The carpeting changed at the threshold to a lively red, green, and black plaid. He had a nightstand on each side of his large, nonstandard-sized bed. The bed was a half tester, backed with a densely pleated cream textile that extended to the ceiling. Brass, swing arm lamps hung near each side of the bed and a flesh colored phone drooped from a nearby wall. The bed sat next to the wall shared with room eight. A matching, upholstered bench stood at the foot of the bed. A teal leather wing chair and a round table with two wooden chairs finished the furniture suite. A wall-mounted television perched above the table. The large wing chair, with its back to the bed, faced a small fireplace built next to the shower alcove.
Yes, this room would do for an extended stay, if that proved necessary. He flopped down on the bed. The mattress was soft and he all but sank in the sea of pillows and bed linens. He could tell he was going to sleep well tonight. He lay on the bed a few minutes and dozed off. The strain of the long drive had worn him out.
Duncan awoke slowly from his nap. He felt groggy and decided to rest a while before forcing himself to fetch his luggage from the car. It was only one bag. He had learned to pack light. After he retrieved his bag from the boot and placed the luggage in his room, he decided to try the shower out before dinner.
The wood floor creaked under his weight. He was pretty sure that this space just cantilevered out from the building. He envisioned the shower falling through the floor to the car park below and all of Taye driving by, staring as he stood in his birthday suit, trying to cover himself with the bendable shower hose! Duncan got in and out of the tiny prefab shower as quickly as possible. He had felt the floor give slightly under his weight while rinsing. He changed clothes and headed downstairs for dinner.
He was surprised to see how nice the pub looked now that it was set up for the evening meal. The lighting had changed and the staff had covered the tables with white linens. Small crystal vases held Scottish thistles at the center of each table. As he waited to take a seat, he saw his waitress from earlier sitting at the bar. She no longer wore an apron, so he assumed she was on her own time. She caught Duncan's eye and motioned him over. He felt a little uncomfortable, but ambled over to the oak bar anyway. Mum would have been thrilled.
"Hallo, Mister Dewar. Glad to see ye here. Ye'll like the food, if ye are still hungry," she said, giggling. She must have noticed how he devoured his lunch. Duncan laughed too. "My name is Skye," she said.
"Hallo, Skye, please call me Duncan, and yes, I'm still hungry." Skye was even prettier when she laughed. "You aren't working are you?"
"No, not really. My dad owns the place, so I stick around some. My mates will be by later."
He noticed that she pronounced her Os in a really rounded fashion and rolled her Rs.
"Oh, so Donald is your father?" he asked and Skye nodded. "I met him earlier."
"So I heard. Dad gave ye room nine did he?" Skye smiled like she knew something was up.
"Yes, why? It's a pleasant room." He started to feel uneasy about room nine.
"Aye, it is. Let us know if ye spot the Blue Lady. She's been known to visit." Skye's smile grew brighter and her eyes twinkled.
He got the joke. So, a ghost haunted room nine. People claimed ghosts frequented about half the structures in Scotland, so that didn't bother him. He laughed and followed a waiter to his table. The evening menu was rather fancy. Duncan chose the salmon, locally caught, of course. When his meal arrived, he recognized that the Blue Bell had a competent chef. The presentation was brilliant, with salmon on a bed of hot house vegetables with tasty lemon and caper cream sauce on the side. He decided to leave off at supper, since he had already enjoyed dessert at lunch.
Duncan had planned to head straight to his room after dinner to get some work done. He had to pass the bar on his way out. Skye's group of mates looked so appealing, when they motioned for him to join them, he decided to make a detour. Four friends had joined the owner's daughter at the counter. He made it a group of six and they fairly took over the bar. He noticed what a happy, enthusiastic group they formed. Along with Skye, there were two girls and two chaps. They all looked to be in their early or mid twenties. They accepted Duncan warmly and he was enjoying himself over a scotch and soda when Skye cleared her throat.
