Death and Daisies

by Amanda Flower

Raj smoothed the right side of his mustache and then the left. “No. There are always causes to fight for, but in the village of Bellewick, all is calm in the fight for the green cause, at least for the moment.”

  I bit my lip. Perhaps I was overreacting about seeing Seth in the village, but I didn’t want Hamish to be hurt again.

  “Oh!” Raj said. “Emer is waving me over. I should go see what they want. I would love to share some of my Indian dishes with Carver.”

  I laughed. “Go. I’m glad that Carver is so impressed with the pub.”

  He beamed. “Me too.” He hurried to their table with a fresh pot of coffee and a small plate of lavender lemon cookies that I recognized from Presha’s teashop.

  All the while, my sister kept her head down and her face hidden under her hair.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next day, Isla and I spent the entire day working in the shop and worked well after closing. Throughout the day, I did my best to push thoughts about the minister and murder from my head, but to be honest, I wasn’t having much luck at that. Instead my mind was plagued with memories of the time the minister and I had clashed. Would those times convince the village and police that I was guilty of the minister’s murder? I couldn’t see the chief inspector arresting me without a lot of evidence. He would want to be sure, or at least I hoped.

  It was midafternoon before a single customer entered the shop. When the front door did finally open, I leapt up from a chair in the back room, nearly tripping over myself to make a sale.

  “Keep you cool, Fi,” my sister said as I hurried by her.

  “Hello!” a round middle-aged woman with bright pink cheeks greeted me in the front room of the shop. “You must be Fiona. I’m so sorry I haven’t stopped by your shop sooner than this. It’s just—” Her words were cut off by a string of sneezes. When the sneezing finally subsided, she removed a handkerchief from her red patent-leather purse. “I’m so sorry. I was just telling you that I haven’t stopped by because I’m allergic to flowers.” She sneezed.

  My brows knit together as I glanced around the front room of the shop. If someone was allergic to flowers, this was the last place they should really be.

  She held out her hand to me. “I’m Bernice Brennan. I own the jewelry store in the village.”

  I nodded. I had passed the store many times when walking to the flower shop and had always been tempted to stop. They had a whole array of beautiful pieces in the front windows, so much so that I couldn’t help but wonder what they might have in the back. “It’s nice to meet a fellow shopkeeper in the village.” I shook her hand and released it.

  She smiled. “It is, but that’s not really why I’ve come here. I’m an elder at St. Thomas’s.”

  “Oh,” I said, and my face fell. Was she about to accuse me of killing her minister? I licked my lips. “I’m so very sorry for your loss. The church must be reeling from what has happened.”

  “It is. The entire congregation is in shock, and I accept your condolences on behalf of the church, but I wanted to share our sincerest apologies over what happened the Sunday that you tried to visit to our church. All the church elders were horrified to see how Minister MacCullen treated you. He should never have turned you away like that.”

  I blinked, surprised that she would bring this up at all. “There’s no point in rehashing it now …” I trailed off, thinking now that the minister is dead.

  “Perhaps not, but I wanted to personally tell you we were ashamed of the minister’s behavior. I don’t believe he ever came to you and apologized himself.”

  The minister had come to see me at the shop, of course, but he most certainly had never apologized.

  “I appreciate that. Emer Boyd apologized as well.”

  Bernice wrinkled her nose at the mention of Emer. “When did she do that?”

  “It was at my opening. She mentioned that she would talk to the church elders about me providing the chancel flowers as well.”

  “She’s not a church elder. She shouldn’t be going around pretending to be one.”

  “I didn’t think that she was,” I said, surprised by Bernice’s reaction. “She was only trying to be nice.”

  “Emer is always trying to be nice,” Bernice grumbled. “I know she is the church treasurer, but if you ask me, she should spend less time meddling in church business and focus on her own affairs.”

