Please let him wake up and be okay. I’ve learned my lesson. I promise to cherish every moment I have with him. I will no longer live in fear. Moving forward, I’ll embrace life, no matter that the world is a dangerous place for all of us.
If Rory lived, she would savor every moment with him. And if something happened—if he died in the line of duty—she would keep on living, because he’d want her to. Just like she was sure her father would’ve wanted her mother to keep living, too.
Diana’s heart was so full of love for Rory. Oh, how she wanted to see his face, to see he was all right, to tell him everything she was feeling.
Diana’s father came to her once more. You have a rifle aimed at your chest and you have to deal with this problem first.
“Stop it.” Tilly leveled the gun at Diana. “Ye’ve been trying to stall me with all yere yammering. Now get moving. Go there between the buildings.”
But Diana’s job was to keep Tilly talking. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you. And supportive. Haven’t I? I can’t believe you would want to harm me.”
“It’s not personal. Self-preservation, ye see.” Tilly acted as if she was commenting on the weather. Which in fact, wasn’t looking all that great. Deydie had been right. The wind had lathered the ocean into quite a fury, making Diana hope they weren’t headed toward the water. The choppy seas were sure to kill them if Tilly didn’t.
Minutes felt like hours as they made their way toward the water. Diana’s dad had said it was like that in the middle of an incident. “Please tell us where you’re taking us. There’s no harm in doing so now,” Diana said, as if asking Tilly which restaurant they were heading to.
“To the harbor. To the Duffys’ boat.”
“Why the boat, Tilly?” Diana asked, remembering her father saying to use the perp’s name over and over to remind them of their humanity. “There’s no murder on a boat in any of the novels in the series.”
“The Buttermilk Guild,” Tilly said. “Remember? Marta had them die on a cruise ship.”
Diana made a show of scanning the water. “I don’t see a cruise ship anywhere in sight.”
“There’s no more time to waste. We’ll have to use the Duffy brothers’ boat.”
“I don’t understand, Tilly,” Diana said, though she knew perfectly well what the deranged woman was up to.
“Bookending our story, don’t you see?”
Diana shook her head.
“The Buttermilk Guild died at sea so Marta has to die at sea as well. There’s poetic justice in it all.” Tilly looked more than a little demented, as if she believed every word she said.
At Tilly’s words, Marta began to struggle against Diana’s grasp. Diana held on tight and tried to communicate with her eyes, If you run away, Tilly will surely shoot us both.
Which prompted Diana’s next question. “I have to know, were you aiming at me or Detective Chief Inspector Crannach?”
“I was aiming in yere direction, but he jumped in the way.” Tilly motioned with her gun arm as if she was wielding nothing more dangerous than a laser pointer during a PowerPoint presentation. “Shooting the DCI was a miscalculation. I should’ve waited until he wasn’t around. I didn’t think it through. Definitely a rookie mistake,” she said, as if critiquing her own work. “I was only trying to scare ye.”
Diana felt some satisfaction in that.
Tilly went on. “But when he got in the way, for a moment there, I thought I had killed two birds with one stone.” She shook her head, smiling.
Tilly didn’t deserve an ounce of Diana’s sympathy, especially since Rory had taken the hit.
Off in the distance at the edge of town, Diana saw movement. Using only her peripheral vision, she took a second look. Hope grew. She definitely saw someone slipping stealthily from building to building. It wasn’t just any someone. It was Rory in a sling, as if she’d conjured him up. Seeing him made her heart soar. Happy adrenaline rushed through her system and she had to stop herself from calling out to him, begging him to stay back, to stay safe…because she needed him. Oh, how she needed him!
She could almost hear her dad’s patient, guiding voice. You can get out of this unharmed. You know what you have to do. Just be careful while you’re doing it.
She took a calming breath. Okay, Dad. She willed herself to keep her emotions in check, to keep her expression as neutral as Switzerland. But it was easier said than done. With Rory in sight, she knew her life’s path—to love Rory forever. But first she had to get past the next several moments. There was no skipping over them. Her job was to stop Tilly.
