Kilt in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  “Just having a bit of fun then?” Deydie said disapprovingly. “Ye better break it off. I like Diana. We all do. Have yere fun with someone else. Besides, she’ll be gone soon.”

  “Quite right.” Deydie had hit the nail on the head. Diana was leaving soon. He looked down at his notepad, which reminded him of the duty he’d been half-assing because of his infatuation.

  Deydie glared at him. “Then ye’ll do as I bid and tell her it’s over?”

  “I told ye, there’s nothing going on between Diana and myself.” But as soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. It felt all wrong. He wanted to tell the world the truth. There was a lot going on between him and Diana. The Almighty knew there was so much Rory still needed to learn about her. More about her family, her past. There was so much more he wanted to share with her. Like a hike up Ben Lomond. Or to take the ferry to Isle of May on Open Doors Day. He’d like to introduce her to Kin. He started to call Deydie back, but she was gone. And he didn’t have time to go after her, because he suddenly knew he had to find Diana and tell her how he was feeling.

  He twisted around, planning to scan the room to find her. He needed to speak with her in private. But right behind him, there she stood…glaring.

  Oh, crap! He could tell she’d heard him say there was nothing going on between them.

  He took a step toward her. “Diana—”

  She put her hand out. “Don’t!” She glared at him a millisecond longer, then spun around and fled.

  18

  Diana ran to the exit, wiping stupid tears from her cheeks. She’d always assumed if she’d dated a cop, it would end by him being shot and killed in the line of duty. It never occurred to her that the end would come by him dumping her…and at the urging of an octogenarian, no less!

  Actually, it was worse. From his own mouth, he’d said there was nothing going on between them!

  Declan stopped her at the door. “Ye can’t leave, Ms. McKellen. Orders from the DCI.”

  She turned back to look at Rory—a reflex, as if the doctor at her annual physical had taken that little hammer to her. She hated herself for looking, because he was looking straight back at her with. . . pity in his eyes? Pity!

  What she did next didn’t make a whole lot of sense. She threw herself at Declan. Not to bust through the door, but to kiss him. She’d taken the poor guy by surprise, and he didn’t respond to her kiss at first.

  But then Declan kissed her back. It was nice. She tried to enjoy it, but…

  She couldn’t. Because no one kissed like Rory.

  And she didn’t want to kiss anyone…but Rory.

  A hand gripped her arm. It couldn’t be Declan’s hand, because his arms were wrapped around her. He was really embracing the idea of kissing her now.

  Diana was pulled away from the kiss.

  And the pull-er was growling. “Leave off, Declan.”

  Declan laughed. “Sorry. What can I say? The lass was willing.”

  “Nay.” Rory’s voice was laced with warning. “She was mistaken, ’tis all.”

  Diana was stunned, and okay, a little thrilled that Rory had come after her.

  “Don’t do it again,” Rory said.

  “Why not?” she snapped. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

  He glared at her and for the first time, she saw he could be dangerous.

  “Outside. Now! On the balcony.” He didn’t lay a hand on her, but his words felt like a shove.

  She gave him a superior glare. “I’ll go, but only because it’s stuffy in here.” And because she was curious as to what he wanted to say.

  As she marched toward the balcony, she noticed many eyes on them. Her superior attitude faded, as she started to realize what a spectacle she’d made of herself, Declan, and Rory. She stopped and faced him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Rory.

  Lorna and two of her fellow retreat goers leaned closer, as if not to miss a word of their conversation.

  Diana moved nearer to him so others couldn’t hear. “You have a case to solve.” And I’m acting like a lovesick idiot with a crush. “Go do your job.” She had a job to do as well. “We can talk later.”

  “Are ye sure?” He glanced skeptically at Declan, as if he couldn’t trust him.

  “I’m sure. I have calls to make.” And my crush on you…to crush! To obliterate!

  Rory walked back to the table where he’d been interviewing people. He didn’t get to sit down, though. The forensics team arrived and he led them from the ballroom.

