Kilt in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  Diana got the awful feeling that her day was about to get worse. “Are you going to Gandiegow with us?”

  With his eyes, Leo shot poisoned arrows at Jacques’s muscled back. “Someone has to keep an eye on Marta.”

  Oh, brother! Was Marta flirting with Jacques? In front of Leo? Marta had a reputation of going from one guy to another. But Rance had just died!

  “Where’s your luggage?” Diana asked.

  “Tilly is getting it now. I’ve got a bad back, you know?”

  Leo stood there impatiently as Tilly dragged two more suitcases from the bedroom.

  Diana was underwhelmed with Leo so far. She ran over to relieve Tilly of her load. “Where’s Marta?”

  “She’s just finishing up in the restroom,” Tilly answered.

  As if Marta was just waiting for someone to announce her entrance, the door was flung open and out she stepped in another one of her signature white designer suits. She wore a deep purple scarf that might have been chosen to downplay her half-red face.

  “We better get going.” Diana ushered Marta out the door.

  All the way down in the elevator, Diana looked for the right time and the right words to tell Marta what had happened to Judy Keith. But Leo wouldn’t shut up, keeping a steady monologue running about absolutely nothing. He was probably trying to dominate Marta’s attention to keep her from eyeing the overly muscled and manly Jacques.

  Once out on the street, Diana and the shuttle driver loaded the extra suitcases, and then she positioned herself once more in the back with Parker. They didn’t get to remain there comfortably for long, though.

  “Leo, get in the back with Diana.” Marta’s voice held some irritation. “You know I need my space on long car rides.”

  Diana scooted over and made room for him and his overpowering cologne.

  Marta took her place beside Tilly, but reached up and touched Jacques shoulder. “As I told you earlier, I really am glad you’re here to protect me.”

  Leo scowled, and Diana felt a little sorry for him. But then she remembered that Leo could be the murderer. And here she was sitting right next to him!

  “Punkin,” Leo said sweetly, “if you need anything, I’m right here. I’m just going to close my eyes for a minute.”

  Marta only nodded.

  “Love you,” he said.

  Marta didn’t say it back.

  Leo smiled as if she had. People in love could be selectively deaf and hear only what they wanted to hear. He leaned his head against the window and before they were even out of the city, he was snoring above the noise of the shuttle’s engine.

  What if Marta decided to take a nap, too? Diana leaned forward to tap Marta on the shoulder. “I have some bad news, and there’s really no good time to do this.” Diana saw Tilly grab her knitting bag and quickly pull out yarn and needles, as if she was too busy to get involved in this conversation.

  “What is it?” Marta asked.

  “Did you meet Judy Keith at the bookshop?” Diana knew she was hedging, but she wasn’t sure how Marta was going to take the news.

  Marta gave an irritated sigh. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Judy came to your event so you could sign the first Quilt to Death quilt for her.”

  “So? A lot of them had quilts.”

  This wasn’t going to be easy, and Tilly, with her head down and concentrating hard on knit-one, purl-two, was absolutely no help.

  Diana shook her head and then blurted it out. “It was her quilt that was wrapped around Rance’s body. Now she’s been murdered as well.”

  Marta sucked in a scared breath and turned around, her eyes wide. “What?”

  “I’m sorry to have been so blunt.” Diana really was sorry, because Marta’s eyes teared up and she grabbed her sister’s arm.

  “Tilly, there’s been another murder.” Marta sounded like a small, frightened child and Tilly finally looked her sister’s way. “Fix it, Tilly?”

  Tilly automatically put her knitting away and wrapped an arm around Marta. Marta laid her head on her sister’s comforting shoulder, as if they’d been doing this all of their lives.

  “There, there,” Tilly soothed. “Your sister’s here.”

  Diana knew she was witnessing an intimate moment, but she couldn’t look away.

  Tilly stroked Marta’s hair. “Who took care of you after Mommy and Daddy died in the car accident?”

  “You did,” Marta whispered.

  “Who made sure you were dressed and ready for school. Who packed your lunch?”

  “You did,” Marta said.

