Death and Daisies

by Amanda Flower

  “I know that,” I said quietly. “But his behavior has been suspicious …”

  “Neil Craig thinks he did this?”

  “As far as I know, Chief Inspector Craig isn’t aware Seth is in the village.”

  “That is good.” He slid into his chair. “Tell me what you believe Seth has done.”

  I sat back down as well. “I don’t know if he has. He just seems to be at the wrong places at the wrong time. Last night, I spoke with the old fishermen who sit at the entrance to the docks. One of them told me he saw Seth near the minister while the minister was arguing with another man.”

  “Who was the other man?” Hamish asked.

  “Remy Kenner,” I said, and watched his face, waiting for a reaction. I wasn’t disappointed.

  Hamish grimaced. “Wretched man. I cannot believe that Seth would be tangled up with him. There must be some sort of mistake.”

  I wasn’t so sure. If what everyone had told me was true and Remy Kenner was tangled up in just about every kind of crime, it stood to reason that Seth might know him because of his gambling problem.

  “I doubt you will meet anyone who cares for Remy, including his own wife.” Hamish sighed, looking ten years older than he had a moment ago.

  “Do you know his wife?”

  “I know Claudia like you know everyone in a small village. I don’t think I have ever spoken to her any more than to say hello.”

  Duncan jumped back on the table. He had fled when the teapot fell. Hamish stroked the squirrel’s head.

  “Did you know that Seth was in the village or planning to come here?”

  Hamish removed his hand from the squirrel’s head, and Duncan gave Hamish’s hand an irritated swipe with his tiny paw. Hamish resumed petting the small animal. “Nay.”

  “Has he tried to contact you at all?”

  He clenched his jaw for the briefest of moments. “Nay, he hasn’t.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I’m sorry, Hamish. I know it’s difficult for you to talk about Seth.”

  “The boy means well,” Hamish said, barely above a whisper. “He does.” He dropped his hand from the squirrel’s head a second time and stared at the tabletop. “If he comes to the village, I do not expect to hear from him. He is a grown man. He is too busy to come and see his great-uncle. He doesn’t owe me a visit.”

  “But you were helping put him through medical school,” I said.

  “That was a gift. There was no obligation that he had to come see me, and I did it more for his grandfather, my brother, to fulfill the promise I made to him. I have told you this.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  I stood up from the table. “Can you think of anyone who would want to kill the minister?”

  Hamish seemed to take my abrupt change of subject in stride. “The minister was not well liked, and he did not care for the MacCallister family or for the garden. I’m sorry that he’s dead, but I am not sorry that I won’t have to see him again. I would think there were many in the village who didn’t care for him. He was a strict man, but I don’t know who disliked him so much that they would do such a terrible thing.”

  “And Seth? Did he have a reason?”

  Hamish dropped his eyes to the table again.

  “Hamish,” I said in a pleading voice. “The police will eventually find out whatever you don’t want me to know about Seth and Minister MacCullen. Don’t you think it would be better if you just come out with it?”

  “Seth wouldn’t hurt anyone. It should not matter what his past with the minister is.”

  I thought about this for a moment. Did I think Seth could murder someone? With the right motivation, yes, I did. He had said as much to me about a land developer who had threatened his environmental causes in May. But I could not say this to Hamish. “If I know, it will be easier for me to help him when the chief inspector finds out. Because trust me, he will.”

  “You can’t tell the chief inspector this. It would shine a poor light on Seth.”

  I bit my lip. I was torn. I should tell Craig, because not telling him could impede the investigation, and I didn’t trust Seth. He had run away from me. Why would he run away from me? Was he feeling guilty about something? He was a known liar, as he had lied to Hamish repeatedly about his gambling problem and going to medical school when he had dropped out. Hamish was still desperately holding on to that lie because he had given Seth so much money and supported him since Hamish’s brother died.

  I had never heard the story of what had happened to Seth’s parents, but I knew Hamish’s brother had raised Seth and had made Hamish promise he would look after Seth after he died. Hamish had taken the promise to heart, perhaps too much.

  “Tell me. I won’t tell Chief Inspector Craig,” I said, thinking it would be better if at least I knew Seth’s history with the minister, even if Craig did not. If Craig ever learned that I had withheld information from him about the investigation, he would never agree with this rationale.

  Hamish nodded as if he had come to some sort of decision. “Many years ago, when Seth was applying to university, he wanted to go to school at St. Andrews very badly. St. Andrews was Minister MacCullen’s alma mater. He went there for university and seminary after that. My brother, who was very active in the parish, asked the minister to write a recommendation letter to the university on Seth’s behalf. He thought it was the best way to give his grandson a chance of being accepted.”

  I didn’t like where this story was going. “What happened?”

  “The minister agreed to write a letter, and he did. He mailed it directly to the university. Neither my brother nor Seth read the letter before it was sent.”

  I nodded. This was not an uncommon practice with college recommendation letters.

  “When my nephew went to the university for a visitation day,” Hamish went on, “he was enthralled with the place. He went through all the day’s activities, believing he would attend there at the start of the fall term. Sadly, at the end of the day he was told that he needn’t finish his application because he would not be accepted.”

