Mums and Mayhem

by Amanda Flower

  He glanced at Bernice, who was sitting on the ground with her head between her knees. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to do the same, but one of us had to keep it together.

  “Fiona, what’s going on?” Craig asked.

  “Barley McFee was late from getting back to the stage after the break, so Owen, his manager, asked me to go see if he was in the tour bus.”

  He nodded. It was clear that he wanted me to continue with my story.

  I took a breath. “I found him.” I pointed. “He’s in there.”

  “And …” Craig said.

  “And he’s dead,” I whispered.

  Craig jerked back. “Dead. Did he have a heart attack? I mean, I saw him onstage and his face was getting dangerously red from the exertion of the performance.”

  “No,” I whispered. “He was murdered.”

  He closed his eyes for the briefest moment. I wondered if he was wishing he was on a desert island, free of the murder and mayhem that seemed to follow me wherever I went.

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  “Very. Go see for yourself. There is no doubt. A fiddle cord is wrapped around his throat.” I placed my hand to my own throat and rubbed it as if I could feel the metal cord biting into my flesh as well.

  He jerked back and looked at the trailer. “In there?”

  I nodded. “Neil, it’s bad. One of the worst things I’ve ever seen.”

  He raised his brow. Craig knew this wasn’t my first time finding a dead body. I dared to hope it would be my last.

  “Bernice saw it?” he asked.

  I nodded. “After I did. I tried to stop her from going in there, but I was too late.”

  He nodded and removed his phone from the pocket of his sport jacket. He made a quick call, and two of his constables were almost immediately on the scene.

  Craig looked at them both in turn. “Clear the area, and tell the crowd to go back to their seats so the concert can continue. I don’t want them leaving the village just yet. We might have witnesses among them. Call in another squad of constables and crime scene techs from Aberdeen. And we’re going to need the coroner’s services again.”

  “It’s hard to believe there’s been another killing in Bellewick,” one of the constables said. “It’s almost like this place is cursed.”

  I shivered. Could he be right? Curses were another thing I would have categorically said didn’t exist if you’d asked before I moved to Scotland, but now … It did seem odd that there was so much violent death in such a small and remote fishing village.

  “Go,” Craig said, and his voice left no room for speculation. He wanted the scene secured and now. The constables went off to do what he asked.

  He glanced at me. “I’m going to go in the bus. Are you all right to wait here?” He studied my face as if he was searching for even the slightest hint of a breakdown.

  I straightened my shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Do what you have to do.”

  He nodded and entered the tour bus. While he was thus occupied, Bernice came out of her stupor. I went to sit next to her in the grass.

  “This is awful,” she said, in a voice halfway between a wail and a whimper. “More awful than I could have ever imaged. I would have thought something would go wrong with the food truck or the sound system would fail. I never thought the main act would be killed. Who would ever think something like that was going to happen?”

  “No one would,” I reassured her. “How could we?”

  “Someone did,” she said, looking me in the eye for the first time since she’d come out of the bus. “The person who killed him did it, and he did it in my village!” She jumped to her feet and stomped her foot. “I take it as a personal insult. Barley travels all over the world. Why here? And why now? The concert was going so well. I did a good job!”

  I stood up too. “You did an excellent job, Bernice,” I consoled her. “You should be very proud of yourself.”

  She looked like she might cry. “And now it’s ruined.”

  I patted her arm in the hope that I was being encouraging. “Bernice, I know this is very upsetting. I’m upset too.” I shivered as the image of Barley’s body came back to me. “But this is no time to overreact. We need to help Craig and the rest of the police as much as possible. We need to stall so that the crowd doesn’t leave. Ask the band to play something.”

  She nodded. “Owen already told me no.”

  “That’s just too bad.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. I will tell Owen what has happened, and then they will play.”

  “No,” I said, a little too quickly. I cleared my throat. “I mean, no, on second thought, why don’t I go talk to the band, and you have a seat on the grass right there.” I pointed at the ground.

  “Right there?” she asked, looking at the spot like she’d never seen anything like it before.

  “Yep,” I said. “Since you are in charge of the concert, the police might want to talk to you again. It’s a better idea if I talk to the band.”

  She sat back down on the grass. “I suppose you’re right. I’m far too upset to make much sense.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I hurried to the stage, taking one last look over my shoulder. Bernice was sitting on the spot on the grass I had suggested, just like a docile child. I hated to leave her there like that, but someone had to reach the band before the concert broke up too early.

  I pushed my way through the crowd and was almost to the stage when a man grabbed me by the shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on over there at the tour bus!”

  I stared into the man’s piercing green eyes, as he still had a grip on my arm. He had bright-red hair and was clean-shaven with a pale complexion. “Let go of my arm.”

  He held me a little more tightly. “I need to know what’s going on over there.”

  “Let me go,” I snapped.

  “Not until you answer me. It’s important.” He shook me.

