Mums and Mayhem

by Amanda Flower

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “Is there somewhere I can set this down?” The box was growing heavy in my arms.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me show you to the dining room where they plan to eat.” She turned and went back in the direction from which she had come.

  I followed her down the hallway and atrium that had been converted into a dining room. It was the perfect place for it, with lots of natural light filling the space. There were six small tables in the room, and each could hold four people. The MacNish brothers sat at one of the tables. Kenda was nowhere to be seen.

  “Finally. I’m starved.” One of the brothers jumped out of his seat and took the box from me.

  The two guys unloaded the box. The takeaway boxes and containers covered two of the tables. The amount of food Raj had been able to fit into the box was impressive. I was also impressed with myself for being able to carry it so far without my arms giving out.

  Eugenia backed out of the room. “I should go finish cleaning the guests’ rooms so I can walk down to the pub.”

  “Methi chicken and garlic naan! That’s my favorite. We’re going to be in a food coma after this,” the first brother said.

  “It’s a good way to be, as long as we are stuck in this village,” the second brother said, and then noticed me standing there. “Ugh, are you waiting for a tip or something? Because we told the guy to put it on our credit card.”

  “No,” I said. “I—um—I just wanted to know how you all were with everything that happened. I’m Fiona Knox and a member of the Merchant Society of Bellewick that set up the concert.”

  The first brother cocked his head. “Les, she’s the reason we’re here.”

  If the second brother was Lester, I surmised that the first was Jamie.

  “I thought that a concert in Bellewick was Barley’s idea.”

  Lester took a bite of chicken and then shrugged. “I guess it was, but we would never have chosen Bellewick if the village wasn’t on board.”

  “We had no idea that they were being so supportive because they wanted to kill him,” Jamie said around a mouthful of food.

  I had to look away. “You think the village killed Barley?”

  Jamie shrugged, and I noted that both men did that a lot.

  “Not the whole village,” Jamie said. “But someone sure did.”

  “What makes you think it was someone in the village and not someone with the tour?”

  Lester dropped his fork into his Styrofoam takeout box. “You mean like us?”

  I nodded.

  Lester looked at his brother. “She thinks we killed him.”

  “That would be stupid,” Jamie said. “Now that Barley is dead, we’re out of a job. There aren’t many high-end acts like this that we can transfer to together. A band might want a guitarist or a bassist, but they rarely want both. They probably have one or the other.”

  “Yeah,” his brother said. “And we like working together. It will be a shame if we have to break up over this.” He eyed me. “So we get nothing out of losing Barley. We lost a sweet gig.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” Jamie said, “the police asked us the same questions. I didn’t expect them from a pub delivery person, though. This village sure is nosy.”

  “I’m not the pub delivery person. I was just helping my friend who owns the pub by dropping off this order. He knew I wanted to check on you to make sure you have everything you need, since I am a member of the Merchant Society.” For all the times I bemoaned the MS, I sure was milking my involvement with the village group for all it was worth.

  “Now that we have food, we are good,” Jamie said.

  I stood there and pretended I didn’t get the blatant hint to leave.

  “Is the food here yet?” a husky woman’s voice asked from behind me.

  I turned around, and Kenda waltzed into the dining room. She certainly didn’t look like a woman mourning the death of her former lover.

  “You guys didn’t call me or tell me everything was ready. You need to keep me in the loop.” She turned to me. “Who are you?”

  The question was as blunt as it was intended to be.

  I repeated the story I had told the brothers about the Merchant Society, and she sized me up. “If it weren’t for your Society, we wouldn’t have come here, and Barley would still be alive.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Now the police think I killed him. It’s so unfair.”

  The brothers shared a look, seemed to come to some sort of unspoken agreement, and dug into their food.

  She took a breath. “I’m not hungry after all.” She walked out the side door that led into a garden beside the house. The door slammed against the doorframe as she left.

  The brothers weren’t looking up from the table as they made their way through the food. They were done talking to me and wanted me to know it. I waited a full second before I followed Kenda out into the garden.

  The garden was lovely. It was surround by a low stone wall that came up to my hip. The wall would do nothing to keep any animals out, but it gave a sense of privacy and separateness from the rest of the village beyond. The focal piece of the garden was a small pond, and I watched as a frog jumped from a lily pad into the water. I was surprised that the frog hadn’t gone into hibernation for the winter yet. Perhaps he was hoping to catch a few more flies before his long winter’s sleep. The tall grasses around the pond were brown and dying away at the end of the growing season. I felt my chest tighten as their demise reminded me of the current state of Duncreigan. That was what I should be doing now, finding out what was happening in my garden instead of spending my time searching for a killer. But what if the two events were related? They had happened on the same day …

  Kenda sat on the part of the stone wall that faced the pond. She wiped at her face as if she was trying to erase any evidence of—what was it, grief? Grief for the loss of Barley? Or grief over being a suspect in his murder? Having been a murder suspect a couple of times in my life, I understood those mixed emotions.

