by A. L. Knorr
“Absolutely. I totally believe in supernatural stuff like that. Don’t you?”
“Better not mention that to Inspector Hamilton.”
Lachlan loosed a belly laugh. “That’s an argument he and I have been keeping alive since I was ten.”
I blinked at him. “Really?”
Lachlan shot me a wide grin. “He’s my father.”
“Oh!”
“He’s a right dry old codger, too. Frustrated with me for not going into the service. But, he’s right. There’s no room for the supernatural in that line of work. I’d just feel hogtied. I’d rather investigate on my own.”
“You like to investigate?”
“Sure, it’s one of my passions. I’ve amassed quite a collection of documents and oddities over the years. Though I’ll donate them to a museum at some point. She’s got a story. There’s a thread somewhere to be pulled at.”
“How would you go about investigating her?” I asked.
He frowned thoughtfully at the remains. “Well, the osteoarcheologist will be able to tell us when she died and how old she was. Roughly, anyway. From there, I’d look into the records of missing persons from the era, see if there’s a description that might match her. Missing persons who were found in the end could be eliminated.”
“Also, missing persons outside of her gender and age range,” I added.
“Right. That would leave us with a smaller group. From there we’d have to see if we could find details about those people’s lives.” Lachlan rested a palm on the spade’s handle and began to gesture. “The archaeologist might be able to give us something specific, like evidence on her body that shows she was a weaver, or had excessive calcium in her bones.”
“What would that mean?”
“It might mean she lived closer to the ocean, ate more fish than those who lived in the highlands.” Lachlan shrugged. “You never know what the tests might reveal.”
I nodded. “What about the thorns? Do you agree with Will, that the two are linked?”
“That’s harder to prove.” Lachlan ruffled the hair under his cap. “We dug up as much of the shrub as we could, but it’s impossible to remove every root and shoot. It would return before long if not kept in check.”
“But your dad said they’d bury the body. If the thorns and the body are linked and they remove her…”
“Aye, if she’s gone and the thorns don’t resurface…” His gaze connected with mine. “Well, that might not mean anything. But…”
“If thorns start to grow around the burial site instead of here…”
Lachlan nodded. “Time will tell.”
“Speaking of telling, has anyone told Gavin yet?” I asked.
“He’s at meetings in Inverness today, but I’m sure Jasher will call him right away.”
“He won’t be happy that progress has stalled,” I said.
“On the contrary. Gavin will be thrilled.” Lachlan began to laugh.
“Why?”
“Oh, you’ll see. I know the laird well, and he’ll be over the moon about this development. Trust me.”
The osteoarcheologist arrived shortly after nine the next morning. We’d been instructed over the phone to cover the body with a tarp until he came. Waiting to greet him was quite the party. Jasher, Lachlan, Evelyn, Will and I stood around in the clearing as a team of two men and one woman were led to the site by Gavin himself. Lachlan had been right. When Jasher called to let him know what had been found on his property, he was as giddy as a boy with a new bike on Christmas morning.
“This place has all kinds of secrets,” he said jovially, eyes twinkling, as the team set to work donning gloves and bibs. “Blackmouth has seen more than its fair share of morbid history.” He said this with the glee of someone talking about winning a prize at the fair, rubbing his hands together. “I always knew that she’d start lifting her skirts, showing us her goods if we were here for long enough.”
The osteoarcheologist cast Gavin an amused look. He was a slender fellow with thinning blond hair named Callum Gordon. He had an actual monocle dangling from his jacket on a chain.
“He’s a mite too happy for someone who just discovered a murder victim on their property,” Callum commented to the group in general. He finished pulling on his second latex glove. “We’ve amassed quite an audience today.”
“With good reason.” Lachlan stood at my right with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “The last time a murder victim was discovered in Blackmouth, it was the year JFK was shot. We don’t see much of that kind of action around here, thankfully.”
“How interesting,” Callum responded in a tone that said he didn’t find ‘modern’ murders interesting at all. He gave instructions to his crew to work slowly and extremely carefully at removing the remaining rocks and mortar from around the skeleton. It took them so long to do this that Will, Jasher and Evie decided to go in for a coffee and one of Ainslie’s biscuits. Only Lachlan and I stuck around long enough to watch the crew laboriously settle the remains into the plastic-lined box they’d brought for the purpose.
“So, Mr. Gordon,” I said to the team leader.
“Call me Callum.”
“Callum. How long will it take for you to do the autopsy?”
“It’s not technically an autopsy as we hope not to damage the remains, and it’s a completely different process than what’s done with fresh victims.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I’m just a volunteer and might not be able to spare quite as much time as I’d like, initially…”
“You’re a volunteer?”
“We all are,” chimed the lady on Callum’s team. “There’s no budget for this kind of thing. It’s too low-profile. No one really cares about some peasant who was stoned up in a wall to die.”
Lachlan and I shared a look that telegraphed our disagreement with her.
Callum caught our expressions. “Well, sure. It’s interesting in general. But Cathy means no one important in archaeology is interested in this kind of find. Unless she proves to be someone of noble descent, which is highly unlikely as we’d have record of such a thing being done to someone of consequence, she’ll be documented and buried without fanfare.”