  “It’s important that you let go of my sister’s arm before I use the self-defense-class skills my boyfriend taught me,” Isla said as she popped up at my side. “Any guesses where I was instructed to hit first?”

  The man dropped my arm and glared at us. “You don’t have a right to keep this from me. I’m his family.”

  “Who’s family?” I asked.

  “Barley’s,” he spat. “That ungrateful miser. I wish I could disown him just like he did the rest of us.”

  I tried to keep my face neutral. If Barley was in some kind of dispute with his family and now he was dead, there was a murder suspect standing right in front of me. “How are you related to Barley?” I asked.

  “It’s none of your business.” He leaned in, and I could smell the pipe tobacco on his breath. “You tell the good-for-nothing Barley that I’m not going to make it easy for him to come back here. He should have stayed away forever, just like he said he would. Now that he’s returned, I’m not holding anything back.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. The crowd attending the concert seemed to be closing in around us, forcing me an inch closer to the man.

  “Just give him my message. He will know what I mean.” The man let go of my arm. “Do as I ask, or you will be as sorry as Barley is.”

  Was that a threat? It sure sounded like one. I didn’t tell him I couldn’t deliver the message because Barley was dead.

  He stalked away, disappearing into the crowd.

  “Wait!” I called after him. I still didn’t know his name.

  Isla turned to me. “Did you see how I protected you like that?” She bent her arms as if to show off her biceps, which were impossible to see under her winter coat. It might be autumn in Scotland, but according to our thin Tennessee blood, it might as well have been the middle of winter. “Those classes were a great idea.”

  “I think a self-defense class is a good idea for any woman. I’m not sure Seth is the best teacher,” I said, thinking of how tall and thin her boyfriend was. He looked as if a stiff wind from off the North
Sea could break him in half.

  The man who’d grabbed my arm was long gone. I tried to commit what he looked like to memory because I knew Craig would want to talk to him. Was it true he was Barley’s relative? When the Merchant Society started to plan the concert, I had asked Bernice if there were any members of Barley’s family still living in the area, and she had said no. Who was this man, then? And how far had he traveled to deliver his message to Barley—a message that would never be received?

  “Did you find Barley?” Isla asked.

  I pressed my lips together. I didn’t think Craig wanted me to tell others yet what had happened.

  “Oh no! Don’t tell me he’s dead.” She threw up her arms.

  “Shh!” I hissed, looking around. “Dead? Why would you think he was dead?”

  She held up her hand. “One, you’re not answering my question. Two, I saw the police officers walk over to the trailer. Three, it’s not like this will be the first time. You find dead people a lot.”

  “That’s not true.” I frowned, wondering if she might be right. It was a terrifying thought.

  “Has it happened more than once?” She cocked her head.

  I didn’t answer.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, which means you have found them a lot more times than anyone else living in Bellewick, more than anyone else living in Scotland, if not the world.”

  “Please don’t remind me.”

  “Omigosh, he is dead. I was saying it as a joke.” Isla paled. “What happened? Did someone kill him?”

  “What’s this about killing?” Owen Masters, Barley’s manager, walked up to Isla and me.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and willed my sister to just be quiet for once in her life.

  Chapter Nine

  I needed to distract Isla before she said too much to Owen. “Isla, is that Seth over there by the Greek food truck?”

  “Where?” My sister perked up, and her long blonde hair hit me in the face when she turned to see where Seth was. “He said he wasn’t able to leave the pub’s beverage booth until after the concert. As you can imagine, it breaks his heart, since he’s such a huge fan of Barley. Oh no! Now that Barley’s—”

  “You really should go see if it’s him.” I interrupted her just before she could announce Barley’s death in front of his manager. I knew Owen deserved to know what had happened to his client, but this wasn’t my first rodeo when it came to murder. I knew Craig would want to tell him himself. He was very careful with the information he shared with suspects, and just by his close relationship with Barley, Owen was undoubtedly a suspect.

  He wasn’t the best one I could think of, though, I noted as Kenda walked across the stage. She was clearly annoyed that the concert was delayed.

  “You’re right. I need to comfort my love in his time of need,” Isla said. “He will be brokenhearted. I think the only saving grace is that I will be there with him. He won’t have to walk this road of grief alone.”

  Owen frowned at her as if he was contemplating asking her what she was talking about, but then thought better of it.

  “I’ll go now,” Isla said dramatically. “I know they were swamped at the Twisted Fox cart.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “He works like a dog. My poor love.”

  I tried not to gag. Of all the people I knew who might be considered hard workers, Seth MacGregor wasn’t even in the top thousand.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, I thought I saw him over there by one of the food trucks.” I shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Maybe he’s on break.”

  She pouted. “How could he be on a break without telling me? We’re a couple. He is supposed to tell me where he is at all times. That’s how it works!”

  I made a face. I wondered how long it would be before that requirement of my little sister’s grew old on Seth. I couldn’t imagine asking Craig where he was at all times. In fact, I didn’t want to know. He had a dangerous job as chief inspector of the county, and I was certain if I knew where he was, sometimes it would only cause me more worry. Honestly, I didn’t want him to keep such close tabs on me either.

