Kilt in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  There was one thing bugging Rory and he called to Hugh, “Who else knows about this cabin?”

  Hugh glanced back. “Everyone, I expect. We have it listed on the website as a feature of the estate. We let it to tourists.”

  Well, crap.

  They slogged through the woods for nearly fifteen minutes until they came into a clearing. In the middle was a large boulder, and on the other side was a rustic cottage. Diana took off running for the lodge. Hugh and Rory took off after her, but she’d gotten a head start and beat them to the door. They reached the porch just as she burst through the door.

  There was no scream, but with Diana that didn’t mean anything. Rory stepped around Hugh and peered inside.

  The cottage was empty and looked as if no one had been there recently. Diana crossed the room to another door, which must lead to the bathroom. She pulled the door open and he could see there was no one inside there either.

  She turned around. “What now?”

  “We’ll organize a search party,” Rory answered. Diana looked visibly upset that they still had no answers, and he wanted to pull her into his arms to comfort her. If they’d been alone, he would have.

  Hugh cleared his throat until Rory looked his way.

  “I’ll have Declan and Tavon head up the search,” Hugh said. “They know Whussendale—the buildings and cottages—and will search every nook and cranny.”

  “And the castle?” Diana asked.

  Hugh gave her an encouraging nod. “The castle, too.”

  Rory put his hand on Diana’s back. “Let’s get back.” He wasn’t so absorbed in his job that he was unaware of how he felt having Diana near. He liked it. He meant to tell her so, the first chance he got…when they were alone.

  Back at the castle, the quilters were all abuzz. The news that they were looking for Ewan and Parker must have spread. It wouldn’t be long until it was dark. While the locals were searching, Rory would repeat his interviews with the quilters, doublechecking their alibis. He drew a quick layout of the machines in the carding building, marked Tilly’s position with a T and planned to pencil in the rest of the quilters as he took their statements.

  An hour later, when MacTaggart and McCartney arrived, Rory filled them in about Tilly’s accident and everything he knew about Parker and Ewan’s disappearance. He had interviewed a handful of the quilters, but asked his team to go over their statements looking for inconsistencies.

  From what he’d learned, he believed Deydie was the last to see Ewan and Parker before the two disappeared.

  “I went back to the shearing shed to ask Ewan a few questions about my sheep.” Deydie glowered, as if remembering the scene. “Those two lovebirds were so passionate that even his border collie looked embarrassed.” She harrumphed. “I broke them apart and told them both to get back to work.” She smoothed down her cotton dress. “That was the last I saw of them.”

  By the time Rory was done interviewing everyone, darkness had overtaken the sky, the rain had slowed to a mist, and the search party had returned from the forest because it was too dark to see their hand in front of their face. Still, there was no sign of Ewan and Parker. At first light tomorrow, they would begin again. But will it be too late? At times like these, Rory cursed the onset of winter that shortened the days.

  Bethia and Deydie toddled over to him, followed by Sophie. There were only the three of them, but he felt descended upon just the same.

  Bethia set a cup of tea in front of him.

  Deydie sat down beside him. “We need to make some decisions about the quilters. Mrs. McNabb has dinner going, but we need to know what to do after that. Take the lassies back to Gandiegow or have them settle in here for the night?”

  Sending the quilters back to Gandiegow could be a problem. Rory needed to keep an eye on them, but he needed to stay close by Whussendale, in case something turned up here.

  “We have plenty of room, if they need to stay,” Sophie put in.

  Deydie grinned. “And with their sewing stations all set up in the ballroom, we could have a late-night stitch-in.”

  “A slumber party,” Bethia said, digging up some enthusiasm.

  “I could ask each of the Whussendale ladies for extra nighties for the retreat goers,” Sophie suggested.

  “This will be best for the DCI,” Deydie affirmed.

  Meanwhile Rory hadn’t said a thing.

