Allegra Fairweather: Paranormal Investigator

by Janni Nell

  When I opened the door, Douglas stared at my towel-wrapped body in surprise. “Och. Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning.

  Ignoring his complimentary gaze, I asked, “What’s up?”

  “Lady Justina’s here.”

  “Give me a minute to dress,” I said, “and I’ll come down.”

  “I think it’s better if I send her up.”

  “Okay. Whatever.”

  “Allegra, she doesn’t look good.” Before I could ask what he meant, he hurried away.

  I shut the door. Wondering whether Sir Alastair had beaten her up, I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater. She arrived a moment later. I couldn’t see any evidence of a beating but she was even paler than usual. Her hair had lost some of its luster. Her habitually sad face seemed to have sunk in upon itself.

  Instinctively I reached out a hand to support her. “Come in. Sit down.”

  She shook her head. “This won’t take long.” Pressing her hands nervously together, she murmured, “You must stop looking for my skin.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t want you to find my skin.”

  “Oh please, you don’t seriously expect me to believe that.” Then comprehension dawned. “Sir Alastair put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Well it’s not going to work. I won’t stop until I find your skin. You can tell Sir Alastair to get—”

  “No.” She clutched my arm. “You don’t understand. Sir Alastair will do terrible things.”

  “Has he threatened you?” Stupid question. “Whatever he’s threatened, I promise I can protect you.”

  “You can’t,” she said. “If my skin is found—if I leave Sir Alastair—he’s going to poison the loch. He’ll kill my people.”

  It was understandable that Justina would focus on the fate of her people, but she was looking at the small picture. If Sir Alastair poisoned the loch, all the marine life would die. It would rob the local fishermen of their livelihood. It would be an economic as well as an environmental disaster.

  I wanted to believe Sir Alastair would never carry through such a threat, but from what I’d seen, I knew he was capable of anything. What was even worse, he was smart enough to get away with it.

  Justina said, “Douglas told me he planned to ask his people to look for my skin. Please thank them. I’m grateful.”

  Drawing myself up to my full height—I suspect I even reached six one—I looked down at Justina.

  “Sir Alastair won’t get away with this. I’m going up to Maitland House to talk to him.”

  “He’s not at home,” she said. “He’s downstairs in his car.”

  “He drove you here?”

  She nodded. “He wanted to make sure I spoke to you. Now I’ve done what he asked I must go.”

  “Not before I give him a piece of my mind.”

  “Please, Allegra. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  She tried to hold me back as I raced downstairs. “Allegra, don’t act in anger.”

  I shook off her hands. Nothing would stop me giving Sir Alastair a piece of my mind. But, as I stormed through Mac’s, her words echoed in my mind and I realized she was right. This must be handled with a cool head. I fought to calm myself as I stepped out into the freezing night.

  The Rolls Royce was double-parked outside Mac’s. I strode up to the driver’s side and signaled for him to wind down the window. Immediately the glass descended.

  “Good evening, Allegra,” he said. Then he neatly drew first blood. “How’re your mother and The Senator?”

  “Very well thank you,” I said, determined to be calm. “Now…”

  “Cold night isn’t it?” he said conversationally. “Even for us locals.”

  I lost patience. “Cut the small talk. I understand you’ve threatened Justina.”

  “Not at all. I’ve simply explained my theory of action and consequences to her.”

  Struggling to control my temper, I took a deep breath. I couldn’t afford to let his slimy smooth tone rattle me. Trying a different tack, I asked, “Do you love Lady Justina?”

  “Of course I love her. That’s why I married her.”

  That’s what I hoped he’d say. I pressed home my advantage. “Do you love her enough to let her go?”

  He laughed. “What is that? Psychology 101? No wait. It’s one of those sayings they put on t-shirts. If you love something let it go…” Clearly he had no heart.

  “You piece of shit,” I said.

  He looked down his long nose at me, which isn’t easy when you’re sitting down, “You Americans are so blunt. Perhaps if you’re here long enough I’ll be able to teach you some manners.”