  Some sort of weird power shift had occurred, with Tilly in charge now and Marta reduced to two-word whispers. It was easy to imagine the two sisters as little girls, clinging to each other after a tragedy had changed everything.

  Tilly kissed the top of Marta’s head. “I’ve always been there for you and I always will be. Now, close your eyes. When you wake up, everything will be better.”

  Marta nodded and relaxed against her sister.

  Tilly began singing softly, a hypnotic lullaby which seemed to calm Marta more.

  Diana did look away then and tried to focus on the scenery. Tilly and Marta’s relationship might be a little odd, but Diana shouldn’t judge. She and her own sister were living separate lives now, though once they’d been inseparable.

  After Dad died, Mom was a mess and she and Liz had clung to one another. They’d had to. No one else was going to take care of them while their mother lay in bed, alternating between sleeping and sobbing.

  Diana glanced at Tilly and Marta and couldn’t help but draw parallels between the McKellan sisters and the Dixon sisters in front of her now. The difference was Marta and Tilly’s lives were nearly conjoined, because Tilly was Marta’s assistant.

  Diana, though, couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Liz. Perhaps at Christmas? Or was it at the christening of Liz’s youngest?

  They’d never had a falling-out; it’s just she and Liz seemed to have nothing in common anymore, except their mom. Liz lived in upstate New York, a busy mother of three, her life revolving around making dinner or taxiing her children to soccer and ballet. Diana couldn’t imagine not having freedom to do as she pleased. But Liz had seemed happy at Christmas with her family around her. Diana could admit she’d been a bit jealous of her little sister then. But Diana had a full life, helping authors to make sure that their books thrived. Her job was important, and she loved it.

  But sometimes…she wondered if there wasn’t something more.

  Diana looked at the two sisters in front of her and made up her mind to stop ignoring the nagging feeling that she was a bad sister.

  As soon as she was settled in at Gandiegow, she was going to call Liz…and at least try again to have some semblance of family in her life, and to be a good sister to her sister again.

  * * *

  Three hours later, the shuttle hit a pothole and Diana woke with a start. The last thing she remembered was Tilly’s lullaby.

  Jacques was quietly conversing with the driver. Marta was awake, the red half of her face visible to Diana while she spoke with her sister in hushed whispers. Leo was still snoring, and Parker had joined him, though not so robustly.

  Diana gazed at the beautiful landscape of the Highlands stretched out before them. She’d always wanted to come to Scotland and she was kicking herself for sleeping through part of it. She blamed the murders for keeping her up last night, but it was really the Detective Chief Inspector’s fault. For being handsome, interesting, and confusing, which did nothing to induce productive shuteye.

  Finally, she glanced down at the pages spread across her lap—the latest threats to Marta—and began counting the less-than-friendly emails. Instead of waning, the death threats were growing. Diana made a mental note to email Rory the latest batch, something else to do when she arrived in Gandiegow.

  Marta’s low tones grew in volume, becoming angry and sarcastic sounding. What had happened to the sweet moment between
them earlier?

  Tilly straightened, looking indignant. “So, what do you propose I do, now that the Buttermilk Guild is gone?”

  . “It’s your life. Do whatever you want.”

  “Whatever I want? I want to keep writing the Quilt to Death series!”

  What? Diana’s attention was fully invested in their conversation now.

  “Sorry, Tilly.” Marta didn’t sound sorry. “Writing more of that damn series is not an option. You’re not supposed to be talking about it either.”

  Tilly looked down, defeated. “But all I have is the Quilt to Death series.”

  Marta glared. “Write something else.”

  “But--.”

  Diana tapped Marta on the shoulder. “Did I hear you correctly? Are you saying Tilly wrote the series and not you?”

  The two sisters shared a look, but then Tilly squared her shoulders. “Yes. I wrote the Quilt to Death series.”

  Marta stared down her sister. “But I’m the reason the series has been successful. Tilly never could’ve done the public appearances.”

  Maybe Diana was having a bad dream. She just couldn’t believe it. “So your name is on the covers but Tilly wrote all the books?”

  Marta guffawed. “Not the last one. She’s too much of a goody-goody to kill off the Buttermilk Guild. I had to put them out of their misery.”

