Murder in a Scottish Shire

by Traci Hall

  He perked up at hearing that—then realized they weren’t headed toward Cashmere Crush or home. “Where are we going?”

  She braced herself—Brody was like every kid who didn’t want to go to the doctor or the dentist. “We have your physical today with Doc Whyte.”

  “What?”

  It was like she’d just told him she’d set Wallace’s tail on fire.

  “Brody, it’s not a big deal, just your annual checkup.”

  “Do I have tae get a jab?” He rubbed his arm.

  Paislee gritted her teeth. “Don’t know.”

  “I don’t want tae go.” His chin jutted out stubbornly.

  “We’ve rescheduled three times—if we do it again, we might as well wait until next year.”

  “Aye. Let’s do that.”

  “No, Brody. We are going.” They parked in the crowded lot of a 1950s brick building that housed ten different medical offices.

  She and Brody went inside the first-floor office and the waiting room to see Doc Whyte. A scent of antiseptic layered the air. Potted palms and a fish tank didn’t change the medicinal atmosphere. There were over ten people on chairs in the square space—she recognized Colleen from the market, and Flora.

  Paislee signed in and she and Brody found two padded chairs by the far wall where Flora was sitting, a cloth handkerchief in her hand and a daisy tucked behind her ear. Flora’s long skirt reached the floor, vibrant with deep blues and jewel-tone greens.

  Brody dug his tablet out of his backpack and plugged in his headphones to play video games while Paislee scanned the room, setting her brown leather hobo bag by her feet. Flora, eyes red, dabbed the end of her nose with her hankie.

  “Flora, are you awright?”

  Brody rolled his eyes at her dafty question.

  The poor woman’s energy was visibly drained, her shoulders slumped. “Allergies. As much as I love me springtime flowers and the colors they bring tae my yarn, the bog myrtle does me in.”

  “Sairy tae hear that.” Even the daisy in Flora’s long hair was limp.

  “The doctor gives me medicine, and I’m good through spring, until the heather gets me in September.”

  “I hope you’re getting enough rest.” Paislee commiserated with a pat on Flora’s wrist. “You have so much on your plate.” She didn’t say since Donnan’s stroke, but she didn’t have to.

  Flora cupped the handkerchief in her palm. “I’m not complaining. Donnan’s healthy as a horse, while I’m sneezing and wheezing half the night. Probably keeping him up.”

  Tabitha exited the back office into the waiting room, and Nurse Sandy suggested she take a seat. “I forgot tae get the prescription from the doctor, one minute, Tabitha, and then ye can go, poor dear.”

  Paislee half-stood to corner the girl about her lies but realized that now was not a good time. She slowly took her seat.

  Tabitha’s face was pale and pinched, her brow furrowed as if she was in a lot of pain. Yes, that was the sage scarf visible in Tabitha’s bag. Did the girl have no shame?

  It wasn’t right what she and Billy had done to Isla. If there weren’t a crowd of people she would—Flora elbowed her in the side.

  “What’s wrong?” Flora gestured discreetly toward Tabitha by tilting her head.

  Paislee’d never been good at hiding her feelings, and her dislike must have shown on her face. “Do you know why Tabitha is here?”

  “I dinnae ken the girl, but she mentioned a migraine to the nurse.”

  “She was Isla’s best friend.”

  “Ah.” Flora fixed her droopy daisy. “You always had a soft spot for that lass—none of us understood.”

  Paislee shifted toward Flora. “How so?”

  “Isla took advantage of ye, Paislee, askin’ for special hours and then not comin’ in.” Flora leaned in. “She told ye she wanted tae learn to knit, but behind yer back, that’s not what she said at all.”

  Paislee straightened. “What are you talking about?” Her mind scrambled to the year or so that Isla had worked for her. “She had her reasons.” Doctor’s appointments, or therapist appointments. Sometimes Isla was just too tired to come in.

  And not everybody had to love knitting—so what if Isla had preferred to crochet?

  Lydia didn’t do either.

  “I’ve upset ye, and that wasnae my intent,” Flora said, empathy in her bloodshot eyes.

