After his family and Mondo departed, time crawled. An ornate French clock on the mantel ticked by the seconds as Duncan's anger grew. He strained to overhear his girlfriend's conversation with Susanne's nephew.
"What do you say we have a real contest this holiday… " Wally said in a suggestive manner, his voice trailing beneath Duncan's audible range.
That characterless climber was flirting with his girlfriend, his Angela. What was worse, she allowed it. Duncan struggled to pick up more of their conversation while appearing lost in thought.
"This china and silverware are so unusual," the lass said. Angela must have changed the subject on the charlatan.
Duncan caught a glimpse of the tableware. The gold flatware, obviously new, had unique handles. The base of each piece included what looked like a large stirrup. Cobalt blue and gold formed an ikat pattern on the large chargers, usually found only on fabrics. Mallard, purple and white made up a smaller scale ikat design on the dinner plates. Cups and saucers in similar colors coordinated with the other pieces. Duncan remembered Angela had a penchant for unusual table settings.
"It's Hermès," Wally explained, as if everyone owned designer dishes.
"Really? I didn't know they produced china. I'm more of a Chanel girl," Angela said, giggling.
"I noticed," the nephew said, leering at Angela's dress.
After an excruciating hour, Skye and Donald returned. They explained to Walter that his aunt had retired for the evening, distraught over the possible loss of her jewel. Susanne's nephew saw the group out, again guiding Angela with his hand and promising to see her again soon. Duncan couldn't stand to witness the man's paw on his girlfriend's bare back.
Once outside, the special constable and his daughter explained how they'd searched the staff and sent them home without a sign of the missing pendant. Their hostess again refused to send for the police, requesting time to search the house again. In the meanwhile, she asked if Donald and Duncan would consider working on the case, in their spare time.
Alone in the Jaguar with Duncan, Angela kept quiet on the ride back to Taye. The investigator found the drive uncomfortable, to say the least. Once at the inn, he followed her up the stairs and tried to take her key, offering to open the door of her lodgings. She shook her head and opened the room herself. He followed her, closing the small oak slab behind.
"What are you doing, Duncan?" she asked.
Angela's violet eyes flashed with anger, as she fought the urge to slap his presumptuous square jaw.
"I want to talk about tonight. I didn't appreciate you flirting with that playboy," he said, matching her rising irritation.
Angela moved to her nightstand and scribbled something on a sheet of paper, folded it, then sealed the leaf in an envelope provided by the inn. She marched towards Duncan, flinging her arm in his direction, holding the note out.
"Take it. Keep it somewhere safe and don't you dare open it until I say so!" she commanded, now furious.
"Now see here… "
Duncan's voice rose as he took the envelope from Angela. His jealousy could match her rage.
"Get out! You're not my gingerbread husband" Angela yelled, incensed, pointing to the door.
Duncan, exasperated, wanted to grab the lass and shake some sense into her, but thought better of it. He trudged into the hall, where a small crowd consisting of Harold, Angus, and Skye had gathered.
As Angela slammed her door, he heard her say, "You've got a lot to learn, Duncan Dewar!"
In shock, he stared at the group in the corridor. Embarrassed, Skye scurried off down the stairs to the lobby.
"Join us for a pint and a bit of scran, Duncan?" Harold asked. "Mondo was correct. That broth didn't satisfy anyone."
"Run after Skye, Harold. We'll be there shortly," Angus said, shaking his head at Duncan with disgust.
After Harold disappeared down the stairs, Duncan whispered to Angus, "I don't know what just happened. She's flirting with Wally the false wunderkind all night, then yells at me. Says I'm not her gingerbread man or some such thing."
"Like the lass said, Duncan, ye've a lot to learn."
Angus shook his head again. Duncan never considered that spending the holidays with the Dewar clan, trying to impress everyone with her baking skills, and smiling through hints about husbands put extra pressure on the lass.
