by Carly Reid
Patricia sniffed, watery eyes looking into Margaret’s. “You needn’t have worried about that Margaret. Desmond was many things, and a bit of a snob was one of them. As long as your Castle Drummond marmalade kept being entered, I can guarantee it would have won. He enjoyed the status of it, and he liked keeping the Laird sweet. I’m not saying your marmalade wasn’t delicious, of course,” Patricia added hastily. Could she really be fearful of offending Margaret Mustard’s marmalade? Jessica wondered. It seemed a bit incongruous, following a murder accusation.
It seemed as if it might be too late. Tears were now brimming in the housekeeper’s eyes and she pressed her trembling lips together to try and conceal her emotion. It didn’t work. Jessica watched on, recognising that her contribution was not needed.
“Oh Patricia! The strain I have been under! It’s too much.” Margaret Mustard got stiffly to her feet. Jessica quickly pulled one of the other chairs out for her, and the woman nodded her thanks. “It’s going to be such an enormous relief to finally tell the truth.”
But before she could continue, the strident peal of a fire alarm blared out across the castle.
“My onions!”
Margaret dashed to the stove at the back of the room, Jessica in pursuit. Margaret quickly grabbed a cloth and moved the large pot from the hot plate to a cast iron pot stand on the side. Smoke billowed, and Margaret ran to open windows and the back door.
“What’s all this? Are you all right, Margaret?”
Gillespie MacNaughton strode in through the interconnecting side door, resplendent as ever in his kilt. Does he sleep in that thing Jessica wondered, but in no time the MacNaughton had switched off the alarm, had a damp tea towel blanketing the offending pot, and was comforting Margaret.
“What on earth happened here, Margaret? It’s no’ like you to forget you’ve something on the hob!”
“Och I know, Gillespie. I just got distracted. Patricia and the wee lass that works for The Herald came over, and we were having a wee bit of a chat.” Margaret gestured over to Jessica and Patricia as she spoke.
Patricia, having recovered herself somewhat, spoke firmly. “Actually, Mr MacNaughton, we were having more than just a ‘wee chat.’ Margaret was about to tell us how she had accidentally poisoned my husband!”
Gillespie MacNaughton looked at his housekeeper in horror. “Margaret! Surely no’. I thought we had all that sorted oot. I broke the jar that was meant to go into the Show, remember. Unless you poisoned the lot of them, but that would mean that you didnae mind poisoning me!” Gillespie MacNaughton guffawed loudly, but this was not reflected by Margaret Mustard’s reaction, who was blinking furiously and biting her lip.
“Gillespie, I’ve something to tell you. I have something to tell you all. It’s probably best if we all sit down.
“It’s time I came clean.”
* * *
DI Gordon sat hunched over the table in Lissa’s. Feeling a little better than he had the day before, he still needed regular boosts of caffeine to get him through, and had therefore been grateful when Murdo said he needed to have a word with Ealisaid.
“Take all the time you need, Murdo!” he had said generously, before ordering an espresso and a Danish pastry, thinking that adding sugar to the mix couldn’t hurt. Everyone said that the sugar rush was artificial, short lived and ended in a crash, but at this point he would take anything.
“So I cannae help oot at the service, although I will be there.” Murdo’s round blue eyes looked anxiously into Ealisaid’s. He didn’t like letting her down, although she had been nothing but supportive of his volunteer constabulary work. Daytimes were getting easier now that Mairead was old enough to do weekend shifts, and had plenty friends looking for a wee bit of extra cash. This outside catering gig had been booked for a while though, and Murdo had only just realized that there was a clash.
“I’m one step ahead of you, Murdo. I just assumed you’d be tied up, given that it’s Desmond Wilcott’s memorial, so I’ve asked Jessica to help me out tomorrow evening. She said aye, and although she’s had a nasty bug apparently, she thinks she’ll be ok to work by then. So I’ll see you at Drummond Club House, but I’m no’ expecting you to work – I’ll be serving you instead!”
