by Carly Reid
Ealisaid continued: “Could you interview me first? It’s approaching 2pm already, and in not much more than half an hour the Show will open and we will have hundreds descending on the Village Hall. I’ll need to be there to keep an eye on things and tell them…something about what happened this morning.”
“There’s no need to tell anyone anything unless they ask, Miss Robertson. However, if they do then you can tell them that Mr Wilcott has died and that the police are simply looking into the circumstances surrounding his death. That shouldn’t cause too much alarm.”
Jessica couldn’t help but feel that the Detective Inspector was badly mistaken.
5
The Wrong Marmalade
Jessica fell into step beside Murdo on the route back up to the newspaper offices. Ahead, Magnus talked to Ealisaid, and DI Gordon had positioned himself at the front to set the pace. However, he was matched by Margaret Mustard beside him who had been striding up and down Dalkinchie High Street for decades. Jessica felt that she could see DI Gordon struggling a little to keep up with her speed – and her conversation. She smiled to herself.
“How are you doing Murdo? Are you happy to be involved in another police case?” Jessica asked. Murdo had long harbored an ambition to do the work, but didn’t want to join the police formally because he was needed on his father’s farm, and enjoyed that work too. As they walked up the hill, their conversation was punctuated by Murdo greeting everyone they passed by name, and in many cases, exchanging a line or two as well. He was a well-liked character in Dalkinchie.
“Oh, aye. It’s good tae feel like you are making a difference. It’s always a terrible tragedy when something like this happens, but it’d be even worse, I think, if you didnae get answers and know that justice was done.”
Jessica pondered this. Murdo was probably right, and once again she admired his ability to cut straight to the heart of the matter. Murdo could seem what her aunt would call ‘away with the fairies’ at times, but she was realizing that he could be amazingly perceptive when the situation demanded. He continued:
“Mrs Wilcott earlier, she wis ever so grateful when we spoke to her at the hospital. She’s away back to the Donaldsons noo, they’ll look after her for a bit. Her only child disnae live around here any more.”
Jessica nodded. She remembered, the daughter was in Australia. She also remembered Donald Donaldson, blustering into the registration room that morning, demanding that the rules be bent for him. Try as she might she found it hard to think of him as a friend of the refined, softly spoken Mrs Wilcott.
“Have the families always been friends?”
“Aye. Donald Donaldson’s a family solicitor, and the Donaldsons go back in Dalkinchie for generations. They’ve always had a law business here. The Wilcotts moved up here for Mr Wilcott’s job at the bank, must be twenty years ago noo. They always moved in the same circles – the Golf Club mainly – and they each have one daughter of about the same age, Helen Wilcott and Nancy Donaldson. The girls went through the school together, a year younger than me. Holidays away as well. Since he retired, Mr Wilcott has been spending more time golfing, and Donald wis his golf partner more often than not. He’s no’ retired, but it didnae seem to matter. They’ve both competed in wee local tournaments and the like; Mr Wilcott wis a bit better than Donald Donaldson.”
Jessica realized that this must be why the name Donald Donaldson had rung a bell. As a diligent new member of staff, she had been reading every word that The Herald printed, including all the sporting results that she didn’t understand.
Could the Golf Club have anything to do with the mysterious death?
* * *
Jessica ran ahead a little as they reached the newspaper offices, knowing that she would have to unlock the office doors. The layout of the offices made it ideal for interviewing multiple people, she realised. Grant’s office was the inner of the two rooms, accessed only through a door from the outer office. It contained a very large wooden desk, which Grant kept clear and tidy, although the rest of the office was cluttered with decades of work. The outer office where Jessica normally worked contained a battered leather sofa as well as two desks, multiple shelving and filing units, a couple of printers and an old microfiche reader on a dedicated workstation in one corner. Grant had told Jessica he would show her how to use it to access old copies of The Herald for research. Jessica and Margaret waited here while Ealisaid moved into the inner office with Murdo and DI Gordon. A text from Grant had confirmed that he was happy with this arrangement, and would catch up with Jessica later. Magnus had gone to check on signage in the Village Hall next door, promising to return as soon as he was able.