  I wondered what those affairs were that needed Emer’s attention. But I stopped myself from asking. I didn’t want to know, and the last thing I wanted to do was get caught up in church politics when I was already involved in a murder. It seemed to me that there was a power struggle of some sort at the church now that the minister’s death had left a void.

  Bernice sneezed.

  “It was so nice for you to stop by and tell me this. It really does mean a lot to me, but I don’t want to keep you much longer. I would hate to cause you another sneezing fit.”

  She rubbed the handkerchief under her nose. “It really is a shame, because I do love flowers. I think they are so beautiful, and the ones that you have here are the prettiest that I have ever seen.”

  I beamed. “Thank you.”

  She tucked her handkerchief back into her purse. “I should be off. Please come visit our church again. We would love to have you. We won’t turn you away.”

  I promised her that I would.

  “And if Emer stops by again to tell you something about the church, tell me, would you?” she asked.

  I raised my brows. She wanted me to snitch on another member of the church. “I don’t know that that’s my place.”

  “It won’t take you but a moment.” She smiled and squeezed my hand. “You come stop by my jewelry store whenever you like. I would love to show you around. The shopkeepers in Bellewick need to stick together. That’s what I always say.”

  I promised her that I would.

  Isla walked over to me after Bernice was gone. “Is it just me, or do you think something weird is going on over at that church?”

  I glanced at my sister. “I don’t think it’s just you at all. Let’s get back to work.”

  She nodded and went to the back room.

  At the end of the work day, Isla ran out of the back room. “I have some news.”

  I arched my brow. “That sounds serious.”

  “I got a job!”

  “A job?” I blinked.

  She nodded. “Raj gave me a job waitressing at the Twisted Fox! I’m going to be a waitress there.”

  “But you work here,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “I know that, but I can work here days and there nights. It’s perfect.”

  I blinked again, surprised by my sister’s initiative. “Isla, I think that’s great!”

  She grinned. “Those student loans aren’t going to pay themselves. I start tomorrow, so I’d just like to go home tonight and chill.”

  I wasn’t ready to go home just yet. “That’s a good plan. You head back. There are a few things I want to check out before heading home.” It was the height of the summer in County Aberdeen, and the sun wouldn’t set until long after ten. I handed her the car keys.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to mess around in the minister’s murder, are you?”

  “What?” I gave her a shocked face. “Me? Why would I do that?”

  She placed her hands on her curvy hips. “Because you’re a meddler, Fi. You heard Raj. He said that you shouldn’t go talk to that saxton guy.”

  “Sexton,” I said. “And he said I shouldn’t go talk to him last night. A full day has passed.”

  “Whatever. And I don’t like that name. It sounds dirty.”

  “I think it’s the British version of a caretaker or janitor.”

  She threw up her hands. “Then why don’t they just say that? Brits are so weird. I seriously have no idea what they are saying half of the time.”

  I didn’t want to start a conversation about dialects with her. There was a place I wanted to be that m
ight give me better insight into how the minister died. “You can come with me if you want. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

  She checked her phone. “I’ll go back to the cottage. Ivanhoe has been trapped inside all day. I’m sure he can’t wait to get out.” A blush crept up her neck and onto her pale cheeks. One problem of having the British complexion was that everyone on earth knew when you were embarrassed. The same happened to me. But what was Isla embarrassed about?

  “All right,” I said. I wasn’t ready yet to press her into telling me what was really going on. “I’ll see you back at the cottage.”

  She hesitated. “Are you sure you want to walk?”

  “It’s only three miles,” I said. “And I could use the exercise. I have been crammed inside the flower shop for weeks.”

  She frowned. “Well, text me when you’re heading home just so I know, and if you want me to come get you, I can.”

  I hugged her. “Thank you, Isla.” She nodded, then spun on her heel heading in the direction of the car.

  Her blonde hair bounced on her back and her black boots clicked on the cobblestones as she walked away. She thought she was too curvy, but by anyone else’s interpretation she was a stunning girl—woman, I corrected myself. Isla Knox was no longer a child. It was something that I had to keep reminding myself.

