by Molly Macrae
“We went because we thought the books might be his,” Christine said, “and to take him toffee pudding that he asked for when I rang him.”
“He had a sweet tooth. What time did you ring him?” The purple pen and notebook came out.
“Shortly before ten yesterday morning. Is there an estimated time of death?”
“I’m sorry. Once again, I do not have full details. Reddick shared a few he heard from D.C. Shaw, about Mr. Murray’s dog.”
“He was going to call his uncle,” Janet said.
“This was before the uncle arrived. The dog took possession of the whisky box and wouldn’t let anyone near. Anyone being Inspector Russell. The dog had no problem with Shaw or his uncle.”
“Norman, could it be the same gun that killed Lachy?” Christine asked.
“That has yet to be determined.”
“Could it be?” Christine pressed.
“It is possible.”
“Why the dagger and the gun?” Janet asked. “You knew about that, right?”
Rather than answer, Hobbs made a note. “What are your other questions?”
Christine nodded at Janet. “You go ahead. If I think of others, I’ll add them after.”
“Which weapon killed him? Does it matter? And why did the killer leave the gun behind? As a message?”
“What message do you imagine that would send, Mrs. Marsh?”
“I have no idea. That’s why it’s a question. It might not have been intentional. The killer might’ve been interrupted. Maybe by Cyrus. Cyrus is the dog.”
“Thank you.”
“But there’s a wee bit more,” Janet continued. “Was it a robbery? Is anything missing from the house?”
“It might be difficult to know,” Hobbs said.
“I think it could be very difficult. That’s all I have. Christine?”
“I do have one question. Hang on.” Christine had her phone out and she was swiping the screen. “There. Would you like to see pictures of what I’m sure are the same tire tracks at the bridge and at Gerald’s?”
“May I ask why you have these photos?”
“She’s a doer, Norman,” Janet said. “Doing something helps her work through the stress of a situation.”
“She’s right. The stress of finding Gerald and then waiting for the police to arrive was almost unbearable.”
“Will you send me copies of your photographs?” Hobbs asked.
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll just put the whisky box in your office and be on my way. I’m sorry that I wasn’t within range to answer the 9-9-9 call last night. I located Mrs. Maclennan and the mysterious person who took her away in a car.”
“Is she all right?” Janet asked.
“She’s at her mother’s.”
Rab and Ranger came to work that morning. Ranger appropriated his chair. Rab set himself to changing out the front window displays, cleaning the glass, dusting lower shelves, and tidying the area behind the sales counter. He took a shift in the tearoom, shooing Christine into the bookshop for a break. His unusual industriousness had an unusually calming effect.
“Did you give him all these directions?” Christine asked Janet and Tallie.
“Maybe Ranger did,” Tallie said.
Janet went over and scratched Ranger between the ears. “You’re a good dog, and a smart one.” Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Ranger looked at her askance. “Sorry, dear. It sounds like a horsefly, doesn’t it?”
Janet looked at the phone’s display and jumped. Lynsey. She answered, walking quickly back to the counter to catch Tallie and Christine’s attention.
“It’s good to hear from you, Lynsey. How are you holding up?” Janet grabbed a pencil and piece of scrap paper and wrote, wants bike. “What’s the best way to get it to you? What’s easiest for you?” Janet wrote, wants to come get it.
Tallie wrote her own note, pick up here not home.
wants to talk to us, Janet wrote.
Christine took Tallie’s pencil and wrote, invite for a meal.
Tallie took Janet’s pencil and wrote, meal HERE.
“And you’ve already talked to the police?” Janet winced as Lynsey’s response hit her ear. “You’re right, daft question.”
Tallie wrote, HERE away from Ian’s eyes.
good point, Christine wrote.
Janet, regretting the four-way, bimodal aspects of the conversation she’d introduced, relayed the meal invitation and was somewhat surprised when Lynsey accepted.
“We’ll see you about—”
Christine held up six fingers.
“We’ll see you at six.”