  Diana pulled out her phone and texted Nicola at Three Seals to let her know about Leo. Next, she took her notebook to a small table in the far corner.

  It was time for her to get serious.

  Time to figure out who was committing all these murders…and why.

  Time to solve the case, so she could fly home.

  More importantly, it was time for her to finally be honest about what was going on. Because being in Scotland around the man she could never have was just too much for her heart to handle.

  * * *

  MacTaggart hurried over to Rory.

  “What is it?” Rory asked.

  “The newlyweds, Ewan and Parker, want to leave for their honeymoon. Are ye clearing them to go?” MacTaggart asked.

  “Aye. Tell them to keep their phones on, in case we need to get a hold of them.”

  Rory saw MacTaggart deliver the news and then watched as Diana hugged Parker goodbye. Rory didn’t wait around to see if she noticed him. There was a killer loose and he got the awful feeling the murderer was closing in for the finale. Where was Marta now?

  With a quick scan, he searched the room and found Marta in the corner of the ballroom, dabbing her eyes, with McCartney standing guard.

  Rory made his way to her, and caught the tail end of the conversation with her sister.

  Tilly handed Marta another tissue. “I just don’t understand why you’re so upset. You said you were done with Leo.”

  “I don’t know. I just am,” Marta blubbered.

  “You told him repeatedly to leave you alone,” Tilly sounded genuinely puzzled.

  “He’s dead, Tilly,” Marta wailed. “We had a history together, me and him.”

  This brought an empathetic look to Tilly’s face. Rory could see she loved her overbearing sister very much. Tilly pulled out three tissues this time and handed them to Marta before wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Mar-Mar. I’m here to take care of you.” Tilly looked up at Rory. “Can I take her to our room now? She needs to lie down.”

  “Sure,” Rory said. “McCartney, go with them. I’ll send MacTaggart up to relieve you later.”

  Rory could feel Diana’s eyes upon him as he left the room, but he wasn’t going to give into temptation and look back. It occurred to him, then, that the sooner he caught the murderer, the sooner he could focus on Diana and see what was really going on between them.

  One by one, he released people to go to their room or back home. When he was finished, he didn’t have one clear suspect or one strong lead. Then a horrifying thought hit him.

  What if the killer went after Diana next?

  The killer seemed to be systematically getting closer to Marta by murdering those nearest to her.

  “MacTaggart,” Rory barked. Why hadn’t he considered this sooner? Because, since meeting Diana, his renowned rational thinking had been on hiatus.

  “What is it?” MacTaggart asked.

  “Someone needs to be posted outside Diana’s door at all times,” Rory said.

  “Should I ask Declan and Tavon to help with the detail?” MacTaggart asked. “We could use the extra eyes.”

  Eyes aren’t the problem. Lips are.

  “No.” It was a split-second decision, which he had no intention of explaining. “Ye’re in charge of Diana. Ask one of the duty officers to take shifts with ye.” And make sure he isn’t going to be someone Diana would find attractive! “Text me with updates. I do
n’t want her wandering around the castle alone.”

  One of MacTaggart’s bushy eyebrows lifted slightly, and Rory realized he’d been too transparent.

  “That goes for everyone. We’re locked down tight,” Rory said with authority. “The problem is, I don’t know who we have locked down with us.” A murderer, or just a bunch of quilters having the worst retreat in history.

  “Understood.” MacTaggart turned and left.

  For the rest of the night, Rory worked with the forensic team to clear the crime scene. Now, he could only hope the killer would slip up and give himself away before another crime was committed.

  Finally, just before dawn, Rory headed off to bed, hoping to get some sleep before they headed back to Gandiegow. Barely an hour later, there was a knock at his door.

  “What?” he croaked, trying to clear the fog from his head. “What is it?”

  “It’s McCartney. Ye said to wake ye when the quilters were up.”

  “What’s the time?”

  “Seven,”

  “Fine.”

  “Deydie says they’re leaving for Gandiegow within the hour,” McCartney added.