  “Because of the letter,” I said.

  He nodded. “The minister wrote a letter, but it was not a recommendation. It was the complete opposite. He ruined my great-nephew’s chances of ever getting into the university. The school officials didn’t even tell him that he wasn’t accepted to the university until the very end of the day because somehow there had been a mix-up with his paperwork. They didn’t know he was visiting the university on that day.” Hamish took a shuddering breath. “My brother was so heartbroken when he heard that he left the church. He said he couldn’t look at that man any longer on Sunday mornings knowing what he had done to Seth. The incident caused my brother great stress, and he already had a weak heart to begin with.”

  I really didn’t like where this story was going.

  Hamish stared me in the eye. “One night, not long after this, he had a heart attack. He died because of it, Miss Fiona. He thought he had ruined Seth’s future by making the request to Minister MacCullen, and his heart could not handle the burden. Seth was the one who found him.”

  I shivered. “You can’t know that was the reason he had the heart attack.”

  “I do know. I was with him when he died. He asked me to help Seth, and I have.” Tears gathered in his eyes.

  “How long ago did all of this happen?” I asked.

  “Ten years ago. Seth was only eighteen at the time. He and his grandfather were close. I don’t think he ever recovered from my brother’s death, and he blamed the minister for it.”

  “And now the minister is dead …” I whispered. “But surely Seth would not have waited an entire decade before he did something. If he wanted to hurt the minister, why wait so long?”

  “The police won’t care about the time that’s gone by, Miss Fiona. You can’t tell them this.”

  “Hamish, Chief Inspector Craig is a smart man. He will find out. Someone in the village is bound to remember Seth’s history with the minis
ter. Someone will make the connection and tell Craig.” I took a breath. “And you must realize that your brother’s death, as loosely related to the minister as it may be, makes you just as likely a suspect as Seth because you and your brother were so close.”

  He stared at the table again. “I suppose it does. Which is why, Miss Fiona, you must find out what really happened. I do not fear for myself, but you have to protect Seth. If the boy has done something wrong, you are the only one who can help him to set it right.” He took a breath. “If he is back in the village, it must be for a reason, and I don’t know what the reason could be if he didn’t want me to know he was here. My only guess would be he is up to something that I would not approve of. That is worrisome, Miss Fiona, very worrisome.”

  “I don’t think Chief Inspector Craig wants me to get involved in a murder investigation again. It would be wiser to stay out of it.”

  “You can’t, lass. I need your help. I would do it myself, but …” He looked around his cottage. “The only place I go these day is here and the garden.” He appeared shaken at the very idea of going to the village.

  I remembered how upset Hamish had been when I had first moved to Scotland and unfortunately discovered a dead body in my godfather’s garden. Now I wondered if he had been more upset because so many people had descended on Duncreigan. Maybe it had more to do with that and less to do with the actual murder.

  As if he could read my mind, Hamish said, “I’m not one for crowds, Miss Fiona. I’d much rather be here in my own home surrounded by my books or alone working in the garden at Duncreigan. I would not be happy at the docks.”

  I stood up. “It’s all right, Hamish. I can go alone, and I promise that I will find Seth and figure out what’s going on. Craig might not like my involvement, but I will do it for your sake.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Fiona. I don’t know how I will repay you.”

  “Hamish, you take care of my godfather’s beloved garden. You don’t need to repay me at all. We’re friends, and this is what friendship is.” I walked to the door.

  Tears gathered in the old man’s eyes, and he said in a low voice, “I have not done right by my brother. He would not be pleased with the state Seth is in now. That is my fault.”

  “No, Hamish,” I said, shaking my head. “Seth is a grown man and should take responsibility for his own problems. Maybe the minister was cruel in what he did, but Seth still landed on his feet. He got into medical school at the University of Aberdeen.”

  His face fell. “But I don’t know if he is still going to that school, Miss Fiona.”

  I placed my hand on the handle to the tiny cottage’s door, but I turned back to Hamish before opening it. “Hamish, do you think Seth could have killed the minister if he was angry enough over what happen ten years ago? If he blames the minister for his grandfather’s death?”

  “Miss Fiona, I don’t feel like I know my grandnephew well enough anymore to be able to answer that. I don’t know what he is capable of.” A tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was still early when I left Hamish’s bothy. The sun was just breaking through the clouds. Isla would be sleeping for at least another hour, so I saw no reason to go straight back to the cottage. Instead, I followed the path to the garden from Hamish’s home, which went right by my cottage. Ivanhoe stood in the front window. He pressed his two front paws flat against the glass pane and showed me his belly. Even though I couldn’t hear him, he meowed, baring his teeth.

  I had been in such a rush to leave that morning to talk to Hamish that I hadn’t fed the cat, and it appeared that Ivanhoe was staging a protest because of my oversight. I waved to the Scottish Fold as I hurried by, and he arched his back and hissed. There would be payback when I returned to the cottage. Even so, I wanted to reach the garden before Hamish arrived. There was something that I had to do, and it would be best if I were alone when it happened.

