Kilt in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  That seemed logical. But awful. “Can you tell me how she died?” It was morbid, but Diana had to know. She figured it was because she was the daughter of a police officer.

  “Strangled.” He paused for a moment, as if he was struggling with whether to tell her more. “With a measuring tape.”

  “Like the second book!” Diana exclaimed.

  “That’s what Cheryl said, too, when I asked her if there was a correlation.”

  “Was Judy hit over the head like in the book?” Diana asked.

  “Aye. A cast iron frying pan was lying beside her. Is your door locked?” The question seemed like a non sequitur.

  “Yes.” But just to be doubly sure, Diana padded to the door to click the lock again.

  “I’m going to send someone over to the hotel to check on you anyway. I’ll see if I can’t get an officer to stay overnight, posted outside your door.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  But Rory had hung up.

  She quickly dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants, not knowing how much time she had before the officer arrived. Hopefully, after he or she checked on her, she’d be able to get into her pajamas. Though, after hearing about Judy Keith, and knowing Leo was nearby, Diana wasn’t certain she’d be able to sleep.

  Her first inclination was to go to Marta’s apartment and see for herself that she was okay. She did the second-best thing. Diana retrieved her phone and called her.

  Diana tried not to panic when there was no answer, telling herself Rory hadn’t been able to reach Marta either.

  Next, Diana tried Tilly, who picked up immediately.

  “Hey, Tilly,” Diana said. “I just wanted to make sure both of you are okay. Marta didn’t answer her phone. Is she all right?”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “How did she take the news about Judy Keith?”

  “Who?”

  “The quilter, um, who was murdered. Detective Chief Inspector Crannach called, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes. Her.”

  “Did Marta freak out when she heard the news?”

  “I haven’t told her yet.”

  “Why?”

  “She went straight to bed after the guild meeting.” Tilly paused. “It might be best for you to tell her. Not now, of course. But tomorrow, when she’s awake.”

  No! But Diana knew Tilly was right. She had a feeling Marta might otherwise take the bad news out on Tilly for being the messenger and all. “Sure, I’ll do it.” Diana paused, remembering there was something else. “Oh, yeah, tomorrow, we’re heading out of Glasgow, first thing in the morning. I’ll email you with the details.” She walked over to her laptop and flipped open the lid. Plan B will be starting tomorrow. She’d meant to tell Tilly and Marta earlier, before the guild meeting, but Marta was so out of it that Diana forgot.

  “I thought Marta had two more events in Glasgow,” Tilly said.

  “We’ve had a lot of cancellations,” Diana said.

  “Then where are we going?”

  “Gandiegow,” Diana answered. “The retreat has been moved up a week and a half. I understand that you and Marta have been there before?”

  “Yes. At Gandiegow’s first retreat. I really enjoyed the village.”

  “We need to leave by nine. It’s quite a trek to get there.” Diana found the info and sent it on to Tilly. “The email is sent.”

  “Thank you. Got it.”

  “Hey, I’m just wondering about Leo. Is he there with you and Marta?”

  Tilly grunted. “Yes. In the bedroom with her. I told him she was out, but he insisted on sleeping next to her.”

  “I was just wondering.” The police must’ve finished questioning him. “Thanks.” Diana said goodbye and hung up. Had Leo killed Judy Keith before he’d come to the quilt guild meeting tonight? She’d have to ask Rory about the time of death.

  With so much on her mind, her head was spinning—Marta, the new book, and murder.

  To counteract how helpless she was feeling, Diana sat down in front of her computer again and skimmed over the new itinerary. She opened her notebook and drew squiggles while she read, making notes also. The original plan was to spend the next week in Glasgow and Edinburgh, doing book signings and interviews. But plan B had them getting out of the city and filming interviews in charming—friendlier—settings which would give Marta a chance to explain why she had ended the series. The interviews would be conducted by Cait Buchanan, a reporter who was now married to the famous actor Graham Buchanan. After those three interviews were posted and hopefully going viral, Marta would lead a group of quilters at the Kilts & Quilts retreat in Gandiegow.