  “Crud.” Rory’s exclamation wasn’t completely under his breath. “I’ll be down in a few.” He wanted to get a look at the quilters to see if any of them had had a restless night’s sleep from stabbing Leo and pushing him down the steps of the root cellar.

  Rory took a quick shower and headed downstairs. Sewing machines were being carried out the massive double oak doors by Declan, Tavon, and the other men of Whussendale, whom Rory suspected were off to work at the wool mill after completing this chore. He found the quilters in the dining room, bellied up to the buffet. He tried not to look in Diana’s direction as he loaded Scotch eggs and a couple of broiled tomato wedges on his plate, before sitting next to Bethia. He barred Diana from his mind, which wasn’t easy; she was three chairs down, sitting across from Lorna. He scanned the table for guilty faces, and found none. Marta was the only one who was out of sorts with her red puffy eyes. There was real grief there and Rory couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

  Deydie stood up at her place at the head of the table. “On behalf of Kilts & Quilts, we’d like to offer each of you a free two-day workshop, including tuition, room and board.” She threw a disapproving look in Rory’s direction, as though it was his fault and added, “Since this retreat has turned out to be more eventful than expected.”

  Approving murmurs filled the room.

  Deydie glanced at the paper in her hands. “I’ll send ye an email with the details, but I can tell ye that during yere mini retreat, the Love Coach will be stopping in to join ye.”

  Bethia jumped in. “Tell them what the Love Coach is.”

  Deydie leaned on the table, as if readying everyone to hear the best gossip in the world. “Aye. The Love Coach is the invention of Gandiegow’s own matchmaker, Kit Woodhouse-Armstrong, for mature singles.”

  The room, which was filled with mature singles, came to attention, their ears perked.

  Deydie continued. “The coach will be carrying both golfers and quilters. All clients of Kit. Knowing her, they’ll be a bunch of Americans among them. While the men are off golfing during the day, the coach will take the women to various quilty stops, like Gandiegow. Then, every evening, the lads and lassies will come back together for dinner and entertainment.” Deydie motioned to somewhere out the window. “Declan, the lad who’s been watching over Marta Dixon, is going to be the tour guide on the coach. He recently finished his Blue Badge Guide training.”

  At the mention of Declan, Rory’s blood boiled. He couldn’t help looking at Diana to see if she was remembering and reliving how she’d pawed and kissed Declan last night. Gads!

  “Can we sign up for this Love Coach, too?” Lorna asked. “I could go for an American lad.”

  Rory thought her choice of words—lad, for instance—was ridiculous, as Lorna had to be sixty if she was a day.

  All the women were buzzing now, and Deydie flapped her hands. “Settle down now. I don’t know if the coach is full or not. But I’ll find out and get ye the information when we get back to Gandiegow. Hurry and finish. I think we’re all nearly ready to go.”

  Rory devoured the food on his plate and made a to-go cup of coffee to take with him, while McCartney escorted Marta from the room. Deydie stopped Rory as he was leaving Kilheath Castle.

  “I’ve heard from Moira.” Deydie handed Rory the list.

  He scanned it quickly.

  “All my quilters’ Quilt to Death quilts are accounted for.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.” Most likely, then, the quilt laid over Leo’s body had been Lorna’s.

  He and Deydie walked out together and he helped her to board first. When Rory climbed into the coach, he didn’t sit in the back, where he had sat with Diana on the trip here…and where she sat now. Instead, he took a seat in the middle of the bus—right behind Lorna and diagonal to Marta and Tilly. The decision was strategic, but it didn’t feel good or right. Only once did he let himself glance back to see Diana’s face. She didn’t seem happy about where he was sitting, any more than he was. And somehow, seeing her disappointed, made him feel better.

  Maybe she felt the same way for him as he did for her.

  * * *

  The coach doors closed and they set off to Gandiegow. Diana pulled her gaze from the back of Rory’s head and uncovered the first page of Tilly’s manuscript, book ten in the Quilt to Death series. Before she could read the first sentence, Deydie stood up in the front of the bus.

