Mums and Mayhem

by Amanda Flower

  “She’s gifted. I have never heard the fiddle played so well,” someone else commented.

  “It makes me want to dance. I think I like her better than McFee.”

  “Aye, I do as well. She brings a new take to the instrument. It is always good to hear a different style.”

  “Does the girl have an album? Because I would buy it if she does. It’s the perfect music to listen to when you need a little extra pep.”

  “Aye,” another agreed.

  Owen ran his hands through his hair. “This is an utter disaster. She has gone mad. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Barley can ruin her career if she doesn’t stop. It might already be too late, and he will ruin her now. She’s playing a very dangerous game.” He lowered his voice. “She doesn’t know what he is capable of, the power he has. She just doesn’t.”

  “How could Barley ruin her career?” I asked.

  He looked at me as if I had pulled him out of some type of nightmarish vision. Having had a few of those in my life, I knew the expression well. “You’ve been no help,” he said, and stomped away.

  I watched him go. Kenda and the MacNish brothers played a full set. The sky grew dark as evening came on, and the concert would be over soon.

  “Thank you all for your love and support,” Kenda said into the mic as the concert came to a close. “If Barley were here, I know he would say the same thing. I do thank you for this chance to share my music with you. My name is Kenda Bay, and it won’t be a name you will soon forget. You will see it in lights!” She threw up her arms, her bow in one hand and her fiddle in the other.

  Another man walked on the stage, and I was surprised to see Chief Inspector Craig take the microphone from Kenda.

  She stepped back from the mic, and the two whispered back and forth. Then she covered her mouth and ran off the stage. The MacNish brothers stared at Craig as if they were frozen in place.

  “Thank you all for your patience,” Craig said into the microphone. “I’m Chief Inspector Neil Craig of the County Aberdeen police. I know you are eager to leave now that the concert has ended, but there has been an incident at the concert this afternoon, and I’m very sorry to report, Mr. McFee has passed away. If anyone could provide me or one of the constables information as to what might have happened that led to Mr. McFee’s death, we would be most grateful.”

  A murmur rushed through the concert. Some people were crying. Others shouted out their disbelief. “It’s just not possible. We just saw him.”

  “How can he be dead?” another bystander asked.

  “When he said his ‘Coming Home Concert,’ I didn’t know it would be his last concert,” another replied.

  “I don’t think he did either.”

  I knew he didn’t.

  Chapter Ten

  The concert started to break up. As people crossed the troll bridge to walk back to their cars, Craig’s constables asked them questions about what they might have seen or heard around the tour bus and in relation to Barley’s sudden death. Some of the concertgoers were happy to chat with the police, while it was clear that most just wanted to leave and not get involved in a murder investigation. I couldn’t say I blamed them.

  “Fiona, what on earth is going on?” my father asked as he and my mother walked up to me. It was the first I had seen either of them all day.

  “Did we hear right that Barley McFee is dead? That’s what Isla said as she walked by us.” My father removed his glasses and polished the lenses on the bottom of his shirt before replacing them on his thin nose.

  “Yes,” my mother said. “Isla was with a tall young man when she walked by, and she seemed to know him well. Who is he? I would have expected you to tell me if anything was going on with her. We all know what a flirt Isla can be. She shouldn’t be wasting her time with a flighty Scottish boy when she will be moving back home at the end of the year.”

  It didn’t surprise me in the least that my mother was more concerned about the guy my sister was walking around with than the fact that a man had been murdered just a few hundred yards away.

  I didn’t think it was because my mother lacked compassion. It was just that she couldn’t process what was happening. Murder wasn’t something my parents had had to deal with before. Isla and her long string of boyfriends was something much more familiar, and so my mother latched on to that.

  “Isla is moving back home?” I knew this wasn’t true, and I hoped Isla wasn’t stringing our parents along into believing that. That was the worst thing she could do. It would come back to haunt her and me.

  Mom sniffed. “She didn’t say that in so many words, but of course she’s coming home. She told us when she decided to stay beyond just the summer that she would be home at the end of the year. I know you have Duncreigan and the flower shop, but what could Isla possibly have in Scotland? There is nothing for her here. Nothing at all.”

  Ah, that made more sense. My sister was just putting our parents off for a little while. I didn’t blame her. When Isla told them she wanted to stay in Scotland, that would be a hard pill to swallow for both our parents but especially our mother.

  “You would tell me if something was going on with your sister, Fiona, wouldn’t you? I would expect you to.” My mother examined my face as if she were trying to peer into my very mind.

  I turned away. I wasn’t going to be pulled into this conversation right now.

  To my father, I said, “Yes, Barley McFee is dead. It was terrible.” I shook the image from my head yet again. I supposed it was futile. I expected the scene inside the trailer to be in my mind for a very long time.

  “Wait!” Mom said. “How do you know? Did you see him?”

  I pressed my lips together. This wasn’t something I wanted to talk to my parents about.

  Dad shook his head. “I’m glad I was able to talk to him. It was my only chance.”

  “You spoke to Barley? Why?” I asked.