“How will she get here?” Tallie asked after Janet disconnected.
“She’s been staying with her mum. She’ll borrow her car and put the bike in the back. She said she needs the bike because she never wants to get in Lachy’s car again. She sounds quite shattered.”
“What does she want to talk to us about?” Tallie asked.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Summer took a break after Christine went back to the tearoom. Tallie told her about the meal with Lynsey.
“I’m there,” Summer said. “There’s plenty of time for darts practice afterwards, and I haven’t met her yet.” She glanced around.
“No one in earshot,” Tallie said.
“We don’t have a suspect file in the cloud yet,” Summer said. “Is it time for that?”
“Or should we stick with theories for now?” Janet asked. “Refining them might help narrow the field.”
Tallie did some quick thumb work on her phone. “We can have both.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” Janet asked Summer.
“Not yet, but it doesn’t hurt to be ready. I do have a new theory.” She glanced around again. “Last night’s circumstances—two weapons—strikes me as vicious. It could be retaliation for Lachy. It could be two people.”
“We should find out if Lachy’s dad is still in hospital,” Janet said.
“And where Lynsey was before Norman found her at her mum’s,” said Tallie. “Where her mum was, as well.”
Shortly before six, Summer and Tallie arranged small tables by the chairs at the fireplace. Christine and Janet brought plates with slices of spinach quiche and vegetable couscous they’d sent Rab to pick up at Basant’s.
“Shall we have her sit here, so her back’s to the windows?” Christine asked.
“No,” Janet said. “Facing the windows.”
“I thought a bit of privacy for the widow,” Christine said.
“Because you’re kind,” said Janet. “I’m thinking visibility and witnesses.”
“It isn’t easy to see this far into the shop from the pavement, but I like a good psychological advantage,” Summer said. “Is that Lynsey looking in the front door?”
“It’s Isla,” Janet said. “Now what?”
“Not a problem.” Summer went to the door and spoke through the glass. “We’re closed now, but we’d love to see you tomorrow.”
Isla waved. Summer waved back and pretended to rearrange a stack of books in the window display until Isla disappeared from view.
“Nicely done,” Tallie said. “Very profesh.”
“Profesh?” Christine asked.
“Lingo of with-it professionals,” Summer said. “Like fab and brill. That must be Lynsey.”
It was. Tallie let her in and Christine took her coat. Summer introduced herself as Janet patted the back of the chair they wanted her to sit in.
Lynsey sat. “But there aren’t enough chairs,” she said, standing back up.
“Because I claimed the hassock,” said Tallie. “I like the perspective from here.” She sat on it, cross-legged.
Lynsey sat back down and dropped a small backpack on the floor beside the chair. She didn’t quite smile. She had the dark circles under her eyes of sleepless nights and the taut skin over her cheekbones of someone who hadn’t been eating.
“We’re glad you came,
” Janet said. “Let’s eat and then we’ll talk. Or we can talk while we eat.”
Lynsey looked at the quiche and pushed it away.
“Or we’ll eat and you talk,” Christine said. “We’re here for you, but only as long as you’re comfortable and want to stay.”
“Thank you. I want to tell you about what’s been going on.” Lynsey sank back into the chair, her elbows pulled in tight to her sides and her hands twisted together against her chest. “I want to find out what happened. I want to tell you about Lachy.”
She told them some of what they already knew. Lachlann Mòr was a big man, a nurse, and well-liked. Quiet, kind, helpful, and strong enough to toss a caber the size of a tree trunk better than most. Lynsey taught three- and four-year-olds at a preschool. They had no children of their own. His mother was long gone. His father was overcome with grief and still in hospital.
“We heard it might be a heart attack,” Janet said.
“Aye. Mum spoke to him. I couldn’t.” She stared at the floor while she talked, and now she twisted her hands tighter. “You’ve heard of pure luck? Lachy suffered from impure luck.”
“What do you mean?” Christine asked.