Diana could see her future, as crystal clear as if she could reach out and touch it. She had to get Tilly to surrender, or no one was going to get their happily ever after. It had to be fast, too. If Rory got too close, he’d put himself in danger again, and Diana couldn’t let that happen.
Inspiration hit. Remind Tilly what she cared about most. And if Diana could keep Tilly’s attention, she wouldn’t see Rory approaching. “Tilly, if something happens to me, who’s going to be your champion at Three Seals Publishing?”
Marta squirmed and groaned behind the gag, as if protesting the idea of Tilly having a champion of any sort.
Tilly glared at Marta, then Diana. “Three Seals isn’t ever going to let me keep writing about the Buttermilk Guild. You said so yereself.”
“That’s not what I said. Because big publishing moves so slowly, I just didn’t want you to think it was going to happen overnight. It’s going to take time. I want you to keep writing the Quilt to Death series. When you finish book ten, I think you should jump right in and work on book eleven. So when Three Seals does get back to us, you’ll have manuscripts ready to go right into the publishing schedule.”
“But you said—”
Diana cut her off. “The first thing I was taught in PR was to under-promise so I could over-deliver. It makes the department look good. It makes me look good, too. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Besides, Tilly, would I have gone to all the trouble of doing a second marketing plan for Three Seals if I didn’t believe in you and the Buttermilk Guild?”
Tilly looked doubtful. “What are you talking about?” Her brogue had disappeared, replaced with her soft, shy, awkward voice.
“It’s on my phone. Nicola, the publisher, asked for more details on how to position you as the author. Here—” Diana reached in her pocket and Tilly flinched, raising the gun as if to fire.
Diana put her hands up. “Whoa! Nothing more dangerous here than my cellphone. No weapons. Promise, Tilly. Let me show you what I sent.”
Tilly relaxed a little, the gun barrel lowering slightly.
Slowly, Diana pulled out her phone and tried not to watch as Rory crept closer. She opened her email and held out her phone. “Nicola says she received it and is looking it over now.”
Tilly moved closer, took the phone, and studied it.
“See? All hope isn’t lost,” Diana said.
“But Marta would never let me continue writing the series.” Tilly sounded small.
“She can’t stop you, Tilly. You’ll have your own deal with Three Seals.” Diana wanted to tell her that she’d have her own life, too. But the truth was that the penal system would own her after what she’d done.
Diana tried a different tactic. “Also, Tilly,” she said, “you care about the Buttermilk Guild. I promise, when you let us go, I’ll make sure Three Seals continues on with the series. Just as you want.”
“How can you guarantee that?”
“Because I’ll quit if they don’t. Three Seals values what I do for them. They won’t want to lose their Fixer.”
“Why do they call you the Fixer?” Tilly asked.
“Because I fix things that are messed up. Let me fix this with Three Seals. Together, the two of us can make sure the Buttermilk Guild lives.”
Tilly seemed confused, completely back to her old self, the crazy delusional Scottish persona gone.
Diana had another brain
storm. “Besides, you don’t really want to drown Marta. You love your sister.”
Tilly stopped and stared at Diana. “Drown?”
Diana continued. “I know you love Marta. I’ve seen it every day. I was there when you comforted Marta in the van. You’re a wonderful sister to her.” Diana nudged Marta, who took the hint, and nodded fervently.
The words must’ve seeped in because Tilly lowered the gun a little more.
Diana saw Rory was close. Too close! She had to wrap this up before he could pounce and get killed…like her dad.
Diana implored the real Tilly, “Yes, you love your sister! We all know it. It’s the reason you were her ghostwriter for all those years. You wanted to make Marta happy.” Diana recalled the words Tilly had said in the van and used them now. “You’ve always taken care of your little sister and you always will.”
The gun drooped. Tilly looked over at Marta and it was obvious she was remembering Marta as a vulnerable child and not the demanding diva she’d become. “She was so helpless and so sweet.” Tilly gazed at her sister. “She was my whole world when Mama and Papa died. She needed me and I needed her.”
