1 Off Kilter

by Hannah Reed

  As he walked toward the lane, I remembered to call out a piece of advice I’d thought of earlier. “I suggest you remove the bandages from your arm. Your wounds need air to heal.”

  He raised a hand in acknowledgement without glancing back.

  What I really wanted to do was remove those bandages myself, as painfully and as slowly as possible, ripping out each hair one by one. Or better yet, I could whistle for Kelly to round up a herd of sheep and run him down.

  That would really mess up his expensive golf outfit.

  CHAPTER 31

  I hadn’t a clue how to convince people of Vicki’s innocence, but one thing I knew for sure—I was going to have to make it persuasive.

  I’m a writer. This is what I do—I create believable storylines. Which was exactly what I planned to do now.

  I decided to start by finding out where the pig’s blood someone had splashed around Gavin Mitchell’s cottage had come from originally. Yes, that was a good place to begin. Someone had poured animal blood around the body. So where had that blood come from and why on earth had the killer left it there?

  You’d have to have been raised in a cave to be unaware of modern-day forensics. That swapped-blood ploy might have worked in the eighteenth century but not in this one.

  I needed to find the inspector. He was a thorough investigator. He might even have some answers regarding the how and why of the animal blood. Then I remembered our last conversation and how cold he’d become toward me.

  What I really needed to do was find that blabby volunteer cop.

  I drove through Glenkillen in search of Sean Stevens with no luck, then headed for Kirkwall Hospital to check on Vicki. The hospital was a nondescript, two-story beige building with two ambulance bays on one end. Small, but at least Glenkillen had a hospital. I was grateful for its existence when I needed medical attention and especially now for Vicki’s sake.

  When I stopped in the lobby waiting room to check on Vicki’s progress at the information desk, there was Sean, watching television and looking extremely bored.

  “Nothin’ has changed with Vicki MacBride’s medical status,” Sean informed me. “Don’t exactly know why I’m sitting here doin’ nothing but waiting fer her eyes tae peek open when I could be out patrolling the streets tae keep them safe.” Sean sighed heavily at his significant cross to bear. “But the inspector says it’s important that I be here.”

  Could his assignment have anything to do with the inspector trying to keep the rookie out of his hair? Apparently Sean hadn’t figured that out yet, and I wasn’t about to be the bearer of bad news.

  “Where were you yesterday during her rescue?” I asked him. “It’s not like you to miss that sort of action.”

  “Our dear inspector failed to inform me o’ the situation, sayin’ it slipped his mind in the rush o’ things. So there I be, nappin’ like a babe when all the important law wheels they were a-turnin’ without me.”

  “Well, you’re doing important work now,” I assured him. “Once Vicki wakes up, you can be the first to inform the inspector, and hopefully we’ll have some answers.”

  “If she doesn’t get that solicitor bloke involved tae put a lid on her lips.”

  I hadn’t considered that, but it might be a good idea for me to contact Paul Turner, especially if charges were pending against her. Although, then he’d get involved, possibly suggesting he was qualified to handle the case, and I was positively sure he wasn’t.

  “Did you get a chance to look at that video taken near the beach?” I asked Sean, helping myself to a cup of tea from a self-service station.

  “I saw it, all right. It was herself fer sure with the sheep shearer, blathering away. The very same woman as now lies in a room on the east wing o’ the second floor, no mistakin’ it.”

  I did an internal headshake at Sean’s unique gift for disbursing more information than he should. The hospital staff had refused to release Vicki’s room number when I’d called to request it, claiming that the nurse in charge had ordered a ban on visitors because of Vicki’s condition. Now, Sean had just unwittingly supplied me with enough information to get close enough to find her on my own.

  “Anything else significant about the recording?” I asked. “Was anybody else there with them? Could you make out what they were saying?”