  Deydie looked at Bethia and Sophie as if he wasn’t even there. “Aye. The DCI will be able to keep the sheep all herded into one place.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Sophie said. “The retreat goers will stay. I better get to the kitchen to see if we have everything I need to make cocoa.”

  “I think ye should spike it with whisky. Something to take the edge off,” Deydie suggested.

  Sophie grinned. “Good idea. I’m sure I can scrounge up a bottle or two.”

  Dinner was a quiet affair, which wasn’t surprising given the events of the day and his interrogation of the quilters.

  But Rory was surprised when they didn’t go back to the ballroom and sew after dinner, as Bethia and Deydie had planned. Instead, they’d all headed upstairs to their rooms, each one with some kind of bag of hand-stitching inside.

  Rory checked to make sure Marta and Tilly were settled in for the night with McCartney posted outside their room, then wandered back downstairs. He found Diana in the parlor, sitting with a notebook in her lap in front of a low-burning fire.

  “What are ye—”

  Diana jumped before he could end his sentence.

  “Doing?” he finished.

  She didn’t answer but asked her own question. “Any word on Parker and Ewan?”

  “No. None. We’ll pick back up in the morning.” He hoped he didn’t receive any bad news tonight. He wanted to hold out hope that Parker and Ewan had found a place for a tête-à-tête and were so wrapped up in each other that they’d forgotten to call. He changed the subject and pointed to her notebook. “Go on, then. Tell me what ye have there. Are ye trying to solve this case?”

  She shrugged and blushed.

  He wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly what she was doing. “Don’t ye realize, Miss Marple, that solving the case is my job, not yeres?”

  She smiled at him and his pulse kicked up. “Everyone can use a little help now and then.”

  “Scoot over.” He sat close to her. To be near. To breathe her in. He slipped the notebook from her lap. “Let me see what ye have here.”

  She’d constructed her own murder board, stretching across the two opened pages. Instead of pictures of the victims, she’d drawn boxes with their names inside. A quilt block was sketched next to each victim. Lines were drawn from each murdered person to potential suspects. On some of those lines, she’d scribbled in motives or rebuked some of their alibis as bogus.

  “This is thorough,” he commented.

  “I like puzzles,” she said. “I used to help my dad. He’d bring home cold cases and Liz and I would brainstorm with him at the kitchen table while we ate breakfast.”

  “He sounds like a great dad.” Though Rory wasn’t sure he knew what a great dad actually looked like. He could barely remember his own, the memories getting fuzzier and fewer as he got older. Och, but didn’t he have a lot on his mind? He looked down at the notebook on his lap. Suddenly he wanted to make new memories, memories that didn’t involve violence and death.

  He shut the notebook and put his arm around Diana’s shoulder. “Enough for tonight.”

  “But—” she protested.

  “Listen to me, lass. Through the years, I’ve learned ye have to let yere mind rest.” Besides, he had more interesting things to think about besides murder. Like tasting Diana’s soft lips again. He shifted his head and kissed her before she could argue with him further.

  Her lips didn’t debate his tender onslaught, but immediately complied, giving back as much as he gave her. She moved closer—which drove him crazy—and squeezed his biceps.

  She pulled away,
her breath coming out in rasps. “It’s a little hot, don’t you think?”

  Was she speaking of the fire in the hearth, or the one blazing between them?

  “We better head to bed,” she said, as she scooted out of his embrace.

  He could’ve reached out and told her to stop…that he wanted her to stay. He wanted to keep kissing her. But he accepted her no as graciously as he could, though the best he could do was to frown when she stood up.

  She looked down at him with her own frown. It wasn’t a look of disappointment like his. No, she seemed puzzled. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  Had he heard her correctly?

  She held out her hand, which made it clearer.

  “Aye,” he said quickly. He was afraid if he said more, his voice might crack as it had when he was a lad. He was bright enough to not make her ask him twice, and wasted no time getting to his feet.

  Just to seal the deal, he pulled her in for a searing kiss.