  The topography sloped down as I neared the garden. As always, the ivy-covered walls came into view first. The ivy’s waxy green leaves and thin tangled vines crossed every which way over the stone surface. It was good to see the garden wall flourishing. When I’d first arrived at Duncreigan two months ago, the ivy and everything in the garden except the climbing rose that wrapped around the menhir had been dead. What I hadn’t known at the time was that the garden had died when my godfather, the Keeper of the Garden, died. The garden would not bloom again until the new Keeper, me, arrived at Duncreigan. When Baird had bargained with the sea, he had tied the Keeper closely to the garden. Not for the first time, I wished that my godfather had left me more instructions as to how to control and use the magical gift he had left me.

  I was still getting used to my magical tie to the garden, but slowly, as I had watched the flowers and other plants flourish under my care, I had begun to believe. Hamish might physically take care of the plants by watering, pruning, and weeding with my help, but I was the one with the mystical connection to the garden.

  I removed the skeleton key from my jacket pocket. Pushing the ivy aside with my left hand, I fitted the key into the lock with my right hand and turned my wrist.

  The heavy curved wooden door opened inward, and I fought my way through the tangled vines and through the doorway.

  I blinked on the other side of the wall. Now that the sun was up, its light reflected off every petal and every leaf in the garden.

  Bright white and pink peonies and roses of every shade, from almost-black purple to the purest white, glistened. I made a mental note to cut some of the peonies while they were still at their peak. They would sell well in the shop, I thought.

  Lavender and coleus flourished in large bunches, and butterfly bushes were adorned with orange, teal, and pale-yellow butterflies and round bumblebees with their hairy legs covered in pollen.

  As much as I wanted to wander around the garden to prune and weed and inhale the sweet scent of every flower, I knew I didn’t have time. If I wanted to do what I had come there to do, I had to do it before Hamish arrived.

  Hamish knew I was connected to the garden. He knew that the garden would not bloom without a living Keeper. What he didn’t know was how physically connected to the garden I was. He didn’t know that if I touched the menhir, the action could lead to visions. Uncle Ian had told me about the visions in a letter, but it wasn’t until I had experienced them myself that I truly believed it.

  Only two people knew about my connection to the standing stone in this way: my sister and Chief Inspector Craig. My sister because she had read the letter that Uncle Ian left me, and the chief inspector because he had witnessed my connection with the stone firsthand. He had been in the garden when I touched the stone and received a vision. After that incident, neither he nor I had ever mentioned it again, but I knew it wasn’t something Craig would soon forget.

  I took a deep breath and walked beyond the willow tree with its delicate leaves and around the hedgerow. When I came around the large bush, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the fox, my godfather, on the other side.

  The red fox sat beside the menhir as if he had been waiting for me for quite some time. I nodded at him, and before I could change my mind, I placed my hand between the rose’s thorns on the worn rock.

  I closed my eyes and waited. Nothing happened. I frowned and opened my eyes. Perhaps what had happened before when I’d touched the stone had been a fluke or tricks of my mind. I began to pull my hand away from the stone, but before I could, I was transported outside the garden.

  The rain pelted my back and I was wet and cold. It was dark, somewhere between night and day. I lay on my stomach in the mud. Painfully, I reached my hand over my head and my knuckles scraped against rough stone.

  “There you are. Have you decided to choose your own grave? That was thoughtful of you.” The voice came from above me, but I could not distinguish if it was male or female. I wanted desperately to turn onto my back so I could see who was speaking. I tried to roll o
ver, but pain shot through my right side. I wondered how I had gotten that deep bruise. What had I been doing to get where I was now? And more importantly, how did I get out of it?

  “I would prefer if you not move. It will make this much easier for both of us.”

  I felt the sharp pressure of a knee in my back. Fear coursed through my body, and even though I didn’t know what exactly was happening in the vision, I knew I had good reason to be afraid. A very good reason.

  Hands, strong hands, were around my throat. They were squeezing tighter and tighter. I gasped for air.

  I flew back from the standing stone and landed on my butt just short of the hedgerow. My hand flew to my throat. It wasn’t tender. I touched my side and didn’t find a bruise. Breath whooshed in and out of my lungs. I was fine … for the moment.

  The fox stared at me, and I stared back at him, panting. Tears sprang to my eyes as the memory of the knee on my back and the hands around my throat rushed back. Was this going to happen to me?

  The vision before this one had been a glimpse into the future. Everything in that vision had come to pass. Did that mean that someone was going to try to strangle me in the mud and rain? I would do just about anything to avoid that.

  The final words from my godfather’s rules came to mind. You will see things that you may not want to see.

  The red fox walked over to me and placed a black paw on my knee. He stared at me with bright blue eyes. My gasping breath began to calm and my thoughts to clear. If the vision was a glimpse of the future, that meant it was still to come, and just maybe I could change it.

  Tentatively, I reached my hand out to the fox and scratched him between the ears. He closed his eyes, much like Ivanhoe did when I scratched him in the same spot. Then he backed away, one step at a time. I struggled to my feet. My legs were still a little wobbly from being thrown back from the stone.

  Standing next to the stone, the fox cocked his head.

  I brushed leaves and grass off the back of my jeans. For the moment, I would put the vision behind me. “Thank you,” I murmured to the fox.