  Paislee blinked back a tear. “I know she wasnae everyone’s cup of tea, but I did care about her . . . and now she’s gone, and . . .” Nobody to claim her body. She couldn’t say anything else about it without breaking Amelia’s confidence, so she shrugged and kept quiet.

  The nurse returned with Tabitha’s prescription.

  The cheating best friend florist didn’t look at Paislee at all before escaping the reception area. It was just as well.

  Granny used to say all the time that if ye did good, ye got good, and Tabitha had not done good—it would come around.

  “I hope you feel better by tomorrow, for the Knit and Sip. I’ve got tae get more of my flowers crocheted for the festival.”

  “I’ll be right as rain after I see the doctor. I’ve got a new color I’m workin’ on that I hope tae show you girls. A shade of green ye wouldnae believe.”

  “Flora Robertson!” the nurse called.

  “Here!” Flora stood and waved at Paislee before reaching the nurse.

  Nurse Sandy greeted Flora with a concerned expression and Paislee overheard her asking about Donnan, who was due in for some bloodwork.

  “I’ll make an appointment for next week. He doesnae like tae leave the house—says it’s a bother.”

  The nurse gave Flora a half hug. “Let’s get you taken care of.” The two disappeared behind the door and down a hall.

  Mary Beth’s husband, Arran Mulholland, entered the office, a man of medium stature who wore his success like a tailored suit. Today he was more subdued in khakis and a polo, his jaw tightly set. Arran averted his eyes as he sat on the opposite side of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose, his complexion pasty.

  Something going around? Maybe her husband’s illness had been why Mary Beth hadn’t been so exuberant in the queue, picking up her daughters.

  What had caused Tabitha’s migraine? Lying, cheating, or both?

  Paislee recalled Isla’s will to thrive—one day Isla’d had a scare with her heart skipping irregularly, but rather than whinge or cry, she’d laughed loudly, as if daring death to try to take her; Paislee had seen fear as well as determination in her eyes. “Not my time yet,” she’d said.

  No way would Isla have committed suicide. And she was way too careful to accidentally overdose.

  Paislee remembered the way the dog had run out of the flat. Her neighbor, Gerald, peeking through the window at them. Something did not add up.

  What if Isla had been murdered?

  Paislee gasped and Brody looked at her with alarm. “Mum?”

  She waved him back to his video game, her mind spinning. “It’s nothing.” What if someone—namely, Tabitha—had killed Isla in cold blood to get Billy for herself?

  She thought back to the packet of shortbread beneath Tabitha’s worktable, and the shortbread on Isla’s dining room table—Isla didn’t eat sugar. Had Tabitha taken Isla’s scarf then? But why?

  Her stomach churned as she considered such a crime.

  The detective must have discovered something to make him ask the coroner for more tests. She thought back to what she’d seen in Isla’s flat.

  She clenched her hands into fists and propped them on her knees, focusing on the bright yellow fish darting this way and that in the aquarium. Tea—Lipton. Shortbread—the most popular brand in Scotland, which was no help. A prescription bottle. Isla’s blond hair splayed beneath her, her eyes fixed, lips blue. Her wee hand palm up, fingers curled. The silver of a crochet hook. The merino yarn.

  Gerald’s dog running out with the wool, the wool that Detective Inspector Zeffer had asked her about.

>   Gerald had been down to the station.What had he and the detective discussed?

  Some of the wool samples on Roderick Vierra’s desk were a similar shade and texture to what Baxter had in his mouth when he’d run from Isla’s flat. That suggested to Paislee that Gerald had been inside Isla’s home with his dog, and she and Grandpa Angus had both gotten the impression the young solicitor in training had been lying about something—either his relationship with Isla or where he’d been the night she’d died.

  Possibly murdered.

  Brody elbowed her. “Mum!”

  “Ouch!” She held her side. “What?”

  “The nurse’s been callin’.”

  She looked to Nurse Sandy, who grinned and lifted a clipboard.

  “You were far and away!” the nurse called.

  She and Brody stood, and Paislee slung her hobo bag over her shoulder.