  Diana’s brain was spinning out of control. “Is this legal?” Of course, ghostwriting was legal—as long as you weren’t lying to your publisher about it! “I mean, who knew about this?” Diana hadn’t heard one word about it at the office.

  From over her shoulder, Marta shot Diana the same annoyed look she’d been giving Tilly. “Relax. Once Rance became my editor, he fixed it with the lawyers at Three Seals.”

  But Rance had only edited the last few books. What about the rest? Dear lord, had she stumbled into the middle of a fraud?

  Marta chuckled. “Stop looking so worried, Diana. The Quilt to Death series is a huge success.”

  Not is! WAS! Was a success. But not anymore.

  “Weren’t you worried the truth would get out?” Just another disaster waiting to haunt this book launch! And to haunt Diana. A skewed version of Milli Vanilli came to mind.

  Tilly rubbed her forehead. “I signed away my rights.”

  “You signed a confidentiality agreement, too,” Marta reminded her. “Ironclad. You can’t tell a soul that you’re my ghostwriter. Besides, big names use ghostwriters all the time to do the grunt work.”

  “Like writing?” Diana said sarcastically.

  “Exactly.” Marta dug around in her bag. “You’re making too big a deal out of this.” She pulled out an eye mask. “I’m going to shut my eyes for a while. I believe Tilly gave me way too much Valium last night.” She slipped on the mask and leaned her head back on the rest.

  Diana frowned at the back of Marta’s head. Working with her was turning into a hell of a headache and there weren’t enough aspirin in all of Scotland to make it go away. By the time this was over, Diana was certain she would be stripped of her Fixer title.

  “How much longer until we get there?” Diana asked the shuttle driver.

  “Thirty minutes or so,” he answered.

  Diana steeled herself for the next obstacle. Gandiegow wasn’t going to be the Scottish vacation she’d always dreamed of or a respite from her troubles. Before Diana left New York, all the arrangements for the upcoming retreat had been made through Cait Buchanan, owner of the Kilts & Quilts Retreat. But when Diana had switched to plan B, she’d gotten an earful from Deydie McCracken, Cait’s cranky grandmother. Seems she didn’t want Marta to step foot in Gandiegow, no matter the previous arrangements, because she murdered my quilters!

  Minutes later, Cait called back and apologized, assuring Diana that Deydie wouldn’t be a problem and that the Dixon sisters would be welcome in Gandiegow.

  Still…

  The only thing Diana was looking forward to, once they reached Gandiegow, was the possibility of running into Graham Buchanan, Cait’s hottie movie star husband. Diana sighed. She and every woman in the world had a crush on the man.

  Another manly Scot popped into Diana’s head, but she banished Rory immediately. She didn’t believe she would be seeing him again even if she wanted to.

  Diana looked out the window. They were in the middle of nowhere—only sheep, a cottage here and there, and the occasional castle ruin could be seen. She decided to zone out and enjoy the scenery for the rest of the trip.

  Thirty-one minutes later, the driver called out to them, “We’re here.”

  But they weren’t exactly. He turned onto an unmarked road and descended a very steep incline. The water was on their right as they made their way to the parking lot at the bottom, which butted up to the oceanfront. The village was exposed to the sea, sitting along a stone walkway that would provide no protection from a raging storm. Diana was grateful for calm waters today, though it was gray, misty, and cold.

  She pulled out her phone. Cait had said to text her when they arrived in town. A moment later, she received a text back:

  I’m sending Rachel to meet you. She’ll get you settled in.

  By the time the shuttle driver had the van unloaded and Diana had paid him, they were approached by a cute woman and three gorgeous men—undeniably fishermen, judging by their raincoats and Wellies. Besides, she’d researched Gandiegow before coming to Scotland and knew this wasn’t just a quilting destination, but a fishing village, too.

  The men could’ve starred in a Ralph Lauren ad or on the cover of Scottish Hunks, a magazine Diana would certainly buy if it existed. She walked forward to meet them and stuck out her hand. “I’m Diana McKellen.”

