by Traci Hall
He slammed the door and she jumped back, her heart hammering hard and loud.
She hurried down the stairs to the lot, and ducked into Lydia’s car. Lydia was biting her lip to hide a smile. “How’d it go?” she asked in a too-innocent tone.
“Billy has food poisoning,” Paislee said. “We should probably go before—”
“Och, what’s this?” Lydia began to reverse from her spot when a silver car nestled in between Billy’s truck and Lydia’s Mercedes. Paislee, on the passenger side, was hidden from view.
Silver? She’d known it couldn’t have been Billy’s pickup that hit her—but what about Tabitha? Naw. This car had a wide black bumper. There was no silver foil at her window, and the shape of the car seemed different. She didn’t trust her memory, as she’d been under duress.
Tabitha climbed out of the driver’s side of the car with a white pharmacy bag, clearly worried by her frantic expression.
“She’s trying tae make him better, Paislee,” Lydia said in a gentle voice. “Not kill him.”
Embarrassed, Paislee would have to warn Amelia that police work was more difficult than it appeared. “I see that.”
“Can you let it go now?” Lydia faced her as Tabitha raced up the stairs to her flat and burst inside. “Isla’s mother has been located. Isla was not a nice person, Paislee, even if she did have reason. She was blackmailing Roderick and Gerald.”
Paislee bowed her head, feeling foolish. “And who knows who else?”
“We dinnae, and that’s the point here. You have a caring heart, but let’s leave it tae the professionals tae do their jobs.”
She glanced back at the building. She’d been wrong, twice now, about who she’d thought had killed Isla.
Forcing a light tone, she said, “Our Chinese food should be ready. Let’s go home and celebrate a good day at the festival. You mentioned you had some other places tae show me for Cashmere Crush?”
“Three places we can see on Monday,” Lydia said, sounding relieved that Paislee was willing to move ahead.
Paislee was determined to let it go before making a fool of herself—who was she, asking questions like she had any right? And it bothered her, that she’d made a judgment and been wrong.
She knew better, and if Gran had been alive she would have reminded her to mind her business and let other folks tend to theirs.
Chapter 29
Sunday morning, Paislee was up before the birds, and she cautiously made her way down the stairs, avoiding the creaky ones, so as not to wake Brody or Grandpa.
Lydia had stayed until ten last night, playing Stramash with them. Grandpa had been the biggest winner of the strategic board game, crediting his years of experience.
They’d feasted on chicken lo mein and her fortune cookie had suggested she give love a chance; Lydia had vigorously agreed. Paislee’d tossed the fortune in the trash. There was no time in her life for romance.
She plugged in the electric kettle and chose the mug Brody had made for her two Christmases ago, with a picture of him and Wallace on it.
Paislee shrugged a heavy sweater on over her flannel pajamas, collected her tea and sack of knitting, and sat outside on the enclosed porch. She missed her gran terribly.
She hadn’t slept well, feeling out of sorts about everything and, worst of all, that she’d wrongly suspected two different people of Isla’s murder.
Lydia had been right to suggest she let the detective handle it—and she tried not to worry that he hadn’t already caught the killer. That was not her job.
She settled the Oxford Blue yarn in her lap and began on the sweater where she’d left off, recalling Hamish McCall telling her that his favorite color was blue.
Detective Inspector Zeffer seemed too uptight to have a favorite anything—yet he also favored blue suits. Very stylish blue suits. What was his story?
Before she knew it, her tea was gone and she had the first sleeve done for the fisherman’s sweater, the sun just peeking between the trees in her back garden. Knitting soothed her better than a dram of whisky, and she liked seeing results from the efforts she put forth.
A scratch sounded on the back door from the kitchen and she got up to let Wallace out.
He wagged his tail in thanks, brownish-black button eyes shiny as he licked her hand before racing out to the green lawn, scaring two birds from the grass to the branches of the sweet chestnut. Her gran had planted flowers in neatly rowed containers, but Paislee hadn’t kept up. So, she’d let the flowers grow wild. Semi-organized chaos, yet beautiful all the same. Very much like her life, she thought.