  He could kiss my ass. “If you poison the loch, you’ll regret it.” I was beginning to sound like a movie script—the kind that didn’t make it to the Oscars.

  “What will you do?” asked Sir Alastair, matching my B-movie dialogue. “Kill me?”

  “Worse,” I said, thinking of my friend Wanda. “I’ll have a curse put on you.” Okay, Wanda didn’t really do curses. She was the kind of witch who mixed Love Spells. Her success rate wasn’t great, but if the spells didn’t work on the man of your dreams they could always be used as perfume. Fortunately Sir Alastair didn’t know that.

  He laughed. Okay maybe he did know. Maybe Wanda’s reputation had crossed the Atlantic.

  “I’m not kidding,” I said. “You leave the loch alone.” I leaned heavily on his precious car.

  His laughter died. Grabbing my sweater, he pulled me down until our faces were inches apart. “I’m not kidding either. Stop searching for Justina’s skin. She’s mine now. She’s not going back to the loch.”

  He turned to his “wife.” She had been standing behind me as though for protection, but I could no longer protect her.

  “Get in,” he barked. As she hurried around to the passenger door, he fixed me with a cold stare. If his dignity had allowed him, he’d have given me the finger.

  I turned my back on him and went into Mac’s. He might have thought he’d got the better of me but he’d soon learn he was mistaken. I was going to find Lady Justina’s skin. Then I’d return her to the loch. And stop him poisoning it. Piece of cake.

  Mac’s was full to bursting. Douglas had done a great job rallying the village. It didn’t hurt his business that they were all buying drinks, but despite that he looked worried. He beckoned me over.

  “What did Sir Alastair want?”

  I told him.

  “What’re we going to do?” he whispered. “If I organize a search for the skin, Sir Alastair will…”

  “I know. We can’t risk a full scale search until we work out a way to stop him poisoning the loch. You’ll have to tell them the meeting’s been cancelled.”

  He sighed heavily. “Okay.” Climbing onto a chair he addressed the crowd. “I’m sorry to have brought you out tonight. When I called this meeting I—we—had some news.”

  “About the deaths?” It was Hamish, the man who had found the bodies. “Do you know who’s responsible?”

  Douglas glanced at me. Vigorously I shook my head. Scarlett had been right. If we told the villagers who was responsible for the death of McEwen, they might take revenge on the selkies. I didn’t want the loch turned into a killing field.

  Quickly I climbed onto the chair beside Douglas. “I’m afraid I owe you all an apology,” I said. “I thought I knew who was responsible, but I was mistaken.”

  Someone called out, “Not much of a paranormal investigator, are you?”

  Ignoring the voice, I continued, “I’m so sorry you were brought out in this cold weather.”

  “This isn’t cold,” called another voice. I glanced down. Looking up at me was the ruddy, weathered face of a fisherman. I think his name was John. “Stay here a few more months and you’ll feel real cold.”

  Another man called out. “We don’t want her here for
a few more months!” I looked over the heads of the crowd. He was standing at the back of the room. He wore a hat pulled low. His spectacles glinted eerily in the dim light. “Go home, yank! We can solve our own crimes.”

  A female voice seconded his opinion. “Go home, Allegra Fairweather. We were doing fine before you came.”

  The man with the glinting spectacles pointed at me. “McEwen and Malcolm were alive when she arrived.”

  I could feel every eye in the room burning into me. Did they really believe I had something to do with the deaths? A shiver ran through me. I can handle myself in a one-on-one fight, but a whole room against me? Forget it.

  “McEwen and Malcolm were my mates,” wailed Stuart. “Somebody has to pay for their deaths.”

  This was beginning to sound like a lynching. I fought back a wave of panic. The worst thing I could do was show fear.

  “Listen, everyone,” I said, raising my voice to be heard. “I believe I can solve these crimes if you give me a little more time.” It wasn’t the most eloquent speech I’ve ever made but under the circumstances it was the best I could do.

