind of hoped I’d find you in bed.”

  “Did you want to be alone down here? I can—”

  “No, no, sit down,” Tallie said. “If you’d gone up, it would’ve meant you thought you could sleep, that’s all. I don’t like seeing you so worried.”

  “I’m just clearing my head.”

  “How’s that working for you?”

  “I’m fine. You’re a good daughter.”

  “Could you use some company?” Tallie asked. “Do you want company?”

  “Not really. You’re welcome to stay up, but no, I don’t need company.”

  “Music?”

  “Music would be nice.”

  Tallie got up and went to their old CD player. “What do you want to hear?”

  “Miles Davis. In a Silent Way.”

  “That kind of night, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Janet listened to the upstairs sounds of Tallie getting ready for bed and the jazz musicians feeling their way toward genius. Then she started typing again, using Tallie’s logic and adding her qualifying phrase to the end of statements they thought or assumed were true:

  Daphne went to Nev’s twice—as far as we know

  Daphne hasn’t communicated with anyone in town since she left—as far as we know

  Sam Smith was killed with a brick—as far as we know

  Daphne arrived in town Monday night—as far as we know

  Daphne didn’t know Sam Smith—as far as we know

  Daphne has no interest in Tom—as far as we know

  Daphne doesn’t use a real sword—as far as we know

  Daphne knows how to kill animals in the wild—as far as we know

  Sam Smith wasn’t curled on the ground hiding a stab wound—as far as we know

  There’s no evidence to suggest Daphne killed Sam Smith—as far as we know

  Janet reread the document and decided her notes were as loose and open-ended as Miles Davis’s composition. But her notes might not even make as much sense as trying to dance a tango to his music.

  Now it was late. She was tired. If she deleted the notes, it might be like clearing her mind, and she’d be able to sleep. She hesitated over the delete key, then hit save, closed the laptop, and set it aside. She nestled her head into the cushiony back of the chair and listened to the final cut on the CD, her thoughts improvising with the musicians.

  Daphne could have killed Sam Smith. I’ll tell the others tomorrow. The SCONES. They won’t be convinced—about the name or her guilt. There’s no proof. I’ll talk them into calling Norman, anyway. And if Daphne’s guilty, Gillian and Tom can teach happily ever after. No more bampot.

  Janet was almost asleep, listening to Miles wail on his trumpet, when she realized there was something else wailing. But not on the CD. Not in the house. She got up and lowered the volume, then turned it off and went to the back door. Tallie padded down the stairs as she opened it.

  “Howling,” Janet said. “Is it Rachel Carson?”

  “Do you have Daphne’s phone number?”

  “No. How long has that been going on?”

  “Way too long.”

  21

  Tallie ran upstairs to dress, taking the steps two at a time, up and back down again, Janet sure she’d break her neck.

  “And then I’d have to go out there by myself to face who knows what,” she said.

  “After first calling an ambulance for me and my poor neck, I hope,” Tallie said, alighting on the bottom step and snarling her shoelaces by tying them too quickly.

  “You know I would.” Janet pulled on a jacket and got a flashlight from the kitchen. “This feels urgent, but let’s go carefully.”

  “Aye,” Tallie said.

  “That sounded very natural, dear.” As they crossed the small deck behind the house, Janet took Tallie’s arm. “That poor little thing is howling like a banshee. It’s going right down my spine.”

  “Banshees do that, I think. Generally speaking, they aren’t a good sign. Ian’s watching from his window up there.”

  “The least he could do is turn the light off and be less obvious about it.”

  Using the flashlight, they followed the footpath to the bottom of the garden, through the gate, and into Daphne’s garden. Rachel Carson’s howls didn’t just rise and fall, they also seemed to ebb and flow.

  “It sounds like she’s going back and forth between the front door and the back,” Tallie said. “Poor little thing is going to be hoarse.”

  “The neighbors on either side must be better sleepers, or you’d think they’d be out here.”

  “Or better at waiting to see if someone else will traipse around in the dark first.”

  When they reached the back door, they heard Rachel Carson’s howl receding toward the front. Janet rang the bell and Rachel Carson came howling back at a run and threw herself at the door. Janet tried cooing to her. That sent her into a frenzy of barking.
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  “I don’t know why I bothered with the bell,” Janet said. “If Daphne’s in there, she wouldn’t be putting up with that noise.”

  Tallie pounded on the door anyway. “For show,” she said. “So anyone watching will see that we’ve made a good effort to raise her.”