Margaret Mustard struck up a conversation as soon as the heavy wooden door of the inner office closed behind Ealisaid.
“Well, it never rains but it pours, doesn’t it?”
Jessica knew that this expression meant that bad things happen all at once, but couldn’t really understand how it applied to this situation. Luckily, she wasn’t expected to contribute:
“First, Janet’s cat goes missing. He’s a terror for wandering, and he usually turns up after a day or so, but it has been a week now and not a sign! She’s put up posters, put the word out on that Facebook and she’s taken to just rapping on people’s doors and asking them to check their garage and sheds right there and then. Shameless! She won’t take no for an answer. She’s awfy fond of that cat, too fond if you ask me. I’ve told her manys a time. ‘Janet,’ I’ve said, ‘you spend more on that cat’s dinner than you do on your own!’ But she’ll no’ be told. Well anyway, as I say, first it was that, then poor old Dorothy McMaster’s arthritis had an awfy bad flare up again, she’s a wee bit better now, but she was housebound for a couple of days there, poor soul. I was in and out all the time, wi’ her soup, her laundry. And now this. Mr Wilcott collapsing and dying right in the middle of judging the Show. It’ll be the talk of the toon. And my marmalade at the centre of it all!”
Jessica marvelled at the woman’s ability to put herself at the centre of it all. After all, it seemed that the only factor connecting these events was Margaret Mustard. She tried to make appropriate mmm-hmm noises, hoping that Margaret would continue to talk. Despite herself, Jessica couldn’t help but be intrigued by this latest mystery. The dead man didn’t seem to have any out and out enemies exactly, but it did appear as if he had upset people throughout his life. Could any one of them have decided to take ultimate action?
“I’m sure that folk are already saying that Desmond Wilcott and I were sworn enemies!” Margaret continued. “And it’s true that we had our differences. He was a difficult, pernickety man, but that wisnae the issue – I’ve known plenty of difficult men like that. No, it was that I did not approve of the way he conducted his business. I did not approve at all. When he retired from the bank – well, I’d left the committee at that point, although I’ve always still entered and helped out at the Show. I’d never deny my help, of course. I just couldnae sit alongside him on the committee, not after what he’d done to my laddie and all those other members of staff who lost their jobs through no fault of their own at all. It just didnae seem fair, the way he retired on a big cushy bonus and a nice healthy pension, when so many folk had to leave the area and move to the city in the hopes of getting another job. No, it didnae seem right at all. Why should a hard-working lad like my Robert have to move away from home, and I’m hardly ever seeing him, when Desmond Wilcott gets to swan about on cruises and big long trips to Australia? No, if you ask me, he got what was coming to him.”
Margaret Mustard uttered these last words almost to herself. She had seemed increasingly unaware of Jessica’s presence as she spoke, her expression getting darker and more malevolent even as her voice got quieter and more deliberate. Jessica didn’t say anything, not sure how to respond. She hadn’t really thought that Margaret could have anything to do with Desmond Wilcott’s death, but now she was not so sure.
Jessica was distracted by Ealisaid exiting
the inner office. She left with just a wave, her footsteps clattering down the concrete stairs outside. Jessica knew that her friend wanted to be at the Show for the crowds arriving.
Murdo invited her to come through to the inner office next, and Jessica complied, taking a seat on the near side of Grant’s large wooden desk. Margaret Mustard was left waiting in the outer office. Murdo re-took his seat next to DI Gordon on the other side of the desk and the interview began.
Jessica had experience of the police formalities, having been interviewed in a case earlier in the year, shortly after arriving in Dalkinchie for the first time. It didn’t really lessen her nerves though, as being interviewed by the police was always a serious prospect.
“Miss Greer,” said DI Gordon, “we have an idea of what took place in the judging room this morning, but we understand that you were also present at the judging of the cakes and preserves and would like your version of events. Can you tell us when you arrived at the Village Hall this morning?”