  “I’ll go find him,” she said. “And remind him what his duties are as my almost-fiancé.” She flounced away. My little sister was one of the few people in the world who could flounce and look good doing it.

  “What’s going on?” Owen asked. “I sent you over there to retrieve Barley, and now people are complaining because the next set hasn’t started. We need him onstage. If this goes on much longer, he could hurt his reputation.”

  Barley’s reputation was the least of his concerns.

  “Can the band start playing?” I asked. “I’m sure they can do some pieces without Barley. They all seem to be very talented.”

  Owen shook his head. “No way. Barley never wants his band to play without him. He says everyone comes to his concerts to hear him play and we shouldn’t pad the time with some other act.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to do it this one time.” I shifted my feet.

  “Why?” He glared at me. “Do you know where Barley is and you’re not telling me? Because if I find out you’re keeping information from me, I’ll have your job.”

  I frowned back at him, not knowing what a music manager could do to ruin my job as a florist. It wasn’t like the careers overlapped each other in any way. “Barley’s not available,” I said, a little more bluntly than I would have two minutes before. “You will have to go on without him.”

  “Where is he? Tell me now!”

  I suppressed a wince. “He’s in the tour bus.” It was technically true, unless the body had been removed by now. I closed my eyes for a moment. Any mention of the tour bus made me remember the scene when I’d found Barley’s body, and I got a bit queasy. I took a breath. I refused to get sick to my stomach as Bernice had.

  “Then we can wait. If he’s sick, we can tell the audience the concert had to end early, but it would be best for him to do it himself.”

  “I don’t think you should. Barley is under the weather.” That was one way to put it.

  He folded his arms. “I don’t believe Barley is too ill to play. I’ve seen him go onstage with the stomach flu. He’s a professional, and he knows what the fans want. He would never let them down like this. There’s something more going on here.”

  He was right. There was definitely something more going on, but that didn’t mean I could tell him what it was.

  He pointed at me. “And you are going to tell me what it is right now!”

  “Sir,” I began.

  He leaned forward. “Do you even know who I am? I’m one of the most sought after music managers in the UK. I can put your village on blast, so much that no one will ever dare to come back. I have over a million followers on Instagram.”

  I tried very hard not to roll my eyes. I doubted his social media following was going to have any impact on the village of Bellewick.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Masters, but I can’t tell you any more than what I have said. You should have the concert begin again without Barley. That’s my best advice, and trust me, it’s sound advice too.”

  “You can and you will.” A bead of sweat appeared on his temple. “It’s my job to keep Barley on schedule and make sure he’s everywhere that he promises to be. We can’t have him leaving. It’s unacceptable.”

  I shook my head. “No, we can’t wait. You said yourself that the audience is restless, and Barley isn’t coming back to the stage. Play the last set and wrap everything up without him.”

  One of the MacNish brothers stomped to the end of the stage, carrying a guitar. “What the hell is going on? Where’s Barley? People are starting to leave. If this keeps up, we’re going to get roasted on the Internet.”

  Kenda came up behind him. “We can’t wait for Barley any longer. I’m taking over the stage.” She nodded to the two MacNish brothers. “Boys, let’s play.” She didn’t wait for an answer and walked up to the mic. “Hello, everyone, we would like to do something a little special
tonight. Barley had asked me to come onstage and share with you one of my original pieces. It’s called ‘Purple Thistle.’ I hope you enjoy it.” She lifted her fiddle to her chin and began to play. After a beat, the MacNish brothers joined in.

  “Kenda!” Owen hissed, even though it would have been impossible for her to hear him from where she played on the stage. “You can’t do this. Barley will kick you of the band. He will kill you.”

  The kill you comment stuck out at me. Barley wasn’t going to be killing anyone now because he had been killed. But had someone killed him first because he was a threat to him or her?

  I frowned. Barley would have kicked her out of the band if she played without him onstage? Kenda had fought with Barley the day before, and she and Barley were a former couple. She had the very best motive, or, I should say, motives for murder. As I thought of this, I remembered Barley’s relative who had accosted me just a little while ago. Barley hadn’t even been dead an hour, and there were already several strong suspects. It made me wonder who else had wanted to kill him, because I had a sneaking suspicion these folks were just the tip of the iceberg when it came to people who wanted Barley McFee to take a final bow.

  The hardest part of this investigation for Craig would be the sheer number of suspects. I glanced out at all the concertgoers and cringed.

  Kenda tucked her fiddle under her chin and continued to play. The MacNish brothers jumped in with their own instruments, and soon a jaunty tune filled the village of Bellewick.

  The audience loved it, and even though I wasn’t well versed in the world of fiddle music, I could tell she was good. She played with a new energy she had been lacking in Barley’s shadow.

  The audience murmured about her performance, and I caught some of what they were saying.

  “She’s better than Barley himself,” a voice in the audience said.