“I will,” I whispered, and watched with a fallen heart as his jeep drove away.
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, I awoke before dawn. I wanted to catch Hamish before he headed to the garden for the day. I knew he would be up, as he was an early riser.
But if I was being completely honest, I wanted to visit his cottage to make sure Seth wasn’t staying there. It wasn’t that I expected Hamish to tell me everything about his life, but if another person was living at Duncreigan, I should at least be aware of it.
Part of me was afraid that the reason Seth had run away from me at the docks was because Hamish knew he was in the village. What I didn’t understand was why Hamish would keep that secret from me.
In my head, I practiced what I would say in case I found Seth at Hamish’s cottage. I didn’t want to upset Hamish, but I also wanted to know why he had kept this secret from me, assuming he had a secret.
While I prepared for my visit to Hamish’s home, my sister and Ivanhoe slept on my bed. I had again spent the night on the couch by the hearth in the main room of the cottage amidst all the shipping boxes from back home. I really would have to find some time to deal with them. I felt like the room was closing in on me and I couldn’t find anything.
My back ached as I tied the laces of my hiking boots. If Isla was going to stay in Scotland on a more permanent basis, the sleeping arrangements had to change. In this case, age did matter. At twenty-two, she could sleep on a log and be perfectly refreshed the next morning. I was eight years older than her. If I slept on a log, I would look like I got hit by a double-decker bus.
The air outside the cottage was damp and chilly like most mornings in Duncreigan. I guessed it was sixty degrees Fahrenheit. I hadn’t made the mental leap to think in Celsius yet.
After growing up in Nashville, where the summers went from hot to hotter to too hot to think, the cool Scottish summer was welcome. It was nice to live in a place where I wasn’t trapped inside with air-conditioning because the outdoors was too miserable.
The path to Hamish’s cottage was well worn from the thousands of times he had faithfully made the half-mile trek from his cottage to the garden at Duncreigan. I followed the mossy path, taking care not to slip on any of the granite rocks that poked up out of the ground. Hamish’s cottage was higher in elevation than mine, and I quickly found the incline was steeper than I’d expected it to be, so I was happy I’d worn my hiking boots. The boots weren’t from back home, where cowboy boots were more commonly seen on the streets of Nashville. I’d purchased the boots on a day trip to Edinburgh when I finally made the decision to stay in Scotland for good.
As I crested the steep hill, Hamish’s cottage came into view, and it took my breath away. If I’d been Gretel from Hansel and Gretel, I would have run to this place; it looked just as adorable as the cottage did in that story. Thankfully, there was no witch inside who planned to feed me sweets before throwing me in her stew pot.
The cottage was smaller than mine, but also made out of granite. That wasn’t a surprise. Aberdeen was called the Granite City, and most of the buildings there and in the surrounding area were made of the local stone. The cottage had once been a bothy, a small Scottish cottage or building in the mountains that was left unlocked as a place where travelers could take refuge from the Scottish weather.
Uncle Ian had converted the bothy into Hamish’s cottage when it was clear that Hamish couldn’t make the daily three-mile walk from the village any longer. It had taken Hamish some time to accept the gift, but I thought he now loved living out in the foothills away from the hubbub of village life.
I stood a few feet away from the old building and admired it. The old bothy had one chimney on the back of the building, and a bright-yellow front door. Hamish had continued the yellow theme by surrounding the house with yellow roses and daisies. It was charming and breathtaking. I wasn’t surprised that his place was so well cared for. Hamish took pride in everything he did. He would also take pride in his home.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d decided on the yellow roses because that was the color of the climbing rose in the middle of Duncreigan’s garden. I suspected that he had. Hamish wouldn’t plant a flower by accident. Each seed, bulb, and plant was thoughtfully considered and gently settled into the ground with care.
I stepped up to the front door as dawn was just breaking over the pasture. I knew that beyond the pasture, it was breaking over the sea. Even a mile away from the coast, I felt the stiff breeze coming off the water.
There was no knocker on Hamish’s front door, so I rapped my knuckles in the middle of it.
There was a crash on the inside of the cottage, and I heard Hamish yelp, “Duncan, you be careful with that!” A moment later, the front door flung open.
Hamish blinked at me over his bulbous nose. He had his work trousers on for the day, and he wore brown suspenders over a white button-down. His feet were bare, and Duncan the squirrel perched on his shoulder.
“Miss Fiona, I didn’t expect to see you here. Is everything all right?” His eyes were wide. “Is it the garden?” he asked, alarmed. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” I said soothingly. “As far as I know, the garden is fine. I haven’t visited it yet this morning.”
He frowned. “Then what brings you to my bothy, Miss Fiona? I’ll be at the garden within the hour. You didn’t have to come all this way so early.”
I smiled brightly. “I hadn’t visited your cottage yet. I thought it was time I dropped by. You walk to the garden several times a day. The least I could do is make the short walk to come see you.”
“I—I have meant to invite you over, Miss Fiona. You have been very busy in the garden yourself and opening your shop, and I …” He trailed off.