  The woman shook it and answered in an American accent, “Rachel Wallace.” She pointed to the men beside her. “This is my husband, Brodie, and these two are the Duffy brothers. I brought along a lot of muscle to carry your things. Gandiegow, you see, is a walking village. No cars beyond the parking lot.” She beamed up at her husband as if he had invented this delightful system.

  Diana introduced the rest of the group as the shuttle driver drove away. Brodie, the Duffys, and Jacques all grabbed bags and boxes and started toward the interior of the village.

  Brodie spoke to Diana as he passed. “Leave the rest. We’ll come back and get it.”

  “Thank you,” Diana said.

  “This way.” Rachel took off toward the back of the cottages. “I’ve made up rooms for the Ms. Dixons and their bodyguard at Partridge House.” She gave a worried glance in Leo’s direction. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Shamley, but you’ll have to take the room over the pub. I just rented out the last two rooms of my B and B.”

  Leo grunted.

  Diana should’ve thought to text Cait before they left Glasgow to warn her about Leo joining them unexpectedly.

  Rachel pointed to a building. “Diana, you and your friend Parker will be staying at one of the quilting dorms—Duncan’s Den. You don’t mind sharing with the retreat goers when they arrive, do you?”

  “Not at all.” Actually, it would be perfect. Being at the quilting dorm would give Diana distance from Marta. It would also give her a chance to take the temperature of the retreat goers; if they had any animosity toward Marta, Diana should be able to defuse the situation before things got ugly and out of hand.

  Marta could’ve made everyone’s life easier if she hadn’t killed off the Buttermilk Guild.

  A crazy but possibly brilliant idea came to Diana, which was shocking because her brain had been all-Rory-all-the-time ever since she’d met him. As soon as she could, Diana needed to speak with Tilly alone.

  A young woman dressed in a plaid jacket and a knit hat came towards them from between two cottages. “Hey, everyone,” she called.

  “This is Sinnie,” said Rachel. “I’ll give you and Parker a quick tour of Partridge House,” she said. “Then Sinnie can take you to Duncan’s Den.”

  Marta glanced around with disdain. “Why does
Gandiegow have to be so gray and gloomy?”

  Diana wondered if Tilly had more Valium tucked away to slip to Marta.

  “The weather is verra dreich today,” Sinnie said cheerily.

  “I’m guessing that means dull, dreary, and depressing,” Marta responded caustically.

  Sinnie laughed. “Aye. Something like that.”

  “Maybe the sun will shine later,” Rachel said, as if she was defending her home.

  But the possibility of sunshine didn’t help Marta’s mood as they walked up to Partridge House’s welcoming front door.

  “We opened to the public two months ago,” Rachel said. “I’ve been in the hotel business my whole life, but I’ve never worked anywhere that I’ve loved more.” The new structure had been designed to fit in with the rest of the village, with stone walls and shuttered windows. “Wait until you see the inside. We used reclaimed wood from a sheep farm ten miles up the road.”

  “It’s rather small for a B and B, isn’t it?” Marta complained.

  Rachel looked as if she’d dealt with difficult customers before and put a pleasant smile on her face as she pushed open the front door. “We have seven bedrooms. You and your sister each have a single occupancy room, as requested.”

  Diana and Parker left their backpacks at the entrance and followed Rachel as she gave them a tour. The woodwork was dark, as typical for Scotland, while the quilts hanging in the entryway made the area bright and cheery. Diana followed Rachel up the staircase, where the floral wallpaper countered the dark wood by whispering femininity. Diana found all of it cozy and inviting.

  Rachel indicated the first bedroom at the top of the steps. “Each bedroom is named after a quilt block.” On the door hung a rustic painted sign which read flying geese above a quilt block made of triangles. “You’ll see the same design in the quilt on the wall.” She pushed the door wide and pointed out the quilt on the far wall. The rest of the room was decorated in dark greens, browns, and blues. “Jacques, you’ll have the Flying Geese Room.”

  Next, Rachel took Tilly and Marta to their bedrooms: the Dresden Plates and Kansas City Star rooms. Marta seemed anxious to shut her door and be alone.