  I stepped on a twig. It snapped in two, and she looked up at me. “What do you want?”

  “I told you my name is Fiona, and I want to help you if I may. I know this can be a scary time.”

  “What do you know about it?” she asked.

  “Quite a lot, actually, since I have been accused by the police for murder twice before.” I said this as if these events had been as mundane as going to the grocery store.

  She stared openmouthed at me. “You don’t look like someone who would kill someone.”

  “I’ve heard that’s what is said about most killers, and it has been true of some I’ve personally met.”

  “What happened? How do I know you’ve really been a murder suspect?”

  I gave her the abridged version of the story. I made no mention of my magical garden. There was no reason to muddy the waters with that. “Chief Inspector Craig is a good man. He won’t arrest you if he knows you’re innocent.”

  “That’s just it. How is he going to know I’m innocent? I was so angry at Barley over, well, everything … I wasn’t thinking clearly. I yelled at Barley a number of times since being in this village, and half a dozen witnesses told the chief inspector that. I even threatened to kill him once. I wouldn’t, but I was so angry I couldn’t control the words coming out of my mouth.” She covered her eyes. “I’m in serious trouble.”

  I didn’t correct her because she was right: she was in serious trouble.

  “If you have an alibi,” I said. “A good alibi is all you really need.”

  “But I don’t. I was in the tour bus with him alone after the first set. The police know. At least five of Barley’s Grannies saw me.”

  “The BMGs?” I asked.

  “You know about them?”

  I winced. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Yes, and then I came out and went to the stage just about the time that break was over. When Barley didn’t come out, I guessed it was because he was stewing over our fight.”
>
  “What happened inside the tour bus?” I asked.

  “We argued. It’s all we did anymore. There was a time I thought he loved me. By the time we got to Bellewick, I wasn’t under that delusion anymore. There were several of those old BMG biddies outside the tour bus, stalking Barley, of course, because they have nothing more interesting to do with their lives.”

  I winced at the venom in her voice. I didn’t think a tone like that would go very far in endearing her to the police—or anyone, really.

  “Those old bats told the police I was in the tour bus, and they heard me yelling and things crashing.”

  “Were you yelling? Were things crashing?”

  “Well, yes,” she said with a pout. “But that’s just how Barley and I were. That’s how our relationship was. We had a lot of fire. We were having an argument. He had promised me I would have some solo stage time to show the audience what I could do with a fiddle. Just the day before, he took it away from me. I knew it was out of spite because we broke up.”

  “If you broke up, why did you stay in his band?” I thought it was a logical question.

  She stared at me as if I was the dumbest person she’d ever come across. “Barley was the best fiddle player in the world. Of course I wanted to be on stage with him. It was a great chance for exposure, but he kept pushing me to the background. I think he was afraid I was getting too good, that I was getting good enough that I could really challenge him to a duel. I asked him to duel, but he refused.”

  I blinked. “Like with swords?”

  Was this a Scottish tradition I wasn’t aware of?

  Again I got the you-must-be-some-kind-of-idiot look. “With our fiddles. It was a way to showcase our talents and show the audience who the better fiddler was. Barley refused to do it, and I know it was because he was afraid I would crush him.” She emphasized her point by pounding her fist on the stone wall beside her.

  I reminded myself not to mess with Kenda. If she could crush Barley McFee, she could certainly crush me too.

  I chewed on my lip. Things didn’t sound good for Kenda at all. There was a lot of evidence pointing to her as the most likely killer. Why hadn’t Craig arrested her yet? There must be another variable, or perhaps even another suspect. Another suspect would be very good news for Kenda. She needed all the alternative suspects she could find.

  “Maybe you can help me, then, since you have had experience with murder. Maybe you can help me deal with the police. The only people I know here are the two MacNish brothers, and from what you saw in the dining room, all they care about is food and family lore. Don’t get them talking about their family. It will bore you to tears. They barely even practice their instruments, while I put in hundreds of hours on my fiddle.” She said this like it was a major failing on the brothers’ part.

  “They never practice?” I asked.

  “They are just that talented. If they made an effort, they would be able to make names for themselves without Barley, but as of yet, they haven’t been able to break away. I suppose they will have to now, just like I will.”

  “I don’t think the police would like me helping you,” I said.

  “I don’t care what they will like or not. I’m not going to spend the rest my life in some prison in northern Scotland.”

  “I may not be able to help you, but there’s a good attorney in the village. Her name is Cally Beckleberry. She would be a good person to talk to about your situation. You can trust her advice.”

  “I should have thought about getting a barrister before. I should probably look at a few. Do you know any others in the village?”

  I made a face. “Cally is it, I’m afraid. The village is under two thousand residents. We are lucky to have someone here at all. She does a lot of work in the city of Aberdeen. There’s not enough here to keep her busy. She’s sought after in the county, and she helped me when I was in a similar situation.”

  “All right. I’ll talk to her. Do you have her number?”

