"Why did you try to shuffle us out of Spain, Duncan?" Angela demanded.
"I was trying to avoid causing you any pain. I knew how close you felt to Sunny and I wasn't sure what she was capable of."
He hoped she'd get over it in time.
Frogo offered to take everyone to dinner later in the evening, and all but Duncan declined. Angus and Angela both stated they'd fly home the next morning. The three departed the casa, leaving him alone. He felt drained and fell asleep on a settee next to the swimming pool, pushing all thoughts regarding the case, Angela, and his future from his mind.
* * * * * *
He stayed on another week in Manchiego, enjoying his morning runs, the casa and sunshine. Nigel instructed Frogo that the Scotsman still had carte blanche, and the two continued to enjoy meals and conversation together, cementing their friendship.
Duncan met once with the fat comisario and examining magistrate. A skilled interpreter joined them as the Scotsman spent a morning explaining everything he knew about the crime. He chose not to mention Mary. He assumed she was ignorant of Sunny's activities. They took special note of the Alcala Equipment Company. The magistrate ordered a manhunt for Miguel and Alcala's other employees. The Policía Municipal now wanted to avoid any embarrassment, and Duncan noted a change in attitude from the comisario, who no longer appeared so lassez-faire. He heard no laughter when he left the garrison post this time.
After word hit regarding Sunny's departure, Margaret confessed to Mondo her true reason for being at the academy, and the chef feigned surprise. She never found out that her cover had been blown weeks before. Armondo asked her to continue on as sous chef for the rest of the summer and against Duncan's wishes, she accepted. The chef also arranged for Frogo to increase her salary.
Margaret, happy how things turned out, reminded her son, "All things work together for good to them that love the Lord."
Angus and Angela left as promised, together, on a flight to London. Angela wouldn't allow Duncan to take them to the airport, so Frogo supplied a driver and car. After a few days, Nigel contacted Duncan with his final payment and an update on Sunny's condition. The Vizcondesa did not understand her situation or where she was, a hospital outside of Madrid. Duncan wondered if it were a ruse, but kept his doubts to himself. He secured an address where letters could be sent and even a phone number Angela could use, should she choose to contact Sunny. Nigel assured him that all communications would be monitored by the hospital staff and only allowed if they deemed such beneficial to the patient. He described Sunny's accommodations at the private institution. Her standard of living did not decrease in any great measure.
Frogo offered up the jet for his return trip to Edinburgh, but he refused, remembering his landing at the airstrip. So, the director of the academy drove Duncan to Madrid and saw him off himself. The men shook hands, Frogo reminding Duncan he was welcome anytime to vacation in Manchiego and Duncan vowing to return.
Once on the plane, Duncan worked out a budget for Dewar and Associates, taking his mind off the flight. He now had the finances to hire at least one associate. His preference for the job was Angela, but he knew that could be complicated, even if she were willing, which he doubted she was. For the first time in months, all lucre worries disappeared. As the airplane lifted off, he thought about his next case. He was eager to return to Scotland, eager to see Donald, and tackle another challenge. What had Donald said when he telephoned him two days before? Aye, something about a causeway and a labyrinth, whatever that meant.
Thank you for reading The Cook's Comeuppance. I hope you enjoyed it. Below is a sample of Duncan's next adventure, The Laird's Labyrinth, available now.
Darkness, a black void… at first, that was all he knew. Isolated, he floated in a sea of nothing. How long? What? Where? Gradually, thoughts formed as the synapses of his brain began to fire. At last, a signal he was not alone. He could hear marching in the distance. The longer he listened, he came to believe it was not marching, but chanting -- a never ending mantra that waxed and waned, the words of which he could not make out, no matter how he tried. A steady, continuous chorus that would drive him mad. Enveloped in the dark, his very bones were permeated by a cold dampness. Bones, yes, he had bones and they ached. Searing intermittent pain became permanent, and now raged throughout his body, bringing fire and a heat that was almost unbearable. He longed for the chill he felt when first aware of his being. A musty, charred smell drifted into his nostrils. If this was hell, he wanted out.
* * * * * *
Duncan stopped to read the sign beside the road. He had to reverse the Vauxhall so its headlights illuminated the message. DANGER: DO NOT PROCEED WHEN WATER REACHES CAUSEWAY, the warning stated. He'd already checked the tide schedule, and his crossing would be safe, as there were still two hours until the next high tide began. He eased his car onto Holy Island Road, the auto's headlamps revealing nothing but pavement. He'd left his home in Edinburgh in the wee hours, to get a jump on any traffic and beat the tide to the island. When he veered off the A1, it was barely five a.m., and the sun wouldn't rise for more than an hour. Driving proved quicker than the train and also allowed him to keep his own schedule. Once the sun was up, he'd explore the island before meeting with his client.