“I arrived at 8.30am. I went immediately to the cakes and preserves room. I wanted to observe the registration process, and Ealisaid…Miss Robertson was registering the jams and marmalades from 8.30 to nine. She was busy with a line of people when I arrived, and I looked around at the room, at the set-up and the rules on the wall.”
“Can you tell us why you wanted to observe the process, Miss Greer?”
“I’m a junior reporter for The Drummond and Dalkinchie Herald. I’ve only been in Scotland a couple of months and I’ve never attended the Show before. I’m writing the main feature on it for The Herald, and Grant Mack, my editor, wanted me to have a full idea of how it worked.”
“Thank you. Did you notice Margaret Mustard’s marmalade being entered into the Show?”
“Yes. It was delivered by the MacNaughton and I…well, I was interested to see him in person. I haven’t met him before.”
DI Gordon nodded. Murdo interjected.
“Oh, the Laird’s quite the character roond here, right enough! Cannae miss him, always in the kilt and that big beard and full head o’ hair. I’m surprised you’ve no’ met him already though, Jessica! Wis he not at your aunt’s opening party? You’ve never seen him in the café?”
Jessica was about to reply when she picked up on DI Gordon’s impatient sideways look at Murdo. “There’s no need to answer that Miss Greer. He is somewhat of a local celebrity, so it makes sense that your attention would be drawn to his entry. You didn’t realise at the time that it was Margaret Mustard’s marmalade?”
“Actually, I did. They spoke about it and later Ealisaid told me again when we were checking the entry numbers. I noticed the Castle Drummond label and Ealisaid explained that it was Margaret’s marmalade.”
Jessica faltered, not wanting to repeat the rest of her friend’s words but realising that they may be significant, she continued: “She also said that technically the entry broke the rules, because the jar and the label weren’t plain, but that Mr Wilcott never challenged it – he wouldn’t do so because it was the MacNaughton that entered it. This was after registration had closed though. There was no-one else there.”
“So Mrs Mustard’s marmalade was the last entry?”
“No, there was another one before it closed. Donald Donaldson handed in a cake and some jam. On behalf of his wife, he said. Then everyone had entered so we closed the door, and that was when Ealisaid checked all the entry numbers before locking up. She left at that point, and I had a quick look in the main hall, then came here to work on my article at the desk out there.”
“Hang on a minute , Miss Greer. You say that Ealisaid locked the door. What is your best estimate of the time that was?”
“It would be around 9.10 am. She went to the café to check on opening, and I went to the hall, then here.”
Murdo interjected again.
“That would be about right, Sir! I was opening up the café for 9am with Mairead Robertson, Ealisaid’s sister, and Ealisaid herself would have turned up aroond 9.15am. I mind because I’d just turned on the coffee grinder and I didnae hear her come in, but when I looked up, there she was.”
DI Gordon looked contemplative. “Well, that’s certainly consistent. Thank you. And you returned to the room…when?”
“At 11.30, although I was back at the Village Hall for eleven. I took more notes in the main hall. I wanted to see the crafts up close, without all the people in the way. It was judging time at that point. Magnus was there too, taking photos.”
“Thank you, Miss Greer. It might be that we need to speak to yourself and to Mr Smith again to get more detailed information about who was present during your visits to the main hall, but that will suffice for now. Can you tell me, in your own words, what you observed when you attended the judging of the cakes and preserves?”
Jessica continued, describing as best she could the judging process and what she remembered of Mr Wilcott’s behaviour up to the point where he collapsed. DI Gordon took detailed notes and nodded encouragingly from time to time. He asked her to repeat the information about the marmalade, and whether she was really sure that it had been the pot of Castle Drummond marmalade that was the last one tasted before Mr Wilcott’s collapse. Jessica was very sure – there had been no mistaking the jar’s distinctive curved shape, and the Castle Drummond label. She hoped that Margaret Mustard couldn’t hear anything from the outside office. She didn’t think she would be able to.
“Thank you, Miss Greer. You have been very helpful. You may now leave, and please send Mrs Mustard in.”
