Murder in a Scottish Shire

by Traci Hall

  She pivoted on her heel toward her name and smiled at Amelia behind her. Her friend was the receptionist at the police station across the street to the right. Her poor nose was red and her lips chapped. “Amelia! Are you feeling better?”

  “Aye—how’d ye know I was sick?” Amelia’s short brunette hair was cut close to her head in a wispy shag that suited her pixie face and blue eyes. She was not required to wear a uniform, though she often chose navy-blue slacks and a blue polo.

  “Norma—I called you yesterday.”

  Her mouth pinched together. “A cold is a miserable thing.”

  They moved up in line together until Paislee was next.

  Theadora greeted them with a smile. “And what will ye have today?”

  Paislee nudged Amelia forward in the queue. “Go ahead of me.”

  Amelia nodded. “Ta. Hot green tea with lemon and honey, please, and a croissant.”

  Theadora reached into the glass case next to the register for the croissant, and then filled an insulated paper cup with hot water. Amelia asked Paislee, “Why did ye call?”

  “I’d hoped you knew what had happened tae Isla? I havenae heard a thing since we found her on Monday.”

  “I feel so bad for the lass, even though I didnae care for her in life; nobody should be unclaimed.”

  Unclaimed? What did that mean?

  Theadora returned with Amelia’s order, and Amelia paid, putting the change in a plastic jar with a photo of kids playing golf. It was for Theadora to support the local kiddies’ golf club.

  “What can I get for you, Paislee?” Theadora’s hand was poised over the register.

  “Two raspberry scones, please, and two coffees to go.”

  “Ah, that’s right. Ned said that yer tending tae yer grandfather?”

  “Aye. James told me about the meeting Sunday, but I cannae commit—it’s my day with Brody.”

  Though in her thirties, Theadora clucked her tongue like an old woman. “We have tae band together, Paislee.”

  “I will and you know it. I have a lady reaching out tae the historical society tae see if there is something that can be done.”

  Theadora nodded and relaxed the slightest bit. “Just try.”

  “Aye.”

  “What’s going on?” Amelia asked. “Where did you suddenly get a grandfather?”

  Paislee paid Theadora, who’d packed the scones and drinks in a bag, thanked her, and walked with Amelia toward the exit. “We have got tae catch up, my friend.”

  “I was out sick one day,” said Amelia, pushing the door open with her shoulder.

  They went to a corner table that had just been vacated. Amelia set down her bag with the croissant.

  Paislee, impatient for answers, bumped her arm into Amelia’s. “So, do you know how Isla died?”

  Amelia lifted the top off her tea and inhaled the lemon scent. “The coroner’s report concluded that she overdosed on her heart medication.”

  Isla had been so careful with her diet and her medicine that Paislee had a hard time imagining she’d be thoughtless. “Accidental?”

  “He thinks suicide.”

  Paislee flinched and sucked in a breath. “Suicide?” Maybe Isla had been so broken up over Billy that she couldn’t go on.... Paislee berated herself for not calling Isla right away. Fresh tears burned her eyes and stung her nose. She felt as if she’d let Isla down. “I cannae believe it.”

  Amelia put the lid back on and lowered her voice. “Detective Inspector Zeffer hasnae signed off on the findings, and that hasnae gone over well in the department. Everyone’s walkin’ on eggshells at the station this morning.”

  “What does that mean?” Did he not think it was a suicide? She would almost rather believe it had been accidental. She crumpled a napkin in her palm, overcome with grief.

  “He wanted more tests. Some of the officers think he’s trying tae throw his weight around, ye know? Tae prove he can fill Inspector Shinner’s shoes.”

  She recalled the detective saying that he might be new to Nairn, but he would find the truth. “Do you agree?”

  “I dinnae ken. He’s only been in Nairn a week, and that doesnae seem long enough to judge whether or not a man can do his job.”

  Amelia’s fair-mindedness was something Paislee admired.

  A robin landed on the sidewalk next to them. Amelia reached into her bag and tossed a croissant crumb to the bird, who gobbled it back. “Norma told me that the coroner was overheard shouting at the detective at the hospital morgue, calling him an upstart with no experience.” Amelia tossed another crumb. “She’s normally chatty as ye please, but today she kept looking over her shoulder the whole time.” Amelia blinked. “I miss Inspector Shinner.”

