A Scone of Contention

by Lucy Burdette

  Ainsley nodded. “She claims to be allergic. And I am slightly sympathetic as it doesn’t agree with me either.”

  “Anyway, backing up a bit, before I served the salad,” Grace continued, “Glenda went to the ladies’ room. She was in the kitchen when I returned, where she made a big fuss about reminding me about her diet. Later I wondered whether she’d brought those poison leaves meaning to add them to Ainsley’s dish, the one other plate without celery. She must not have realized that there were two special dishes. Only after she ate and began to feel unwell did she realize that she had put the leaves in the plate I served to her.”

  “You’re saying she meant to poison Ainsley? Or did she accidentally overdose on poison herself and try to pin it on Ainsley or you?” I asked, unable to keep from wondering a little whether Grace had poisoned Glenda to protect Ainsley. But from what?

  Grace nodded. “One of those, I can’t be sure which. I suppose the police will have to sort that out.”

  “Very wise,” my husband said. He had his arms crossed over his chest and was glowering a bit. “In fact, I spoke with the detective in charge of the case, and he confirmed that Glenda intended to make Ainsley sick, but Grace mixed up the plates.”

  “But why would she do such a thing?” I asked.

  “She wanted us off the project,” said Vera stiffly. “She was protecting her husband and her marriage and their version of the book. I believe she thought we were aiming to push Gavin out if we could manage it. Which we couldn’t have done, because the publisher adored him and his ideas. It the end, it was her shenanigans that ruined him.”

  “And,” Grace admitted, “she wanted to punish me.”

  “She was a talented gardener who knew herbs and would know about poisonous doses. It seemed unlikely that she’d put enough in her own plate to make herself seriously ill. Instead, she dosed my dish, and later was horrified to recognize the symptoms of foxglove poisoning in herself. If I had gotten sick, the finger would have pointed clearly at Grace,” said Ainsley.

  Every one of us at the table turned to look at Grace.

  “Maybe it was the wrong thing to do, but I approached Glenda about the pass her husband made at me. But she rebuffed me, using some terrible words that I won’t stoop to repeating,” the chef said.

  Ainsley said, “Even though one part of her knew what Gavin was like, she must have been psychologically unable to accept this version of his nature. She was feeling desperate enough to poison me, and that way take Grace down in the process. And maybe she even thought we’d drop out of the project and leave it all to them.”

  Nathan shrugged. “Hopefully between interviews with both Gavin and Glenda, we’ll get a fuller picture.”

  “One more thing then, who was the mystery man who visited this house the morning of the dinner party?” I asked. “Was he related to all this in some way?” I suspected the man was Joseph Booth, but better to let them tell this, especially since I didn’t have the why nailed down.

  “It’s excruciating to say, but I can answer that question,” Ainsley said. “For that, we would have to go back to our time at University.”

  Vera reached across the table to squeeze her fingers.

  “The man was Joseph Booth.” She sighed. “I hadn’t seen him for years. We were so young back then at University and so foolish,” Ainsley added. “I was quite taken with Gavin, actually gaga over him. Apologies to you darling,” she said to her husband, who had an appalled expression on his face. “He was vibrant and attractive and full of life in his lectures. History came vividly alive when he talked about it. And he was in great favor with the administration because of his popularity with the students and his writing.”

  She glanced at Dougal again. “I wanted to be a famous artist, and yet I doubted I could make that happen. Gavin gleamed with power and promise and certainty at a time when I felt so uncertain about everything—that’s my only excuse. His power seemed sexy, I suppose. I thought I had fallen in love with him, and so I accepted his advances.”

  Vera groaned. “We were all a bit in love with him, I think. And he ran through every pretty young woman he took a fancy to, like a rushing stream over rocks. But he had the biggest thing for Ainsley.” She looked around the table. “My friend is beautiful now, but she was a showstopper then—the kind of sparkling beauty that unfairly belongs to youth. And she was not a diva, like some other people we know.”