  “Embarrassing,” Brody mumbled. “Yer losing your mind, Mum.”

  “Hey, now. It was a momentary lapse.” One she had to bury in order to get through the rest of her day. But how could she? Poor Isla.

  Paislee and Brody quickly brushed by the friendly nurse to the back area and the scale. Nurse Sandy made note of his weight and then took his height measurement. “Two centimeters taller.”

  Thank heaven for shorts over the summer, or she’d need to buy him all new clothes. “Now I can stop feeding you.”

  He shook his head as if she was being ridiculous. “Not funny.”

  They were led into the exam room and told it would be a few minutes.

  Brody climbed up on the exam table while Paislee took the chair, leaving the wheeled stool for the doctor. Nurse Sandy left with a smile.

  “This isnae so bad, right?” Paislee set her purse by her feet.

  “It’s not playing football with me mates,” Brody informed her.

  Ah, the real reason he was upset about having a doctor’s appointment.

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  “We cannae have the field on Thursdays. The band kids have drill.”

  “That’s right—well, there’s always Friday.” God bless her, but where had the week gone? The festival was three days away, and she wasn’t at all prepared.

  “I have a project due tomorrow.” His heel kicked back against the exam table as his legs dangled over the edge.

  “What kind of project?”

  He glanced at her from behind auburn bangs. “I have tae make a kite that really flies.”

  “By tomorrow?” What did she know about making kites? It sounded complicated. “When did you get this assignment?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Brody.”

  He didn’t look at her. “Last week.”

  She counted to five. “You know I dinnae like it when ye give me these things last minute, Brody. We could have worked on it over the weekend and then—”

  “Then we wouldnae have hiked with Wallace in the park,” he interrupted. “We would’ve stayed home.”

  It had been such a fair day with blue skies that they’d bundled up and taken a picnic to the hills. It had been a magical, although brisk, Sunday afternoon.

  Which wasn’t the point—Brody couldn’t fib about things just to get his way. “Not telling me something like that is a form of dishonesty, and here I just told your headmaster that we didnae lie.”

  “It wasnae a lie,” Brody insisted. He pulled his headphones for his tablet from his pocket.

  She arched her brow. “If you dinnae tell me something that I should know, that is called a lie by omission.”

  “What’s that?” He put in one earbud, as if to tune her out, so she shook her head and held out her hand for them.

  “Sentences when ye get home, then, so ye don’t forget. The definition of omission, ten times.”

  “Mum!” He reluctantly gave the headphones to her.

  Doc Whyte entered the room. The only change, after all these years she’d known him, was the color of his hair, which had gone from red to white. He was trim and affable, and she adored him, as did all of Nairn fortunate enough to have him as a doctor. “A few sentences never hurt anybody, Brody Shaw. You’ve sprouted up, lad, haven’t ye?”

  He smoothly changed the subject—supporting her decision while not taking sides. He had a brood of children, eight in all, spread out in age, and now some with bairns of their own.

  “Two centimeters,” said Brody.

  Doc Whyte read the report. “Gaining weight, too. Let’s have a look at your eyes and ears.” He sat on the rolling stool and pulled out his stethoscope, doing his checkup while cracking jokes. The doctor pointed a silver circle toward her. “He must eat you out of hearth and home?”

  “Cheese sandwiches and crisps.” Paislee was just grateful that Brody was healthy, and gave a prayer of thanks. “Oatmeal is a stretch.”

  “I never liked porridge, either,” the doc said, whirling round on his stool.

  Brody forgot he was mad at her by the time Doc Whyte offered him a choice of candy or a pencil eraser. Brody took the sucker, unwrapped it, and had it in his mouth before Paislee could tell him a thing about waiting on sweets before dinner.

  They left with a promise to be back in August.

  He was growing up so fast that she felt time slipping between her fingers like water—no matter how tight she tried to hold on, it slid through.

  Sniffing back tears, Paislee cleared her throat and started the Juke. “Before we go home, what supplies do ye need for the kite? We can stop at the hardware store.”