  “I didnae know him like you, but I’m sairy, love.” She rested her bag on the table. “Zeffer stopped by the shop tae ask about that skein of wool in Isla’s apartment, and also about Isla’s mum. He wasnae very friendly.” She put the wadded-up napkin in her pocket. “That’s not how we do things around Nairn, is it?”

  “Naw.” Amelia checked her watch. “Got to go. See you tomorrow night?”

  Knit and Sip. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Amelia.”

  Paislee lifted her bag of goodies and walked back to Cashmere Crush deep in thought.

  Her grandfather looked quite pleased with himself when she entered. “I just sold some yarn. No trouble at all with the register, being as they paid in cash. Correct change.”

  Paislee offered him a coffee and scone, still very sad about Isla and the news that she may have taken her own life. “Glad to hear it, Grandpa. I have an errand tae run, but I should be back in less than two hours, and then ye can have the rest of the day free.”

  His demeanor brightened even more. “How did ye manage without me?”

  “It’s a wonder.” She grabbed her coffee and scone to go. Folks cared in Nairn, and that meant asking questions. Paislee had quite a few for Billy Connal.

  Chapter 12

  Paislee, inside her Juke, plugged in the address to Lowe Farm. Even though Billy was now with Tabitha, he’d once cared for Isla. What had gone wrong in their relationship to lead to Isla’s return, and possible suicide?

  She kept hearing Amelia say that Isla’s body remained “unclaimed” and it chilled her.

  Nobody should be alone in death like that.

  She’d sat with Granny until her last breath, and there was peace in knowing she had died a happy, loved woman.

  Why hadn’t Isla reached out to her, if she was hurting like that? Paislee just couldn’t allow herself to believe the coroner’s ruling. She preferred to think the death an accident, though even that didn’t sit well on her conscience.

  The GPS informed her that she had twenty minutes to her destination.

  Drinking her coffee and eating her scone, Paislee switched on the radio to sing along with Belle and Sebastian. The road to the farm forked off into a large field from the main highway. Acres and acres of green as far as her eye could see, sheep and cows, mostly sheep, sporadically dotted the view, with none of the stop-and-go traffic that had increased in Nairn with the recent rise in population.

  Paislee spotted a wooden sign that read: Lowe Farm at the same time the GPS directed her to turn to her right.

  Paislee slowed and followed the dirt road to a large wooden barn and sheep in various stages of being shorn.Woolly beasts were in one pen, and shorn in another, the dear things shivering without their wool coats. The farm butted up against a stream.

  She got out, wishing she could bring Brody to see the sweet naked lambs, but she knew she had to walk a fine line with Headmaster McCall throughout the rest of the P6 school year.

  A farmer in coveralls and a straw hat left the barn and ambled toward her. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi! I was wondering if Billy Connal is here? I’d like tae speak with him.”

  The farmer muttered something under his breath. “Billy just left after getting a call—claimed tae be sick, all the sudden.
If I didnae need experienced shearers so bad, I’d fire him on the spot. If he doesnae show up tomorrow, I’ll do it anyway.”

  A phone call?

  The man stomped mud and raw wool from his boot heel. “What do you want with Billy?”

  “I own Cashmere Crush, a sweater and yarn shop in Nairn.”

  He didn’t look like he gave a sheep’s behind. “Why are you here? Chasin’ him? A lass like you can do better.”

  “No!” She shook her head. “A friend of Billy’s and mine has passed away, and I wanted tae speak with him.”

  The farmer adjusted the straw hat on his head, his expression unchanging. “Sairy tae hear that.”

  She glanced around the farm. “Where do you sell your yarn?”

  “Vierra’s, mostly. Some tae local crafters.”

  “Oh?” Vierra’s was where she’d helped Isla get her job. “We support our sheep farmers—McFadden’s as well as JoJo’s?”

  His shoulders eased on his wiry frame. “Good luck tracking down Billy—he’s in the process of movin’, he said. I’ll let him know ye stopped by?”