  Sean shook his head. “They were deep in conversation, that’s fer sure, and neither o’ them looked one bit happy. Too bad we don’t have any sound tae find oot what they were discussin’. Speaking o’ videos, did ye ask the inspector about a training video instead o’ that manual, and did ye keep the reason we need it tae yerself?”

  “I promised you I wouldn’t tell him about your dyslexia and I won’t. Um . . . as for the video . . . he doesn’t have time to check for one right now,” I punted, falling easily into one of those permissible fibs I’d recently ascribed to those of us who weren’t covering up crimes against humanity.

  Although, in defense of justification, what I’d told Sean was true. The inspector really was busy with a murder investigation, so why bother him with trivia? Sean would have plenty of time to learn police procedures after the sheep shearer’s murder was solved.

  On second thought, the man was a gem, a diamond in the rough, a fountain of private police information. I paused to wonder why I was planning to help him improve his basic police knowledge when the more he learned proper protocol, the more he’d clam up and become useless to me.

  Sean and I sat quietly for a while. He went back to watching the television program and I moved to a more private corner and pulled my laptop out of my tote, powering it up.

  “Tell me about the inspector,” Ami had written in an e-mail. “What’s he like? Any interest there?”

  I took a moment to assess Inspector Jamieson’s qualities.

  “Intelligent, intense, startling blue eyes, handsome. A widower. His wife died from cancer. Reserved, private . . .”

  Private. Yes, I guess that made him mysterious. Anything else? Was I interested on a more personal level? I wasn’t sure. I enjoyed his conversation, but a murder investigation was hardly conducive to romantic inclinations.

  “But enough of that,” I wrote, then went on to tell her about Vicki’s accident and how Leith and I had found her. “I’m at the hospital right now,” I added, “waiting for word.”

  “Tea?” I asked Sean after a bit.

  “Not right noo.” He looked tired out.

  “Did the inspector pursue the source of the pig’s blood?” I asked him, moving across the room and sitting down beside him.

  “Wha’ you think we are? Incompetent bumblers?”

  Okay, that had been a dim-witted question. Of course, they had. “And?”

  “And I’m not aboot to divulge important police business regarding an ongoing investigation tae a civilian.”

  What? Had Sean been studying police protocol on his own after all? “Since when do you know that?”

  “Since watching some copper films last night. I’m going tae start watching on a regular basis and take some tips. Don’t know when I’m supposed tae get any sleep.”

  “You can give me a hint, though, right? If I happen to guess . . . ?”

  There was a pause while he considered my suggestion, then said, “Okay, that should be all right. Let’s see . . . ye want to know if we chased down the source o’ that blood. . . . That’s the question ye asked?”

  I nodded.

  Sean would have made a terrible poker player. He wore his emotions too close to the surface of his uniform sleeve. Right now he was lighting up like a spotlight. “I know what will help ye. . . . Yer using the wrong tense o’ the word.” He beamed.

  I frowned. “Which word?”

  “‘Did’ is the word I’m speaking o’. Ye know . . . past instead o’ . . .” He waited on the other end.

  Did they look into
it? That could imply some sort of conclusion. Had they looked into it? Same thing. How about would they look into it? Meaning they hadn’t started on that line of inquiry yet? It wasn’t like the inspector to leave loose ends dangling, and Sean had confirmed that they had, so that wasn’t the answer. Past tense? What was he talking about?

  If I imagined I were him—God forbid—what would I mean?

  I had it.

  “You are looking into it,” I said.

  “Yer good at this.”

  Disappointment set in. He’d made me jump through hoops only to learn they were still looking into it. That only meant they hadn’t found a connection yet. So it wasn’t a local purchase, making it much harder to track down. In essence, nothing was new on that front.

  “We’re at a dead stop on that one,” Sean added, confirming my own thoughts.

  I changed subjects, expressing my anxiety over my friend. “Why aren’t we getting more updates on Vicki’s condition?”

  “She’ll come around. That one is tough as nails.”