  When Isla disappeared from sight, I went in the opposite direction toward the sea. I followed the same path I had taken early that morning along the cobblestone streets until I came to the harbor. The briny scent of the ocean welcomed me back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The harbor faced east, so the sun was to my back, and vibrant colors played across the boats’ ropes and masts and across the sea itself. It was eight o’clock in the evening and boats were coming into the safe harbor for the night. In summer, the fishermen tried to stay out as long as they could when the fishing was good, and even in the hustle and bustle of the end of the day at a busy harbor, it was peaceful. It was hard to believe there had been such a violent storm two nights before.

  After such a bad storm, the fishing would be very good, as the waters and the wildlife would have been churned up from the bottom of the sea. I knew this because I remembered visiting Florida’s eastern coast a few weeks after a hurricane almost hit when I was a child. Even from the near miss, shells and sea life had washed up on the shore for weeks. I had been on the beach with Isla, who was small at the time, when a huge conch washed ashore. It was bigger than my head. I’d run to it and added it to my collection.

  That shell currently sat in one of the many boxes my mother had shipped to Scotland. I just hadn’t found it yet.

  I stood by an old diving shed at the edge of the dock. There was a collection of oil barrels there, and the three old sailors who always seemed to be in the same spot were still there. I knew that if the minister had been near the docks the day of the murder, they were the ones who would know about it.

  “Aye, it’s a beautiful night, is it not?” one of the old seamen called out to me.

  I smiled to myself. I’d known that if I just stood there long enough, they would talk to me.

  “The sea, she’s being nice today,” he said. “That is usually her way. She throws a tantrum, and then after she is all but a beauty. It’s how she makes us forget, and it is how she makes us risk our lives to have the pleasure of being rocked by her again.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. At the height of the storm, it had felt like there would never be a clear night again, but now the sea was calm with only a few whitecaps out in the middle, adding more tranquility to the scene than any real danger.

  “Ewan, you be a poet worthy of Robert Louis Stevenson himself,” said one of the other men, who was missing an eye.

  Part of me wanted to ask the old seaman how he lost his eye, but I knew it would be a long and involved tale, and I had much more important questions that needed to be answered at the moment.

  “It is a beautiful night,” I said as I walked over to the men on their barrels. I couldn’t understand how they could sit on them day in and day out. The oil barrels, even when turned onto their side, like one of them was, didn’t look all that comfortable to me. “It’s much different than Sunday night,” I went on to say. “That was my first storm since I moved here. It was a doozy.”

  “Doozy,” Ewan said, looking me over. “I don’t know what this means. It must be one of those American phrases; no one ever knows what they mean. Like Internet.”

  I didn’t think Internet was an American word, but I didn’t want to argue with Ewan when I needed information.

  “My father never liked my American expressions,” I said.

  “You mean Ian MacCallister,” Ewan said.

  I blinked. “No, Ian was a good friend. My father is Steven Knox. He is from Aberdeenshire, but the city, not the village of Bellewick. He and Uncle Ian, who was my godfather, were like brothers when they met in school.”

  Ewan looked confused for a moment, but his face cleared. “My mistake. You just have the black hair of a MacCallister, and I know that you inherited Duncreigan. I put two and two together.”

  “You put two and two together, Ewan,” the fisherman without the eye said. “And you came up with five like you always do.”

  “She should be glad I thought she was a MacCallister.” Ewan sniffed. “That’s quite an honor in this community.”

  “Uncle Ian never had any children,” I said, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation.

  The two old seamen sitting with Ewan shared a look that I couldn’t quite interpret. I shook my head. “In any case, it was quite a storm, and what a tragedy to come right after, to lose such an important person in the community.”

  “Aye, you must be talking about Minister Quaid MacCullen,” said Ewan, clearly the ringleader of the trio.