"So, Duncan, I've a confession to make," she began. "We googled ye while ye had yer dinner. Sorry, but we were curious why Taye needed a new insurance man. We dinnae know ye were a celebrity."
One of the young men showed his smart phone to Duncan where an image of his magazine cover appeared. The investigator felt embarrassed and proud at he same time.
"Actually, I'm a mathematician," he said.
"Huh? They don't put math teachers on glossy magazines, do they?" the boy with the smart phone asked.
The group all laughed, including Duncan.
"Not usually. My background is in math. I would have taught math at university, but I got side tracked, thankfully. I developed an improved way of using deductive reasoning to solve problems. Do any of you remember the Oldbury Nuclear Power Plant accident back in 2007? I'd guess you were all probably in knickers back then," he joked.
It got the response he wanted, lightening the mood. Some of the twenty-somethings did remember the near disaster.
He continued, "Well, I was a graduate student at Cambridge at the time, working on something called a fault tree analysis. I came up with my own souped-up version. I applied this to the accident and was able to deduce the cause of the fire before the official investigation wrapped. With the help of my advisor, I published a paper with my findings. I got famous because of it. So the moral of the story is, stay in school kids!"
The group laughed again.
"We've all been out of school for a while, Duncan," Skye said. "John here is twenty-nine. He's the old man of our group." She clinked glasses with John, saluting his status.
"But how did you go from math to insurance?" John asked.
"I got lucky. Lloyd's of London saw a use for my analysis in their forensic engineering department. You see, insurance companies have to reconstruct accidents all the time. They try to determine the cause and see if they should pay the claim. Lloyd's made me an offer I could not refuse. For a time, I stayed on the theoretical side of things, but gradually I got involved with the forensic side. I became more and more involved in the nitty gritty of investigations," he concluded, worried he was boring this younger crowd.
To his surprise, no one's eyes had glazed over, yet. One of Skye's girlfriends asked, "Are you a detective then?"
"Sort of, but I didn't start out that way. Maybe fate got involved. Sherlock Holmes was my childhood idol. Conan Doyle made Holmes famous with his deductive reasoning, and that's what I employ with fault tree analysis. Lloyd's gave me a lot of freedom and soon I spent more time in the field than I did acting as Supervising Consultant," he admitted.
"My favorite was The Red Headed League," John volunteered.
"I had to read The Blue Carbuncle in school," Skye said.
Another person chimed in, "The Speckled Band gave me nightmares."
"Well, I've been very lucky, really. A major case I helped solve saved Lloyd's a great deal of money. That's what landed me on that magazine. The timing couldn't have been better because Lloyd's was set to get out of life insurance and Lawful and General took note of me. They offered me my dream job and I've been with them ever since," he concluded.
"So yer not here to sell insurance," Skye proclaimed. "Why are ye here?"
Duncan did not want to sound like he was bragging, and he did not want to get into the details of his current case. So he said, "I'm supervising forensic investigations for our life insurance claims department." That seemed to satisfy the group, who were probably getting tired of the topic anyway. He did not need to reveal he was a vice president and head of forensic investigations.
The conversation turned to football and which teams would dominate the season. After about an hour, he said his good-byes and went to his room. He had
only been in town a few hours and had already made friends with some of the locals. It was a good start.
He returned to his room, surprised to find it quite different than when he had checked into the Blue Bell. The lights were on, his duvet turned down, chocolates lay on his pillows, and a nice blaze crackled in the fireplace. Someone had placed his suitcase on the bench and deposited a soft tartan throw over the wing chair. "Turn down service must have been here," he said aloud. He had no idea the Blue Bell was going to be such a remarkable place to stay.
He changed into his pajamas, basically old sweat pants and a T-shirt. He pulled one of the night stands over to the wing chair to use as a side table and placed his briefcase there. Then, he climbed under the throw and got warm by the fire. He opened his briefcase and thumbed through his paperwork.