Glancing from side to side, Duncan could make out sand and isolated small pools of seawater reflecting light from the moon and stars. He maintained a slow speed, keeping in mind the road narrowed to one lane at some point. Ahead, one of the refuge boxes loomed on stilts with its ladder and wood siding covered in peeling white paint. Should a person get caught on the causeway or the walking path to the island when the North Sea rushed in, these tree house-like structures could be a safe haven if one reached the box before being swept away by the tide.
If an RAF helicopter came to someone's aid, plucking driver from roof of car, the bill would be around 5,000 pounds. If saved by boat, the lucky citizen would receive a much smaller ticket for over 2,000 pounds. Every month, at least one stranded motorist had to be delivered from their vehicle by Rescue Services. If an individual chose to walk at low tide to the island, as pilgrims did for hundreds of years, an experienced guide was recommended to aid the crossing over mud and sand.
This morning, Duncan easily traversed the 1.6 kilometers on dry pavement, arriving on the island before the coming sun painted the sky a vibrant pink. He drove on until he spotted a car park next to a pasture. He angled the Vauxhall so he'd have a view of the sea and mainland, reached for the thermos of tea in the passenger seat, and unscrewed its lid. Steam and the scent of strong Earl Grey met his nostrils as he inhaled the brew's aroma. Now that the engine was off, so was the heater, and with an early morning temperature in the low teens, a hot tea was welcome. Duncan nibbled on the oat cakes he'd packed for his breakfast and thought about what had led him to this isolated place known as Holy Island.
When he returned from Spain after his last investigation, Donald, his good friend and owner of the Blue Bell Inn at Taye, Scotland, seemed anxious to meet. The innkeeper had mentioned finding Duncan his next case and requested the detective come to Taye. The village held painful memories for him, and he hesitated several weeks before making the trip. He dreaded the idea of returning, but for some reason Donald remained adamant. He acquiesced to the older man's wishes and drove the two hour trip, arriving just before dark at the inn. He had to admit, it was good to see his comrade and daughter, Skye. They'd proven themselves true allies and visiting with them warmed his heart. Duncan entered the Blue Bell and headed straight for the inn's desk.
Upon spotting the investigator, Donald said, "I've got room nine all ready fir ye, Duncan. I know ye'll be looking to get reacquainted with Bluie, but first let's have dinner. The chef made yer favorite, steak and kidney pie."
The heavyset innkeeper moved from behind the counter and with a twinkle, gave Duncan a hearty slap on the back as the younger man reached out to shake his hand. Donald couldn't resist teasing him about the supposed ghost that inhabited room ni
ne, although the investigator never came across any evidence that the inn was haunted.
"I'm not one to turn down an offer such as that," he said.
Donald hobbled towards the inn's pub and Duncan noticed he moved without his cane. His knees must be feeling better. The cheerful innkeeper was in his sixties, and time had left him with aching joints and silver hair that barely covered his crown. Skye leaned against the bar with elbows bent supporting her body. Her thick, red hair cascaded beyond her shoulders and her brown eyes twinkled just like her father's. Laughing with one of the customers, she looked happy.
"Ah, Duncan! I wondered when ye'd arrive," Skye said with her local brogue.
She turned and signaled to the barkeep, who produced a pint for Duncan and another for her father. The men took their drinks to a table where Skye joined them, sipping a cider.
"Tell us, how did ye find Spain?" she asked.
"Sunny," he responded, beaming. "And hot."
"Ach, it's been a cool summer here," the innkeeper stated.
"So, now that we've covered the weather, what brings me to Taye?"
He lifted an eyebrow and glanced from father to daughter. Skye averted her eyes from him and tried to hide the smile that curled at the corners of her mouth.
"Well, Donald?" the investigator said, training his stare on the innkeeper.
"The son of an old friend from school needs yer help. Have ye heard of Holy Island, Duncan?" Donald blurted out.
The innkeeper's sudden haste seemed suspicious. Duncan thought for a moment, running his fingers through his thick black hair.
"Do you mean Lindisfarne, where they brew mead?"
"Well, they don't brew it there anymore, but it's still bottled on the island. Aye, Lindisfarne. Are ye familiar with its history, Duncan?"
"Not really, except that it was the spiritual center of England for a time," he admitted.