  I nodded and took my phone out of my coat pocket. I scrolled through my address book and rattled off the number while Kenda entered it into her phone.

  I put the phone back in my pocket. “I know it might not be my place to ask, but why did you and Barley break up?”

  She looked up at me. There were no longer tears in her eyes, but the sadness was still there. Part of me couldn’t believe she’d killed anyone. I knew how ridiculous that was. She could be just as sad over the fact that she had murdered Barley. “He was stifling me.” She looked up at the bright blue sky. “And I won’t be stifled,” she said with force. “The police want to pin this on me, but I do have one saving grace that just might be enough to keep me out of prison. I’ll be telling Cally about it too.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I know I wasn’t the last person to see Barley alive.”

  I blinked at her. “Why didn’t you say that at the beginning?”

  She shrugged. “I told the police. That’s what’s important.”

  “Who was this other person?”

  “It was a man close to Barley’s age. He was waiting outside the tour bus as I stormed out. Barley clearly knew him, and from the looks of it, he wasn’t all that happy to see him.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Because he said to the man, ‘What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone.’”

  This mystery man was sounding more and more like a good suspect. I wondered if it might even be Mick McFee. I wouldn’t put it past the churlish man to be lying when he said he hadn’t spoken to Barley the day of the concert. Maybe he had even asked me to deliver a message for cover. “Do you know his name?”

  “I heard Barley say, ‘Hello, Stephen.”

  My stomach dropped to the soles of my shoes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “You’re sure the name he said was Stephen?” I prayed I had misheard her. This couldn’t be happening. Barley couldn’t have had a meeting with my father right before he died. It just wasn’t possible. Stephen was a common name. It could have been someone else. There had been a lot of people in the village that day.

  “I’m certain. I was standing right beside Barley when he said it, and then later I realized the man is staying here at the guesthouse with his wife. The wife is American like you.”

  This was much worse than I’d first thought, so much worse. I gaped at Kenda because I was at a complete loss for words. I could think of no reason why my father would be talking to Barley McFee after they’d both denied knowing each other.

  “Even though Barley clearly didn’t want to talk to the man, he let Stephen into the tour bus. Until that happened, I just assumed he was one more of Barley’s superfans. In truth, most of his big fans are women, but there are a handful of men. However, when Barley let the man into the bus, I knew he wasn’t just a fan. Barley was very careful with his fans. He held them at arm’s length. He would never invite one of them into his private domain. I think the BMGs’ devotion freaked him out a bit, to be honest. He always did whatever he could to avoid them.”

  I hoped Gemma and her crew never heard how Barley had really felt about them. It would gut them for sure.

  “Who do you think Stephen is, then?” I tried to keep my voice even. It was a challenge, because I was screaming on the inside.

  “Someone he knew from the village from when he was a child or maybe from university. This was Barley’s home village, so it stands to reason that he would know some people around here, and the guy was old like Barley.”

  “Right,” I murmured. “Do you know where Barley went for university?”

  “St. Andrews,” she said without a moment’s pause.

  I felt like I might be sick, because St. Andrews was the university my parents and Uncle Ian had attended. It was a big school, and it was possible my mom and dad had never seen Barley there. However, the evidence was pointing to the contrary. They’d all had Uncle Ian as a mutual friend.

  Kenda stood up.
“Thanks for the attorney’s number. I feel a lot better talking to you. You are easy to talk to. Are you sure you’re a florist and not a therapist?” She smiled.

  I couldn’t bring myself to smile back. I was still reeling from what I had just learned.

  “I’m going inside to see if the MacNish brothers left any food for me and to call Cally.” She walked across the garden and through the wood-and-glass door that led into the dining room.

  I sat in the garden for a moment trying to center myself. Plants and flowers always had a way of making me calmer, and just admiring their delicate beauty could put me at ease. That wasn’t the case today. Today I thought it would take one of the stiff whiskeys from the Twisted Fox to calm me down. Maybe two.

  But there was no time for that, nor was it a great idea. I wasn’t a person who could handle anything more that an occasional beer.

  What I needed to do was find my father.

  I walked back into Thistle House. Raj’s Indian food was still on the table, but there was no one in the dining room. I supposed Kenda and the rest of the band expected someone else to clean up the mess. They most likely were used to staying at five-star hotels where their every whim was catered to. They weren’t going to find any of that in Bellewick.

  Kenda had said she’d told the police about my father being at the tour bus. It bothered me that Craig hadn’t told me first. I knew he was the chief inspector first and my boyfriend second, but I would have hoped he would tell me if my father was the prime suspect in a murder. Why hadn’t he told me? Did he not have the time to spare? I knew it probably wasn’t the best news to share on a text message, but I would have much preferred that over hearing about it from Kenda.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. I would find my father first and then worry about Craig later, but he was destined to get an earful from me.

  Eugenia was at the front desk and blinked when I walked up to it. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were still here.”

  I smiled. “I wandered into your garden. It’s lovely.”