Out of that beauty jutted the practical poles of their clothesline. Two poles six feet apart, with four strands of sturdy rope running across the lawn.
She mowed with a gas mower as needed—though Brody was old enough this year that she might pay him to do it. He would earn an allowance to spend on comic books.That made her smile as she could see Lydia and Bennett together, gorgeous in their togetherness.
Brody burst out the back door with a grin. “Sunday Funday! Morning, Mum.” He planted a smooch on her cheek.
“Morning, love. Did you have pleasant dreams?”
“I dreamed of going fishing.”
“Fishing?”
Her son’s eyes turned crafty. “I asked Grandpa if he could take me and he said yes.”
“Is that what you two were talking about yesterday?”
He nodded.
“And why was this a secret?”
“It’s not a secret.” His long auburn bangs brushed his brows. “It’s a plan.”
“For?”
“I cannae tell ye till I’m twelve.”
“Brody Shaw, you are not getting a knife. Nothing sharper than nail clippers, aye?” She rose, lowering her knitting to the bag. “And I willnae have you and your grandfather conspiring against me on this.”
He crossed his arms angrily. “What does that mean?”
“Why don’t you go look it up?”
“I dinnae want sentences.”
“That’s enough of yer cheek, then. Drop those arms.”
He did.
“Conspiring is another word for planning, but it’s planning behind someone’s back.”
“Oh.” He considered this for a moment. “Your da had one, though. Didnae he have all his fingers?”
Brody’d never met his grandparents—with her da deceased and her mum in America. She could tell her grandfather had coached him a bit on what to say. “Aye. He did.”
“Will ye think on it?”
Twelve was both a long way away and too short a time. “Aye—if ye don’t nag me about it.”
“Deal.” They shook on it and went inside, Wallace scampering around their feet. Grandpa sat over a steaming mug of Scottish Breakfast tea.
Paislee arched her brow at him.
“Aye, I heard ye,” he said, tapping his finger to his ear. “I’m not deaf.”
Brody leaned against the table. “Mum said we can go fishing today.”
Paislee poured herself a fresh cup, her nape tingling that she’d been outplayed.
“You have rods, lass?” Grandpa asked.
“No.”
“We can rent ’em,” he said, as if money were no bother. “Or I have me things in storage in Dairlee if ye’d rather drive me?”
She remembered him saying he had a storage unit. “Do ye need tae go there?”
“Naw. I was just thinkin’ tae save the cost of rental, but it isnae much.”
To be honest, Paislee wasn’t in the mood for the twenty-minute drive to Dairlee and back, or the mysterious contents of Grandpa’s storage unit.
“Let’s do that, then.”
He rubbed his hands together. “I’ll make homemade fish and chips for dinner tonight. You willnae have tae lift a finger.”
“I like my fish already deboned and cleaned.” She’d never fished and hadn’t planned on starting. “The way the grocer does it.”
Her grandfather eyed her as if she ha
dn’t lived. “I’ll do it, I said.”
“Please, Mum?”
What was the point in saying no when it would be a nice outing for all of them? Besides, he’d asked so sweetly. “Fine. I’ll pack a picnic lunch. But I have a meeting at Theadora’s first. I’ll text her and find out what time.”
Paislee found her phone and sent off the text. Lydia had put the printouts of the three possible properties on the counter by her phone, so she read them at the table while drinking her second cup of tea.
She’d need at least one more for today’s plans. Fishing. Ew.
She was intrigued by the open warehouse plan of the first listing. Shelving could divide the space, and the price was right. The downside, and it couldn’t be overlooked, was that it was five miles on the far side of town.
She passed the sheet of paper to her grandpa and read the next. Two-story, which she could make work, but high priced for the location on the west side of Nairn. Would Mary Beth or Elspeth be able to navigate stairs?
She hated to admit that Lydia had been right that the first property, white on white as it had been, was the best so far.
