by Hannah Reed
“Vicki, I’m perfectly fine,” I insisted. “Why worry anyone else when it’s over and done with?”
But then it struck me: I really didn’t have any family to contact in case of an emergency. I had Ami. She was a loyal friend and could always be counted on, but as far as relatives—they were all gone.
My sense of isolation almost overcame me as I got out of the car, but I used sheer willpower to keep the tears from flowing. Where had this bout of self-pity come from? I chalked it up to the blow to my head I’d suffered. I usually embraced being solitary, the kind of freedom that was now mine. The depths of self-pity wasn’t a place I cared to visit, now or ever. Life is what it is, and during struggles and hardships we do what we have to do. This was a new beginning, an unpredictable next stage in my life. I couldn’t invent new family members, but I could make more lasting friendships like the one I had with Ami. I was committed to that. And no better time to begin than right now, with Vicki MacBride.
“Thank you, Vicki,” I said. “For everything.”
“You’d do the same for me,” she said serenely, letting Coco and Pepper out of the house before heading for her favorite outdoor chair and sitting down. “But enough sentimental sap for now,” she said, smiling. “Here comes Sean from the barn. Wonder what he’s been up to. He looks like the cat that got the cream, doesn’t he?”
Sean practically jogged up to us. Whatever he’d been doing, his uniform was still crisp and his shoes remarkably shiny. Wasn’t today Sunday? Shouldn’t he have been home with his family? Regardless, here he was, holding a piece of splintered wood that I was pretty sure was part of the staircase I’d fallen from.
“What’ve you got?” Vicki wanted to know.
“I have tae find the inspector,” Sean fairly shouted, even though we were right next to him.
He seemed to notice me for the first time. “Yer fit and fine then? And having yer wits about ye?”
I wasn’t sure about that, but I said, “Yes, I’m going to be just fine. What do you have there?”
“Ye see this?” He held up his discovery with undeniable pride and ran his finger along the smooth end before pointing out the other side. “It’s been sawed clean off, and musta been glued back on just enough tae stay put until ye stepped down on it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, my stomach doing involuntary flip-flops.
“Right sure,” he told me.
Vicki let out a shriek and then covered her mouth. She’d caught the implication at the same time as I had.
Someone had intentionally tampered with the stairs to cause a fall.
Had Vicki been the intended victim? If not for her bad back, she would have been the one on the loft stairs, not me. It made sense that she’d been the target.
Someone had been trying to hurt her, and I had literally taken the fall on her behalf.
I put my arm around Vicki and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be okay,” I told her, hoping I was right. Then: “Should you be handling the evidence?” I said to Sean, thinking about the possibility of the culprit’s fingerprints.
“I’ve been trained tae deal properly with evidence,” he said, but I saw the telltale signs of a big fat fib in his startled eyes. Then: “I need a plastic bag. Quick. And make it a big one while yer at it.”
Vicki hurried inside and came back out with a trash bag. Sean carefully placed his forensic treasure inside and tied it up gently.
We all stared at it.
If Inspector Jamieson was a violent man, which I suspected he wasn’t, he’d use the bagged stair piece to knock this volunteer cop’s block off for his carelessness with potential evidence.
“I best be off,” Sean said, breaking the silence and moving at supersonic speed toward his car. We watched him roar off.
“What do you make of that?” I asked Vicki.
“That volunteer policeman doesn’t seem to be very competent, if you ask me,” she said, taking my arm. “Come on, let’s get you in the house and settled in a comfy chair.”
“That might have been you on the steps.”
“Don’t go thinking the worst until we know all the facts. We best wait and see.”
Back inside, I dozed on and off for the rest of the afternoon, then went to bed early. The blow to my head had taken a lot out of me, more than I’d originally thought. All things considered, today had been an uneventful day: no ladder mishaps or room fires, no scary road trips with me behind the wheel, not a single dead body showing up.
I didn’t want to think about what tomorrow might bring.
CHAPTER 19
Monday morning arrived dark and dreary with thick fog. When I looked out the window, I couldn’t see the ridges or rolling hills that had been visible the day before. I couldn’t tell if the sheep were still grazing on them. Even Coco and Pepper didn’t want to venture out, preferring to curl up together and doze by a crackling fire Vicki had started in the fireplace.
“Typical Scottish weather,” Vicki remarked. “It’s a good day to stay in and read a book.”
That was a tempting suggestion, but my brain was functioning well enough to remind me that I needed to make more progress with my writing. Ami was bound to remind me that I should skip ahead and write a scorching love scene. I thought about pretending that I had, but what if she wanted me to send it to her? And why was I resisting anyway? Reading those scenes was one thing; writing one was going to be another. I had several paperbacks in my tote to reread—a few of Ami’s hottest romances, which I hoped would fire up that section of my reluctant brain.
Was my own past coming back to haunt me? What I’d thought was love had come and gone. And the sex hadn’t been what I’d expected and had tapered off over the years, the passion gone. If it had ever been there to begin with.