“No matter how well he did, there was always something to knock him back a bit. He tried to not let it get to him, but then there’s his da. ‘No good goes unpunished,’ his da says. ‘Lad, you have to take the good with the bad.’ Thinks he’s an oracle imparting poetic wisdom from on high and forgets he crawls under sinks for a living. He can’t make a compliment without tossing in an insult. That’s one of the reasons Lachy liked visiting Gerald Murray. Lachy said he was a sweet old man.”
“So you’ve heard the terrible news about Gerald?” Janet asked.
Lynsey started nodding before Janet finished her question and the nod turned into rocking. She still hadn’t looked up from the floor. “That poor old man. Lachy looked forward to his visits there, liked talking to him. Loved hearing his stories about building bridges. I have something here. A book he gave me.”
Lynsey pulled a book from her backpack and cradled it in her lap. Janet wanted her to move her hands so she could see more than the faded blue dust jacket.
“Lachy saw it there at Gerald’s,” Lynsey explained. “He told Gerald how much I’d enjoy reading it, and Gerald gave it to him. He said Gerald wanted me to have it. But it didn’t feel right then, and it feels worse now.”
“Why didn’t it feel right to have it?” Christine asked.
“It’s old and all. You can see the cover’s a bit tatty.” She lifted an edge of the dust jacket to show them a rip. “But even I know it must be worth something. First editions are, aye?” She tipped the book up so they saw the cover—Excellent Women by Barbara Pym. “I love Barbara Pym. I don’t know if people read her much anymore. This one’s autographed, too.”
Janet just barely kept herself from saying, And you brought it here in your backpack? Are you crazy? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tallie tapping on her phone. Tallie paused and her eyes grew large.
“It felt like being given a treasure that wasn’t mine to have,” Lynsey said.
“But Gerald had grown quite fond of Lachy,” Christine said. “An old man might want to give away his treasures while he can see the joy they bring.”
“But this belonged to Gerald’s mother,” Lynsey said. “It’s autographed to her. It should stay in the family. It should go to his sister. Will you give it to her?”
“You could give it to her yourself,” Janet said.
“I couldn’t. I’d be a mess. Malcolm and Gerald suddenly gone. Lachy gone forever—I can’t bear it.” She handed the book to Janet.
Janet expected Lynsey to break down then, but she didn’t. She looked miserable, and the circles under her eyes looked more bruised, but she held herself together. Maybe she’d cried herself out over the past few days.
“We’ll take care of it,” Tallie said.
“Did Lachy and Dr. Murray work together?” Summer asked.
Lynsey shook her head. “Malcom might have been his doctor when he was a wean, but he retired before Lachy started as a nurse. He was shocked like the rest of us when he died like that. He couldn’t believe it.”
“Monday night, at Nev’s, I think you said he didn’t believe it,” Christine said.
“Couldn’t, didn’t, didn’t want to—that’s all I meant. You don’t like to think something like that can happen.”
“Could his dad have been right the other night about something bothering Lachy?” Janet asked. “Was it Malcolm’s death?”
“It bothered him, aye. He didn’t want to think it could happen again, and me out there riding. But no, he knew it was a fluke. He knows Rhona, Isla, some of the other riders. I told him about the Half-Hundred from beginning to end—how careful we were, who rode in groups, our protocol for traffic, all of that. So, aye, he was bothered. We all were. But he thought it through and he calmed down.”
“That’s a good skill to have,” Tallie said. “Was there anything at work bothering him? Anything with the caber tossing events he went to?”
“Not work. Not the heavy events. He hadn’t been to competitions in months because he worked too hard. But he loved the job. He was a happy man. His mates at work and the other competitors would be the first to tell you that to know Lachy was to know a friend.”
“His dad sounds like a thorn, though, and that’s a shame,” Christine said. “Did he get into arguments with Lachy?”
“My neighbor told me you stopped by. Did she tell you they’d a rammy Sunday last? She’d no business telling tales. Nosy clipe.”