  Janet saw that lights had come on in some of the other houses. “Pound again.”

  While Tallie pounded and Rachel Carson alternated between howling and barking, Janet went around the side of the house and saw Daphne’s Land Rover parked on the street in front.

  “She might have gone out with someone,” Janet said. “And just because it’s—what time is it?”

  Tallie checked her phone. “One-twenty. She is Daphne, though. Daftie Daphne. She might be out and maybe Rachel Carson just ran out of kibble. The bampot and the banshee. But I tell you what, I’m going to call Constable Hobbs.”

  “If something’s wrong, time matters. You call and I’ll try getting in.” Janet tried the door. “Oh. It isn’t locked.”

  “Do not go in,” Tallie said. “And do not touch anything else.”

  “She’s right, Mrs. Marsh,” Norman Hobbs said, coming around the corner of the house.

  Tallie looked at the phone in her hand. “ESP, Constable?”

  “Ian Atkinson and one or two other community-minded neighbors.” Hobbs scanned the houses he could see. “All of whom took the precaution of staying out of harm’s way. Ah, except for Mr. Atkinson. Here he comes now, bristling with indignation. And curiosity. Please don’t ever repeat that.”

  “Constable Hobbs,” Ian said, slightly out of breath from trotting through the gardens. “Good of you to come so quickly. I couldn’t be sure who was pounding on the door—oh, hello, Janet, Tallie.”

  “What do you mean you couldn’t be sure?” Janet said. “You were in your window and saw us coming over here.” She moved past Ian and pointed toward his window, in case he was so unsure, he didn’t remember where he lived—and she saw a familiar figure coming through the dark. “Maida?”

  Maida picked her way gingerly across the grass. “I got here as fast as I could.” She glared at Ian. “You said there was an emergency at my house and you’d wait for me in front of your house, and what do I see when I arrive but you leaving me alone to walk through the dark and who knows what dog mess she’s left in my back garden.” Maida wasn’t out of breath at all.

  “I was interested to see which of you would get here first,” Ian said.

  “Tcha,” Maida said and turned away. “Her wee dog is off its head in there. What’s going on?”

  At that point, Gillian came into view around the corner of the house. “Maida called me,” she said. “What’s going on? Has anyone called Daphne? No one?” The others waited while she tapped her phone with the same vigor Tallie had used when she’d pounded the door. She got no answer.

  “I don’t believe she went anywhere,” Ian offered.

  “And the door’s unlocked,” Janet said. She reached for the knob.

  “Ah-ah,” Tallie said.

  “I’ll go on in, then,” Hobbs said.

  Rachel Carson barked on the other side of the door, and in an ominous turn for Hobbs, she started snarling and growling.

  “Pekes are moody and malevolent,” Hobbs said, nowhere nearer the door than he had been.

  “Would you like me to try calling her? Or go in first?” Janet asked.

  “They’re famous for pretending not to hear when you call,” Hobbs said, “and for biting.”

  “It might be best if we all go in at once to confuse her,” Ian said, moving forward. Rachel Carson chose that moment to throw herself at the door again. Ian backed away.

  “Right,” Maida said. Before anyone could stop her, she opened the door, shouted, “Wheesht,” and within moments was back outside with Rachel Carson on a leash. “It’s all yours, Norman,” she said, and walked the dog away to stand under a tree.

  Hobbs cautioned the others not to follow him, went inside, and closed the door.

  “I honestly couldn’t be sure who had crept up to her door and started pounding on it,” Ian said.

  “Wheesht,” Tallie and Janet said.

  Gillian stood off to the side, biting her nails until Hobbs returned. When he did, he gave them the solemn news that Daphne was dead.

  Janet felt slack with shock. No one said anything. Maida put a hand to her heart. Ian bowed his head. Janet watched Tallie taking note of those reactions. Norman was doing the same. Then she saw that Gillian’s eyes were streaming, unchecked, as she stared at the back of the house. She knew she should go to her, offer her a tissue, a shoulder, or put an arm around her. She didn’t. When in doubt, or trouble, or confusion, or especially in anger—ask questions.

  “What happened, Norman? And when?”

  “I can’t be sure.”

  “Was it her heart?”

  “I can’t be sure, Mrs. Marsh. At a guess, if we had arrived sooner, it would have made no difference. Thank you for your concern and for alerting me. I’ve called headquarters and I’m to stay here until they arrive. At this point, I would ask you all to cooperate and go home. There will be nothing more to see or know tonight.”