Was this something personal I had to work through?
“What are you thinking about?” Vicki asked, setting down a bowl of porridge for me. I was getting the distinct impression that every single Scot in the land was eating the exact same thing: porridge. The full Scottish breakfast must be reserved for tourists, which made sense, as a daily dose of eggs and several different meats would have killed off every one of the locals long ago. “You have an angry expression on your face.”
“Just sorting a few things out.”
“I’ll get you some toast to go with your porridge.”
Sex and love. What if I found that I couldn’t write about true love because I’d never experienced it? Same with passionate lovemaking. I’d had a few boyfriends before my husband, but none of them had been as thoughtful as I’d imagined they could be.
Wasn’t it time to have a little fun? What was I saving my passion for anyway? Did I even have a passionate side? If I did, it was buried deep. Maybe it was time to let loose a little. Ami would be thrilled for me.
“Did you take your medication yet?” Vicki asked.
“No. I will after breakfast.”
Did I have to have more than distant memories of sexual encounters to write that scorching scene? If so, I better get to it right after I finished eating, find someone to fill the bill, like . . .
Wait! What was I thinking? Apparently, my brain was seriously swollen and affecting the libido part of my noggin. The faster I could bring down the swelling, the sooner I’d get back to my normal self. Because this kind of illogical reasoning was definitely out of character for me. “I’d better take my meds now rather than later,” I said.
“They’re right here.” Vicki set the bottle down beside me. I swallowed one ASAP.
“The doctor said you might feel a little strange for a while,” Vicki reminded me.
I didn’t remember Vicki being there when the doctor came in to release me from the hospital and give me instructions regarding meds. “How do you know that?” I asked her. “You weren’t there.” Then: “Were you?”
“No. But Inspector Jamieson phoned earlier and mentioned it when he asked about you. Apparently the doctor told him to treat you gently for a while.”
Fifteen minutes later, after the pill had time to work its magic, I felt much better, physically and mentally. I showered, dressed, grabbed my rain jacket and laptop, and headed for the door.
“You could write here, you know,” Vicki suggested.
“Um . . . I’m not writing until later . . . but . . . uh . . . I like to have my notes with me in case inspiration strikes,” I said. This was awkward. If I told the truth, that she was too much of a chatterbox for me to accomplish anything, I’d hurt her feelings. Without thinking things completely through, I added, “I thought I’d drive over to Loch Ness and catch a glimpse of Nessie.”
And groaned mentally when I realized I should invite her along. “You’re welcome to join me,” I offered as cheerily as possible, considering my blunder.
“Next time, give me more notice and I’ll come along.” Vicki looked down at her nightgown and slippers, blonde hair jutting out in all directions. “Besides, this isn’t the best weather for sightseeing. I’d much rather stay by the fire with Pepper and Coco.”
I muttered an apology. Next time, we’d plan in advance. Later today, I could always say I’d had car problems and hadn’t made it to the lake. That was totally believable coming from me.
Before heading for the door, I decided to follow up on the investigation.
“Any news on the murder investigation?” I asked. “Did they charge that Kerr guy?”
Vicki’s face grew long. “It was a dead end. The bloke had an alibi—ironclad, the inspector told me. He couldn’t have been more disappointed.”
“Back to square one, then?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
I wondered about Sean’s discovery in the barn. “What about the loft stairs? Had they been rigged to trigger a fall like Sean thought?”
“The inspector wouldn’t say, but he’s coming this way to discuss it with me. Go on now, and don’t you worry about the outcome just yet. I’ll keep you informed.”
“Oh? When is Inspector Jamieson going to be here?” I asked, realizing his visit was the perfect excuse to put off worrying about that pesky love scene. Procrastination has killed off more than one wannabe author, but a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
“He’ll be round soon enough.”
“I should hear what he has to say,” I reasoned. “After all, I’m the one who fell.”
Yes, a delay!
Not procrastination.
A delay.
That sounded so much better.
CHAPTER 20
“Sean Stevens’s position is aboot tae become redundant!” Inspector Jamieson said as we stood in the barn.
“Redundant?” I asked.
“Terminated,” Vicki answered for him.
Oh.
“He’s outside sitting in his car,” I pointed out.
“He’s been following me like a lost puppy, waiting fer word tae come from headquarters,” the inspector said, tapping the cell phone in a case on his belt. “Any minute now, I’ll get the word, and then he’ll go back where he came from. And good riddance!”
I felt bad for Sean. He’d had the best intentions as he traipsed around unsettling everything and everyone. Or rather upsetting the only one who really mattered—his boss. It’s pretty bad when you get fired from a volunteer position, but Sean somehow had managed.
I’d found the concept of regular folks working as police officers strange in the first place. But ever since Sean had arrived on the scene, I’d been noticing advertisements in the newspaper calling for more just like him. Or rather, like him but with some degree of competence. I clearly was in a foreign country where different rules applied.