Murdo smiled in relief, and joined DI Gordon at his table. The Detective Inspector was sitting staring fixedly ahead. Murdo glanced around, but could see nothing. DI Gordon had been doing this lately, getting distracted. Murdo waved his hand gently in front of his superior’s face.
“Hmmm? Oh – sorry, Murdo. I was miles away. Did you sort things out with Ealisaid?”
“Aye. It’s all fine, Jessica will take my catering shift, so I can come wi’ you and Mrs Wilcott to the service.”
DI Gordon yawned. “Thanks, Murdo. It’s a bit of an ask, but we in the force do like to attend funerals and services if we can. It shows respect but in addition, it’s often a good opportunity to spot if anyone is behaving oddly or shows an unusual reaction to events. With this case, I’d really like to see if anything new emerges.”
He stopped short of saying that they were drawing a blank, but it was getting perilously close to it. If they didn’t manage to get a case together soon…he didn’t like to think what might happen. There was probably enough to be going on with to arrest the wife, if it hadn’t been for the annoying fact that she had an alibi. Everyone he had spoken to swore that Patricia Wilcott had arrived with her husband after the preserves registration had finished, and had then been in the main Hall, helping to set up stalls for the whole time before the judging began. The Detective Inspector was sure that she must have popped out at some point but if so, no one was admitting it.
Margaret Mustard had been in the frame at the start, but DI Gordon had never seriously suspected her. He could quite imagine that she would make a scene at a committee meeting and bad mouth the man all over the village, but the plotting and stealth involved in poisoning her foe did not seem to fit with her personality.
The McScunnered chap had looked initially promising. He fitted the profile – DI Gordon instinctively felt that they were looking for someone with a grudge, financial or political – but he had thought the man would turn up during routine questioning. Perhaps he should have put more resources into hunting down the farmhouse after all.
He yawned again. Tomorrow evening. The Drummond Golf Club Desmond Wilcott Memorial Service and Portrait Unveiling.
Perhaps the breakthrough they needed would be there.
* * *
Everyone sat around the table, staring at Margaret. Patricia’s face was deathly pale and still. Jessica couldn’t believe she hadn’t followed up on Margaret earlier. Why, when she had seen her behaving suspiciously in the park? When the woman had as good as told her the motive?
Margaret addressed her words to the MacNaughton. Maybe she found it easier that way. “Gillespie…I’ve been lying to you.”
Jessica had never seen Gillespie MacNaughton look troubled. The most genial and relaxed of men normally, his face now betrayed his turmoil – lips set, eyebrows drawn together. He met Margaret’s gaze unflinchingly and remained silent, waiting for her to go on.
“You have been ever so generous to me over the years Gillespie. You’ve let me use your finest malt in your favourite marmalade – the Castle Drummond Orange and Whisky. Dalkinchie and Drummond Craft Show prizewinner for eight years running! But I have something terrible to confess.”
Jessica was getting impatient. It was clear that Margaret liked being the centre of attention, even now. A small exasperated sigh escaped her lips, but Patricia stayed her with a gentle look. Margaret took a deep breath and the next words came out in a tumble.
“Gillespie – my marmalade, I’ve been…I’ve been using a kit!”
This time Jessica didn’t try to conceal her annoyance. “I don’t really see what your preserving methods have to do with this? Can’t you tell us when you poisoned it?”
“No, Jessica, this is relevant. Using a kit is against the Cr
aft Show rules. The marmalade should have been entirely home made.” Patricia was looking at Margaret through narrowed eyes. “But you have a good point. I would like to hear the rest, Margaret, the bit where you decided to murder my husband, and frame me for it.”
A penny dropped for Jessica. She had seen marmalade making kits in the store, tins of prepared oranges. Margaret Mustard had been winning the top prize at Show for years with one of those?
“I…I never intended to blame you, Patricia. I’m not sure how that happened. I suppose everyone knows that you two didnae get on, and just assumed.”