“She still needs you, Tilly.” Diana felt a little nudge from her father. Remember, Tilly will always take care of her sister. Diana took the hint -- and tripped Marta.
Marta gave a muffled cry, her eyes widening as she started to fall. There was no way she could catch herself with her hands zip-tied. Tilly rushed to grab her. In the process, the gun fell from her sleeve and landed in a thorny bush. Diana dove for the rifle, though the thorns bit at her hands. Before she had a tight grip on the rifle, Rory rushed forward, grabbing Tilly, who was cradling Marta in her arms.
Tilly glanced over, her brow furrowing. “But you’re in a coma.”
“Sorry to disappoint ye,” Rory said. “Ye’re under arrest.” He looked over at Diana. “Are ye okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” He scanned her as if searching for bullet holes.
There was such concern in his voice, and across his face, that Diana wanted to run into his arms. But his arms were full of Tilly. “I’m okay. Really.”
Rory yanked a set of steel cuffs from his belt and snapped them on Tilly. He then held out a knife to Diana. “Here. Cut Marta free.”
Diana knelt down and sliced through the zip ties, then eased the tape from Marta’s mouth.
The tape was barely off before Marta was scooting away and yelling. “Tilly, what the hell is wrong with you?”
Tilly hung her head. “You killed the Buttermilk Guild.”
“And you were willing to kill me for revenge?”
Tilly looked confused by the question. “I’d never kill you, Mar-Mar. I just thought you should hurt a little.”
But killing those who were in Tilly’s way or that Marta cared about was okay?
Marta turned to Rory. “It really doesn’t surprise me that my sister is the killer. She’s always had a temper. Especially if she doesn’t get her way.”
A family trait.
Diana had so many questions for Tilly. She glanced over to see Deydie and Bethia hurrying toward them, huffing and puffing, their faces flushed with excitement and exertion.
“I told ye to stay inside,” Rory said to them, looking mildly irritated, as he lifted Tilly to her feet.
Deydie was breathing hard, but her face was glowing with animation. “We saw the DCI sneaking through town and knew something was up. We meant to come help ye, lass—”
“But Rory stopped us from leaving Quilting Central,” Bethia finished.
At that moment, Diana could imagine them as young women, full of life and adventure. Pretty much the way they are now.
“I feel as if this is my fault.” It seemed unusual for Deydie to take the blame. “I should’ve told ye my gun was missing.”
He nodded to the gun in the bushes. “Is that yeres then?”
“Aye.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Rory said. “May I use Quilting Central to hold Tilly?”
“It’d be best, as I have questions for her, too,” Deydie said resolutely.
Rory rolled his eyes at that, and said, “Diana, grab my phone and call MacTaggart or McCartney and tell them where we’ll be.”
Diana took the phone and texted them quickly as they all made their way to Quilting Central. When she was done, she once again leaned in, speaking quietly. “Why didn’t you text them when you left the hospital?”
“I’d been shot,” Rory said. “I fell asleep as soon as my arse hit the seat when I got into Doc’s vehicle.”
She didn’t ask if he’d read her text. Instead, she continued, “But you should’ve called them when you got to town.”
He stopped walking—pulling Tilly to a stop as well—and leveled a gaze at Diana. “I only had one thought in my head.”
“And that was?” she said, holding her breath.
“To get to you.” His eyes were full of emotion.
The rest of the questions in her head went silent as she savored those four little words. To Diana, it was as if he’d said much more.
* * *
Rory was grateful to see MacTaggart and McCartney running down the wynd toward him.
“Glad to see ye in one piece,” MacTaggart said. “I heard back from headquarters. They have a man in custody for killing the couple at the airport. It had nothing to do with the books. What a lousy coincidence, eh?”
“Thanks for letting me know.” Rory’s head was killing him, but he knew he’d be all right once he got Diana in his arms and told her how he felt. “Take Tilly, will ye?”
“Where are you taking her?” Marta asked in a quavering voice. “I want to go with her!” The last was a plea.
