She’d been clear. I don’t date cops. Period. But couldn’t she make an exception just this once?
He wouldn’t ask her. One of the things he loved about her was her steeliness.
“Love?” He actually said it out loud. Was that what this was? “Well, hell.” He didn’t need to investigate his feelings to figure out what had him twisted into knots. Love had whacked him in the gut. “So, this is what it feels like.”
Awful.
And wonderful.
He just had to convince her to stay in Scotland with him. For him.
He took one more look at her before heading back to Duncan's Den to sleep for a few hours. But no longer than that. Sleep was not going to help him face this challenge. But sleep would help him to say and do the right thing. For he had to say it right, do it right. He had to make Diana fall in love with him, too.
* * *
Diana walked around the café with the camera, feeling lost and not sure what to shoot. When she did raise the camera and point it in Marta’s direction her hands were shaking too much to actually record anything. Why did she let Rory unsettle her so?
Over in the corner she saw Tilly looking as white as a ghost and as shaken up as Diana felt.
I should’ve really watched my words with her.
Tilly reached in her pocket but came up empty. Diana raised the camera and focused on Tilly’s face, confirming the tears in her eyes. Tilly dug around in her bag before finally producing a packet of tissues. In the process, other items had tumbled out—one of Marta’s bright scarves, a hand-stitching project, a notebook, and a small case with tourniquet stamped on it in large capital letters. Diana zoomed in as Tilly scrambled for the tourniquet case, shoving it back into the bag first while allowing Marta’s silk scarf to hit the floor.
Why did Tilly have a tourniquet? Did Marta have some kind of medical condition?
Diana focused on Tilly’s face and was surprised and shocked to see Tilly glaring back at her.
She’d been around the Dixon sisters nearly around the clock and had thought Tilly was cut from a different cloth than Marta. But not now. Tilly didn’t look as meek as Diana thought she was. In this moment, she looked like Marta and capable of the same emotional outbursts. Diana lowered the camera to her side, thinking about how she could smooth things over with Tilly. Diana started toward her, but Marta intervened by saying, “Tilly, get me an aspirin.” Marta looked awful today. The trip to the wilds of Scotland appeared to have taken its toll on her. She seemed like a woman at her wit’s end, her expression sour and her white suit looking like crumpled paper from the bus ride.
Maybe Marta looked like death-warmed-over because she’d killed off the series that was beloved by so many. Or maybe her guilt was about the murders, as Rory now suspected.
Diana pulled out her murder board notebook and wrote this down so she’d remember to run it past Rory later. And just because she had her notebook out, she added Tilly’s tourniquet to the list of things Diana wanted to discuss with him.
“Aren’t ye going to eat?”
Diana jumped at Deydie’s words. “Not hungry. Especially after the scare you’ve just given me!”
Deydie harrumphed. “Ye need to keep up yere strength. A lass has to eat in this weather. I can feel in me old bones that snow is coming.”
Diana glanced out the window but saw nothing. “This evening, I’d like to get some video of you making the Puffin quilt. Does that work for you?”
Deydie grinned. “Aye. I’m ready for me close-up.”
Diana laughed. “What do you think? Is it time now to hand out the final giveaways?”
Deydie’s grin was gone and her businesslike demeanor was back. “That’s correct, lassie. The women will be leaving shortly.”
Diana—still on a mission to apologize to Tilly—had to go to Marta instead.
“Are you ready to do the final giveaway? The parting gifts are set out over there.” Diana motioned to the table by the front door.
Marta rose. “If I must.”
Deydie joined Marta and hollered to get everyone’s attention. “The citizens of Gandiegow have a few surprises for you before you go.”
Marta looked confused. Diana felt a bit confused, too.
“Moira, tell Dominic and Claire that it’s time,” Deydie said.
Moira pushed back the swinging door to the restaurant’s kitchen. “Deydie said she’s ready.”
Dominic and Claire each came out of the kitchen carrying a tray stacked with boxes.