Jessica’s mouth dropped open in shock. How could Margaret be so rude? Luckily Patricia was more than able to take care of herself. “Margaret, you can drop the act. You came to visit me on Monday. At first I thought it was strange, but then I chalked it up to your perennial nosiness! However I have just recently come into possession of some new information – ” here she glanced at Jessica ” – and I know for a fact that the vial of nicotine was planted on my mantelpiece after Sunday, but before Tuesday. Why on earth did you come round, if not to put it there to frame me?”
Margaret pulled her shoulders back and steadied her voice. “I visited, Patricia, because I believed that it was the kindest and most neighbourly thing to do under the circumstances. I am nothing if not community-minded! I had nothing to do with any nicotine and I don’t know what you are referring to. I take any punishment that is coming to me, but I will not be accused of a crime that I did not commit.”
Patricia opened her mouth, face flushed again, but before she could respond, the MacNaughton interjected.
“Hold on a minute here. Margaret, why do you think it wis your fault if you didnae handle the nicotine? Did you poison the marmalade by some other means?”
“Not intentionally!” Margaret crumpled again, her voice wavering. “It was an accident! The kit…the kit I used…well, it was out of date!”
Total silence followed this statement.
Then Patricia Wilcott burst out laughing.
“Out of date? Out of date marmalade? Oh, Margaret, if that could have got rid of Desmond, I would have tried it myself years ago.” She checked herself, perhaps realising the inappropriateness of this joke under the circumstances. “You can put your mind at ease, Margaret. Pure nicotine killed Desmond, not some slightly dodgy oranges. I thought you would have heard? That’s what I found in my living room, and that’s what the test results showed.”
“Aye, I did hear, but you know what the gossip around here is like – ” Patricia’s eyes met Jessica’s briefly, and the latter quickly looked down, trying to suppress her smile ” – I thought folk had just got the wrong end of the stick, because I was so, so sure that it was my kit that was bad. I was just so busy at the time, wee Dorothy was moving into the sheltered housing and I was helping with the flit, and we had all that fundraising for the church roof going on – I never got to the supermarket for a new kit and I thought it would be fine just this once. Oh Patricia. I am so sorry. Whatever you must think of me!”
“Not at all, Margaret…”
But Margaret was no longer listening, instead staring at the MacNaughton in contrition. “And I’ve thrown the whole lot out, Gillespie! I was so sure that the whole batch would be contaminated. Your favourite! All that marmalade!”
“And all that whisky,” replied Gillespie, but he was smiling. It was just as well that he took it in good spirits because Margaret next moved on to the ruined dinner, and it took the promise of a takeaway pizza and convincing her that he was just as happy with jam on his toast in the morning before she would calm down. Patricia and Jessica left them to it, Jessica quite happy to be returned to Reenie’s cottage to restore her dipping energy levels. Patricia was reflective on the journey home, but if she had any new suspicions, she didn’t share them.
It was only later, as Jessica was dropping off the sleep, that something began niggling at her. Something someone had said – something she had forgotten.
What was it?
15
The Drive and the Golf Club
Friday morning brought pouring rain, and Jessica was glad that she had no need to go out. Unfortunately the afternoon brought high winds to go with the rain, and found Jessica and Magnus back at Drummond Primary School, this time reporting on an after-school Science and Technology club.
As charmed as Jessica was by the serious and focused children, and their patient explanations of the experiments they were running, her mind kept drifting back to the revelations of the previous day. With Margaret Mustard out of the picture – surely no-one could be that good an actress – who was still in the frame? She wished she had followed up the McScunnered leads after all. She had been half-hoping they would be able to do so again today, but the driving rain quickly removed any such notions. Even with his windscreen wipers ‘at full lash’ as he had described it, Magnus could barely make out twenty feet ahead – driving around and trying to spot Abbotsford under these conditions would have been fruitless. Jessica sighed. Still something nagged at the back of her mind; if only she could remember it things might be clearer.
“Miss! Are you watching? Miss?”