“Ah, but wait,” she murmured as she read the third.
“I hope it’s better than these, lass.” Grandpa rattled the sheets of paper.
“It might be, it might be.” Single-story brick, only fifty pounds more per month, three blocks back from downtown. No parking, but there was a lot across the street.
“May I?” Her grandfather held his hand out to see.
She passed the listing over. “Lydia is going tae take me tae see them tomorrow after we pick up Brody.”
“This looks all right.”
Paislee agreed but didn’t want to get her hopes up. “I wish my shop could stay where it is.” Yesterday’s festival foot traffic had been the boon for the year. It wasn’t all about the day’s sales but people knowing Cashmere Crush was there. “I need tae check the website and see if we got any orders in.”
“Mum—ye’re supposed tae take the day off. No working. Yer already going tae that dumb meeting.”
“It’s a special circumstance. And you get ice cream with Lydia.”
He balanced one foot on the other, his arms out to the sides. “Fishing, fishing, fishing . . .”
Her phone dinged. She read the message from Theadora and chuckled. “Well, me lad, yer in luck. Theadora cancelled for today.” She wondered why.
Brody grinned and raced around the table.
Theadora added another message: Looking forward to hearing what the historical society has to say.
“Maybe they dinnae have enough information to act?” she mused aloud. She received another text. Meeting next week.
Paislee sent Lydia a message that she was off godmother duty, unless she wanted to join them for fishing at the pier.
Lydia answered with a green-faced emoji with its tongue out. See you tomorrow.
“Awright. Let me cook up some sausage and biscuits and then we can picnic on the pier—you two fish, and I’ll lounge with Wallace like a lady of leisure.”
Grandpa had done some of the chores already that she tried to fit in on a Sunday so she didn’t feel too guilty about taking the day to relax. She could make some progress on the sweater while he and Brody fished. Other folks liked to read to escape, but Paislee preferred having her hands busy while she either listened to the radio or watched the telly.
It was close to noon by the time they arrived at the fishing pier across from Harborside Flats, where Isla had lived. She’d let Grandpa drive since she was still a wee bit sore.
“Why did you choose this park?” she asked.
Grandpa shrugged. “I knew they had fishing poles for rent. There are less crowded piers, but they dinnae have the amenities. Is it a bother?”
“Naw.” Paislee got out the picnic basket she’d loaded with cheese sandwiches and crisps, and the packet of shortbread cookies for a sweet. She kept Wallace on his lead, giving Brody and Grandpa cash to rent rods and buy bait.
She hadn’t quite released her hold on the money as she looked them both in the eyes. “I am not going tae clean or fry.”
They both nodded. Brody had on a mesh cap with a blue bill, while her grandfather wore his dark green tam. The weather was warm enough that they were all content in sweaters.
Off they went to the office on the pier, leaving her with Wallace. She snuck a peek back at Isla’s apartment building. Beside Gerald’s silver BMW there was another silver car, too shiny to be Tabitha’s old clunker.
An Audi?
That was fancy.
Brody and Grandpa waved from the office with their rods and bait and headed down the pier to find a spot midway to drop their lines. They were close enough that she could see them. Dogs were not allowed on the pier in case of hooks in the paws, so Wallace stayed at her side.
Paislee took a seat at the picnic table and watched Isla’s flat. Her body tensed when a man in a dark suit walked out, a cardboard box balanced in his arms.Was that Roderick Vierra? She hadn’t recognized the make of the car behind her when she’d been hit, too focused on the silver sunshade on the windshield, but he’d sure been mad at her when she’d left his warehouse.
Couldn’t get too much fancier of a vehicle than an Audi. The detective had said that Roger and Roderick had been together that afternoon at the warehouse. She truly believed they would lie for each other. Didn’t Roger cover up Roderick’s affairs?
He brought out another box.Was he stealing his own yarn back? She doubted that he had permission to remove items from a possible crime scene.