  Brody scrunched his nose, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. Mrs. Martin had given very precise directions with photos for examples, something that would have been very helpful last week.

  “I want tae make a dragon,” Brody said.

  “A dragon?” Paislee eyed the complicated instructions, a sense of unease rising in her belly. “What’s wrong with the one that’s shaped like a diamond?”

  “Boring.”

  “If ye wanted a dragon, ye should’ve told me last week.”

  He shut up about the dragon. “A diamond’s fine.” He read aloud. “We need wooden dowels, twine, glue, and a plastic garbage bag, then paper for the tail.”

  She scraped back her bangs. They could do this.

  Her mobile rang—her own number? “Hello?”

  “It’s five o’clock, lass—where are ye?”

  Grandpa! Still in the doctor’s parking lot, she pounded the steering wheel. He had no keys to lock up the shop, and she hadn’t gotten used to him being around. “I’m on my way right now, sairy.”

  “Mum—we need supplies for the kite.” Brody rattled the paper.

  “I thought ye were only going tae be gone a while, and I’m famished,” Grandpa said. “All the candy’s gone.”

  Paislee’s blood pressure rose as each Shaw complained.

  “I’ll be right there, Grandpa. As a treat”—she ignored the groan of her credit card—“we’ll get Chinese takeout.”

  Brody stopped glaring at her and nodded.

  “That’ll do,” Grandpa said. “I’ve straightened the shop—we only had two sales of yarn and one blanket pattern. I don’t know how ye keep a roof over yer head with such dismal sales.”

  Really? She shook the phone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  She hung up and pressed carefully down on the gas, having Brody call the Chinese restaurant and order chicken lo mein and sweet and sour pork with extra fortune cookies.

  Those were two sales she wouldn’t normally have had. She hated to admit that having an extra set of hands was more help than bother.

  Chapter 14

  Paislee dropped Grandpa and Brody off at home to set out dinner, while she raced to Rex’s Hardware for kite-making supplies. From there, she headed toward Cashmere Crush with the proper-sized dowels, according to Mrs. Martin’s list. Paislee had pattern paper that would make a sturdy tail. When she passed the police station, Amelia was leaving for the day, her lightweight navy-blue ja
cket zipped up to her chin.

  Paislee made a split-second decision and pulled in next to Amelia’s car in the lot. She rolled down her window, letting in the chilly sea air.

  “Amelia! I had a quick question. Were they able tae find Isla’s mum?”

  Amelia walked to the Juke’s open window, her hands in her pockets. “Not yet.”

  “I just missed talking tae Billy today tae see if he had her number, but I’ll try again tomorrow.”

  “You shouldnae get involved,” Amelia said with a guilty look back at the station. “Detective Inspector Zeffer gave us all a lecture today on protecting a citizen’s right tae privacy.” She leaned in. “Between us, I think Norma got tae talking tae the postman and the detective overheard her.”

  Paislee bit her lip, not sure what to say. She wanted to know about Isla!

  “He’s no Inspector Shinner, that’s for sure. Shinner used tae tell us all the nitty-gritty details of his cases.” Amelia glanced at Paislee and then away. “He said that I’d make a good constable.”

  She pulled back. “Inspector Shinner did? I didnae know police work interested you.” Since Amelia was a receptionist at the station, maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise.

  Amelia shrugged shyly and met Paislee’s gaze. “I’m not smart enough tae be a police officer.”

  “Says who?” Paislee was all about breaking expectations, even one’s own. Especially one’s own.

  “The whole lot back at home. I was the only one tae graduate high school. My brothers went into fishin’ and me parents barely scrape by.”

  Paislee could easily imagine being held fast to earth, but her gran had helped her fly. “If ye want,” she said, “I’ll help you study.”

  Amelia sucked in a breath. “You would?”

  She would make the time, if it meant that Amelia could follow her dream. “Aye—that’s what friends are for.”

  Amelia stared down at the pavement, a grin on her face. “I’ll think about it some more—it would be eleven weeks of training. I dunno.” She clapped her hand against the car. “I have tae go. Dungeons and Dragons tonight at the pub.”