  “The dog?” Maida asked.

  Hobbs’s otherwise professional eyebrows rose.

  “I can’t take her,” Maida said.

  “I’ll take her,” Gillian said, but she made no move toward Maida to take the leash. Maida stayed where she was, holding tightly to the leash, seemingly stuck to the ground.

  “Maida, Gillian,” Tallie said, “come back to the house with us. We’ll have tea and warm up a little.”

  “Please do,” Janet said. “That’s a good idea.” Before she followed them, Janet turned back to Hobbs. “When you’re ready to leave, Norman, if you see lights on, please know you’re also welcome to stop by for a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Marsh.”

  “Do you think that might be sooner rather than later?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Marsh. Good night.”

  Janet gave herself points for trying. Then, mindful of one of the reasons Maida had been so angry with Ian, she used the flashlight to make her way without misstep through Daphne’s back garden to her own footpath and on to her house. There she found Ian sitting in her favorite chair in the family room and Rachel Carson enjoying a bowl of lentil soup in the kitchen.

  “I could hardly slam the door in either of their faces,” Tallie whispered when Janet growled at her.

  “Let’s just make sure he leaves when they do and that Gillian doesn’t leave the poor dog behind.”

  The electric kettle whistled. Tallie poured it into the waiting teapot and took it on a tray with cream and sugar into the family room. Janet followed with a tray of cups, saucers, and spoons. Tallie poured and Janet handed the cups around.

  “How delightful this is,” Ian said.

  “No, Ian,” Janet said. “Delightful really isn’t the right word for this occasion.” She was too tired to feel bad about being rude to him. And something else, she thought. Sad? No.

  “Thank you,” Gillian said when Janet handed her a cup. It was the first thing she’d said since telling them she’d take Rachel Carson, and once started, she seemed unable to stop. “It’s so hard to believe. She was gone for so many years, cut herself out of our lives. But she came back. And now she’s gone and willnae ever come back.” She put a hand over her mouth and shook her head. When she took her hand away again, she said, “We should have a memorial event of some kind for her. I don’t know what. But something.”

  “I’ll help you organize it,” Janet said, but she wasn’t sure Gillian heard her.

  “So many things to think about,” Gillian was saying. “I’ll have to find out how to do it all. The grant—what happens to it? And the programs. There’ll be huge holes in the class schedules.”

  “You don’t have to do anything about any of it right now,” Tallie said. “None of it needs to be solved tonight.”

  “A
nd none of it matters, now. It just doesn’t.” Gillian shook her head. “I’ve spent the last five years developing the literature enrichment program for the school. And my favorite part, the pet project I worked on for two years, was the author-in-residence program. I found the grant money. I recruited the selection committee. They researched a raft of authors, approached half a dozen, interviewed them, and chose Daphne. I couldn’t have been prouder or more excited. Do you know, the entire committee cheered when she accepted? And all of that means nothing now, because she’s gone. I hadn’t seen her in so many years, and now she’s gone and I’ll never see her again.”

  Janet was beginning to plan for another unexpected overnight guest when Ian spoke up.

  “Gillian, you might be interested in a theory I’ve come up with. Would you like to hear it?”

  Gillian looked at Ian as though she wasn’t sure why he was there.

  “My theory is that this woman we’ve all been feting, the one you brought to town, is not the real Daphne Wood. What you just said about not seeing Daphne for so many years lends credence to the theory. Up until now, I only had anecdotal evidence, that being that she didn’t know I live in Inversgail. The real Daphne Wood, world-renowned as she is, would almost certainly have done her homework before washing up on our shore again. She would have looked for other writers living in the area. She would have sought me out. This woman did not. Ergo, as they say, ipso facto.”

  Janet stood up before Ian finished speaking, ready to tackle him in whatever way might be necessary. “Fascinating, Ian. Thank you for stopping by.”

  Maida, with a wink to Janet, helped Ian take the hint. “I’ll walk out with you, Ian. Gillian, my sincere condolences on the loss of your dear friend. I’ll say a prayer for her and for you. Ian, after you.”

  Ian stopped at the door. “Point of interest, Janet. A remark I overheard the other day, about the tone of the neighborhood.”

  “What about the tone, Ian?”

  “That it’s been going down since the American invasion. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, though. Just some neighborhood wag, I’m sure. Thanks for the tea.”