He took a closer look at Peter's secondary marks. Peter scored well in some science and math classes, but poorly in his last two years of English-related subjects. The guy was smart, Duncan concluded, if not highly motivated. He believed the skinny boy with the dark circles under his eyes still used drugs. Of course, at twenty-four, he was a boy no more. Did he have a motive for killing his uncle? Duncan imagined several.
Angela's next dispatch concentrated on Julia. He sighed as he reviewed Julia's troubled history. Julia had recently turned twenty years old. She maintained poor marks in school, both before and after the move to London. She returned to Scotland and the Castle Taye estate as soon as she finished secondary school. The police arrested and charged Julia under Drunkenness with Aggravation two years ago. He immediately focused on the date of her arrest, three days before Stuart's accident. Julia got drunk in a nearby pub, damaged property, and attacked an employee of said pub. Again, the Menzies served no jail time. His Honor Judge Peel deemed community service and financial restitution proper, in a rushed hearing. Stuart paid her fines and reimbursed the pub owner for damages. Could young Julia have known about a plot to kill her uncle and responded with a drunken tirade?
Duncan printed out several pages from Angela's emails and added them to a folder from his briefcase. He decided it was time for dinner and a break from these Menzies. He considered asking for room service. He did not want to leave his fireside perch and risk coming back to a cold, dark room should the flames burn out. In the end, he decided he should get out and away from this case for an hour or so. He found reading about Peter and Julia depressing. On his way to dinner, he passed Donald at the front desk.
"Hallo, Donald. Will you be around for a while?" Duncan asked.
"All evening."
"Great. I'd like to visit with you for a while after dinner," he said and walked through the timbered doorway into the Blue Bell's pub.
Skye was nowhere to be seen, and another waitress seated Duncan -- the one who delivered his donkey pie the other night. Now, she was all smiles and manners. He assumed Skye had discussed his repentance with her.
He glanced over the menu and chose the salmon, a lighter version of what he ordered previously. The grilled fish with mixed sautéed greens and rice sounded just right for tonight. When his food arrived, he asked the waitress for a glass of white wine and also if Skye was working. She told him Skye had the night off and left to get his drink. He told himself to savor the wine. He planned on having just one glass so he could stay awake and work longer into the evening.
The meal proved first-rate, like all the others he had at the Blue Bell. Duncan happily headed to the lobby with a full stomach. Donald was still behind the desk, but offered to come around and take a seat with him. The innkeeper chose a plump settee with plaid throw pillows across its back. The couch was small and added to the intimate feel of the conversation.
"So how was yer day today, Laddie?" he asked after easing himself onto the settee.
"It was interesting. I drove to Killin to investigate my ancestors."
He noticed that he had a slight limp and some difficulty maneuvering himself onto the sofa. Duncan saw Donald's head tilt and a questioning expression come over his face.
"I assumed ye were a Menzies with a name like Dewar," Donald said.
"Well, I've always heard we were MacNabs and…" here Duncan stopped as Donald interrupted with a low groan and cupped his hand over his forehead.
Donald shook his head back and forth, hand now flat on his forehead, and said, "Bluie aint goin' ta like that!"
Duncan was confused. Who was Bluie and why would he or she care if he was a MacNab?
"Pardon me?" was all he could say.
"The Blue Lady! She's Clan Neish. She won't take kindly to a MacNab!" Donald's voice rose with his excitement.
Duncan started to chuckle, but was cut short by Donald's reaction. The innkeeper had lowered his hand, but his face remained all seriousness. He didn't believe in ghosts, but he did not want to offend his host, and he became somewhat curious about Bluie's aversion to the MacNabs.
"What can you tell me about the Blue Lady?" he asked as stoically as he could manage.
Donald took a deep breath and pronounced, "I'm one of the few that's seen her, the few that's livin' anyway. My dad had the Blue Bell before me. I saw her when I was a lad. She was outside o' room nine and she went right in, through a solid door!"