Lachlan and I shared a borderline desperate look as the team wrapped the skeleton up and closed the lid on the box. They began to sift through the rubble where she was found, making sure that they hadn’t missed anything important, but they were almost finished here.
“Would it be all right if we called on you when the investigation is done?” Lachlan asked. “I’m an amateur historian, I love this kind of thing. And she,” he gestured to me, “is just drawn to the macabre.”
He said the last bit in a teasing tone and I thwacked him on the arm.
“Certainly, I’d be happy to let you know what I’ve found. I’m warning you, it’s likely to be very dull,” Callum said, taking off his latex gear and apron.
Lachlan gave him a patronizing smile. “She was buried in a wall. That’s not something that highlanders did to one another, at least not often.”
“She could be a victim of a clan war, couldn’t she?” I asked as the team began to move out of the grove with the find. “I’ve come across stories of what the clans did to one another. They were brutal.”
Callum shrugged. “Maybe. But maybe she just cheated on her husband and he went overboard.”
“She might have stayed alive in there for quite some time, mightn’t she?” I fell into step between Lachlan and Callum. “She might have dehydrated to death over a course of days.”
“To your point,” Callum said calmly, “it’s not likely––if she was put into the wall alive––that she survived more than a few minutes. Given the state of preservation and how tightly mortared those stones were, I’d theorize there wasn’t much oxygen left to survive on.”
We’d arrived at the parking lot and the team began loading up the vehicle, sliding the body into the trunk. The box looked like it was made for a child.
Gavin came s
triding out the front door as the Callum shut the trunk.
Callum addressed the laird. “I’ll let you know when the investigation is complete.”
The archaeologist got into his vehicle and the engine coughed to life.
When the vehicle had left the parking lot, Gavin turned to me and Lachlan. “I’ll be sure to relay the findings. You crazy kids seem to love this stuff as much as I do.”
“But for different reasons,” replied Lachlan.
I cocked my head at Gavin. “What’s your reason?”
Gavin put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Bookings, my girl.”
“This find will be good for business?”
“Absolutely.” Gavin gave that booming laugh of his. “Every ghost-hunter and spook-ninny will come from miles around––even out of country––to spend a night or two in the cottage built on the site of this find!”
Lachlan was laughing on my other side. “You watch, Georjayna. The moment Gavin puts the story of a body found in the walls on his website and pushes it out in his newsletter, they’ll be falling over themselves to book a room next season.”
“It’s brilliant, couldn’t have worked out better than if I’d planned it myself,” Gavin added as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He said goodbye to us, got into his Land Rover, and left the property.
“Too bad we have to wait so long to learn more about the body,” Lachlan said as we wandered from the parking lot back to the castle.
“Yeah,” I agreed, but couldn’t help smiling to myself. I didn’t have to wait for anything, and I didn’t plan to.
Chapter 8
Jasher agreed to come with me on a Wise trip down memory lane, as long as I agreed to describe what I was seeing as I was seeing it.
“I don’t want to stand there all shivery while you stare off into oblivion for ten minutes, or longer,” he said when I’d asked him in a quiet corner after dinner. “Besides, it’ll be more accurate that way. Whatever you see, you describe in detail as it happens.”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” I replied.
“Good, then let’s meet at the entrance to the maze at one.” He waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially. “A little midnight sleuthing mission.”
I gave him a bored look.
“What?”
“Our rooms are next door to one another. Why don’t we just meet in the hall?”
“Oh. Right.” He looked sheepish.
I patted him on the shoulder and went into the parlor. Maisie sat on the window seat reading a book. Lorne sat on a sofa, looking through a book about space exploration. The kids always read in the parlor before going to bed.
“What are you reading, Maisie?” I sat down beside her.
She looked up as I sat down but she didn’t answer. She closed the book to show me the cover.
“The Illustrated Black Beauty,” I read aloud. “You like horses?”
She nodded and looked down.
“You know, I saw you the other day playing jump rope with some friends and singing. Across from the café. You’re good at skipping.”
Maisie nodded but didn’t look up.
“I was hoping you could teach me the song you were singing?” I asked, gently. “I guess it was more like a chant than a song.”
Maisie shook her head.
Lorne glanced up from his book. “She’s shy.”
“I was wondering where you learned it. You wouldn’t help me learn it?”
Maisie kept her head down. She wasn’t taking the bait, and I was beginning to feel bad for disturbing her.
“Do you know the song, Lorne?” I asked.
He wrinkled his nose. “That’s girlie stuff.”
Maisie bumped me with her elbow as she looked at her brother. She stuck her tongue out at him then looked at me. She pushed the book into my lap. “Read to me?”
It was the first real olive branch she’d handed me. “Of course.” I took the book and began to read aloud, letting go of the questions about the chant for now.
At eight-thirty Bonnie came in to take the kids to bed. Maisie thanked me for reading to her before she left the parlor. I considered it progress.