  Cait had confirmed everything with Diana earlier in the day. Just reading over the plan helped Diana to feel calmer.

  But then a knock sounded at Diana’s door.

  Yes, she was relieved the officer was finally here. But as she walked over to answer the door, she wished Rory hadn’t hung up so quickly. They probably should’ve decided on a code word or phrase. It wouldn’t do her any good to open her hotel room door and let a serial killer come waltzing in.

  When she peered through the peephole, she relaxed.

  Rory stood on the other side.

  * * *

  Rory ran a hand through his hair and hoped Diana checked first to make sure it was him.

  It shouldn’t be him, of course! He should’ve sent a junior officer to make sure she was all right. But he couldn’t help himself.

  She opened the door. “Hi.” She tugged at her medium-length brown hair. The tips were wet, confirming what he’d thought earlier. She’d been in the bath when he called.

  Man! She looked good in her white T-shirt and blue trackies—wholesome, fresh, the girl-next-door. Quite the contrast from the purple number she’d had on last night, and the high heels, which were sexy as hell. But somehow, both looks fit her.

  “May I come in and look around?” he asked before he checked with his brain…and his good sense.

  She chewed her lip, then stepped back, opening the door wide.

  But he didn’t move, as he was mesmerized by her mouth.

  “What about Parker? Where is she?” Diana asked.

  He snapped out of it and walked over the threshold. “I gave her a ride here and checked her room as well. Naturally, she’s shaken up, but she’ll be okay.” Perhaps he did have a valid excuse to be at the hotel. With both of the Americans lodged within rooms of each other, it made perfect sense. He sailed over to Diana’s window and jiggled the latch.

  “Am I in danger?” she asked.

  He turned back and saw her worried face. “Honestly, I don’t know.” He went to check the bathroom, but the only thing he found was the tub still filled with water.

  She skirted past him. “Nothing to see in there.” She pulled the drain. “Anything else?”

  “Are ye in a hurry to be rid of me?” He hoped not. He was drawn to her and he didn’t know why. He’d like to stick around and see if he could figure it out.

  “No, I’m not in a hurry for you to leave,” she said quickly. Her answer seemed genuine.

  He went to the small desk and stood by it like a guard. “It would be best if ye returned to the United States.” Best for her, for her safety. But he also knew it was to protect himself, too. He knew she could easily become a distraction for him. And he didn’t have time for a distraction. He was all about the job. But apparently, not tonight.

  Diana’s eyebrows crashed together and he didn’t like that he’d caused her pain.

  He backpedaled a little. “I mean, it would be safer for all of you if ye went home.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “We can’t go home. We’re off to Gandiegow tomorrow.”

  “Gandiegow? Why would you want to go there?” He knew a little about Gandiegow. He pulled out his notebook and wrote it down. He’d have to get someone there to secure the place. “It’s a fishing village the size of a midge.”

  She shrugged. “The reason we’re going is kind of a
secret.”

  He frowned at her. “What kind of secret? The kind that could get all of ye killed?” He planted himself in the chair in the corner, as if he was settling in for the night.

  She watched him and then she carefully perched on the edge of the bed. “When the first Quilt to Death book came out, all the fans wrote in and wanted to know if the setting was real and where it was. Marta never told. Only a handful knew the real location. I only recently found out myself.”

  “I see.” He’d heard that Gandiegow had set up some retreat center or something, having to do with quilting.

  “I think now is the perfect time to reveal the inspiration behind the Buttermilk Guild.”

  “So, Ms. Dixon stole the idea from Gandiegow’s quilt group.”

  “No, no. Gandiegow’s Kilts & Quilts Retreat is the inspiration for her books’ setting, but not the stories themselves. Now is the time to reveal it to the world, to steer them away from what Marta has done to the Buttermilk Guild.”

  “By the rising body count, it seems to me the Buttermilk Guild is fighting back,” he said.