Deydie put an arm around Marta. “There, there, lass.” Rory had never seen the old woman be so kind, especially to Marta.
Bethia slipped her arm through Marta’s. “Ye’ll come to Deydie’s cottage for a hot cuppa.”
Deydie nodded solemnly.
But Marta was still looking at her sister fearfully. “What am I going to do without you, Tilly?”
“Bye, Mar-Mar,” Tilly whispered. Her shoulders were slumped more than Rory had ever seen, and her head was bent so low, it looked like her neck might break.
Marta began to cry as MacTaggart and McCartney ushered Tilly away.
“Let’s go now, lassie,” Deydie said, as she took Marta’s other arm, “and leave the DCI and Diana alone.” Deydie grinned at them and said, “If ye’d like to get married here, me and my quilters will arrange one hell of a wedding for ye.”
Rory smiled. “Thank you. Diana and I will discuss it.”
“We will?” Diana couldn’t conceal her surprise.
“Aye. We will.” He pulled her into his arms, not caring if the old quilters were watching or not. “I love ye, lass. I feel like the moment I met you, I came alive. I don’t want to think about my life without you.”
“Me, either.” Diana smiled, as mist came into her eyes. “I love you, too, Rory. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve listened to my heart and not been afraid I’d end up alone like my mom.” She laughed. “I was so foolish. I’ve always been more like my dad.”
“Strong?” Rory asked, but he knew she was.
“Yes.” There was mischief in her eyes. “You get me.”
“And ye have an exceptional mind, too,” Rory said. “I think that’s what I find most attractive about ye.”
“But how are we going to do this?” she said.
“We’ll work it out,” Rory said confidently. “Whatever it takes.” Even if he had to move to the States and clean toilets. “Whatever it takes,” he repeated.
“I’ve been thinking about changing careers. I feel like I can finally follow in my dad’s footsteps.” She gave Rory a sheepish grin. “I saw online that Glasgow University has a degree in criminology.”
A weight lifted from Rory’s chest. “Aye, or we could live in Edinburgh. Or Stirling. Their universiti
es have good programs, too. I can live anywhere ye want…but I can’t live without ye.”
She kissed him this time, and they lingered.
After a while, she pulled away. “In the meantime, I still want to work for Three Seals in a smaller capacity. Someone will need to promote the revival of the Buttermilk Guild. What do you think?”
“I think it’s brilliant. I just want ye to be happy.” He’d do whatever it took to make it so.
They weren’t riding off into the sunset together, like in the movies. That was okay. They were real people, starting their life together right now, in this moment, here in Gandiegow.
What the future held, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. He had Diana, and that was all that mattered.
He gazed into her eyes. “Would ye like to have a Gandiegow wedding?”
“Aye.” She laughed and ran a hand across his cheek. “Kiss me.”
Rory did, just as the snow began to fall.
__________________
Coming March 2021
A new series with Penguin Random House, Berkley
Home, Sweet Home, Alaska
* * *
Thirty-four-year-old Hope McKnight tried not to watch the clock, which hung on the dingy blue wall of her minuscule living room. But it was impossible to keep from glancing at it every other second. She turned and gazed out the frost-covered window into the pitch-black of night, and shivered, before peeking at the clock again.
Ten-thirty.
Ella should’ve been home an hour ago from the football game. Calling and texting Ella’s cellphone hadn’t eased Hope’s worry, as her daughter hadn’t responded.
Hope always agonized over Ella’s safety when it snowed, even if it was only a dusting. Sweet Home, Alaska was remote, with winding roads leading in and out of the town, population 573—natives, transplants, and multigenerational Alaskans like herself. Hope knew better than anyone how treacherous the roads could be. And there was a deeper danger, hanging over their little house. For the past two Friday nights, her sixteen-year-old daughter had staggered in the front door, clearly drunk. Hope felt defeated…and guilty. Lecturing Ella from birth about the pitfalls of alcohol hadn’t prevented her daughter from getting caught up in Alaska’s number one pastime. Being the head volunteer of Mothers Against Drunk Driving in their borough hadn’t solved anything either.
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