"But why does she dislike MacNabs?" he asked.
"My dad told me she was from Clan Neish, as his granddad told him. They sent her here for safekeeping with the Menzies after some skirmishes with the MacNabs. She planned to return and marry her kinsman. But before she got the chance, the MacNabs massacred all who were left of the Neishes in a night raid on their stronghold. I tell ye, she dinnae like ye."
It was quite a bit to take in. Duncan had never focused much on history in school. Math was his main interest and where he spent his mental energy. He smiled at Donald.
"I'll tell you what, I'm going to read up on my history tonight and see if I cannot placate her somehow. It certainly is not my fault my ancestors misbehaved. Besides, if she turns nasty, you can always move me to another room."
He added the last part to appease Donald. It seemed to work. Duncan changed the subject and the two conversed a while longer about the village, the inn, surrounding areas, and salmon fishing. Donald knew that he had been to the neighboring village and wanted his impressions of the town. He explained how he had met with the police at Tyne, shopped for needed clothing and explored Cat's Books.
"Aye, Abigail," declared Donald, "she's a one to dicker. She'll get the best of ye."
"I'm sure she did," he admitted.
The conversation continued, finally getting around to Duncan's case. He explained that he needed to review all the reports, photos, and witness accounts of the accident scene. He almost referred to it as the crime scene, but caught himself. He still was not sure what had happened at Castle Taye. He also mentioned that follow-up interviews might be necessary.
"Will ye need to speak to the special constable?" Donald asked.
"I may. I understand he was first on the scene," he answered.
Donald grinned at him but said nothing. Duncan assumed the special constable was probably a difficult person based upon the innkeeper's cat-that-swallowed-a-canary demeanor. The special constable was an ordinary citizen, trained in police procedures. It could be the barkeep at the Blue Bell for all Duncan knew.
He quit the lobby and strolled to his room, glad he had chatted with Donald. He liked the older man and could use a comrade here in Taye. He entered his room and noted the fire had almost gone out. Someone left a stack of wood in a brass basket next to the fireplace, so he loaded three more logs on. He planned to sit in the wing chair and enjoy the fire a while. Duncan turned to move toward the chair and saw his files scattered on the floor again. He remembered dealing with some printouts and files before dinner, but not whether he had closed them in his briefcase. A gust from the chimney flue must have blown them over. The thought that the Blue Lady might be responsible for disheveling his files danced across his mind, but he would not entertain those kinds of ideas.
Once again, he gathered his files and tried to organize them properly. It took some time, but finally he had them all back in the latched briefcase. Duncan watched the fire take hold of the new wood. When he was sure the flames were strong enough to continue on their own, he took a shower. As he guessed, the water was hot at night. Afterwards, he relaxed in the wing chair, watching the fire and thinking over his day. Tomorrow, he planned to head back to Castle Taye. He wanted to be well prepared this time.
Duncan pulled his computer from the wooden chair that he used for a side table and checked the rest of Angela's notes. Caroline had been treated for a broken arm a year prior to Stuart's death. He hoped it was not the same arm he had bruised. Over the years, the local doctor tested Peter for various serious diseases, including tuberculosis, hepati
tis, and aids. Results came back negative. A nearby clinic treated Julia for colds or influenza about once a year. It appeared that the occasional virus or flu attacked Caroline as well. His assistant's thoroughness was impressive.
He tugged some paper from his briefcase and made a list of items to address tomorrow. After breakfast, he would review the police reports and photos. By then, he should be well prepared to face Caroline and examine the crime scene. To himself, Duncan now referred to Stuart's case as a crime. He had no proof, but he was sure he would find it.