  She cringed, but pressed on like a good soldier. “We’re going to create some videos, podcasts, and do daily giveaways online. Hopefully, this will shut down the negativity and create some positive buzz for Marta’s book and the series that’s coming next. Surely, the bad press will die down soon.”

  He held out his hand for her notebook. “Show me what you have planned for Gandiegow.”

  Instead of handing it over, she clutched the notebook to her chest. “Why?”

  “Because I need to know. And Jacques does, too. He’ll need an hour by hour so he can devise a strategy to keep you safe, I mean, Marta safe.” Then as an afterthought, “And Tilly and Parker safe, too. It’ll be my arse if another foreigner is murdered on Scottish soil.”

  “I’ll email you my plan.” She looked rather proud of herself for thinking up that one. Which only begged the question, what was in her notebook she didn’t want me to see?

  Just to test his theory, he held out his hand again. “Here. I’ll write my email address down for you.” Of course, she had his address already, since he’d given her his card.

  Diana scooted away, pulling the pen from the top of the notebook, where it was clipped. “I’ll write it down.” Apparently, she’d forgotten about his card, which made this cat and mouse game more interesting. She opened to the back page, pen poised. “Go ahead.”

  He stood and moved closer to her, holding out his hand. “Forget the email. I’m in charge of this investigation. If ye insist on staying in Scotland, then yere plans have officially become my business. Hand the notebook over. Now.”

  “No,” she said indignantly. “I have rights. I’m an American citizen.”

  He lifted an eyebrow to let her know what he thought about her rights. “What’s in there ye don’t want me to see?”

  “Nothing,” she said too quickly, as she wildly looked around. Surely, she wasn’t going to hide it from him! She shrugged. “It’s personal. Okay?” She blew out a defeated breath. “Yes, I have our itinerary sketched out, but I also have other things in here, too. Just let me email you our plans, okay? “

  Aye, something is in there. But he didn’t want to scare her away so he let her off the hook, telling her his email address without pushing her further.

  His own notepad was still in his hand. “While I’m here, do you know the particulars surrounding each of the Quilt to Death books? Where the murders occur, how they occur, what quilt, anything that might give us a heads up, if this really is a serial killer?”

  “I made a list.” She scooted back a little on the bed and cracked opened her notebook, but just barely.

  He was going to be nice to her this time. “If you can’t take a picture and text it to me, can you tell me what they are now?”

  She read off the list, starting with book three.

  Afterward she closed her notebook, pulled her legs up on the bed, and crossed them. “Do you want to watch some television with me?”

  Surely she didn’t mean to look seductive, but to his rattled brain that’s what he saw. He could imagine climbing onto the bed and getting comfortable beside her, watching the telly holding hands, kissing. . .

  But he wasn’t on a date! He was supposed to be here to protect her. But who was going to protect her from him?

  Suddenly, the room was too small for him. Too cozy. And dammit, he knew better than to mess around with someone involved in an investigation. He jumped to his feet. “Well, I better go.” Fast.

  “Oh?” Her inviting lips pouted and she looked disappointed.

  Before he could do something stupid—even stupider than coming here in the first place—he headed for the door. “I have things to do. I’ll check in with ye in the morning.”

  He practically sprinted for the door. But once outside her room, he felt a little lost. An idea came to him. He’d head downstairs to speak with the night manager. Surely, the hotel wouldn’t mind finding a chair for a DCI so he could camp outside the American lass’s door tonight.

  5

  Diana stared at the door as it latched. “Wow. That was strange. One minute he takes a seat, as if to stay, and in the next minute, he’s hightailing it for the door!” Didn’t he like what he saw?

  There was a knock and she froze.

  “Deadbolt it,” came Rory’s muffled voice. “Now.”

  She hopped off the bed and rushed to the door, wondering if she should open it and give him some of her New York attitude. No. She really wasn’t mad at him, just befuddled.

  He knocked again.

  She grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. “Hold your horses.”