"Aye. During the seventh century monks built a monastery there. Later, Saint Cuthbert became prior. In 793, the Vikings invaded and pilfered the lot. There's no telling what was lost to those marauders. The monks had already moved Cuthbert's body to a safer location. When his coffin was opened in 1827, gold, silver, and jewels were found as well as an illuminated manuscript of the Gospels," Donald whispered while leaning towards Duncan, as if he was afraid someone might overhear.
He raised both his eyebrows and turned his ear to his friend, encouraging the older man to continue. He threw a quick glance at Skye who eyed him with an intense stare before averting her gaze. Duncan had an interest in history, and Donald's tale grew more intriguing by the minute.
"Reginald, he's my mate's boy," Donald said, continuing in a conspiratorial tone, "inherited Norcroft Manor. I call him laird, because he owns a place outside of Dumfries. He recently discovered something on Holy Island that needs yer attention."
"What?"
"Ye'll have to see it fir yersel. I'm going to join Reginald there in a few days and I hope ye'll come along," Donald said, pausing as the waiter placed a small kidney pie before each of them.
Duncan inhaled as much air as his lungs could hold and released his breath at a slow pace. The dim room smelled of embers from the fireplace and tantalizing scran. He looked at Skye, who still seemed a bit uncomfortable with his gaze. A reflection of the flicker of a candle danced in her eyes. What was going on?
"Why did you need me to come to Taye if the case is on Lindisfarne?" he asked. Coming back here was the last thing he'd planned on doing.
Skye started to say something, but was interrupted by her father who cleared his throat and coughed several times.
"How's yer pie?" the innkeeper asked at last, adding, "don’t let yer scran get cold."
"D-o-n-a-l-d, what's going on here?" he inquired, smiling.
Something was definitely up, something that Donald was hesitant to relay.
The older man went back to clearing his throat, took a sip of his pint, and stumbled, "Sk-, Skye wanted ye to have a go at getting to know Mr. Lincoln."
Huh? Mr. Lincoln was the dog Caroline Menzies left with the Merriwethers when she decamped for the States. He was a large, black mutt with a penchant for licking Duncan's leg and face whenever he got the chance. Duncan had been in love with Caroline but when she fled Scotland, she didn't take her dogs with her. She claimed she wanted to give Mr. Lincoln to Duncan, since the dog was so fond of him. He was not an animal person and the Merriwethers had cared for the canine for almost nine months. He imagined they were more than ready to unload Mr. Lincoln.
"Skye's been training him fir ye… " Donald started, but was now interrupted by his daughter.
"Clipe! That was supposed to be a surprise, Dad," Skye said, frowning at her father. She continued, "Dinnae fash yersel, Duncan. He's a smart dog and I'm sure ye'll grow to love him."
He stared at Skye who no longer avoided his intent look. She was prettier than ever, and her enthusiasm for the animal made her somehow even more attractive.
"Will you show me tomorrow?" Duncan asked the lass, succumbing to Skye's exuberance.
Why did I say that? I've no place for a mutt, he thought. Meanwhile, her face illuminated like the sun.
"Aye, Duncan. I'll show ye all he's learned in the morning."
He decided it was worth it to see her face light up.
When he retired to his room, Duncan thought about that night's conversation. Donald was up to something and he'd bet it had nothing to do with that canine, Mr. Lincoln.
I hope you enjoyed this latest Duncan Dewar Mystery. The Scottish detective returns in The Laird's Labyrinth, available now on Amazon.
Would you like to join me for a cup of tea? If so, pop over to my blog, Teatime Tuesday, at https://victoriabenchley.com/blog/ for cups of fun, conversation, and of course, tea!
Visit my facebook page https://fb.me/vbenchleyauthor for more enjoyment and stunning photographs of Scotland. You can click the sign up button there and join my exclusive mailing list!
If those aren't your cuppa, we can still connect on the following:
Twitter http://twitter.com/@vbenchley
Website https://victoriabenchley.com/
Amazon Page http://amazon.com/author/victoriabenchley
Best wishes and happy reading!
Other books by Victoria Benchley:
All free with Kindle Unlimited
Press Ctrl+Click on book to purchase
Next in Series:
Where it all begins:
Short story:
About the Author
Victoria Benchley lives with her husband of over twenty years and their two children on the West Coast of the United States. She grew up reading the classics and counts Dickens and the Bronte Sisters as her favorite authors. After a career in corporate America, spanning public accounting, cash management, and real estate investments, at national and international firms, she chose to become a stay-at-home mom and full time taxi cab driver for her children. She is a Christian and enjoys quilting, cooking, and traveling (including road trips!), as well as reading and writing. On Sunday afternoons during football season, she can be found enjoying an NFL game.
Mystery: The Cook's Comeuppance: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 3) Page 22