  She certainly was. Vicki would have won the grand prize as a survival reality show contestant. I’d seen what was left of her car. Nobody should have made it out alive. The woman was blessed with nine lives.

  “What room number did you say Vicki was in?” I asked Sean, getting up.

  “Ye know I can’t divulge classified information,” he said, puffing up with pride and self-importance. “Strict orders from headquarters.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, then headed off to find an elevator that would take me to the east wing of the second floor. A nurse was stationed at a circular desk behind a visitor station at the entrance to the east wing. I decided that, instead of stopping to inquire about visiting, I’d have better luck if I breezed past her as though I knew exactly where I was going. If I acted confused or hesitated for one second, the nurse would sense my indecision like a shark would sense fresh blood.

  It worked like a charm. I smiled smugly to myself. This was easier than I’d ever imagined.

  Reasoning that the staff probably put their most critical patients closest to the station, I poked my head into a few rooms and found Vicki in the third one. Not only that, she was awake—or semi-awake; her eyes were at half-mast—but she recognized me immediately and produced a weak smile.

  “Am I in heaven?” she asked.

  I laughed quietly so as not to alert anyone out in the hall. “You’ll have to wait a little longer for that. How are you doing?”

  “I feel pretty good.”

  She had to be under some pretty heavy sedation, because as I moved close, I could see that she looked awful. Black and blue, cuts and scrapes, both legs in casts, hooked up to lots of bells and whistles.

  “What happened?” she wanted to know.

  “You had a car accident.”

  “Are the terriers okay? They weren’t hurt, were they?”

  Was I this out of it after my accident? Remembering back, yes, I definitely had been. “They weren’t with you in the car,” I assured her. “I’m taking care of them. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m really sleepy.”

  “Don’t go to sleep yet. I have a few things to ask first.”

  But her eyes closed.

  I really wanted to find out why she’d met with Gavin and what they had talked about. Her answers were important and might shed some light that could clear her from suspicion.

  “Vicki?”

  I checked the monitor to make sure she hadn’t flatlined. The waves continued bopping along without a glitch. I bent down to listen to her breathing and found more reassurance in the lifting and falling of her chest. Vicki was okay, at least for now. But she wasn’t going to be any help in exonerating herself. The entire thing was dumped in my lap. Unintentionally, perhaps, but unavoidably, it was now all up to me.

  CHAPTER 32

  From the hospital, I drove over to Leith Cameron’s home. The approach was neatly fenced with earth-colored stonework. I could see sheep up on the hillsides to the south in the direction of the MacBride farm, and I remembered Leith mentioning that the sheep were marked because the hills were shared.

  The wind was gently blowing, causing grain fields on both sides of the road to wave their long spikes in the breeze. Nestled behind the fields, Leith’s comfortable-looking brown stone cottage reminded me of something out of a children’s fairy tale.

  The scene before me put a smile on my face as I parked beside his white Land Rover. Or was it discovering that he was home that gave my step the extra oomph?

  I got out of the Peugeot and walked toward the house, where I spotted Leith standing inside, watching me through a half door. The bottom half was closed, the top open. He grinned.

  Was that a tingle? And what kind was it? Excitement? Darn! Get a grip on yourself, Eden. The guy is taken in spite of his playful flirting. And you aren’t interested anyway, so stop it.

  “Well, if it isn’t Eden Elliott,” he quipped. “A sight fer sore eyes.”

  I couldn’t help returning his big, goofy grin as he swung open the lower half of the door and came outside, but it slid away as soon as I told him that I’d come bearing news.

  “About Vicki?” he asked. “Have you been tae hospital?”

  I nodded. “I saw her for a few moments. She doesn’t look so good.”

  “She’ll be well cared fer at Kirkwall, just as ye were. Don’t let its small size fool ye. It has a good reputation. How are the scratches?” he asked, taking my hand and studying my palm. Was it my imagination or was he taking his sweet time assessing my wounds?