  Sadly, it wasn’t good enough. The room began to chant, “Go home! Go home!”

  I stood my ground. Although they seemed to want me to leave, I sensed that any attempt to do so would result in them rushing me. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. Where was Casper? I swept my eyes over the crowd. He wasn’t among them. I hoped for his sake he wasn’t off guarding someone else. If he was, I’d kill him.

  On the chair beside me Douglas had turned a shade paler. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered to me.

  I wasn’t sure I believed him. An angry grumble ricocheted around the room. Frowning faces edged closer, crowding me. My heartbeat ramped up a notch. Sweat gathered in my armpits. I squared my shoulders pretending a confidence I didn’t feel, but I was smart enough to remain silent, letting Douglas deal with his fellow villagers.

  He held up his hands for silence. “You’ve been put to a lot of trouble tonight.” It wasn’t really true, all they’d had to do was walk from their homes to the pub, but Douglas had their measure. “You’re good people. Reasonable people. Not the kind to resort to violence. We’re sorry this meeting hasn’t been as productive as we’d hoped, but—”

  The man with glinting spectacles snorted, “No amount of apologizing will bring back McEwen and Malcolm.”

  Leaning toward Douglas, I lowered my voice. “Who is that man?”

  “I don’t recognize him. He’s not from the village.”

  “Then what’s he doing here?”

  “Stirring up trouble,” said Douglas.

  Nobody stirs up trouble for fun. There is always an agenda, always a motive. You just have to find out what it is. Then you can win.

  Glinting Spectacles said, “Someone must pay for the deaths of two good men.”

  I whispered to Douglas, “Keep him talking.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Find out who he is.” I climbed down off the chair. Keeping my head low, I moved toward the door that led to the street.

  Apparently my head wasn’t low enough. Someone near the door said, “Where’s she going?”

  I froze. Everyone turned to look at me. The crowd moved closer, jostling.

  Someone squeezed my arm, pinching the skin. “You’re not running out on us, are you?”

  Douglas’s voice rang out over the crowd. “She’s not going anywhere. Are you, Allegra?”

  “No,” I replied, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “I’m staying right here.”

  “You’ll answer to me if you leave,” Douglas said sternly.

  It was a bluff, but the crowd bought it. They relaxed.

  Douglas drew their attention away from me by offering a round of free drinks.

  Glinting Spectacles said something in reply but I didn’t hear it. I was too busy slipping out the door.

  Once in the street I made my way to the back of Mac’s. I went in through the kitchen door and crept back into the bar, edging my way around the room until I neared Glinting Spectacles.

  He was a tall man in faded jeans and an old plaid jacket. Something about his rigid stance didn’t fit with either the clothes or his tousled hair. He looked as though he’d be more comfortable in a tux. I imagined him dressed that way with neatly combed hair. Bingo!

  It was Phillips, the butler from Maitland House.

  As I inched closer, he called out to the room at large. “Someone must pay for the murder of our friends! They were alive when Allegra Fairweather came here. Now they are dead. She must be held accountable.”

  There was no logic to his words, but an enraged crowd doesn’t think logically. They act. Any half decent puppeteer can control them.

  Phillips caught sight of me.

  “There she is!” he said. “Restrain her and question her!”

  We both knew that this crowd would bash first and ask questions later.

  I squared my shoulders and met his eyes. He thought he was safe under his disguise but he was wrong.

  My voice rang out over the crowd. “You called McEwen and Malcolm friends.”

  “Our friends,” he said, “not yours.”

  “McEwen was no friend of yours,” I said. “Everyone knows how much he hated you, Phillips.”

  His mouth fell open.

  Stuart MacDuff said, “Phillips from Maitland House?”

  “Yep.”

  Stuart started to say something about how badly Phillips had treated McEwen, but Phillips didn’t wait to hear it. Shoving people aside, he headed for the kitchen door. He pushed it open and ran.

  The crowd surged after him. I flattened myself against the wall and let them go.

  When the pub had emptied, I flopped onto a barstool. Douglas set a double scotch in front of me. I downed it in one gulp.