  Ainsley shrugged her thanks. “May we move on from that sordid moment?” She didn’t wait for anyone to answer. “Joseph—Mr. Booth—was one of Gavin’s research assistants. He occasionally ran the small group precepts for Gavin’s large lectures, and he was responsible for holding individual meetings with us about our projects. He was equally as bright as Gavin.” She dropped her head into her hands. “This is so hard. I feel that I’m to blame for Joseph’s death because I sent him rushing away the morning of our dinner party. I thought he was reliving old feelings, old jealousies. That he couldn’t stomach the thought of me working so closely with Gavin. But I think what he really wanted was for me to acknowledge that Gavin had stolen his materials and crafted a career based on his brilliant ideas.”

  I remembered the newspaper article that Joseph’s aunt had called me about, with the outraged notes written in the margins. That had obviously infuriated Joseph, scraping scabs off old wounds. And therefore he risked approaching Ainsley the day before he fell from the wheel.

  Ainsley continued. “After leaving University, he made a new life for himself as a software engineer. But he couldn’t bear the idea of this big book based on his ideas, yet credited to Gavin. He resented Gavin’s success in academia, as he’d always dreamed of becoming a teacher. And saddest of all, he never married.”

  “Joseph was desperately, tragically in love with Ainsley,” Vera said softly. “I remember that so clearly.”

  Ainsley shuddered and took a deep breath. “Back in college, I refused his declarations of interest because I was involved with Gavin, and I believed he was serious about me. Joseph tried his best to persuade me that Gavin wasn’t worthy of me. And when that didn’t work, he insisted that Gavin was an intellectual hack who had stolen his proprietary software template. I thought he was merely trying to pry my affections away from Gavin because he was jealous. I told him to go away.”

  “It was hard,” said Vera. “We had no idea what to do. Joseph Booth insisted he wanted to save Ainsley from Gavin’s rot.” She looked down at her plate, toyed with a section of shortbread. “None of us believed him.”

  “Joseph wanted to marry me,” Ainsley said. “I refused.” She wiped her hands on one of the plaid napkins. “I didn’t realize that Gavin was also seeing Glenda and that he was serious about her.”

  “Or her about him, more likely,” said Vera. “And what Glenda wanted Glenda got.”

  “I finally told Gavin what Joseph had said. He was firm with me,” Ainsley continued. “He explained that Joseph, like other research assistants before him, was filled with envy and would take him down with pleasure in an instant, even if it meant manufacturing stories. And he ended by saying that I was a lovely girl, but I should go out and find a man my own age. A boy, I think he said. I was completely humiliated.”

  “It was awful,” said Vera. “And I was recovering from my terrible kidnapping incident and felt so tainted, as though no one would ever want me either. We poured our hearts out to each other and swore we would never tell each other’s terrible secrets.”

  Ainsley’s voice dropped to a whisper. “After that, Gavin managed to turn the administration against Joseph and squeeze him out of his position at St. Andrews. There were rumors of his impropriety with students for years after.”

  “Which is rich, considering what Gavin did,” Vera said, her voice full of disgust. “That pretty much ended our friendships with Glenda until the idea of this book project came up.”

  All of this made me feel so sad. Especially as I remembered visiting Joseph’s family and witnessing their heartbreak
. How it must have cost him to hide everything that had happened from his mother. And now the powerful reaction that both Vera and Ainsley had when they saw Joseph Booth splayed on the concrete decking made so much more sense. That unexpected tragedy must have brought a surge of guilt to each of them. I suspected they did not share that with anyone, including each other. Except Grace had heard Ainsley sobbing the night after we visited the wheel and decided that was important enough to drive to Glencoe in order to tell me.

  “So Glenda pushed that poor man off the wheel when he tried to accost her about his intellectual property,” Miss Gloria said.

  “That’s the working hypothesis at the police station,” Nathan said. “The question is, what sense did it make that she would go after you, Gloria?”