I wrinkled my nose. I hadn’t done a great job of creating a cover story as to why I’d decided to walk to his bothy so early in the morning. Any hopes of being an international spy fell by the wayside at that moment. “I’m so sorry to intrude, Hamish.” I took another step back. “We can talk when you come to the garden later this morning.”
He gripped the door handle. “Don’t run off, Miss Fiona. You’re welcome here. All of this land and this cottage is yours. You don’t need my permission to come here. You can go wherever you like at Duncreigan.”
I shook my head. “Even so, I should have warned you or let you know that I planned to stop by sometime. I am sorry. We can talk later.” I turned to go.
“Wait! Don’t run off. Why don’t you come inside for a spot of tea? I have just finished my breakfast, or I would offer you some of that too. I can make you scrambled eggs on toast if you like. I have a bite of it every morning.”
I gave a sigh of relief. “Just tea would be lovely. There is no need for you to trouble yourself.”
“It’s no trouble, and tea it is.” He opened the door wide to let me in, and I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. Books, dozens, no hundreds, no thousands of books covered every surface of the room. There were so many in the small room that they ran up every wall. They outlined the fireplace and the windows. So many books. There were paperback books and hardcover books. Some were very old with peeling leather spines, and other were brightly colored new paperbacks. Big books, small books, giant books, and tiny books.
Not only were there books along the walls, but they were in the middle of the room, too. They sat in intricately designed piles that came up to my waist. The only reason I knew the location of the kitchen was because there weren’t any books on the stovetop or in the sink. I stood in the doorway of the cottage and my mouth hung open.
“Let me make the tea, Miss Fiona.” He patted my arm so that I would let him through.
I stumbled to the right and bounced off a stack of books that came up to my elbow, but thankfully the stack didn’t topple to the floor.
Hamish went to the kitchen and put the kettle on. “It shouldn’t take long for the water to heat up. It was already warm when I put it in the kettle.”
<
br /> “Hamish.” It was all I could say.
His typically red cheeks turned an even deeper shade. “This is why I don’t have people over so often. They would not view my books like I do. They see my books as nothing more than sheets of paper bound together, but Miss Fiona, they are much more than that. They are my friends.”
I managed to stop gaping at the room. “How many are here?”
He shook his head. “Don’t know. I’ve never had a reason to count them. As you might guess, it is hard for me to walk by a bookshop and not buy a volume or two.”
As my eyes traveled around the small and cramped space, I realized there was no way Seth or anyone else could be hiding in Hamish’s bothy. There was nowhere to put him.
The cottage was a one-room setup, other than the tiny bathroom in the back corner. I was willing to bet there were books in the bathroom too.
Hamish removed two mugs from the cupboard next to the stove. As he did, I caught sight of a stack of paperback novels in the cupboard next to a handful of glasses and mugs. He closed the cupboard door. “Master Ian knew of my collection, of course, and he never judged me about it. Many times, he would come here to borrow a book. He said it was like having his own public library on Duncreigan. You can borrow a book whenever you like too, Miss Fiona.”
My eyes traveled around the room and over the countless spines. The cottage was like a library, but a disorganized library. A librarian would have had a heart attack at first sight of Hamish’s collection of books.
“Other than the garden, all I have are these books. They bring me comfort on the long and cold Scottish nights.”
“I can see that, and I will certainly want to borrow a volume or two when winter hits,” I said.
He smiled and carried two empty mugs and a basket of tea to the table. He also had a sugar bowl of brown sugar and cream.
There were two chairs at a small round table tucked in the corner. One of the chairs was empty. I assumed that was Hamish’s chair, since it was the one that could actually be sat on.
At the table, there were two place settings side by side. A normally sized one with silverware like what would be found at any home, and a miniature one with a tiny placemat, an even smaller towel, and a hollowed-out acorn that I assumed was used as a cup. I smiled at the setting that was clearly for the squirrel.
The caretaker cleared the other chair of books and set them on another pile in the opposite corner of the room. He pushed the stack of books in the middle of the table to one side, which left me about five square inches for my teacup, but it was all I needed.
The kettle whistled. Hamish bustled over to the kitchenette again and poured the hot water into a plain white teapot. “What kind of tea would you like?” he asked as he picked up the meshed tea ball and was ready to add the tea from one of the square canisters on the table.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” I sat at the table.
“Earl Gray is my favorite, but I usually have that in the afternoon when I need a little more spunk. I like to start the day with Scottish Breakfast tea.”
“That sounds perfect.” I folded my hands in my lap and waited to be served, like my mother had taught me when she had thought Isla and I could use some manners training as children. None of the training had stuck other than the ability to quietly wait for tea.
Humming to himself, Hamish filled the tea ball with leaves. He reminded me of an old woman fussing over her tea set.
Duncan sat at his place at the table as well, as if he was waiting for his own cup of tea. If Hamish had filled the acorn with tea, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.
He set the tea ball into the teapot and closed the lid. “I am sorry I haven’t asked you to visit sooner, Miss Fiona. I suppose I was embarrassed by my home.”
“You never had to worry about me judging you. This is your home. The home that Uncle Ian gave you. You may do with it as you please.”
“But I do not own it, Miss Fiona. You do.”
“In name only,” I said.