-6-
The Baking Contest
He avoided Angela the next morning and ran errands for his family. They needed last minute items to aid in the baking process, and he was charged with locating them. His thoughts ran from one extreme to the other as he drove all over the county looking for just the right pan, silver foil, treacle, and a stray biscuit press. Whatever last night's fight was about, he couldn't stand being separated from Angela. After all this time he wasn't about to let anything come between them. He'd made up his mind to make things right… apologize… whatever it took, when he returned to the Blue Bell, his tasks completed.
Before he could open the inn's door, a commotion across the street at the bakery drew his attention. He could see Mondo in the shop, gesticulating wildly. There wasn't a man on earth that could match the chef for hand gestures. Although the person had his back to Duncan, it had to be the chef -- no one else around these parts was that large. The investigator strained to see what was going on and considered stepping in, as Armondo was his family's guest on this holiday. He felt responsible for the acerbic cook. He caught a glimpse of Robert Abernathy, the baker, holding his own with Mondo.
Duncan chuckled and stepped inside the Blue Bell, toting the sack of items requested by his relatives. Just about to enter the lobby, he paused and glanced back at the pub. In a corner, Angela sat with Wally Wallace, enjoying lunch. The cad wore the same jacket as last night. The investigator left, post haste, carrying his shopping bag.
He didn't see Armondo Berluca fleeing the bakery, yelling, a Jack Russell terrier snarling at his heels. Nor did he glimpse Robert Abernathy, bent in two with laughter.
* * * * * *
Donald, noticing the lad's ill humor, asked him to be a judge at the baking contest. He first refused, but then reconsidered. He donned one of his casual kilts and strode to the inn's lobby. It was 23 December and everyone had spent the last two days either in the Blue Bell's kitchen or visiting Tyne to shop. Everyone except Duncan. He stewed in his room, took a long run around the village, and avoided people. No one except the innkeeper paid attention to his foul mood. Now, they'd all have to face him as their judge. They'd be sorry, even if it were only a baking contest and not a court of law.
Duncan had spent some time focusing on the strange circumstances surrounding the missing jewel, when he could keep his mind off Angela and Wally. Was there something special about the piece? There were plenty of items in the manor that were of more value. He'd called in a favor from a private investigator he'd used over the years. He just needed to wait patiently for the results of his inquiry.
A long table, set in the pub, contained trays of baked goods. It was supposed to be a blind judging, but Duncan could pick out the biscuits and treats made by his family and friends. The judges included Donald, Chief Inspector Wallace, two ladies Duncan didn't know and himself. They formed a line parallel to the table and began tasting the goodies.
He'd watched from room nine's window as contestants streamed into the inn with their prized entries. Duncan had an inside scoop on who baked what.
Susanne Wallace had carried a plastic wrapped tray with small, white oblong biscuits, no superfluous decorations there. The investigator bit into the rather ugly looking concoction. His mouth filled with the taste of almond and the unique but pleasing consistency of the treat. He'd like another. He scored Susanne's creation from one to ten, in three categories: taste, appearance, texture. Duncan gave her baked good a score of 22. He spied Donald ranking the effort a 30. He must have watched the contestants enter the inn just as he had.
Next, the investigator sampled a selection of shortbreads. He thought he r
ecognized his mother's recipe, Angus's entry. But he gave the highest score to an orange and chocolate, rustic looking, pie slice-shaped invention.
A tray of miniature plum puddings, each topped with hard sauce and candied fruit met his gaze. The perfect decoration had to be the work of Robert Abernathy. The baker utilized red and green candied cherries to represent holly berries and leaves atop the delicacies. Duncan popped a pudding in his mouth and enjoyed the sublime flavors. These ranked a perfect 30 and could be served at any fine restaurant.
He gave his mum's cracker bars a score of 28, out of fairness to the other contestants. His fellow judges made ooohs and ahhhs after sampling the goodie. He felt the biscuit deserved a 30, but didn't want to be accused of nepotism. Margaret's coconut crust, topped with her special homemade lemon curd, had always been Duncan's perennial favorite.