“We’re sending ye home with some delicious treats,” Deydie said. “Compliments of Pastas & Pastries and the quilters of Gandiegow.”
The retreat goers clapped as Dominic and Claire passed out the boxes.
“Pipe down,” Deydie said. “We’ve another prize for ye. Each one of you is getting a ticket to Gandiegow’s first murder mystery dinner. We’ll have a silent auction first to raise money for our new lifeboat, and then a murder to solve while we eat.”
Diana thought this struck a little too close to home, but it was for charity.
“We’re going to call it, Kilt at Christmas.” Deydie said--smiling rather ghoulishly, Diana thought. “I named it meself.”
Bethia and Moira walked among the tables handing out the tickets while Rachel stood and added, “Please let me know if you’d like to stay the night after the murder mystery dinner. Partridge House and the quilting dorms will fill up quickly for the event. Sooner is better than later.”
“Thanks,” Deydie said. “Well, ladies, I’ll turn things over now to Marta Dixon.”
Marta straightened her scarf, then lifted one of the bags with both hands like she was Mufasa in The Lion King. “I’ve put together a little something for you to take home.” Her smile was full of fake benevolence.
The quilters beamed and several of them shouted, “Thanks, Marta.” Diana was sure these ladies didn’t give a whit about Marta’s sincerity as long as there was free fabric beneath the perfectly arranged tissue paper sticking up out of the bags.
She put her hand up to get their attention. “I hope all of you will send me pictures of your completed quilts. My card is in each of your goody bags.”
“Come on, ladies,” Deydie said. “Time to get off yere arses. Yere coach is waiting to take ye home.”
The women rose and headed for the coatrack and then the exit. Marta handed each a sack and thanked them as they departed.
Relieved that the quilters were finishing the retreat unharmed, Diana followed the group out to the parking lot, and wished each one well as they stepped up onto the bus.
When the bus left, Diana turned around to find that Rory had joined them. He looked good, all sexy in his stubble, but his serious face was back. Understandably, as he still had a series of murders to solve. And Diana was going home tomorrow. Suddenly, she didn’t feel as relieved as she’d felt moments ago. She felt lonely and wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him. But she couldn’t.
She could, however, get him alone to discuss the case. At least in this one thing, they could connect -- and without her heart in danger of breaking.
“Everyone back to Quilting Central.” Deydie glanced over at Diana. “Unless ye have more important things to do.”
Since Deydie gave her permission, Diana turned to Rory. “Do you have a couple of minutes to discuss the case?” She made sure to speak at a normal volume to let those around her know that things were on the up-and-up.
Rory raised an eyebrow. “Is that code?” Apparently, he didn’t care about the curious glances the Gandiegow quilters were giving them.
Diana rolled her eyes. “I really have some things to talk to you about.” She gave him a hard look, hoping he would understand her seriousness.
“Sure.” He pointed toward the back of the village. “Let’s speak at Duncan's Den.”
The two of them walked away from the others and started making their way to the quilting dorm.
While they walked, he glanced over at Diana. “Ye
look worried. Is everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s this sense that we’re missing something,” Diana said, as they hurried along the cobblestones. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
He looked over at her with his eyes squinted, as if he was trying to read her mind. “What happened while I was away?”
“Marta might have some kind of medical condition,” she said.
When they arrived at Duncan's Den, he stepped up on the porch, but turned to face her so his back was to the door. “What makes ye say that?”
“Tilly is carrying a tourniquet around in her bag,” Diana said. “She acted weird about it when she saw that I saw.”
Rory’s eyebrows went up.
“Can you think of a condition that Marta might have that would need a tourniquet?”
But Rory wasn’t listening. He was looking over her shoulder, in the direction of the ocean. “You?”
“What?” Diana said.
“No!” Rory lunged, pushing Diana to the side, essentially tackling her at the same moment a shot rang out.
With the wind knocked out of her, Diana tried to move, but Rory was dead weight. “Get up!”