  “Fine, thanks,” I said when he released me, doing my awkward thing by turning away and changing the subject. “Is that barley growing in the fields?”

  “Aye,” he said. “Also commonly known as bere in these hills. Mine will most likely be ready to harvest next week if the weather cooperates.”

  Kelly rounded the corner of the house at full speed and put on her brakes as she thundered up to us. She wagged her tail as I stroked the top of her head. What a life she had, with all the freedom of the great outdoors.

  “We were just heading out fer a fishing expedition,” Leith said.

  “That’s right, Vicki told me you’re a fishing guide.”

  “This wee bit o’ barley ye see isn’t enough tae make a decent living. Sometimes I take fishermen out tae the rivers tae fly-fish for trout and salmon. Today I’ve been hired tae take a group out on the North Sea, but if the weather doesn’t cooperate we’ll stay within the bay.”

  “And Kelly is your crew?”

  “Someone has tae make sure none of my paid customers fall overboard when I’m not looking.”

  No wonder Leith was so calm and relaxed all the time. He fished for a living. And his was not the uncertain life of the commercial fisherman, who goes out for days on end in every kind of weather imaginable in hopes of filling his hold with enough fish to sell to make a meager living.

  If I got to spend my day casting a rod, I’d be eternally on an even keel, too. Not that I’ve had any experience fishing, but I could just imagine how easy life would be.

  “I’ll only keep you a minute then,” I said, watching him open the back of his Land Rover and rearrange the fishing equipment inside. “I’m looking for a local source of pig’s blood.”

  He straightened and gave me a quizzical look. “And ye were thinking I might have some?”

  “No, but I thought you might know the name of a source.”

  “Yer going to make blood sausage, are ye? That’s getting intae the Scottish spirit of things. A little black pudding will spice up yer life.”

  For some reason my brain hadn’t made the connection between the pig’s blood found at the scene of the crime and the traditional Scottish breakfast item. Actually, I hadn’t given any thought to the type of blood used in making pudding. I guess it did
have to come from somewhere, but my brain couldn’t help thinking, Gross, gross, gross.

  “Can I purchase pig’s blood in a regular store?” I asked, persevering, hoping it wasn’t a commonplace grocery staple, like eggs or bread. If it was available in the grocery stores, my chances of tracing it to the killer were slim to none.

  So I was disappointed when he said, “Sure ye can.”

  “How much would I need to make a batch?”

  “About four hundred and fifty grams fer a standard recipe,” he said with an amused chuckle. Why, I wasn’t sure, unless it was the expression of distaste I was having trouble keeping from my face. “Let me know when ye make it so I can stop by and watch, take a picture or two fer yer Scottish scrapbook.” Was he laughing at me?

  I did a quick calculation, and roughly estimated four hundred and fifty grams to be a little less than two cups. Not enough. “What if I wanted a big bucketful?” The back of his Land Rover was still open. A bait pail caught my eye. I pointed to it as a comparison. “Like that much.”

  His smile faded. “What are ye up tae?”

  I decided I’d better explain myself before he carted me off to an insane asylum. Besides, I didn’t have to worry about breaking police confidentiality. Sean had been the one who’d announced the blood source, and while the inspector had been livid at the volunteer, he’d never asked me to keep anything to myself.

  “The killer poured pig’s blood around the body to make it look like Gavin had been killed in his cottage,” I explained. “When in actuality . . . well, you know where he was really murdered; you were there when Kelly discovered it.”

  “It would take a real brainbox to do a thing like that.”

  Brainbox? I caught his meaning, pleased that I was adapting to the Scotman’s unique manner of speaking. Must be that Scottish heritage on my bum of a father’s side.

  “Killers are rarely known to be clever outside of books and movies,” I said. “From my understanding, they’re more likely to do all kinds of stupid things, like running off through the snow and leaving tracks that lead right to them.”