Moving down the table, he sampled a slice of Old Fashioned Currant Cake. The more he ate, the more he liked this indulgence. He'd watched as the other judges fluttered their lashes and rolled their eyes heavenward with each bite. Buttery, chock full of currants with a slight orange liqueur taste, this might be his favorite thus far… another perfect 30.
Duncan paused to take a cup of tea offered by one of the inn's employees. He gazed around the pub during this break. Filled with villagers and their guests, the room exceeded the occupancy limit set by Scottish Fire and Rescue. He glanced at his fellow judge, John Wallace, who seemed to read his mind. The chief inspector shrugged and gave Duncan a resigned smiled.
The contestants and their friends were not so jolly. The investigator observed the audience. The looks on some faces could be construed as hostile. This is supposed to be a fun event. Apparently, reputations were on the line here.
After several sips of the inn's signature tea, it was back to business. Abigail Neward's fruitcake came next. The dense cake filled with candied fruit and nuts had been soaked in liquor, then wrapped in almond paste. He'd spied her nephew, Jimmy Smythe, walking the book store owner into the Blue Bell earlier. Jimmy lugged the large, heavy cake for his aunt. By its size, it must have weighed one and a half stone. Crude decorations in butter cream frosting added to the cake's festive appearance. Duncan felt sorry for Abigail, having to compete with the more attractive and younger Susanne Wallace for Donald's attentions. He scored her creation another 30. The other judges seemed impressed as well, but he didn't dare peek at innkeeper's score sheet.
The judges next sampled a variety of Bannock cakes. Sally Charmicle had arrived with one of these bread-like creations in tow. Filled with golden and dark raisins, the oat flour cake proved a Christmas favorite. One baker had added an orange glaze atop their submission and Duncan awarded extra points for that.
He had a go at an assortment of tea cakes, each with elaborate icing. These scored high in the appearance category, but he preferred more of an indulgence when it came to holiday baking.
He moved on to his father's entry. Date filling, sandwiched between layers of crumbly oatmeal biscuits, made this one of the investigator's holiday favorites. Most years, his mum made her standard repertoire of goodies for the holidays and included this recipe. To be equitable, he also gave his dad's item a score of 28. He eyed the other judges as they sampled James's entry. Impressed, they nodded at one another before reaching for their score sheets.
An enormous selection of candies and fudges awaited the evaluators. The investigator had no idea how he would get through all of these without a bicarbonate of soda. He pushed on. These confections tasted delicious, although Duncan had had his fill of sweets and wished to abdicate his position. He looked up from the table to see the audience glaring at him. His face must have reflected the discomfort of his tummy. He feigned one of his dazzling smiles and returned to the task at hand.
Reaching the end of the table, he attempted to turn in his score sheet to the master of ceremonies, a man from the village council. The tall, thin fellow with the look of an undertaker shook his head.
"Ye hae not finished," he said in a grave tone as if Duncan committed a crime, pointing his long bony finger towards a nook in the pub.
The investigator felt this fellow should have been a judge. An extra stone or two would suit him well.
There, on a table graced with starched linens, sat an amazing creation. Someone had elevated what must have been Angela's gingerbread house on a pillar so it stood above the gingerbread husbands on trays beneath. She'd built a church topped with icing snow. He never knew she had such an artistic side. Around the kirk, gingerbread trees awaited tasting.
Duncan searched the room for Angela. He wanted to give her a smile, but she was nowhere to be seen. He nibbled on the spice filled entry and ranked it a perfect 30. He took a good look at her skilled effort. Her work impressed. The investigator took a quick bite from each remaining submission, noting their scores. The other judges also marveled at his former assistant's offering. They whispered their astonishment that the maker could complete such a construction in so short a period.
He placed his tabulation in a box pointed out by the contest official and worked his way through the room. The crowd began to approach the tables where they could buy any delicacy, slice of cake, candy, or biscuit, the proceeds benefiting the community.
"Results will be announced on the twenty-seventh," the councilman announced as Duncan left.
He didn't want to speak with any of the contestants or observers, unless, of course, it was Angela. Just as this thought crossed his mind, he ran into the lass in the lobby. He felt his heart thudding in his chest at the sight of her and his breathing quickened.