But he didn’t budge. From where she lay, she saw blood on the corner of the porch. “Rory! No!” Her lungs were constricting from panic. “Help! Someone help me!” Blood was oozing from the side of his head.
Sobbing, she tried to slide out from underneath him. “Rory, wake up! Wake up!”
“Hold on, lass!” someone yelled in the distance. It sounded like Hamilton. She heard his footfalls coming nearer. “I’m right here.”
He shifted Rory off her. “Are you all right? I heard a shotgun.”
“I’m fine, it’s Rory!” she cried. “Is he okay?” She was looking at his bloody head, but then noticed his shoulder was bleeding, too. “Get the doctor!” Her voice was a near screech as she laid Rory’s head in her lap.
Ham pulled out his phone and dialed. “Come to Duncan's Den. Now. The DCI has been shot. I’m calling 9-9-9 for an ambulance.” He listened for a second, then looked over at Rory. “He’s bleeding from his head and his left shoulder.” He listened again. “Right. Got it.” He hung up and rushed to Rory, squatting down and applying pressure to Rory’s shoulder. He handed the phone to Diana.
“You call 9-9-9. Doc will be right here.”
With shaking hands, she dialed the number.
“Put it on speaker,” Ham said.
When the dispatcher answered, Ham explained what had happened and where the ambulance needed to go.
By now, Diana had the vague sense that others had arrived. Someone laid a quilt over Rory. For shock, she thought foggily.
But another thought was clear. So very clear. Rory was going to die. Shot to death. Just like my father.
* * *
Deydie heard the gun go off. They all had, all the quilters of Gandiegow. They all jolted to their feet.
“Did you hear that?” “What was it?” “Someone was probably shooting some pesky animal.”
But dread came over Deydie. When she’d gone home earlier to get her good pair of scissors, she’d noticed her shotgun wasn’t standing in the corner, where she kept it handy for deterring varmints who raided her garden. But there was no garden in November. She meant to say something to Rory, when she saw him, but she’d forgotten.
She headed toward the door, but halted when Ramsay burst through first. His face was all contorted.
“It’s DCI Crannach. He’s been shot,” Ramsay said.
“Is he going to be all right?”
Deydie was glad Bethia asked because she was afraid if she tried to speak now, nothing would come out.
“I don’t know. Doc is with him now, outside Duncan's Den.”
Deydie pushed past him as other questions were shouted and raced for Duncan's Den, her old heart pounding. She liked Rory. He was a good lad. She would hate it if it was her gun that shot him. But deep down, she knew the truth. The gun was hers.
When she rushed down the wynd between cottages, the scene at a distance looked dire. Doc was crouched over Rory, and Diana was standing over them, crying. Deydie pushed herself harder to get there faster.
She went straight to Diana, who couldn’t wipe the tears from her cheeks as quickly as they were falling.
When Diana saw Deydie, she ran to her and Deydie wrapped her in her arms. “There, there.”
“He’s been shot,” Diana wailed. “And then he hit his head when he went down. It’s all my fault!”
Deydie patted her back. “How can it be yere fault?”
“He hit his head because he jumped in front of the bullet, protecting me.”
Deydie tsk’ed. “It’s his job. His training. I suspect he would’ve done it for anyone in the village.”
“But he’s going to die!” Diana cried.
Deydie didn’t like it that Doc didn’t contradict her, only kept working on Rory’s wounds. She made a split-second decision. “Diana, I’m taking ye to the bosom of Quilting Central.” She couldn’t have the lass going to the hospital with Doc; it looked like bad news for the lad. Besides, it was safer for Diana to stay in Gandiegow; safety in numbers. “We’ll keep an eye on ye until this nightmare is over.
“I have to stay with Rory,” Diana sobbed.
“No,” Doc said. Apparently, he’d found his voice. “Go with Deydie. I’ll text with updates.”