  The sailor with one eye pointed in the direction of the rocky beach. “I heard that MacCullen washed up on the beach. Seemed strange to me. He’s not a man I had ever seen this close to the water. I always thought he was afraid of it or couldn’t swim.”

  “I thought the same,” Ewan said.

  “Aye,” the other fisherman, who sat in a wheelchair and was missing a leg said. “But I saw him by the docks just before the storm. The old minister stuck out like a sore thumb around the harbor. It was clear he didn’t know where he was going. I offered my help, but he either didn’t hear me or he pretended he didn’t, because he wouldn’t look my way. If he was going to pay me no mind, then I would do the same to him.”

  He must have seen me staring at his leg because he added, “Aye, a shark took it, lass.”

  The other two men laughed.

  “Don’t let him pull your leg, miss. Old Milton lost his leg in a car accident,” Ewan said.

  Old Milton glared at him. “It is my leg that was lost. Let me have my story about the shark.”

  “Very well. I won’t correct you every time you tell a lie to a passerby about your battle with the shark, but if you are going tell such a yarn, make it a great white.”

  Old Milton nodded. “Only a great white is worthy enough to take my leg.”

  “What was the minister doing at the docks?” I asked.

  Old Milton thought about this for a moment. “He looked like he was waiting for someone. There would be no other reason for him to be down at the docks. He had never been here before.”

  “Did you see anyone?” I tried to keep my impatience out of my voice. I knew these old sailors wanted to draw their stories out and tell them in their own good time. If I wanted to hear the whole tale, I had to be patient. Not my strong suit at all.

  “He was talking to a young dock worker. I recognized him right away.” Old Milton wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something foul.

  “Who was it?”

  “Remy Kenner.”

  Ewan clicked his tongue. “Remy Kenner, you say. Why, there isn’t a worse sort of man who took in a breath of life.”

  “Why do you say that?” I
asked.

  “Remy Kenner is sour to his very core,” Old Milton said. “A cruel man, never got any higher up than a helping hand around the dock and doing hard labor. No one would want to be stuck on a boat with that man.”

  “They would throw him over the side for sure,” the one-eyed sailor said.

  “Aye,” Ewan said. “But truth be told, he would take at least three men with him, so a boat captain knows it’s better to play it close to the vest as far as Remy Kenner is concerned.”

  Remy Kenner was sounding more and more like a viable murder suspect, which was something I needed now.

  “And the minister was meeting with this unsavory person,” I mused. What could Minister MacCullen have to do with Remy Kenner, an unkind dock worker whom these seamen, who I knew must have seen all sorts of terrible things in their day, seemed almost afraid of? “Where can I find Remy Kenner?” I asked.

  Ewan’s mouth fell open. “He’s not a man you want to find, lass. You would be very sorry if you did. I know that his poor wife is.”

  “You can be certain of that,” Old Milton agreed.

  It seemed to me that Remy Kenner certainly could drown someone as old as the minister, since he was a strongly built dock worker and had access to boats to toss the minister into the North Sea. Remy might just be the person I needed to hand over to Craig as a viable suspect.

  Which made me ask my next question. “Have you told Chief Inspector Craig or the police about seeing the minister with Remy Kenner?”

  “Old Milton who had the tale to tell was not here when the police came.”

  “I had a wee nip the night of the storm.” Old Milton’s craggy face reddened. “And it had gone to my head a little too far.”

  The one-eyed seaman laughed. “You had a bit more than a wee nip.” He looked at me with his one good eye. “Take it from me, lass, he had enough to drink to put a whale under the table.”

  “Were you drinking when you saw the minister with Remy?” I asked. If Old Milton had been the last one to see the minister alive, other than the killer, he’d need to be able to say he’d been sober when he saw the two men if it went to trial. But why was I thinking about a trial? I was getting way ahead of myself. All I had to go on from what these men had said was a lead. It was a good lead, but still only a lead.