  16

  Diana silenced the rational voice in her head, which insisted she scurry off to her bedroom alone. The same voice that told her to stop falling for the Detective Chief Inspector. The one that begged her to protect her heart. When he kissed her again, the only thing she heard was a resounding yes echo throughout her body.

  Yes, to everything.

  Inside her room, a nightlight illuminated their way to her bed. Though the light was dim, she could see his expressive eyes as he undressed her. His eyes told her so much, more than words ever could. In them she could see his desire, and his care. When she looked deeper, she saw his pain, his loss, his loneliness. His eyes revealed his vulnerability, but also how much he trusted and cherished her.

  Their lovemaking was perfect—tender and passionate.

  Although it seemed crazy, Rory made her feel loved—wholly and completely. Being with him felt like how love was depicted in the movies: warm, safe, magical, but also exciting and fun. She was wrapped up in a fairy-tale she didn’t want to end. She felt as if they could lie in each other’s arms forever, so securely was she tucked under his chin. She listened to his heart pound, and reveled in the knowledge that she was the one who’d caused it to beat like a drum.

  But then other thoughts intruded. She stopped caressing his arm and lifted her head.

  “What’s wrong, lass?” Rory asked.

  Diana sat up. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Parker. She’s still missing.” And I’m lying in bed with you…without a care in the world!

  “I know, luv,” he said soothingly. He gently pulled her back down and tucked her into his side, kissing her hair. “At first light, I’ll be out looking for them. There’s nothing we can do in the dead of night.”

  Did he have to say dead? “Parker could be calling out for help right this minute, while I’m here having the time of my life.”

  He shifted and was now gazing into her eyes. “HQ is sending people to help with the search. The best thing we can do right now is to get some rest. Tomorrow will be here shortly.”

  “I know you’re right.” But Diana didn’t want to rest. Something primal welled up inside her and she kissed him wildly, as if this moment might be her last. No one had a guarantee on tomorrow. She could get hit by a car…or murdered by a serial killer.

  Rory responded to her need and kissed her back, as if he could read her thoughts. When they made love again, Diana savored every single moment and sensation.

  She thought she’d banished her fears. But before spooning her as she drifted off to sleep Rory had to kiss away her tears.

  * * *

  Rory woke, nuzzling Diana. He wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and make love to her all day. Instead, he scooted as unobtrusively as he could from the bed and dressed quietly before leaving the room. He was deeply grateful to MacTaggart and McCartney for taking the nightshift with Marta and Tilly, but it was time to get back to work.

  Maybe they would find Parker before Diana woke up, he thought hopefully as he descended the stairs.

  What the devil? He’d wanted to get an early start, but the smell of coffee and the sound of conversation told him he was far from the first awake.

  Mrs. McNabb was at the stove, worrying over a pan of Scotch eggs. The kitchen was filled with quilters dressed in warm clothes, and rows of Wellies were lined up by the door.

  He looked at Deydie inquiringly—she always seemed to be in charge, after all—and she said, “After we have a quick bite to eat, we’re heading out to find the Yank and Ewan McGillivray.”

  “Hugh will be down shortly,” Sophie interjected, drawing Rory’s scrutiny from Deydie.

  Bethia walked over and touched his arm. “Ye can’t expect us to stand by and do nothing.”

  “It’s not necessary.” Rory checked his watch. “Backup should be here any minute.” But the women looked set on going and he wasn’t certain he could change their minds. As he scanned the room, he realized something. “Where’s Marta and Tilly?”

  “Above stairs,” Bethia said.

  “Alone?” Rory asked.

  “Yere man MacTaggart is watching them,” Bethia answered. “We woke Marta and Tilly to see if they wanted to help.” Bethia’s face took on a stern look, the first Rory had seen from her. “Marta announced she was going back to bed and that Tilly had to stay with her.”

  At that moment, Rory’s phone rang. “Crannach here.”

  It was Sergeant Grear from headquarters.