  She had a feeling that someone already had let him know she was looking for him, which was why he’d suddenly gotten sick. Tabitha. Why wouldn’t he want to talk to her? Guilt over leaving Isla?

  She handed over a Cashmere Crush business card. “Please have him call. You have a wonderful farm here.”

  “Thanks.” Farmer Lowe touched the brim of his straw hat, turned on a boot heel, and strode back to the barn.

  Paislee got into the Juke. Now what?

  Since she was out this way—how far was Vierra’s? She plugged in the address and discovered it was only five minutes down the road.

  Thinking about her options for all of thirty seconds, Paislee knew she had to stop at Vierra’s—what had happened to Isla? This was supposed to be her new start in life and yet she’d ended up alone in Nairn. Dead. Maybe her boss could share what her last days had been like so that Paislee could understand.

  Leaving the farm with disappointment, Paislee drove to Vierra’s Merino Wool Distributor and parked in the busy lot, snagging a front-row spot. The stone building had been painted white, with black trim around the windows and black doors.

  She went inside the modern lobby. This business seemed to be from a completely different century than Lowe Farm.

  Waiting for the receptionist at a long black desk, Paislee noticed chrome and steel sculptures that she supposed were meant to be art. They left her confused.

  The receptionist cleared her throat.

  Paislee righted her posture wishing she’d worn something other than jeans. “May I speak with Mr. Vierra?”

  “Aye,” the young woman said. Wild brown curls had been pulled back from her face into a ponytail. “Which one? Roderick just got back from lunch and he handles all the hiring and firing. His brother Roger manages the wool.”

  “Roderick. About someone who used tae work here.” That was who she’d written the letter to, anyway. Paislee followed the speedy receptionist down a tiled hall.

  The young woman knocked on a partially open door, and a masculine voice called for them to enter.

  “Roderick, this lady, oh, I didnae get your name, would like tae talk tae you about—?” The phone at the reception desk rang again and the woman hustled back to the front lobby, leaving Paislee to make her own introductions.

  “Hello.” Paislee stayed in the doorway and scanned the man’s black and chrome office. He lounged behind a black desk, and she guessed him to be forty, with glossy dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a goatee. A chrome nameplate read: Roderick Vierra. Ohhhh. He and his brother Roger must own Vierra’s.

  Next to the nameplate was a picture of Roderick with a pretty brunette wife and two brown-haired daughters, and a bundle of sample cards of merino wool.

  “Have a seat, Ms. . . .”

  “Paislee Shaw.” They shook hands and she sat in a black chair in front of his shiny desk. She preferred her walls of colored yarn. “I own Cashmere Crush.”

  The man put his hands on his desk, eyeing her quizzically. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m here with some sad news, actually—Isla Campbell has passed away.”

  Grief filled his face and he tugged at his goatee. “Yes, I know. I’ve spoken tae the police about it already. Do they know how . . . ?”

  Paislee was glad that he seemed to care. “The officers are still investigating. I was hoping you could tell me what happened? I wrote her recommendation letter tae you on her behalf.” Her eyes smarted with unshed tears, and she pulled a tissue from her bag.

  He absentmindedly shuffled the sample cards of wool. “I still cannae believe she’s dead.”

  That made two of them. “Did you know Billy? Her boyfriend?”

  Roderick’s mouth turned down in anger and he dropped the cards with a thwack to the desktop. “He was sweet on a girl back in Nairn. Isla was verra upset about it. . . .”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t have the details, but it wasnae an easy time for her.” He twisted his wedding ring as he held her gaze. “I had to let her go, unfortunately. Her work suffered.”

  Isla had floated for weeks before moving to Inverness with Billy—what had gone wrong for the lovebirds?

  Paislee studied the cards of samples. Wool had a particular oil from the sheep, and the untreated strand reminded her of the skein in Isla’s flat. “May I?”

  Paislee pointed to the wool pieces attached to the cards.

  He opened his desk drawer and scooped them inside. “Sairy—these are from last year. If you’re interested in carrying the wool in your shop, I’d be happy tae set up an appointment with Roger. We have a minimum purchase requirement, as we sell in bulk.”