For a second, Diana dug in her heels, but Rachel arrived, and together, they got Diana to Quilting Central. The whole way there, Deydie felt the need to confess that her rifle had gone missing. But unfortunately, the one person she wanted to tell was the police officer who was unconscious. If I can’t speak with Rory, then I’ll tell his men, MacTaggart and McCartney.
But that wasn’t enough. Her sin in keeping silent couldn’t be washed away with speaking with mortal men. She needed an intercessory to the Almighty. Episcopalians didn’t practice confession as part of the faith. But Deydie’s old soul needed absolution anyway.
She glanced over at her quilters, who surrounded Diana. She was safe and sound. Deydie grabbed her peacoat and buttoned it to her chin as she headed back outside. She needed to see Father Andrew and tell him how she’d been a stupid old fool.
20
With cellphone in hand, Diana sat in a stupor on the loveseat at Quilting Central. Deydie and Bethia flanked her, and Cait, Rachel, and Sadie buzzed around her, asking if there was anything they could do. Marta and Tilly sat across the room with MacTaggart, who was keeping guard. Marta looked upset, while Tilly stared vacantly at the floor.
Diana glanced down at the phone she was gripping so tightly it hurt. She willed it to ring with good news. If only she could talk to him, one more time before he died. And though it was futile, for Rory surely wasn’t going to make it, she opened text messages on her phone and began to type.
I’m sorry, rory, for wasting our time together. Instead of savoring every moment, I spent every second pushing you away. I ruined everything, because I was scared that I would lose you. I know you’ll never have a chance to read these words, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I love you.
Tears dripped on her phone. She hit send. Then she looked around to see if anyone had seen how foolish she’d been.
She felt helpless, waiting to hear the inevitable, that Rory was dead. From off in the distance, she heard a siren. Something inside her stirred to life. She had to be with him, no matter what any of them said. Whether he was dead or alive, Diana had to be by his side.
With so many people watching her, there was no escape route, but she did see an excuse to leave her chaperones. She stood. “I have to use the restroom.”
“I’ll go with ye,” Bethia offered.
“No. Please. I need privacy.” Diana tried to look sincere. “I’ll only be a minute,” she lied.
Bethia and Deydie stared at her for a long moment.
“Go ahead,” Deydie finally sa
id, as if giving permission to a child. “Don’t be long.”
Bethia frowned at Deydie, as if she had an idea of what Diana might be up to.
Diana walked to the bathroom slowly, deliberately. Once the door was closed behind her, she rushed to the window and pushed up the sash. The window was small, but she felt certain she could get through. The siren had stopped, which meant she didn’t have much time.
She stuck her head out the window and then had to maneuver the rest of her body through. She ignored the pinch of her belly and the tearing of her tights as she awkwardly crumpled to the ground on the other side, rolling in the dirt in the process. Finally, she made it to her feet, while dusting as much of the guck off as possible. When she glanced up, five of the Gandiegow quilters were waiting for her—Deydie, Bethia, Cait, Rachel, and Sadie.
Diana calculated whether she could push her way through them, but Deydie had her broom raised like she was ready to take a swing if Diana moved.
“What do ye think ye’re doing?” Deydie asked.
“I—I—”
Bethia shook her head. “Ye have to stay here with us. There’s nothing ye can do. Ye can’t ride in the ambulance and no one is going to let ye drive in yere condition.”
Cait and Sadie came forward together, slowly, as if afraid Diana might bolt. Which is exactly what she’d planned to do. The two reached out and latched on to her arms, both steadying her and making sure she stayed put.
“I have to see Rory!” Diana cried. “I have to go with him.”
“I know you want to—” Cait started.
“Ye can’t,” Bethia reiterated. “Doc will call with news and will let us know when we should come to the hospital.”
“I’m afraid I’m never going to see him again alive.”
Deydie leaned her broom against the wall. “We’ll all go together then.” She led the way.
Cait and Sadie walked beside Diana with Bethia, Deydie, and Rachel bringing up the rear.
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