“I think she was worried about you,” Christine said gently. “Sometimes friends tell more than we’d like when they’re worried. It may sound like clipe, but they don’t mean to be tattling. And arguments are normal. Do you know what this one between Lachy and his da was about?”
“I wasn’t home.”
“Lachy didn’t tell you after?”
“He didn’t like to dwell. And he loved his da the way he loved everyone. If Lachy had a problem, he’d think it through and work it out. He said problems were riddles or puzzles—you sort them and solve them. Over and done and move on, that was Lachy. He never went to bed angry. Sometimes I wanted to go to bed angry, mind. But with Lachy, you couldn’t.”
“Do you know if he heard rumors about stealing?” Tallie asked.
“Stealing what? From where?”
Tallie shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell us.”
“He never told me about rumors.”
“Is that something his dad could have heard?” Janet asked.
“No telling what his da hears.” Lynsey looked up, then, and looked around. “I should go. Sorry about the—” She looked at the quiche and looked away.
“Forget the quiche,” Summer said. “We’re all so sorry for your loss and for what you’re going through.”
“Aye,” Christine said. “I hope it’s a comfort to know he was such a friend to his patients and coworkers.”
“I’m sure Isla and the other nurses will miss him,” Janet said.
Lynsey picked up her backpack.
“The other night,” Tallie said, “when you sent texts to Lachy’s dad and the other nurses, it sounded like you didn’t want to text Isla again. Why not?”
“Because Isla’s Isla. She didn’t believe anything was wrong and there’s never any arguing with her. Isla’s all right, mind. She and Rhona came round to Mum’s to see me. I should go,” she said again, and stood. “I’ll take my bike and let you get on with your evening.”
Tallie brought the bike out from the stockroom. Lynsey said goodnight, thanked them, and said it would be easier to put the bike in the rack on her mother’s car herself.
“May I give you a hug?” Janet asked, after unlocking the door for her.
Lynsey wheeled the bike out, shaking her head. “I haven’t let my mum hug me either.”
Janet watched her get the bike on the rack. She wav
ed as Lynsey got in the car, but Lynsey wasn’t looking. Janet relocked the door and returned to the others.
“We should go see Florence again,” Christine said. “Who else does she have now? I should go see her again. Dropping off the unintended casserole wasn’t premeditated kindness.”
“The casserole wasn’t unintended,” Janet said, “and it was kind.”
“But it was intended for Lynsey. Florence was an afterthought. I need to be a more mindful friend.” Christine sighed. “Well, so, what did we learn this evening?”
“It was hard not to like Lynsey and feel really awful for her,” Summer said.
“But?” Tallie prompted.
“But was she telling us about the real Lachy or was she trying to convince us she was telling us about the real Lachy?” Summer said. “Or trying to convince herself?”
“She did just lose him,” Christine said. “She has every right to surround him with a rosy halo. On the other hand, if we’re trying to figure this out, we have to look for all the ‘buts.’”
“Like the signed Barbara Pym.” Tallie held up the book Lynsey had left with them. “Gerald might have given it to Lachy, but Lachy might have taken it.”
“She said Lachy didn’t tell her about rumors of stealing,” Janet said, “but maybe that was a carefully worded, carefully sidestepped answer. Maybe he didn’t tell her about rumors because they weren’t rumors, and maybe he didn’t have to tell her because she already knew.”
“To know Lachy was to know a friend,” Christine said. “That’s a lovely thing to be able to say about someone. But in the real world it isn’t likely to be entirely true.”
“Or it might also tell us that whoever killed him didn’t know him,” Janet said. “I’m not sure how helpful that is, though.”
“When she sat down, she said she wanted to tell us what’s been going on,” Summer said. “But did she do that?”
“She might think she did,” Janet said. “Or she might’ve lost track of that with all our questions. She isn’t likely to be in the most competent state of mind. And I think you can see that I’m having trouble being suspicious of her. I do like her.”
“This was your first exposure to her, Summer,” Tallie said. “Any other observations?”