  “That’s easy,” she said with a big grin. “I was on to her—I smelled her rot, as Joseph might have said. It was only a matter of time before I’d have figured the whole thing out. Plus I’d threatened to take my story to the publisher right at dinner in Tobermory. And worst of all, I told her on that walk that if she was so afraid of losing Gavin to another woman, maybe it was time to cut him loose.” She glanced at Ainsley and then Grace, and finally shrugged. “She couldn’t endure that notion. So I had to go.”

  * * *

  I dragged my suitcase to the family room, thinking it felt as though we’d only just arrived. And yet, with all that had happened, it also seemed like forever since we’d left home. Miss Gloria was perched on a chair at the kitchen table, cattycorner to William, and he was watching her face carefully. Neither of them even glanced at me, so I knew something serious was going on.

  “We are so grateful for the hospitality that you and Vera have extended to us,” said Miss Gloria. “I cannot tell you how much it has meant to me to visit this country and be welcomed into your family.”

  “You must know that it has been our complete pleasure and delight,” said William.

  Miss Gloria bit her lip. “Before we go, there’s something really bothering me and I wondered if I could ask …” She paused, looking almost tearful. “About your family. And mine. And our history together.”

  William leaned toward her and took her hand in his. I watched for any sign that he might be mocking her. But on his face, I saw only thoughtful concern. “Of course, you can ask me anything.”

  She nodded her gratitude. “It’s about the massacre at Glencoe. I realize this happened over three hundred years ago. But I felt the pain of those people when we visited, even before I wore those dumb goggles. I could literally feel the terror and the hurt right here in my chest when these people they’d been hosting turned on them. It lingers.” She pressed her hand to her chest. Her lips trembled as she tried to form the last words. “How do you feel about that history? I guess that’s what I’m trying to grasp.”

  He reached across the table and took her free hand, so he was holding both of her small hands in his big ones. “I am deeply ashamed of that bit of our history. If I could go back and change it so that a clan of innocent people was not destroyed by my ancestors, I would. I would. As it isn’t possible, I hope you’ll accept my sincerest apology. I am so sorry.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Thank you for that kindness. I’ve learned some things about my own ancestors as well. They were not angels. Not that their faults and weaknesses excuse the massacre, but I realized that nothing is black and white in history. And I believe that some of your soldier ancestors actually warned my people and saved them. We can hope we’re descended from that sort of bloodline.”

  * * *

  While we waited in the Edinburgh airport for the trip home, I phoned Bettina and Violet Booth to tell them that Glenda had been arrested for the attempted murder of Miss Gloria and would soon be charged with Joseph’s murder as well.

  “It doesn’t make your loss any less, but I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Thank you,” they said in a sad chorus.

  “We’ve found more documents stored away in his closet, and we’ve hired a lawyer to represent his estate’s interests,” Bettina added. “Maybe it will be enough to go forward with a lawsuit. It won’t change the fact that our Joseph is gone, but that horrible man should not earn one red cent from our boy’s mind. And his bylines based on Joseph’s work should be expunged.”

  Violet tagged on, “We’d love to have you and your husband to stay with us any time you come to Scotland. “As you know, we have a spare room. We so appreciate your interest and kindness.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  But keeping people active at a wake was essential. Being busy, like working, allayed grief. By splitting cakes and heaping on berries and cream, the mourners could start to get their minds off death.

  —Diane Mott Davidson, Catering to Nobody

  By the time we finally arrived home to houseboat row, it was evening, and I had never been gladder to be anywhere. The sun had set but it was still light, the kind of rosy, warm light that settled over our island every June. Almost peachy in color, like a ripe mango, which I suddenly craved. As we walked down the finger toward our boats, I could see Miss Gloria’s cats, T-bone and Sparky, splayed out on her deck. An excited yipping came from our boat: Ziggy, who could sense Nathan’s presence from a mile away.

  “I loved seeing Scotland, and I can’t thank you enough for bringing me along,” Miss Gloria said to me and Nathan. “But my gosh, is it good to be home. I will see you in the morning. This old lady is going straight to bed.”