"Will you let me speak with you, Angela?" he whispered in her ear, grabbing the girl's arm and pulling her close. "I'm sorry," he added, although he wasn't sure for what.
"I'm sorry too, Duncan."
"A good, let's-make-up sorry… or a bad, I'm leaving sorry?" he asked.
Angela smiled, a small laugh escaping her lips. Duncan grasped the lass in a bear hug and held her for several moments, villagers bumping against them in the crowded inn. Everyone melted away and the investigator only acknowledged the girl in his arms, his girl, his Angela.
"Let's get out of here," he said, releasing her at last.
Angela nodded as Duncan grabbed her hand and led her from the Blue Bell. Speeding out of town in his new car, the Scotsman confessed how he'd missed her the last two days. He gave the lass a sidelong glance, admiring her beautiful face and figure.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Gretna Green!" he responded, turning to give the lass one of his dazzling smiles.
It has its effect. Finding his disarming charm hard to resist, Angela laughed out loud at his joke.
"What's so funny? I want to be your gingerbread husband and that's the place to do it!"
"Stop it, Duncan," she said between giggles.
"All right, it's a surprise then," he said with another devastating grin.
He slowed the car as they passed through Tyne. The village was crowded with holiday shoppers. As he drove on towards Killin, he pointed out the magnificent views along the A827.
"That's the loch of Taye," he said.
The body of water reflected the light gray winter sky, carpeted with a thick layer of clouds. A dusting of snow covered the top of a nearby peak. Duncan held Angela's hand, rubbing his thumb between her fingers, as they caught a glimpse of the Dochart River. After a few minutes, he pulled the car to the side of the road where they could view part of the town as well as the falls. Leafless trees mixed with evergreens near the bank. The cold kept tourists away and they had the spot to themselves.
"Let's sit on that rock, over there," he suggested with a nod towards the river.
He leapt the two meters across frigid water to the stone he'd chosen. He reached for Angela's hand just as she jumped, and pulled her to safety. She seemed light as a feather to Duncan. He climbed to the top of an adjoining flat boulder, about 3 meters above the river. Angela found a toe hold while he lifted her the
rest of the way to his side. The couple sat, legs dangling over the edge, enjoying the sound of the rushing stream.
"See that island?" he pointed to what was known as the Inchbuie. "My ancestors are buried there. At least I think they're my ancestors… ancient MacNab warriors, you know the type. Spent their time pillaging rival clans and ambushing their enemies."
Angela focused her gaze on the small island while Duncan concentrated his on her. The lass wore cream jeans tucked into camel boots, a pale blue cardigan and matching herringbone tweed blazer. He now realized she often expressed her artistic nature in her clothing. His hand went to the back of Angela's neck as if it had a mind of its own. His thumb rubbed the kinks from her neck before he pulled the girl to him and gave her a long kiss.
"I have something for you," he said, pulling the small carved mouse from his jacket pocket.
"The one from the market… when did you get it, Duncan?" she asked, reaching for the wooden trinket.
"I went back for it the next day, when I ran all those errands."
"Thank you," Angela said, delighted with his thoughtfulness.
Duncan drew in a sharp breath and tried to relax as he exhaled. A strong scent of pine permeated the air and mixed with Angela's perfume. He wanted to handle this correctly.
"We need to talk about the other night. I don't know what I did to upset you. It wasn't my intention and I am so very sorry I hurt you," he said in a soft tone.
Angela looked from his left eye to his right and back again. She didn't say a word but continued gazing intently at him. He grew uncomfortable after a moment.
"What is it?" Duncan asked, sure the lass had found some heinous growth or bulge in his eye.
"Your eyes turn green when you're intense," she commented.
"What?"
"When you are relaxed, your eyes are brown with green flecks and a dark emerald ring around the iris. When you get intense about something, they turn a deep green," Angela explained. "They're green now. It scares me a little," she added.
Mystery: The Christmas Contest: A Duncan Dewar Romantic Comedy of Mystery & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 5) Page 4