Jessica guiltily dragged her attention back to the present, where two adorable eight-year olds in white coats and plastic safety glasses were about to add vinegar to their baking soda ‘volcano’. She would have to sort through her thoughts later. Right now it was time to act appropriately awestruck as the foaming lava overflowed the papier mache crater, and ran down the sides.
After the club had finished, Magnus drove Jessica to the bus stop where it had been agreed Ealisaid would pick her up, to maximise the time available for preparing the event. Jessica had brought her catering clothes with her. On the way, Jessica entertained him with the events of the day before.
Magnus slowed the car to a stop and turned to look at Jessica properly. “Oh my dear goodness. I cannot believe she really thought she had poisoned the marmalade wi’ a tin o’ foosty oranges. She really binned the lot?”
“The whole batch, she said! Protecting the citizens of Dalkinchie! I worked out later I had actually seen her do it, in one of the garbage bins in the park. She was behaving very oddly, and now I know why!”
“Protecting the citizens – ”. These words and the thought of Margaret Mustard creeping furtively around the park set Magnus off again, laughing harder than ever. Jessica was glad he was no longer driving – but she couldn’t help but join in with his hilarity. For a few moments they sat in the car, heavy rain drumming on the roof, laughing uncontrollably. Any time it looked as if they were about to stop, one of them would say something which started it all up again.
“Reports of a serious marmalade shortage in Dalkinchie are coming through…” This was Magnus, mimicking a news reporter. Jessica chimed in with, “In the interests of safety, citizens are advised to consume NO preserves. That’s no marmalades, jams or curds. In fact, to be on the safe side just eat DRY toast. DRY toast is the official advice.”
Magnus next mimicked the high, wavering tone of a much older man. “Aye, I mind well the great marmalade drought – it started wi’ the Castle Drummond Orange & Whisky. Once it wis abundant, then suddenly there were nae jars. Not a single jar in the whole of Dalkinchie or Drummond! Not one! Can you even imagine that, you young folks?”
Jessica continued to laugh but she was suddenly struck with a thought – followed by another. Two details that had been nagging at the back of her brain revealed themselves, and all at once, things fell into place.
* * *
Magnus had to get back to Balnaguise for evening milking. He left her at the bus shelter, after extracting reassurances that she would be just fine. Ealisaid was due along in a few minutes, and Jessica was confident that The Drummond Golf Club Desmond Wilcott Memorial Service and Portrait Unveiling was exactly where she needed to be heading.
With the rain drumming hard on the shelter’s thin roof, she pulled out her cell phone and, glancing at it, realised sh
e had missed a voicemail.
The message was patchy. Jessica wasn’t sure if it was her signal or something to do with the phone, but she could only make out every other word. “Hi Jessica, I’ve having a bit *****bother, and I’ll be *****straight to the *****. Just stay at the bus stop in Drummond, I’ve got *****to pick you up and I will see you there. Stay at the bus stop!”
Frowning, Jessica tried to replay the message, but the phone died. Jessica sighed in exasperation. Looking up quickly, she realised that Magnus was already out of sight. Nothing else for it. She settled in to wait for her promised ride. At least there was a bus shelter, although it wasn’t very effective against the diagonal rain.
A few long, damp minutes later she thought she detected a pricking of lights through the murky rainfall, then the distant sound of an engine above the thudding of the rain on the bus shelter roof and walls. A few more moments and it was definite. A car was coming towards her through the rain. Thank goodness! The rain was pounding so heavily that she couldn’t make out the driver, but it was definitely slowing as it approached. The white car pulled up smoothly at the side of the road, and the passenger window rolled down.
“Miss Greer. I thought I would find you here. Ealisaid Robertson asked me to pick you up. I understand that you are headed to the Donaldson Cup Memorial service? Hop in, I will give you a lift.”
Jessica had stepped out of the bus shelter as the car pulled up. The rain lashed hard against the hood of her raincoat. With her phone out of batteries, she had no means of contacting anyone, and it would look incredibly suspicious if she refused the offer now. It wasn’t as if she could outrun him – he was in a car and she was on foot in the rain – and really, he could have no reason to think she suspected anything at all.