He nodded. “Even so, I know that you didn’t march over to my cottage this early in the morning just to see it. There must be something else on your mind.”
“The morning after the storm, you left before my sister or I woke up.”
He nodded. “I did. As soon as the weather cleared, I made my way up here. I wanted the comfort of home after a terrible storm.”
“I understand,” I said. “Did you go to the village at all yesterday?”
“Nay, you know I don’t go to the village unless I absolutely must. Neither Duncan nor I like the big crowds.”
I shook my head. If Hamish didn’t like crowds of people and thought tiny Bellewick had crowds, he would not do well in Nashville, or in Aberdeen, for that matter. It made more and more sense why Uncle Ian had given him this bothy to live out his days at Duncreigan. I was so glad that he had.
“How was your opening of the flower shop? I did want to come …” He trailed off. “I just don’t go to the village much …”
“Hamish, it’s fine. You told me weeks ago that it would be difficult for you to be there. I respect that. I’m actually here to talk to you about the opening.”
“Oh, did something happen?” His thick eyebrows knit together in concern.
“You could say that.” I went on to tell him about Kipling running into the shop and discovering the minister’s body.
“The minister, dead? How awful.”
“Did you know him?” I asked.
“’Course I knew him. I’ve lived in Bellewick all my life. I wasn’t a churchgoer like Master Ian was, but I would go with him to services from time to time. Minister MacCullen was a powerful speaker. I could tell that he touched the people he spoke to with his words.”
I raised my eyebrows. This was another side of the minister that I hadn’t known about. I realized that I hadn’t really known anything about him at all, when it came down to it, except how he felt about Duncreigan and the MacCallister family. Even so, Uncle Ian had faithfully attended St. Thomas’s whenever he was in Scotland. There had to have been something about the minister as a man of God that he liked and respected.
“The congregation will have quite a time replacing him after all these years. He was a fixture in the church.”
It was the second time I had heard the minister being referred to as a fixture.
“How did he die?” Hamish asked.
I held my empty teacup by its delicate handle. “Chief Inspector Craig said that he was murdered.”
Hamish stared at me. “Minister MacCullen was murdered. I can’t believe it. Murder doesn’t happen in our little village.”
I didn’t bother to remind him about the body he and I had found together in the garden the day I arrived at Duncreigan. “Chief Inspector Craig says it’s murder, and I’m a suspect. Again.”
He smacked the top of his table, and my teacup would have bounced off and shattered on the floor if I hadn’t caught it.
“Neil Craig has no right to think such an awful thing about you.” Hamish’s voice shook. “That boy has been trouble since he was young. I have seen no change in him.”
Chief Inspector Craig was in his late thirties, and at six five and over two hundred pounds, I didn’t think anyone would consider him a boy apart from Hamish MacGregor. Hamish and the chief inspector had a bad history. When Craig had been a teenager, he and a friend had broken into my godfather’s garden with the intention of stealing the menhir. Hamish had caught them in the act and never forgiven the attempted theft.
I found myself defending the chief inspector. “If you look at me on paper, I am the best suspect for the crime. The minister had been harassing me from the moment I arrived. The police could argue that he finally pushed me too far, and I killed him. I didn’t, of course, but that’s what they could argue.”
Hamish snorted. “Bollocks!” He pressed his lips together as he picked up the teapot and refilled my cup.
I cupped my hands around the m
ug and soaked the warmth in through my fingertips. “When was the last time you saw Seth?”
Hamish’s bushy eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “My great-nephew? I haven’t seen him for weeks.”
I raised my eyebrows. I could have sworn the hiker I’d seen making his way across Duncreigan on Monday morning was Seth MacGregor, and if he had been there, I’d assumed he was there to see Hamish. Could I have been wrong?
“What is this about?”
“I’ve seen him a couple of times in the village over the last few days, and …” I trailed off. I opted not to mention seeing Seth at Duncreigan now that I was doubting myself, but there had been no doubt that I saw him outside the Climbing Rose the night of the storm or that he had run away from me at the docks.
Hamish poured tea first into my cup and then into his own. “And?”
I took a deep breath. “I think he might be involved in the minister’s death.”
He dropped the teapot.
Chapter Seventeen
I caught the teapot before it hit the floor, but not before hot tea splashed my wrists. I deposited the hot ceramic pot on the table. It teetered back and forth but thankfully stayed upright.
Hamish jumped up from his seat. “Miss Fiona, are you hurt?”
I examined the red spots on my wrists. “I should be all right.”
“Nay, you need to put those under cold water.” He pulled me to my feet and walked me over to the porcelain sink. Turning on the faucet, he shoved my wrists under the stream of cold water.
I shivered from the cold, but it did soothe the burn. “That helps. Thank you, Hamish.”
Hamish let go of my hands and turned off the water. “Seth doesn’t have anything to do with the minster’s death. He doesn’t live in the village anymore.”
“But he was here,” I said. “I saw him.” I didn’t add that he had run away from me when I’d tried to confront him.
“He grew up in the village. There is no rule that says he cannot return.” Hamish returned to the table and started to mop up what little tea had spilled with a paper napkin.
Death and Daisies Page 11