  “I have two pieces of bad news,” he said.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Leo Shamley has been released on a technicality,” the sergeant said roughly. “On our end, not yeres.”

  “When?” Rory asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon,” Grear said. “If I’d known about it sooner, I would’ve called.”

  Rory squelched the curse words that rose within him. Leo had known they were coming to the mill. He could’ve done something to Parker and Ewan and still have time to push Tilly into the carding machine. “What’s the other news?”

  “Two bodies were found in the baggage area at the Edinburgh Airport. A man and a woman in their thirties.”

  Oh, hell! The second couple murdered in book five! “Were they wrapped in a quilt?”

  “I don’t know. That’s all the information I was given. We don’t know if it’s your missing couple.”

  A thousand questions crowded Rory’s mind, from what had triggered Leo’s release to the estimated time of death of the two victims. Could Leo have been so productive as to attack three people in Whussendale as well as the couple in Edinburgh? But Rory asked the most important question of all. “When will you have IDs on the victims?”

  There was a sharp intake of air behind him. “What victims?”

  He spun around to see Diana standing in the kitchen doorway with her hand covering her mouth.

  “I have to go.” Rory hung up and pocketed his phone. He hated that Diana was hurting. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her worry away. His brain was such a jumble and nothing added up. Before meeting Diana, he’d had laser focus and nothing could distract him from his work.

  He took a step forward, but Diana retreated backwards, her eyes as big as the saucers Mrs. McNabb had stacked on the table.

  “What happened?” Diana whispered. “Is someone dead?”

  Rory hated this part of his job. Finding a murderer was a puzzle; he was good at it. But explaining to family and friends that they’d lost a loved one was nearly unbearable. If only the victims would remain snapshots on his murder board. But when he spoke to families, empathy flooded him and he felt every ounce of their pain.

  “We don’t know anything yet,” Rory said. “Keep that in mind, first and foremost.”

  “Tell me.” Diana’s voice was accusing, as if he was withholding vital information from her.

  He closed the distance between them, not caring a whit that the room was watching him, as he gently placed his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling.

  “Two bodie
s were found at the airport in Edinburgh.”

  “Were they Parker and Ewan?” she whispered.

  “We only know it was a man and a woman.” He wouldn’t tell her that Leo had been released from jail.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Now, drink some coffee.” He motioned to the room. “In a few minutes we’re all going out to look for Ewan and Parker.” Whether it was a futile endeavor or not. Everyone nodded or said aye in a show of support. Rory continued, “When our reinforcements arrive, we’ll break into groups. I’ll assign a Whussendalian and a police officer to each group.” The reasons were obvious and these women were no dummies. “Every two hours, we’ll meet back here at the kitchen.”

  Hugh came in carrying a rolled parchment and motioned to Rory. “I have the map ye requested.”

  “The eggs are ready,” said Mrs. McNabb, as if she’d taken her cue.

  “Let’s grid off the map,” Rory said. He glanced at Diana, who seemed determined to follow him. Having something to do had transformed her from worried woman to woman on a mission. Good.

  Diana sat with Rory and Hugh, as they worked on the map. McCartney strolled into the kitchen, looking as surprised as Rory felt when he’d seen the mob of quilters up so early.

  “We have help this morning,” Rory said. “Go relieve MacTaggart. Ye’ll watch the Ms. Dixons while we go out and search.”

  Mrs. McNabb handed McCartney a mug and a plate overflowing with food.

  A few minutes later, the additional team members arrived. The newcomers were plied with mugs of coffee and tea to counteract their long drive. Then the quilters rose as one and went for their coats and Wellies.

  Rory handed out assignments and they were on their way. With Declan, Rory and Diana were tasked with searching the wool mill.

  “It’s going to take all day, especially if we’re to return to the castle every few hours,” Declan said. “There’s a lot of buildings, lots of places to hide a body.” He glanced in Diana’s direction and must’ve seen her blanch, because he looked embarrassed to have chosen his words so carelessly.