  “Fiona,” Mom said. “I don’t like the tone you are taking. There is nothing wrong with your father being nice to a stranger, even if he is a celebrity. He’s still a person.”

  I knew that, but I also knew my father wasn’t the type to go out of his way to speak to people he didn’t know. If it had been my mother, I would have believed it, but Dad was the one who’d said he was glad he had spoken to Barley. Also, he’d said it was his only chance, implying he had wanted to talk to Barley all along. Why? Both men had told me they didn’t know each other. Both had seemed to be upset when I spoke about the other to them as well.

  “Dad, did you know Barley McFee before yesterday?”

  “Fiona, you should not question your father like that,” my mother said. “Show some respect. You should take the things your father tells you as facts. He told you he didn’t know Barley. His word should be enough for you.”

  “Just like everything you tell me is true?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I wanted to talk to my parents about my birth and why my dad’s name was on my birth certificate and not Uncle Ian’s, but not this way.

  All the color drained from my father’s face. Both he and my mother knew what I was talking about even though I hadn’t come right out and said it. My heart sank. I wanted to grab the words out of the air and shove them back into my mouth. But it was too late for that.

  An apology was on my lips, although I didn’t want to apologize. I didn’t want to let my parents off the hook this time. Perhaps my timing was awful. I knew it was awful, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a right to know the truth.

  “Fiona, how could you speak to your father in such a way?” Mom asked. “That’s the man who raised you. He was there the day you were born. Was Ian? You should never speak to your father like that.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that you two lied to me my entire life. What am I supposed to do with that? Don’t I deserve to know my real history?”

  My father cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” He melted into the crowd.

  I wanted to
run after him and I didn’t, all at the same time. I supposed it didn’t matter because I couldn’t follow him, as my mother stepped into my path.

  She glared at me. “Your real history is that you grew up on a farm outside Nashville, Tennessee, and Stephen Knox is your father. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Mom, I’m an adult. I have a right to know the truth about how I came to be.” I took a breath. “I’m sorry that Dad is upset. I’m sorry how I brought it up. It’s not the way I wanted to do it, but I still have a right to know.”

  She shook her head. “I think you lost that right the moment you spoke to your father in that way. You broke his heart. You might as well have wrung his neck.”

  I swallowed. Did my mother know that’s how Barley had been killed? By being strangled? How would she know unless … No, I was being ridiculous. My parents had had no idea Barley McFee was dead until my sister told them.

  “Did you hear Craig’s announcement about Barley?” I asked.

  My mother shook her head. “The concert was becoming too crowded, and we went back to Thistle House to rest a bit. We were just coming out again in search of dinner when we ran into Isla and the tall young man. She told us.” She narrowed her eyes at me as if to see if I would crack and tell her who the guy Isla was with was.

  That wasn’t going to happen. Isla’s relationship was hers to tell our parents about. I still hadn’t mentioned Craig to them. I wasn’t one to talk.

  When I didn’t say anything, she scowled. “Now I’m going to go find your father and make sure he’s all right. If you need us, we will be at the guesthouse.” She spun on her heel and walked away.

  I stood in the middle of the crowd of concertgoers and watched her walk away. I bit my lip. I should have done a better job of bringing up my birth with my parents. I felt bad about the way I’d handled it. Really bad.

  I moved through the crowd and walked to the steps beside the stage. From there I could get a good view of what was happening as the concertgoers left the village. Many of them were bottlenecked by the constable on the other side of the troll bridge, who was gathering any information they might have about Barley’s death.

  Some people who were tired of the line not moving were jumping over the creek and avoiding the bridge completely. I scanned the faces in the fading light for Bernice but didn’t see her. I hoped she was okay. She hadn’t taken Barley’s untimely demise well.

  I promised myself I would find Bernice and then go look for my parents and try to smooth things over. No matter what decisions they’d made before I was born, they were still my parents, and I loved them. I knew they loved me too. I supposed I just wanted to know the choices they’d made. I wasn’t so much upset that they’d taken me to the United States. I more wanted to know why Uncle Ian had let me go.

  I hopped off the stairs and headed back to the tour bus. I had a hunch that’s where I would find Bernice. I was still a few feet away when I heard Bernice before I saw her. “The village’s reputation is in shambles.”

  I stepped around a cluster of visitors and finally spotted Bernice standing with Presha.

  Presha had her arm around Bernice. “No, Bellewick’s reputation is not ruined,” Presha soothed. “There were many people here today for the concert. Most of them are not from the village. Any one of them could have killed Barley.”

  “But why did it have to be in our village?” Bernice whined. “He plays in a new place every week. Why couldn’t it have happened in one of those other places?”

  “And you would wish this difficulty on someone else?” Presha’s black eyebrows pointed up.

  “Yes, I would,” Bernice said, missing the irony in Presha’s question. “I would give this problem to someone else in two seconds flat.”

  Presha shook her head. “Ah, Fiona is here. What is it?”

  “I just wanted to see if Bernice needs any help.” I pressed my lips together and widened my eyes at Presha.