  I squeezed her into a big hug. “If you go to bed too early, you’ll wake up in the middle of the night,” I said.

  “I’ll take my chances,” she said with a big grin. “If I wake up, I’ll have a snack and go back to sleep, exactly like a normal cat.” She trotted over to her house, Nathan following behind with her suitcase. She hopped from the walk to her deck and scooped up a cat in each arm, black-coated Sparky on the right and orange tiger T-bone on the left.

  “I met some lovely Scottish kitties, but they dinna hold a candle to you,” she told them, kissing them each on the head and squeezing them until they squirmed to be put down.

  “Archie,” she explained as they followed her into her living room, “was a very handsome gray tiger, but especially shy. Don’t you know I won him over by the end? I offered to send him that flopping fish toy that you guys love, but Vera said it would scare him to death. I should save it for a braver cat. Louise, on the other hand, had a lot to say and talked to me constantly. Oh, and there was Tobermory, a big orange tiger who was named after the town he lived in. Can you imagine if I’d named one of you Key West? So silly! Wait till you see what I brought you from Scotland.”

  Nathan came back empty-handed but chuckling.

  “Thanks for including her,” I said, circling my arms around his waist. “Even though we almost did her in, I know she’ll never forget it. Nor will I.”

  He hugged me hard and kissed me on the lips. “I’m going to take Ziggy for a spin and grab the mail,” he said.

  “I’ll see if there’s anything to eat in this place,” I said. I opened the door, and both Evinrude and Ziggy rushed out. “I missed you guys so much!” I patted Ziggy’s head on his way to Nathan, and gathered up the cat to bury my face in his fur. “You most of all.”

  Inside the houseboat, I smelled a sweet fruity odor and noticed that my mother had left a bowl of pink mangos on the table with a note: Welcome home! We missed you so. Call when you can. Salad in the fridge.

  I opened the refrigerator and dished out two plates of chicken salad with toasted almonds and mango chunks, and warmed up the last two cheese scones from the freezer. I poured us each a half glass of wine, because why not? Arriving safely home to this cozy beautiful space was well worth a celebration.

  Nathan and Ziggy came clattering in, and the dog headed toward me with a slobbery doggy grin on his face. I kissed him on the head and gave him a treat.

  “I think it’s mostly junk mail,” Nathan said.

  Just then, my phone ding
ed with an incoming message. The subject line looked almost as though it had been written in spidery hand lettering. Hayley Snow Bransford. I was still getting used to that name and not one hundred percent sure I wouldn’t stick with my maiden name, maybe use Nathan’s for fancy social occasions or if we had a family sometime way off in the future. Nathan insisted he was fine with either. At the top of the e-mail, the sender had written the date, and “Peebles, Scotland.”

  Dear Hayley, we can’t thank you enough for caring about Joseph and helping us solve the mystery of his tragic fall. As a token of our deep gratitude, we agree that you should be the rightful heir to our prize-winning scone recipe. We will leave it to your judgment as to whether you publish. In some ways, it would be a shame to have those secret scones expire with a couple of old women. And besides, we are already deep at work on next year’s entry.

  You and your family are always welcome in our home. As you know and has been said once, we have a spare room and would welcome your cheerful company anytime.

  With much affection, Violet and Bettina Booth

  Underneath the note was the recipe, titled “Cinnamon Scones from the Kitchen of Violet and Bettina Booth.” My heart lurched at the thought of them choosing me to share something this special. I felt tears prick my eyes at the depth of their loss and the reach of their kindness. They were thanking me and giving me credit even before they’d heard the case was wrapped up. They were so sure I had helped them and would continue to do so. I showed the e-mail to Nathan.

  “Very sweet,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “You make friends wherever you go, which is one of the reasons I’m madly in love with you.” Now he looked a little sheepish. “Do you mind if I pop over to the station? Could you save my plate? The chief’s in his office, and he’d like to fill me in on what I’ve missed.”