  “Bethia just had a suggestion,” Deydie said. “She thought we could sing as we travel back to Gandiegow.”

  “Sing what?” Lorna asked, as she’d made herself the unofficial spokesperson of the quilters.

  “I know it’s early for Christmas caroling, but we could sing a few holiday songs to pass the time.”

  Bethia stood, too. “Let’s begin with Jingle Bells.” She started singing and most of the bus sang with her.

  But Diana didn’t hear a deep baritone voice joining in. In fact, Mr. Serious was glancing down at something. Oh, how she wished she was sitting with him so she could help him with this case.

  Just like I used to help my dad. That thought sobered Diana and had her looking away from Rory. She stared down at the pages in her lap. With a lot of effort, she tuned out the singing and began reading. The pages were good, really good. Here and there, she made notes of things to ask Tilly, but overall Diana loved it, just like the other books in the Quilt to Death series.

  Before she knew it, the bus was making the slow descent down the massive hill into Gandiegow. Deydie took that moment to start up her version of Ninety-nine Bottles of Whisky on the Wall and the quilters, laughingly, joined in.

  When the bus came to a stop, Diana was surprised that a crew of Gandiegow men and women weren’t waiting to take the sewing machines back to Quilting Central. “Why are the sewing machines remaining on the bus?” Diana asked Bethia.

  “The quilters will be taking this coach back to Edinburgh in a few hours. They will pack the rest of their things, have a bite of lunch, and then be on their way.”

  Diana watched as the quilters walked toward the quilting dorms. They’d gotten more than they’d bargained for when they’d agreed to be the PR guinea pigs for Marta Dixon’s blunder-of-a-book promo.

  Rory hung back, too, and watched as things were unloaded.

  Diana glanced over at him, trying to act like his pal instead a woman who was falling for him…hard. “I didn’t hear you sing on the bus and I noticed you had your head bent.” Okay, she’d said too much, like she’d been watching him like a hawk. She had to let him know otherwise. “Were you resting?” Still, she’d said too much. He’d probably deduce she was worried about him, being up all night, gathering evidence. “I, ah, assume you didn’t get much sleep.” Her ill-advised words were laced with I certainly missed you in my bed.

  “Not much,” he said, watching her closely.


  Diana wanted to hide her face. At the same time, she wanted to gaze into his eyes, while running a hand over his beard stubble. It wasn’t just his sex appeal she was drawn to; she loved his companionship, too. But a shredded heart—which would certainly happen if she let herself fall in love with the Detective Chief Inspector—was not worth the price of a few stolen moments.

  “What did you do on the trip?” he asked. “Sing along with the crowd?”

  If you’d turned around at least once, you would’ve seen that I wasn’t.

  But she kept her pout to herself. “I’ll fill you in later. Too many ears. So…did you enjoy your nap?”

  He held up his notebook. “I was going over evidence. I do have a couple of questions for you, though.”

  “Sure. Anything.” Once again, she sounded too eager.

  He hesitated for a second, waiting until the last person grabbed a suitcase and they were alone. “Let’s walk.”

  They headed toward the village. The sea was feisty today, waves splashing over the walkway. Rory steered her toward the bluff to where the quilting dorms and Partridge House sat. For a moment, Diana wondered if he wanted her to take a siesta with him. Her foolish stomach warmed with anticipation.

  “What I’m about to tell you can’t be shared with anyone,” he said in his serious detective voice.

  Her stomach plummeted. No fun-time siesta for me.

  “Sure. I’ll tell no one,” she agreed quickly, making sure her voice covered her disappointment.

  “It’s about the murder last night. I need details from you about the quilting series.”

  “Was there a quilt involved?”

  “Aye. It’s the one you showed me earlier—the Lover’s Knot. But the one involved in the murder didn’t look the same as the one you showed me on yere phone.”

  “Did it have a different colorway? Was it more blue than yellow?” Diana asked.

  “Aye.” Rory pulled out his phone. “I tried to take a picture of just the quilt.” Without showing Leo’s body. “Is this Lorna’s?”