There wasn't much to go on in the Police Scotland report. A special constable, or unpaid volunteer with some police training, was initially called to the castle. Later, an inspector, constable, and chief inspector examined the premises. They determined it was a freak accident with minimal investigation, no autopsy. There were no witnesses and all next of kin had alibis. The police took a series of snapshots and those would be helpful. Duncan planned to have a company expert perform photogammetry and photorectification techniques on the pictures. This would produce three dimensional images of the accident site. It was like recreating the scene.
He opened his file on the deceased and fought off sleep. That nightcap had made him drowsy. Some thoughts on failure mode and effects analysis ran through his head, but he preferred deductive reasoning. That wasn't the only influence his love of Sherlock Holmes had on him. Without knowing it, his admiration of the character had shaped his own character over the years. Duncan's old fashioned ideals ran to the Victorian, and he could be quite gallant. Soon, he realized he was dozing instead of refreshing his memory on Stuart Menzies. He began scanning Stuart's file.
Stuart Menzies was forty-two years old when he died. He had a vigorous physical when he took out his life insurance policy, two years prior. The doctor proclaimed Stuart in good health at that time. He had no police record. He studied at Saint Andrews and held a degree in history. He had no known children. Other than his wife, his niece and nephew were his closest surviving next of kin. His assets included the castle and surrounding park of approximately 100 hectares. He also received rents on several properties in town, but the Blue Bell was not one of these. Over the years, ancestors sold off the majority of the park and the village leases. Stuart intended to keep the remaining park and castle. He ran several related business ventures, including a plant nursery and garden shop, to that end.
Like most grand homes, parts of Castle Taye were open to the public for tours during certain times of the year. Also, people could rent the public areas of the castle and the grounds for special occasions. Duncan didn't believe revenues from the nursery and rents could cover maintenance costs on the castle. Stuart Menzies could not have kept everything afloat forever.
He drifted off to sleep staring at a photo of Castle Taye. He dreamed he was introducing Skye to his mother who seemed overly pleased. It was one of those dreams where something seems uncomfortable and the situation quickly goes from bad to worse.
Chapter 2 - Brigadoon
Duncan awoke with a start. For a moment he was disoriented. Then, he remembered where he was. He had fallen asleep in the chair by the fire. Now, his back felt stiff and he had a painful crick in his neck. The room was cold, it seemed the fire had gone out hours before. A draft had probably caused his annoying crick. As he turned his head from side to side, trying to loosen his neck, he noticed that his files were strewn on the carpet in front of him. They must have slipped off his lap while he slept. He rose slowly and turned to see the large bed he should have slept in. "What a waste," he said to himself, disgusted. He would likely hobble around all day with a sore back and painful neck.
He tried some stretching before bending down to pick up his files. They were a mess and it would take a while to sort all the paperwork into the appropriate folders. Of course, he could store all this information solely on his laptop. But, Duncan was old fashioned that way. He liked to hold documents in his hands. Eventually, he arranged it all back properly. Then he took a quick shower, still afraid the floor in the bathroom wouldn't hold, shaved, and dressed.
Tables had been set up in the lobby for breakfast. Duncan ordered the traditional Full Scottish Breakfast, uncertain when his next meal would be. He hadn't checked the weather before dressing and it looked to be cold and damp outside. As he stared out the window, a waiter delivered his meal. He loved a big breakfast. He thoroughly enjoyed the lorne sausages and oatcakes included. He didn't get those frequently, back in London. After polishing off the egg, mushroom, grilled tomato and beans, he spread a hefty helping of marmalade on his oatcakes… Heaven! He washed everything down with a pot of hot tea. Now, he was ready to face the day.
Duncan had decided to drive to Castle Taye and interview Caroline Menzies this morning. He probably should have met with the police inspector first, but he couldn't wait any longer to see the Castle. So he gathered up his briefcase, grabbed his raincoat and made a dash for the Vauxhall. The car park was wet, but not particularly slippery. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any ice on the bridges either. It felt like it was about four degrees Celsius out. He had already checked the map and getting to the castle was a simple drive, about three kilometers outside the village.
