Died in the Wool

by Melinda Mullet

  Burley nodded miserably. “When I still said no, they told me to resign or the pictures would become public.”

  “So you resigned.”

  Burley nodded. “I didn’t want that to be the last thing my wife knew in this life. The whole thing was just horrid.”

  “As it was meant to be, but you may yet see justice done. Did you get the feeling that Ross was helping Urquhart willingly, or was he being coerced?”

  “Urquhart was a bully. Always had been. Ross didn’t have the spine to stand up to him on this or anything, but it doesn’t excuse him.”

  “No. No, it doesn’t.”

  “If push comes to shove, would you be willing to tell the police about this?”

  Burley was silent.

  “To help Sheila?”

  “If it would help Sheila, maybe I would.”

  I left Burley sitting in the middle of his dormant crops, looking lost and alone. Urquhart was wreaking havoc on people’s lives and getting away with it. Forcing the shelter to move, drugging and blackmailing a fellow board member, and doing God knows what to Sheila. Urquhart was up to his neck in this business. I checked my phone for what seemed like the hundredth time. Still nothing from Michaelson. It was twenty minutes across town to Urquhart’s office. That gave me twenty minutes to come up with a damn good plan for getting in to see him face-to-face.

  * * *

  —

  I’d rather corner Urquhart on my turf than his, but as the man himself said, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Urquhart’s firm, Manchester, Link, and Dunn, was located in Scott’s Close near the Court of Session. On the way across town I’d decided that bluffing my way in wasn’t going to be easy, but I’d have to try. I called the firm’s main number and claimed to have some papers from the Templeton Trust that required Urquhart’s signature. The receptionist indicated that he was in and I could drop the documents at her desk. That would get me into the building. I’d have to improvise from there.

  I signed in under a false name, strode through the glass lobby, and rode up in the elevator as if I had every right to be there. Luckily no one challenged me. As I approached the imposing mahogany double doors of Manchester, Link, and Dunn, the right panel swung open and I just managed to stop myself in time to avoid running into a young woman with a black headset who was rushing out the door.

  She paused and looked me up and down.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.” I raised an envelope stuffed with three pages of newspaper from the backseat of my car. “I called. I have these documents for Richard Urquhart to sign.”

  “Right, I’ll just”—the girl put out a hand, then hesitated, shifting her feet—“I was trying to make a quick run to the loo while things were quiet,” she confessed. “Would you mind leaving the envelope on the desk in there? I’ll run them along as soon as I get back.”

  “Not at all.” I smiled. “Off you go.”

  She scooted past me and I slipped into the empty waiting room. So far the gods of mischief were with me. I abandoned the envelope on the front desk next to a rack used for leaving white, handwritten paper phone messages for the various partners. A quaintly old-fashioned touch that should mean that there was a carbon message pad somewhere on the receptionist’s desk. I slipped behind the shelf that divided the desk from the seating area and found a spiral pad next to the phone, quickly flipping back to the message carbons from Wednesday. There it was. To RU, from Sheila Kinkaid Re: Manorcare. Not Campbell Street, but Manorcare. Jenny had told Sheila, and by leaving a specific message, Sheila had let Urquhart know she knew. The hallway off to my right was deserted and I made an impromptu decision to slip along the thickly carpeted corridor and search for Urquhart’s office myself.

  I found it at the far end of the hall, in the corner. He caught sight of me and scowled. “Did we have an appointment?”

  “Funny, that’s the same question your receptionist asked and the answer’s still no. But this won’t take a minute. I just wanted to have a quick chat about the Campbell Street property,” I bluffed. “My building inspector came out and took a good look at the place, and I must say he found some very interesting things.” He hadn’t yet, but I was sure he would.

  “I never said the Campbell Street property didn’t need repairs.” Urquhart cut me off. “But it’s nothing that can’t be taken care of.” He rose and moved out from behind his desk.

  “Those repairs, even if they can be done, will take some time. Some considerable time,” I insisted. “They certainly won’t be finished by the end of the month.”

  Urquhart moved closer, attempting to intimidate me by moving into my personal space. “Then you’ll have to get a move on, Ms. Logan, because the exit date is nonnegotiable.”

  “On your part, or on the part of Manorcare,” I shot back.

  Urquhart gave me an ominous look. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to.”

  “Just a friend who was offered a job at the new Edinburgh Manorcare starting next month. Manorcare seems to be under the impression that they’re all ready to move in to the Rest. In fact, they seemed quite anxious,” I pressed, standing my ground. “Am I right in thinking that you’re being given a significant financial incentive to ensure that happens?”

  Urquhart’s face turned a lurid shade of puce. “Get out of my office, Ms. Logan,” he snarled, reaching over and pushing a button on his desk.

  I could tell I’d hit a nerve, but instead of backing off I chose to press my advantage. “Would your deal go up in smoke if our friends at the Rest decided to sue? Is that what Sheila threatened you with?”

  “I don’t know what you are trying to suggest, but I’ll have you for slander if you try to repeat it again.”