  She smiled. “She will be fine. She’s coming to terms with what happened, right, Bernice?”

  Bernice shook her head. “Why did it have to be in our village?”

  Presha shook her head. “You’re going to have to break that script, Bernice, because it’s not helpful. This village has been here for over four hundred years. Many have lived and died in this place. One event will not destroy it. We have much to do to clean up after the concert and make sure everyone leaves safely. I think it would be more productive if you concentrated on that instead of what-ifs.”

  Bernice blinked at her. “Yes, of course, you’re right. I’ll start making a list of what all needs to be done, and I have to talk to Barley’s manager as well.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said. “This will blow over for the village. It won’t blow over quite as well for Barley’s band and the others who might have known him.”

  “This is true,” Presha said. “I will say a prayer for him when I return to my altar at the tea shop.”

  “His family would also be affected,” I said. “There was a man I met a little while ago who claimed he was Barley’s relative. When I asked at one of the society meetings if any of Barley’s relatives still lived in the village, everyone said no.”

  “There are certainly none in the village,” Presha said. “However, this concert has been widely advertised, so I guess any relative of his could have heard about it and come to the concert to reconnect. Did he say who he was?”

  “Only that he was Barley’s relative. He didn’t give me a name, and this was right after I found Barley …” I trailed off.

  “Barley is a bit older than me,” Presha said. “His parents are long dead, and I don’t know of any siblings. Perhaps it was a more distant relative? Can you think of any, Bernice?”

  The other woman blinked at her. “No.” Her answer was clipped.

  “Maybe Raj would know,” Presha said. “My brother talks to everyone, and if someone is staying in the village, he will have to have eaten at the pub at some point. Raj has a way of getting everyone to tell him his or her life story.”

  I nodded. “I’ll ask him about it. I need to tell Craig too.”

  “Tell me what?” a deep voice asked behind me.

  I turned and found Chief Inspector Neil Craig looking down at me. He stood straight and kept an eye on the people leaving the concert as if he were documenting their every feature in his mind. However, on closer inspection, I noticed bags under his dark-blue eyes.

  The violence that seemed to hang over the village was starting to take a toll on the chief inspector, and it broke my heart to see it. I wanted to reach up and touch his tired face. I stopped myself from doing it. There were too many witnesses.

  Chapter Eleven

  The members of the Merchant Society were the very last ones to leave the concert, and it was well after dark when I shuffled down the cobblestone street toward the flower shop. I could have lost out on some business today because the shop had been closed since before Barley’s body was discovered. But honestly, after hearing about Barley’s death, no one was probably thinking about buying flowers.

  I had parked my little compact car in the small community lot just outside the city gates, and I could have gone straight home after the Merchant Society broke up for the night. Habits were hard to break, though, and I always stopped to check on my shop before I left the village at night, no matter where I was or what I had been doing.

  My pace was slow as I walked toward the shop. I just wanted to return home to Duncreigan. The day had not gone as planned.

  As I drew closer to the Climbing Rose’s yellow awning, I saw that people were standing idle in the middle of the street near the shop. They were clustered around the lone lamppost between the Twisted Fox and the flower shop. It wasn’t unusual to see people standing outside Raj’s pub in the evening; the pub didn’t have as much seating as the number of villagers who ate there every night, so waiting for a table was a common problem. There would have been more tables if Raj had been willing to kick out some
of the old fishermen who hung around the pub day and night, but he was too much of a softie to try. The ringleader of the group was a man I called Popeye because he looked just like the cartoon sailor, all the way down to the tattoo and pipe. For the record, I had never seen the village’s Popeye eat canned spinach, but I wouldn’t put it past him.

  “There she is!” a woman’s voice rang out.

  All twenty people moved toward me in a wave. For a moment, I was transported back to the zombie movies I’d sneaked in and watched with my friends back in middle school, where mindless zombies walked through a town eating everyone’s brains. No one was taking my brain.

  I held my hands up in the universal sign for stop and shouted, “Stop!” just to put a fine point on it.

  The group froze. Most of them were women in late middle age, although three men were intermingled with the group. I didn’t know if the men were there of their own accord or if their wives had dragged them along. By the irritable and tired looks on their faces, I guessed the latter.

  “We need to buy flowers!” a crying woman said. Tears ran down her face in rivulets.

  “Yes,” another agreed. “We need to put them out in front of the tour bus where Barley died.” She choked on a sob. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He was so incredibly talented. The world has lost a bright and shining star.”

  “The world didn’t just lose a star. Someone snuffed it out,” a taller woman about the same age said.

  “It was the young woman who did it. Mark my words, it was her,” the crying woman said.

  “Kenda?” the first woman asked. “Why would she? She and Barley were an item, and he certainly gave her the life the rest of us could only dream about.”

  “They were an item. They aren’t anymore. I read online that they broke up a month ago.”

  The first woman gasped. “You read that and didn’t tell me? I should be the first to know, as the president of the Barley McFee Grannies.”

  I blinked. “Barley McFee Grannies?” The question popped out of my mouth before I could stop it.