  “That was close,” he said, refilling our glasses.

  I was beginning to relax when the villagers started filtering back into the pub.

  John the fisherman gave me a cold stare and a wide berth. He wasn’t the only one. I was beginning to feel like a pariah when Mrs. Ferguson tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Would you walk me home?” she asked. “I get a bit scared wandering around on my own at night.”

  Oh really? This was a woman who was not afraid, after the discovery of two bodies, to take a stroll along the loch alone. I stared at her in disbelief. Her eyes were kind. I realized she was trying to get me out of the pub before the villagers turned on me.

  Taking her arm, I said, “Let’s go.”

  I was so focused on getting out of the pub in one piece that I forgot my jacket. Two steps up the street I started shivering.

  Mrs. Ferguson patted my hand. “Ye can warm yeself at my place. The brownies will have the fire lit.”

  Wishing I could take some brownies back across the Atlantic with me, I matched my pace to Mrs. Ferguson’s. She was spry for her age, but she was so much shorter than me that even if we’d been the same age her strides wouldn’t have kept up with mine.

  “I hope ye’ll forgive the villagers. They dinnae have anything against ye. But, after the deaths of McEwen and Malcolm, they’re frightened. Ye became a magnet for that fear.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve been in worse situations.”

  She gave a short laugh. “I’m sure ye have. I’ll bet ye lead an exciting life.”

  “If you call facing danger and death exciting.”

  “At least ye know ye’re alive. I’ve felt dead for years. Ever since Edwin passed on.”

  “But not anymore,” I said remembering the sparkle in her eyes when she was on her way to visit Dr. Williamson.

  “I think I’ve found a reason to live.” Her voice sounded as though she was smiling.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Here we are,” said Mrs. Ferguson, stepping onto the path that led to her front door. Inside I could see the flickering light of a freshly lit fire.

  “I wonder how much it would cost
to convince those brownies to come home with me.”

  She laughed. “Now, lassie, ye know they dinnae work for money.”

  “I guess there really are things money can’t buy.”

  She nodded and unlocked her front door. “Ye know, I remember a time when I could leave my door unlocked and return home to find everything just as I’d left it. It’s sad how things have changed, but I suppose we must adapt to them. Come in. Come in. Sit ye near the fire. Ye shouldn’t have come out without a jacket.”

  I sank into one of her armchairs and stretched my feet toward the fire.

  “I think,” she said, “we need a wee dram to fortify us after that scene in Mac’s.” She poured two shots of whiskey and handed one to me.

  “It nearly got ugly.” I sipped the whiskey.

  She gave a mischievous grin. “Do ye think Phillips ran all the way home?”

  “I hope so.” We both laughed.

  She held her hands out to the fire and asked, “How’s that nice young laddie, Casper?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Ye want to hang on to him. He’s one in a million.”

  “He is that.” Then, trying to steer the conversation away from Casper and, quite frankly, glad to give her a taste of her own medicine, I said, “Tell me about your new man.”

  Her blush made her look twenty years younger. “Och, Dr. Williamson and I are just good friends.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I teased.

  “It’s true. We’ve never even kissed. I’m not sure he likes me in that way. I’m a lot older than he is.” She toyed with her glass. “What do ye think of him, Allegra? Be honest.”

  “He seems nice,” I said, “although I don’t know him well.”

  She immediately offered to remedy that by inviting us both to dinner. That’s when we heard the banshee.

  Mrs. Ferguson dropped her glass. Some of the whiskey splashed on the fire. Flames swelled, sending sparks up the chimney.

  Outside, the banshee screamed. It sounded as though it was circling the house. Prowling. As its scream reached a crescendo, the house trembled on its foundations. Mrs. Ferguson covered her ears and I wrapped my arms around her. I’m sure we were both thinking the same thing—that the banshee had come for her.

  Abruptly the noise stopped. We let out a collective sigh of relief. When I looked at Mrs. Ferguson again, she was clutching her chest.