  Mr. Rugged and Serious sighed. “Just do as I ask.” He sounded like a man dealing with a petulant child. “I can’t leave unless I know ye’re safe.”

  “Okay.” She stepped backwards. “Goodnight.” She shut the door and secured both locks.

  “Thank you, lass,” came from the other side.

  She looked through the peep hole and saw him running his hand through his hair, as he did frequently. Finally, he walked away, and so did she.

  She climbed back on the bed and opened her notebook to the page where she’d been writing notes about Gandiegow. But that wasn’t the only thing on the page. In the margin, she’d scribbled Rory’s name about twenty times--with a few hearts thrown in for good measure.

  She slammed her notebook shut. This wasn’t her. She didn’t daydream about men!

  But wasn’t it nice to be called lass?

  Before she forgot, she went to her laptop and crafted an email for Rory of their itinerary for the rest of their stay in Scotland. She struggled with the closing: Hope to see you soon. She deleted that. For fun, she typed out: Love, Diana. But deleted that, too. In the end, she just signed her name.

  At that point, she should’ve gone to sleep, but she was too wound up. She packed her bag and made more notes, but only ended up thinking about Rory. . ..

  She woke with her alarm blaring and her notebook plastered to her face, feeling completely disoriented. She should’ve gone to bed like a sensible person. She stumbled into the bathroom to get ready, hoping today was better than the previous two.

  But in the shower, Diana remembered she had to break the news to Marta about the second murder and wished she could take a day off—a vacay from the job she normally loved. Hurrying, she dried her hair, dressed in a black cami, a long ruffle-back blazer, and skinny black pants, before rolling her suitcase to Parker’s room.

  When Parker eased the door open, she appeared as ragged as Diana felt.

  Diana gave her a quick hug. “Tell me how you’re doing.” She couldn’t imagine seeing a second dead body. One had been enough.

  Parker shook her head and blew out a breath as if the air in her lungs carried the weight of the world. “I’ll be all right. I don’t want to talk about it just yet, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure.” They went down together to meet th
e shuttle. Once they were settled in the vehicle’s third row, Diana texted Tilly.

  we’re on our way. meet us outside.

  In Diana’s mind, she kept practicing different ways to tell Marta about Judith Keith’s murder. Should she come right out with it or lay some groundwork first? In the short time Diana had known Marta, Marta always spoke directly, never filtering her words…unless she was in front of her fans. Should Diana tell her straight out about the murder, no hemming or hawing?

  Too soon, the shuttle pulled up in front of Marta’s flat. Diana called Tilly. “We’re here.”

  “We’re going to be a few minutes,” Tilly whispered into the phone. “Marta isn’t ready yet.”

  They waited twenty minutes, until Tilly appeared, wheeling three suitcases.

  “Where’s your sister?” Diana asked. The way the shuttle driver was grumbling, she was sure he wasn’t happy about the delay. Neither was she.

  “I’ll go up and get the rest of her things,” Tilly said. “We should be right down.” But she didn’t look certain.

  Marta has more suitcases? But Diana shouldn’t judge. Marta was the talent and she had a keen sense of how to play the part. Her taste was impeccable, even if her off-stage behavior could be downright diva-esque. Besides, Diana had overpacked for Scotland, too, expecting to dress up for every new event. All those nice outfits seemed a waste now.

  “I’ll be right back.” Diana hopped out and followed Tilly upstairs to the apartment. Jacques stood at the door with his arms crossed over his chest.

  Last night, she’d recognized he was imposing. But now she noticed he didn’t have the serious all-work-and-no-play demeanor that Rory wore like his black leather jacket. However, Diana had a feeling Jacques could be more than a little dangerous, if provoked.

  “I’m glad you’ll be coming along with us to Gandiegow. I assume Marta is inside?”

  Jacques nodded. Diana stepped around him and entered the apartment.

  Leo met her at the door, dressed in a white suit; he was either auditioning for Miami Vice or he wanted to be Marta’s twin. A man-purse hung from his shoulder.