As Duncan drove down the B846, he noticed that the strath tightened. The rolling hills he had seen in the distance were closing in on the narrow road. Scotch fir, oak, ash, elm, and beech trees covered the hills. A sign for the castle appeared on his right and he made the sharp turn slowly. He drove a few moments through a wooded area where the road snaked around ancient, grand trees. He crossed a small, arched stone bridge and came upon a broad bend in the drive. Ahead, he could tell a glen had opened between the hills, but thick fog filled the area. He couldn't see through it, so he stopped his car and waited. The sun had already poked through, back in the village, and Duncan figured once it cleared these steep hills, the fog would burn off. The mist must have risen from the stream he just crossed and filled this small glen.
He only had to wait a few minutes. As the sun came up over the hills, the fog began to dissipate. Castle Taye emerged before him, as if by magic. Just like Brigadoon, he thought. As a boy of ten, his mum had dragged him to a local production of Brigadoon, forcing him to miss his favorite program on the telly. He was furious, but he never forgot the play. Duncan fired his Vauxhall back up and drove the hundred or so meters to what appeared to be a small car park. The castle was impressive, built from local rock and blue freestone before 1500. Instead of looking gray like Balmoral, the edifice appeared golden when the sun hit.
He heard the familiar crunch of pea gravel beneath his shoes as he stepped out of the car. He was focusing on the castle, its architecture and stone details when he heard dogs barking. He ducked around the side of the building, driven by instinct and fear. The barking faded away as Duncan glanced upward towards the battlement. He was on the north side of the castle, in its shadow. A sharp chill passed through him as he examined the massive stone structure. He crept west, parallel with the castle wall. The ground was soft here and his feet sank slightly into the soil as he walked on, focused on the battlement above. Now he could see where the merlon had broken away. He stood approximately where he thought Stuart met his death. Some sort of mist or damp air clung to the shadow of the building, creating a close, almost penned in atmosphere. Duncan shivered. Fog settled in this low lying area. Tearing his eyes from the crenellation, he glanced at his surroundings. Low piles of rocks and stone garden ornaments rested on the ground nearby. Young Renaissance dandies, angels, Italian putti, and robed Grecian ladies, covered in lichen, lay haphazardly scattered in the grass as if struck down in battle. The juxtaposition of the castle with the unkempt appearance of these grounds made no sense. He felt like he was
standing in a high class junk yard. It was a creepy scene that made him uncomfortable. He decided to return to the car park. He marched quickly across the spongy ground to the east side of the castle. The warmth of sunshine hit his face, breaking the tangible gloom he had felt. A low growl snapped his thoughts to attention.
He jerked his head to the left in time to see three dogs galloping towards him. Duncan had never been good with dogs. He got along just fine with the family cat growing up, but canines were another matter altogether. A neighbor's dog bit him when he was quite young, and it had kept him leery of the animal ever since. Beyond the beasts, he could see a female form, dressed in overcoat and wellies. His eyes darted from the approaching hounds to the woman and back again. His instincts told him to run for the car. He believed he could beat the dogs there. Yet, he didn't want to appear a coward before this woman. Duncan froze. At least he could use his briefcase as a weapon against them, if need be. He heard an ear splitting whistle and saw the canines stop in their tracks. Now, the animals froze. Another whistle split his ears. The hounds returned post haste to their mistress. Then, dogs and woman approached at a steady but quick pace.
"I'm sorry, we're closed for the season," she said.
She was a beautiful blonde. He had never seen her likes before.
"Excuse me," she smiled before continuing, "we're not open in November. The grounds are closed as well."
She must have witnessed him run around the corner earlier. How embarrassing. Duncan realized he had been staring at her for some amount of time, how long he wasn't sure. He tore his eyes away and glanced at the three dogs who were sitting obediently around her, staring at him. Their stares made him uncomfortable. He hoped he hadn't made her feel that same way.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 2