  “Truth is a defense, Mr. Urquhart. You know that better than anyone. As you pointed out, it would be a very complex and expensive litigation. And according to my solicitor’s interpretation of the contract between you and the shelter, this is litigation you’d have to pay for if you failed to give sufficient notice of your intent to negotiate a new lease.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I don’t think it is.”

  Urquhart returned to the other side of his desk, visibly trying to calm the anger that radiated from him. “I mentioned the move to Duncan Ross more than a month ago,” he insisted. “That’s more than sufficient notice.”

  I leaned forward across the desk, moving into his space. “The funny thing is that Ross failed to mention the relocation to anyone else,” I observed. “Seems you two are good at keeping each other’s secrets.”

  The door opened and a tall, muscular man in a shiny suit entered the room. He looked out of place in the refined offices with a snake tattoo on the back of his hand. “Ms. Logan is leaving now,” Urquhart said through clenched teeth. “Please help her to find her way off the premises.”

  Not many solicitor’s offices employed bouncers, but Urquhart had secrets to keep and no doubt he’d made enemies along the way. My arm was grasped in a vice-like grip, and the grim-faced gentleman and his serpent vigorously assisted me toward the door. Urquhart disliked me the moment we met, but from the look on his face, I now fell into the enemy camp.

  I was unceremoniously deposited on the sidewalk in front of the building, where I stood cursing my own big mouth. I hadn’t intended to mention Sheila in that exchange; her name just slipped out. Now Urquhart knew I was trying to connect him to Sheila’s disappearance. Had I tipped my hand and sealed her fate? I couldn’t be sure, but one thing I did know—I’d put myself at risk now, too.

  Chapter 13

  There was nothing I could do to take back my words, and I was overdue to help move Nora, so I hightailed it back to the shelter. Amanda answered my knock on the door and led me into her office, leaving the door ajar. She reached for a bottle of tablets on her desk and swallowed one with a glass of
water.

  “For my nerves,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, this has been a tough couple of days.”

  That was a masterpiece of British understatement. “You’ve had a rough go of it,” I agreed. “Anyone would be overwrought at this point.”

  “Me more than most.” Amanda slumped forward in her chair. “I just can’t deal with death,” she admitted in a low voice.

  “No one’s good at it.”

  “You manage, and you must think I’m a bit mad. I feel I owe you an explanation. I know you think I’m stupid for not calling the cops in, but I don’t have much faith in them. You see, my sister was killed when she was nineteen years old,” Amanda began in a wooden voice. “Killed by a man who was never caught and never prosecuted.”

  “How old were you?” I asked softly.

  “I’d just turned twenty-one. And I was convinced her death was my fault.” I started to speak, to reassure her, but Amanda raised her hand to stop me. “Everyone tells me it wasn’t my fault. Always have, but I was an idiot. I let her walk home from the pub without me because of some boy who was chatting me up. I knew the rules. I should’ve stuck to them. We were supposed to stay together when we were out late. That’s all Mum ever asked. But I sent her off alone and that was the last time I ever saw her alive.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Once again, there was nothing else to say. That was a heavy guilt to carry all these years, and having no closure would exacerbate the situation. Amanda must feel the same kind of responsibility for the shelter’s residents that she’d felt for her sister. It also explained her frustration at the police’s initial slow pace and her insistence on following the rules when it came to the ransom demand.

  “Yesterday, I had to tell the police that the night Sheila disappeared I was staying at a friend’s flat. I’d had a few too many drinks and I was sound asleep. I feel like I’m facing the same horror all over again. I wasn’t here when Sheila needed me, and the longer it takes to get her back, the more I’m afraid that we won’t.”

  I was tempted to raise the subject of the police again, but I knew now it would be impossible to change Amanda’s mind. Instead, I tried to lift her spirits.

  “You’re entitled to a life of your own. Besides, if you hadn’t been with your friend you would’ve been at home. Either way, you wouldn’t have been here. You can’t blame yourself for this one. In the meantime, we’re doing everything we can to get Sheila back, and until we do, our responsibility is to Nora. It’s time to get her to a safer place.” Keeping Amanda busy was key. I rose and checked my phone. Still nothing from Michaelson. Where on earth was he? I sent him a text and let him know I was leaving soon for Balfour. “As long as we aren’t due to hear from the kidnappers again until tomorrow, I think we should get on the road to Balfour. Where is Nora?”

  “I sent her to her room to pack some things when she came home from school. I’d better go and get her.”

  I stood looking out the window at the peaceful street beyond. This house seemed to share the same sense of calm and repose that the other houses on the square possessed, and yet so much turmoil roiled within. I heard the sound of feet running down the stairs, Nora no doubt.

  Amanda stuck her head in the door. “Has Nora come in here?”

  “No. Isn’t she upstairs?”

  “I can’t find her anywhere.” Amanda frowned in consternation. “I’ll check again. You go look in the kitchen and the back garden.”

  Nora wasn’t in the kitchen, and when I looked out back all I could see was a man up a ladder pulling the old grout out of one of the lower-level windows.

  I opened the back door and peeked out. “Did a young girl come out this way in the last few minutes?”

  “Donnae ken, donnae care,” he said and spat on the brick beneath him.