He climbed in bed and opened his Clan MacNab History book. Inside the cover, he found the clan motto, Timor Omnis Abesto, or Let Fear Be Far From All. The next page showed the clan crest, complete with an explanation that the man's head, depicted in the center, represented the severed head of a chief of clan Neish. It gave him an idea of what was to come. He searched the table of contents for Clan Neish and turned to the appropriate chapter. Rivals of sorts, the clans skirmished on a regular basis. Finally, in the early 1500's, a major battle ensued with both clans fighting in the nude. That mental picture proved almost too much for Duncan. The chief of Clan Neish saw his three sons killed, before being done in himself. Red moss on the stone where this took place could be seen to the current day, and many believed reflected the chieftain's blood. Only twenty Neish warriors escaped the MacNabs. By the 1600s, their numbers had grown to around a hundred. It was then they made the mistake of stealing Christmas provisions from the MacNabs. Furious, their rivals marched all night to surprise the Neish at their island stronghold. The MacNabs wiped out Clan Neish that night. With the exception of Bluie, Duncan thought, before drifting off to sleep.
Chapter 4 - Another Near Miss
When he woke, his room still felt warm. From his bed, he looked at the fireplace. Large embers glowed, but the flames were gone. Just before retiring, he placed more wood on the fire. Donald had tried to explain the inn's heating system to Duncan last night. The flues included clay pipes which, when hot, transferred heat to other clay pipes. These indirectly helped heat the rooms. The modern heating system, decades old, only kicked in when triggered by a thermostat. The innkeeper failed to reveal the location of the thermostat.
Duncan decided it was time to get back into a routine. He threw on his water resistant running pants and hooded jacket and placed his room key in a zipped pocket inside the jacket. He slept in his socks to stay warm, so he just slid his feet into his joggers and laced them up. He knew the approximate distance to Castle Taye and decided to take that route this morning. First, he would run around the village, then out to the entrance to the Castle and back. He hoped to run at least eight kilometers.
The front desk remained unmanned at this hour, so he left the inn without speaking to anyone. He decided to turn left out of the Blue Bell. He wanted to get an outside view of his shower. As he rounded the building, he saw it. The shower projected from the building via a timbered balcony of sorts. Perhaps it had been an open balcony once. Two dissimilar and irregularly sized wooden buttresses shored up the overhang. The structure was not much bigger than the shower it contained. It clung to the Blue Bell in a lopsided fashion, as if slapped on the building by a giant long ago. Duncan suspected the floor inside had been shimmied somehow, otherwise guests would surely slip on the incline. He shook his head, chuckled, and continued his run.
The skies appeared cloudy, but not threatening. Duncan knew rain was likely later in the day. It felt to be about seven degrees Celsius, almost perfect running weather. Duncan enjoyed the view as he circled the village. He jogged over the River Taye twice and past various cottages, shops, and the kirk. Taye was not a village built around a green. Rather, the small town sprawled along narrow streets, tucked between steep hills. Most of the shops and cottages were constructed of stone, like the bakery. But, some half-timbered buildings were present too. The village maintained its appealing fairy tale appearance due to its charming architecture, flower boxes and setting.
He ran beyond the town, towards the castle. Duncan hit several patches of mist and inhaled the wet air deep into his lungs. Reflective patches and stripes emblazoned on his running gear made him visible to passing vehicles, he hoped.
The intermittent fog lifted as he entered the Wood of Taye. Tall trees infused the air with a pleasant, relaxing scent. Duncan was lost in thought when he first heard the engine behind him. It sounded about 150 meters away, but closing steadily. He moved to the right side of the road to give the automobile plenty of leeway. The road gently twisted through the Wood and he did not want to surprise the driver after a curve. As the sound of the car drew closer, he heard its engine surge. He turned his head just in time to see a small, gray-blue compact race towards him, on his side of the lane.
He leapt off the road, landing awkwardly on one foot before falling on his hip. He narrowly avoided being hit by the car. The compact zoomed out of sight around the next bend. The driver never stopped or even adjusted his speed. Duncan memorized the number on the car's plate. He had also seen the driver, and he looked a lot like Peter Menzies.