“With a little more training . . . ,” I started to suggest on Sean’s behalf, until the inspector turned his sharp eyes toward me and glared into mine. “Never mind,” I said.
“He’s a blockhead,” Inspector Jamieson muttered while studying the broken part of the stairs leading to the loft and comparing it to the piece of wood that Sean had bagged yesterday. “Nothin’ ye can do with the likes of him.”
I nodded to be on the safe side.
“Do ye remember anything unusual before or during yer fall?” he asked me. “Anything at all out o’ place?”
“Nothing,” I said, after considering for a moment. I looked up and spotted a furry head. Jasper was in the loft, lying between two hay bales, his eyes following us. “No,” I said, surer now. “Nothing comes to mind.”
“The step was sawed all right,” the inspector said. “Even a dolt like Stevens could see that. I doubt we’ll get any fingerprints, but I’ll have the team come out and give it a try.” He glanced outside at Sean’s car, then looked down at his silent cell phone. “Even if there were prints tae be found, our eager beaver would’ve destroyed them.”
I couldn’t help thinking that John Derry’s fingerprints would be all over the place anyway, since he worked in the barn.
“Are you most upset because Sean didn’t take precautions with evidence?” I asked.
“I have a long list o’ complaints against him. That bit o’ handiwork was only the last straw.”
“He means well,” Vicki added. I knew she was feeling sorry for Sean, too.
Inspector Jamieson shook his head in disgust, and said, “You know what they say about good intentions?”
“The road to hell is paved with them,” I recited. “An old proverb.”
“And true as they come. But right noo I’m most concerned about yer fall and the person behind it,” the inspector said. “I have trouble believing that John Derry woulda carried things this far. But I’ll have a word with him.”
“A word? That’s all?” I exclaimed. “I could have been killed!”
“It was attempted murder, if you ask me,” Vicki agreed.
The inspector looked over at Vicki. “Did ye ever think, Vicki MacBride, that the fall was intended fer ye?”
Vicki, a shade paler than usual, nodded. I decided it was time to tell her about the conversation between John and Kirstine MacBride inside the shop when they thought they were alone.
“There’s something else you should know,” I said, beginning my tale. The inspector also listened intently, although he’d already heard about it. Neither interrupted.
“John called us busybodies,” I said, wrapping up the story, “and said he was going to take care of us.” I gestured toward the steps. “And it appears that he’s already made an attempt.”
“John Derry was the only one who possibly could have done this,” Vicki said after a few moments of considering the new information. “As Eden and I told you, it was his idea that we cart the bales up to the loft.”
“Whoever it was,” said the inspector—noncommittal, which was frustrating—“would have had a very small window of opportunity, since ye’d been on those steps right before taking yer break.”
I agreed. “John must have snuck back in and rigged the steps before I came back out from the house.”
“He intended for me to be the one to fall,” Vicki said. “If I’d been killed, they wouldn’t have to worry about their precious inheritance.”
“It certainly looks that way to me,” I said. John couldn’t have known about Vicki’s bad back and might have assumed it was her turn to pitch in. Had he been watching us the whole time? Had he been surprised when I went back to the barn instead of Vicki?
It was obvious that the inspector wasn’t going to discuss my fall any longer, so I changed the subject. “Vicki said your suspect in the murder case didn’t work out,” I said. “That’s too bad. He seemed like the perfect suspect.”
“Samuel Kerr was in toon all right, but turns out he’d come tae apologize. He’s a changed man, he says. H
e’d threatened Gavin in court, but while he was in prison he found his way intae a group o’ recovering alcoholics and he was following the steps. He came tae apologize for his bad behavior.”
“And did he?” I asked.
“Aye.” The inspector nodded. “The week before Gavin was murdered. And he had witnesses outside the pub tae vouch fer him, and an airtight alibi fer the period of time surrounding the death.”
“And what’s his airtight alibi?” I asked.
“Kerr picked up a bit o’ work as a deckhand on a prawn boat. They went tae sea on Sunday and didn’t return until the day before last. The skipper confirmed his story.”
“You must be following other leads, right?” Vicki asked. “Please don’t tell us you’re at a dead end.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get tae the bottom of this before long,” the inspector told us. “But ye two need tae practice patience while I sort each o’ these puzzles out one by one.”
Moments after that reassurance, his cell phone rang. He answered it, moving off to where we couldn’t overhear the conversation. While he was busy presumably getting permission to terminate the excitable volunteer policeman, along with Sean’s dreams of a real position with the Highlands police, I wandered over to Sean’s car, grateful that the rain and mist had finally taken a blessed break. His window was down.
“I’m trying tae keep my chin up,” Sean said, sadly. “But it doesn’t look good fer me.”
What could I say? Nothing cheerful, that was for sure.
Then he brightened, and said, “I was right, though, aye? If it weren’t fer me, they’d have assumed it was an accident and never caught on.”