At one, I pulled on a thick wool sweater and jeans and met Jasher in the hall. He gave me an exaggerated ‘be quiet’ face, his finger smooshing his lips.
Amused, I wondered if it was Evelyn who made Jasher so happy. Jasher had never been this goofy while we’d hung out in Ireland. Granted, after he’d lost the ability to communicate with the dead, I’d gone home. So maybe this was the real Jasher.
The real Jasher shooed me down the hall. In the foyer, we pulled on our shoes and Jasher grabbed a flashlight and a small umbrella. Sneaking out the back door, we crept down the side steps and out through the maze. The moon was a cold, white rind hugged by dark clouds, but there was enough light that we didn’t need the flashlight.
“It’s really not a very maze-y maze,” Jasher whispered. “I mean, how difficult can a maze be when there’s a straight line running all the way through it?”
“I think it’s actually two mazes.” I grinned in the dark. “Plus, it’s for kids.” We passed the end of the maze and entered the thick copse of trees.
“Oh, well that makes more sense.” His voice was so close behind me it made me jump. “But you know what would make it better?”
“What?” I held aside a thick branch for him so it didn’t whack him in the face.
“Thanks.” He took the branch and then let it fly behind him. “Clowns.”
“What?”
“Yeah, don’t you think a maze would be a lot more fun if there was a scary clown chasing you through it?”
“Yeah, if the point of the maze is to terrify children.”
“A happy clown then.”
“Still terrifying.”
We emerged from the forest into the moon-dusted glade. I rubbed my hands together to warm them. Our breath misted in front of our faces.
“Are you going to need me to light the show?” Jasher asked as we looked at the remains of the ruin.
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know, okay?”
“Okay. Ready when you are.”
I squatted and pressed my fingers into the damp soil, thankful I didn’t need to take off my boots in this cold. Retrieving a clump of earth, I stood and cast my gaze onto the ruin.
The grove filled with an ethereal gray mist. Darker smudges coalesced into moving human shapes. I took in a breath as two humans materialized from the fog, their forms visible as grainy shades of gray.
“See something?” Jasher’s voice sounded distant, dreamy.
“There are two people coming from over there,” I pointed past the ruin and into the trees beyond. “A man and a woman. They’re dragging something.” The figures approached and the details cleared. “No, he’s pushing a wheelbarrow.” My stomach dropped. “There is a body in the wheelbarrow. I can see a dress, an arm, and the top of a bonnet.”
“What year do you think it is?” Jasher’s disembodied voice drifted dissonantly through the grove. I felt like I was dreaming, and he was speaking from the real world.
I almost laughed. “I have no idea. My best guess is medieval. The man and woman are dressed like peasants. She’s wearing a shawl crossed over her torso, and he’s wearing a kilt and one of those lopsided hats, a…beret.”
“It’s called a tam o’ shanter.” I felt Jasher step closer, and he lowered his voice. “What are they doing now?”
“They’ve stopped pushing the wheelbarrow.”
“Is the woman in it alive?”
“If she is, she’s unconscious. She looks richer than the other two. There’s lace on her skirt, but the hem is filthy.”
“Is there a building?”
“Just the start of one, but it looks like they were planning this.”
“What makes you say that?”
“There’s a pile of rocks and a bucket with a hand-held spade on the ground next to it. There’s a half-built wall,
and what looks like a couple of buckets of mortar.” I covered my mouth with my hand as the residual man and woman picked up the woman from the wheelbarrow ungracefully. “They’re not careful with her at all.”
“Why would they be? They’re about to kill her, if they haven’t already.”
“Good point.” I cringed and wanted to look away. “They just dumped her against the stones.”
“Can you describe her face?”
“Her head is bent so I can’t make it out. Just her lips, which are full. She has long hair. I can’t tell what color, but I would guess light brown or maybe red.”
“How old?”
“Young. Her skin looks smooth and pale. They’re…”
“What?” I felt Jasher tug at my elbow.
“They’re building the wall around her now, stone by stone. I don’t think I need to see any more.” I turned my hand over to drop the earth.
“Wait, there might be something else, some other clue,” Jasher caught my hand and kept my fingers closed around the dirt. “Don’t stop yet.”
Stomach squirming, I held the earth and watched as the couple walled up the woman I really hoped was dead by then. Sympathy tugged at my heart. She was so young. Where was her family? Why were these people condemning her to such an awful end? The couple weren’t in any rush and built the wall with care, using a lot of mortar and not stopping until the man laid a thick wooden beam over the stones where the body was hidden. Now it looked as though they were getting ready to put in a window. My feet felt cold by the time the residual reached this point, and Jasher was shifting impatiently beside me.
“Now what’s happening?” he asked.
“They’re finished. They’re putting the bucket and spade into the wheelbarrow. Wait. They’ve stopped. They’re talking. The woman put her face against his chest. I think she’s crying. He’s put his arms around her.”
“Lovers?”
“Maybe. They’re talking and holding each other.” I gazed at the two people, looking for all the world like this was a husband who’d just met a beloved wife at the ship’s docks after a long separation. The two pulled apart and looked meaningfully at one another.