The Scotsman hyperventilated for some time, there on the wet forest floor. Once calm, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle and another on his hip. He flexed his ankle in several directions until it felt better. His hip was another matter. He had landed on a rock. The hip was sore and a black bruise already formed. He winced as he tried to get up. Duncan realized his run was over and he would have to limp back to the village.
As he hobbled towards Taye, he knew this episode was no accident. The automobile traveled on the wrong side of the road. He planned to file a report with Chief Inspector Wallace later that morning. Duncan suffered through a wave of nausea as he neared the end of the wood. Then, he heard the motor coming from behind.
He wasn't taking any chances this time. He moved off the road and stood in front of a large tree. If someone wanted to hit him, they would also wrap their vehicle around an enormous Scotch pine. He crossed his arms and waited for the car to appear.
A large, black sedan lurched around the bend in front of Duncan. He immediately noted the luxury car -- nothing like the beat up, old compact. The sedan crept to a halt beside him, but on the proper side of the road. The passenger window descended while he turned his head to see who had stopped. He kept his arms folded across his chest.
"What on earth happened to you?" a voice asked incredulously.
He recognized that voice. Caroline Menzies leaned over the passenger seat to get a better look at him. For some reason, he blushed but did not answer her. He stayed against the tree, arms crossed, and turned his head away from the car as if she would disappear if he ignored her.
For a while, silence reigned. Caroline wondered if he was waiting for someone. Then she wondered if Duncan might be deranged. That was certainly possible. Yet, it was more likely that he had been in some kind of accident and hit his head. She had seen blood on the side of his face, near his ear.
"You better get in," she shouted. Perhaps the blow to his head affected his hearing.
He heard the click of the automatic door locks releasing. Since she wasn't leaving, he decided a ride back to town was not such a bad idea. He pivoted on his good hip, and limped to the sedan. Duncan opened the car door, gripped the top of the vehicle and pulled himself inside, flinching in pain. Caroline stared at him for a moment. She reached in the center console, removed a handkerchief, and gently dabbed at the side of his head. He flinched and pulled away as she presented the hankie for his examination. He'd had no idea he was bleeding.
She gaped at him a few seconds more and then reached across his chest, nearly touching him. She took in his scent. How long had it been since she was close to a grown man? At this moment, she found Duncan intriguing. She noticed his square jaw clench and realized he was tense. She observed short dark bristles on his face. He needed a shave. She was tempted to caress that jaw line, stubble and all. Instead, Caroline flipped the passenger mirror down so he could view himself. She watched as Duncan's eyes g
rew wide. Then, she burst out laughing, happy for a distraction.
Duncan was briefly stupefied by his appearance. Then, he had to laugh, too. Leaves and pine needles filled his hair, almost creating a crown effect. Streaks of soil ran across his face. Mud mixed with leaves spotted his jacket and running pants. The hood on his jacket overflowed with more leaves and even a thin branch or two. He looked like some kind of woodland warrior king sporting a mantle of twigs and pine boughs.
"Oh," he cried, grabbing his head.
Laughing gave him a horrendous headache. The surface wound proved just a scratch, but he figured he had a mild concussion. Duncan heard the engine rev as Caroline increased the automobile's speed.
"I think Doctor Prew should take a look at you," she stated, her voice calm by design. She felt guilty for laughing now that she observed his suffering and sped towards the doctor's office.
Arriving at the clinic, Caroline parked at the patient entrance, jumped from the car and opened the passenger door. Duncan carefully made his own way out of the car, a grimace on his face.
"Let me get that for you," she volunteered and deftly unzipped his running jacket.
His heart rate increased and he felt his blood pounding against his temples. Having her stand so close proved intoxicating. She cautiously peeled the coat away from his body, and gently tugged at the arms until removed. Duncan's pulse quickened and he hoped he didn't blush. Then she dumped the contents of the hood into a trash bin and scraped the remaining leaves, needles, and mud into the can.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 6