  Well, that was no help. I went back through the kitchen and collided with Amanda in the front hall. She looked at me hopefully, but I shook my head.

  “Where could she be?” I could hear the desperation in Amanda’s voice.

  “Let’s think logically,” I said. “Where does she go when she’s upset? Does she have mates from school she might go to visit?”

  “Not really. She doesn’t get close to people. She doesn’t want them to know her home situation.”

  “Well, can you think of anywhere else around here she particularly likes to be?”

  “The dog park, or maybe Woolies. Sometimes she goes over and helps wind the wool. She loves the winding machine.”

  “Right, let’s go.”

  We set off at a trot in the direction of the dog park. It was a dry afternoon and there were at least a dozen dogs running around in the gated area, but no sign of Nora. We continued on in the direction of the wool shop. I could feel Amanda’s tension rising, and mine was keeping pace. I fervently hoped this was simply a case of nerves or rebellion and not something more sinister.

  By the time we came to the block that housed Woolies, we’d broken into a run. The two of us burst into the shop, but before we could utter a word, the elderly woman behind the counter pointed silently to the back room. I followed Amanda, letting her go into the room first.

  “Nora, you scared me to death,” she said her voice shaking. She enveloped the young girl in a bear hug. “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

  Nora broke free from Amanda’s embrace. “I thought maybe that was something we weren’t doing anymore,” she said, moving to the other side of the space, lifting her chin defiantly. “You haven’t exactly been honest with me about where you’re sending me, so why should I tell you where I’m going?”

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you more, but it’s all been a bit complicated.”

  “It’s not complicated,” Nora insisted. “Mum’s gone, you have no idea where. You don’t know when, or even if, she’ll be back and now you’re shipping me off to get me out of the way.” She stood up ramrod straight, but I could tell she was struggling to be brave.

  Amanda’s face crumbled. “No, no, not at all, luv. We just want you to be somewhere safe.”

  “So, I’m not safe at the Rest?” Nora challenged.

  Amanda looked at me helplessly. “I’m not saying that, it’s just, well—”

  Nora was clearly a very bright kid. There was no fooling her, and if things didn’t end up well, it was better for her to have some sense of the risk and not have it all land in her lap without warning. “You’re right. You need to know what’s going on,” I said to her gently. “Can we sit down?”

  Amanda gave me a wide-eyed look but allowed me to direct Nora to the couch at the rear of the store, where the two of us had first met. So much had happened in such a few short days. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice calm and level, as if speaking to a frightened dog. “You’re right. Your mum has gone off somewhere and we don’t know where, but she’s a strong, sensible woman, strong and sensible just like you, and she loves you very much. She wouldn’t leave unless she had to, and I know she’ll be back as soon as she can. I wish I could say where she was, but the truth is I just don’t know. Amanda has asked me to try to help find her and I’m going to do everything I can, but in the meantime the police don’t think you should stay at the shelter without your mum. They want to put you with a foster family and you know your mother would hate that.”

  “I don’t want to go to foster care,” Nora said fiercely. “I just want to stay at the shelter and wait for Mum. What would she think if she came back and I wasn’t there?”

  In spite of her brave words, Nora was still young and she was vacillating wildly between bravado and panic.

  “I understand how you feel, luv, and if it were just up to me, I’d be happy for you to stay at the shelter,” Amanda said, following my lead, “but the police just won’t allow it.”

  “I’ve arranged for you to come up to the village where I live and stay
at a really nice place with some lovely people. My friend Louisa is a fabulous cook and she has a son close to your age,” I said.

  Nora crossed her arms and sat back on the couch, still looking unimpressed.

  “Abi has sheep,” Amanda tossed out.

  Nora looked up at me from under her lashes. “Do you have a sheep dog?”

  “I have a dog who likes to think he’s a sheep dog. He’s a friendly soul and he’ll love you,” I added.

  “I’ve always wanted a dog.” I could see the slightest hint of a thaw.

  “Well, while you’re visiting us in Balfour, you can borrow mine. How does that sound?”

  “Okay, I suppose. But when you find Mum, I come straight back here, right?”

  “I promise,” I said, making a crossing motion over my heart. “Now, how ’bout we go back to the Rest and gather up your things.”

  “What about school?” Nora said suddenly.

  “Bring your books and we can get your assignments from your teachers here,” Amanda chimed in. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you don’t get behind.”

  Nora rose and followed Amanda to the counter. “Go pick out some yarn in your favorite color,” she said. “You can work on a knitting project while you are away.”

  “Maybe a scarf for Mum.”

  “Sounds good,” Amanda said, forcing a smile as Nora turned to look at the rainbow display of yarn along the sidewall.

  “Thanks,” Amanda murmured. “I had no idea what to say.”

  “Neither did I, but the truth is always best,” I replied, “just sometimes not the whole truth. Can I meet you back at the Rest? I want to go back quickly and have a chat with Sam the handyman before you get back with—” I tipped my head in the direction of Nora. “I’m guessing that was him up the ladder out back.”

  “Yes, I forgot all about him being there,” Amanda said with a sigh. “You’re welcome to try to talk to him, but Sam’s a bit of a tough nut to crack.”

  “I’m used to tough nuts.”