Jessica nodded and stood up. In the outer office, Margaret Mustard was no longer looking as calm as she had earlier. In fact, she was looking positively ill again. Her colour was high, and her breath short. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to leave her interview until last. Clearly Margaret Mustard was not a woman who benefited from sitting in quiet contemplation.
Before Jessica could invite her to go in to the interview room, there came the noise of thudding footsteps from the stairs outside. All at once, there was a brisk knock at the door to the outer office, and then, without waiting for a reply, the door flew open and there stood the MacNaughton, resplendent in his kilt, standing with his balled hands on his hips – like a Scottish Superman, Jessica thought to herself. He went straight to Margaret Mustard who immediately stood up and burst into noisy sobs.
“Margaret! They telt me you were here. Are you OK, lass?”
“Oh, Gillespie! I’m all at sixes and sevens. There’s a problem wi’ my Show marmalade. They’re even saying that Desmond Wilcott died after eating it! As if it had been poisoned! We were certainly no’ friends, but I wouldnae do such a thing, not to my worst enemy!”
“Aye right, enough Margaret, calm down, calm down.” Gillespie MacNaughton fished a clean cotton handkerchief square from his kilt sporran. Margaret Mustard took it and buried her face in it, sobbing noisily. The MacNaughton put his hands on her shoulders, muttering “there, there,” as her sobs subsided to a noisy sniffle. There was something really touching about the way Gillespie MacNaughton was caring for Margaret, Jessica thought to herself.
The noise drew DI Gordon and Murdo from the inner office. Gillespie MacNaughton turned to them and said, in his deep, booming voice: “Can you explain yourselves? Why on earth would you need to haul a harmless wee lady up here for questioning? Can you no’ tell she’s not in a fit state to manage it?”
DI Gordon’s tone was respectful, but he was direct in his reply.
“Mrs Mustard very kindly agreed to assist us with our enquiries earlier on, and she was not in distress then. Obviously we will take all the time she needs to calm down before proceeding. The fact remains, however, that a man has died suddenly, and the circumstances warrant investigation. A man who was in perfect health ingested a substance, and then immediately took ill, collapsed and died. We need to look into that substance and into anything else that might have happened before this took place.”
“Ingested a substance? What on earth do you m
ean?”
Murdo spoke up.
“The marmalade, Chief – Mr Wilcott was judging the marmalade when he took no’ weel. It seems likely it wis Mrs Mustard’s marmalade, so we are just checking.”
“Margaret’s orange and whisky marmalade? The one I entered this morning?” The MacNaughton knitted his brows together in confusion, looked to the side and rubbed at his bearded chin. “But how could that be?”
“That’s what we are trying to find out, Mr MacNaughton.”
“No, I mean…” The MacNaughton looked at Margaret Mustard and shrugged. “Margaret, I’m going tae have tae come clean. I didnae register your Show marmalade.”
He turned to DI Gordon and Murdo, as a bewildered expression spread over the faces of everyone present.
“Margaret always picks oot her Show jar, the one that she thinks is best filled, the best colour and the neatest. She sets it aside in the pantry for me to register on the day. But I wis in a wee bit o’ a hurry this morning, and I’m a bit clumsy anyway. When I picked up the jar it slipped out of my hand and it smashed on the floor. We’ve got flagstones, hard as concrete they are. I cleaned it all up, and you’d never know!”
“So when you registered my preserves…” Margaret Mustard spoke slowly, trying to comprehend.
“I just swapped in one o’ the other jars. I made sure to pick the cleanest, neatest looking one! Not that most folk could tell any difference between them. She’s a perfectionist,” he added unnecessarily to the gathered group.
“So, if you think that Margaret – or anybody else for that matter – dropped a wee bit o’ poison into her Show marmalade, then I’m glad to be able to tell you that you’re mistaken! Quite apart from the fact that she would never do such a thing, the jar intended for the Show is back in the Drummond Castle bins.”
The MacNaughton looked around, beaming in delight. It was evident that he felt he had exonerated Margaret. Murdo’s face was serious, his expression concentrating. Jessica always found it hard to read DI Gordon’s face but he too seemed to be working something out.