It wasn’t right. She had to see the front of his car to check for damage, and get a picture of him going in and out of Isla’s flat to send to the detective. She didn’t dare call after his last response about Billy. Paislee moved quickly so that Roderick didn’t leave before she caught him in the act.
She waved at Brody and Grandpa, but they were engrossed in hooking bait to their fishing line.
Making sure she had her phone on silent in her cardigan pocket, Paislee walked the leashed Wallace across the street from the little park on the harbor to the apartment complex. Just a lady taking her dog for a stroll on a beautiful spring day.
And what if Roderick was the killer? Wallace was no bodyguard. Paislee could scream very loudly, though, and dash toward the main road to safety. It was best to stay out of sight.
Nerves tingled along her shoulders. She stopped at the corner of the building, flat number 14. Then 12. She waited for Roderick to cross from Isla’s to the parking space in front of Isla’s door, and discreetly snapped a picture. He loaded the boxes in the boot before hurrying back inside.
On the walkway before the apartments, she sidestepped toward the Audi that had been parked facing the flat.
Paislee scanned the front of Roderick’s car. Not so much as a scratch to mar the silver paint, and there was a black grill that she didn’t recall seeing in her rearview. Not to mention that his windows were tinted.
What was he doing in Isla’s apartment?
“What are you doing here?” Roderick asked. She whirled, her heart in her throat. He glowered at her from the threshold of Isla’s flat, a box balanced on his hip.
Wallace barked and Paislee tightened her grip on the dog’s leash, tugging him back from Roderick’s pant leg.
Guess he was still upset about the coffee incident. “I was going tae ask you the same thing.” She laughed softly, but he didn’t join her, his expression shuttered.
“I dinnae owe you an explanation, but I’m getting my property before Isla’s mother arrives tae collect her daughter’s personal items.” Roderick’s chiseled jaw clenched. “I spoke tae the police and they’re having an officer escort her after I’m done.”
She glanced inside the boot of his silver Audi and saw ten boxes of yarn. There were more in the back seat. Roger had said forty had been missing from the Vierra warehouse.
He followed her gaze. “I had no idea Isla had stolen this much. Roger
thinks me a fool. What was she planning tae do with it?”
She blew her bangs back from her eyes and avoided Roderick’s question—if he gave it enough consideration, he could probably figure out that Isla was going to sell it on the sly. Isla had been far more in survival mode than Paislee had ever suspected.
“Do you live around here?” He put the box in the boot and closed it, his movements very controlled.
“I have a friend next door.” Gerald would be very surprised to hear it, she thought, but it was the best she could come up with.
A gold key dangled from the front door handle and she suddenly realized why he would have access to Isla’s apartment and be allowed inside. “You own this place?”
“Vierra’s does.” He winked. “You didnae think she could possibly afford this place, did you? You may not think much of me, Miss Paislee Shaw, but the women in my . . . employ . . . never go hungry.” He walked briskly into the flat and shut the door behind him.
Clear communication, that. He’d set Isla up in this flat away from his wife to continue seeing her. Pig was too good of a word for the man.
Gerald glared at her from behind his front window curtain, then opened the door. “If ye don’t leave right now, I’m going tae call the cops. This is harassment.”
She didn’t argue that she wasn’t harassing him but his neighbor.
“Sairy tae bother you,” she said, taking Wallace across the street to the park.
Even with her back turned she heard the bang of Gerald’s door as it closed. Roderick hadn’t run her off the road, but could he have killed his lover?
Chapter 30
In a melancholy mood, Paislee considered the “facts” as she returned to the picnic table and their plaid blanket. Grandpa and Brody were immersed in fishing, so she took out her knitting and got cozy on the grass with Wallace at her side.
She petted her pup, enjoying the silky feel of his fur between her fingers. His steady chuffs of breath were a comfort, and she liked that he kept his gaze fixed on Brody—Wallace was her boy’s dog for sure.
It made no sense that Roderick would leave Isla dead on what was essentially his floor, to be found who knew when. The trail would lead right back to Roderick Vierra as the owner of the flat.