  Paislee sat back.Why didn’t he want her to see that wool?

  “That’s all right.” She shifted on the hard chair. “Isla worked with me for over a year and she normally had a smile on her face.” The only time Isla had been sad had to do with doctor’s visits warning her to be careful, or not hearing from her mother.

  “That wasnae the Isla we knew.” Roderick stroked his goatee, his mouth in a thin line. “Love does strange things tae people. She seemed brokenhearted.”

  So he’d fired her? What a jerk.

  “When did you let her go?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  He didn’t even look at the computer or a file to know when she’d left his employ. “You’re sure?”

  Roderick raked a manicured hand through his dark hair. “We have hundreds of employees, but little turnover—most people stay with us for years. It’s how I met my lovely wife.” He glanced at the photo on his desk.

  Paislee remembered that a hundred or more workers could be employed in the warehouses packing wool for distribution when she’d done a tour of JoJo’s years ago, and Vierra’s was much bigger. Yet he knew Isla.

  He drummed his fingers along the desktop. “Is there anything else?”

  Paislee got up before she told him what she thought of his incredible lack of compassion. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  He lifted his hand and studied her with a guarded expression. Had he figured out that she wanted to know more about his relationship with Isla? “Bye.”

  She slung her bag over her shoulder and left the building feeling as though she was missing something. The man was odd—he’d been sad to hear that Isla was dead, though he’d already known. Then he’d seemed more than a little angry.

  Glancing at her watch, Paislee realized that she needed to hustle to pick Brody up on time.

  She hurried to her car, thinking that maybe just a few miles over the speed limit couldn’t hurt. Headmaster McCall’s disapproving brown eyes urged her to step on it.As she dodged the occasional sheep, she thought about Tabitha running into the back office in tears. She imagined the florist must feel guilty over stealing Isla’s boyfriend. But the image that her mind wouldn’t let go of was Isla’s scarf around Tabitha’s neck.

/>   Her phone dinged an alarm and she let out a breath of air. She’d completely forgotten about Brody’s appointment with Doc Whyte.

  So much for giving her grandfather the afternoon off. How had she managed before him?

  Chapter 13

  Paislee pulled into Fordythe right behind the last car in the pickup queue, and praised the angels when Mary Beth Mulholland, driving a brand-new silver minivan, entered right after her so that Paislee was not the final car in line—her twin girls were two years younger than Brody.

  Paislee waved at Mary Beth in the rearview, and the woman waved back without her usual exuberant smile. Paislee wondered what could be wrong. She pulled up and Brody jumped in wearing an annoyed expression as he slammed the door.

  “And good afternoon tae you, too,” Paislee said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Headmaster McCall is being too nice tae me, in front of the other kids.”

  Good! Maybe something Paislee’d said had reached the man’s arrogant, know-it-all brain. It was no easy chore juggling so many things at once. If she occasionally had to race the clock to be on time, well, she did her best, didn’t she?

  “That’s no reason tae be mad.” Paislee pulled out of the school property and took a left toward Doc Whyte’s office. Everything around Nairn could be reached in fifteen minutes, though the Earl of Cawdor’s plan to enlarge the place might change things—for the worse, in her opinion. For the best, in Lydia’s.

  As Paislee got older, she appreciated the quaint shireness of Nairn and already saw the town bursting at the seams as it sprawled outward.

  “And then Mrs. Martin asked if I wanted tae talk tae the counselor. Like there was something wrong. What did ye say tae them, Mum?”

  Paislee tightened her grip on the wheel and snuck a glance at Brody. “Uh, I just told the headmaster that we Shaws don’t lie, and that we’ve had a few bumps—I may have brought up Isla’s death.”

  Brody scowled as only a ten-year-old could do. “I hate school.”

  “Well, I’m not going tae homeschool ye.” She would certainly not have the patience for that. “And we cannae afford tae send you tae Drumduan.” Lydia knew Tilda Swinton and had suggested the independent school, until she’d found out the price, at over eight thousand a year. “So, you’ll have tae do your part. It will be summer before ye know it.”