"Check yourself in while I move the car. Then, I'll join you in the waiting room," she said, returning to her vehicle.
Doctor Prew proclaimed he had a mild concussion and bruised hip bone. He prescribed an over the counter anti-inflammatory and pain reliever. He should stay awake for another twelve hours before sleeping and have his pupils checked throughout the day. The doctor was not gentle and his poking and prodding made the investigator's hip feel worse. Duncan retrieved his medicine from the clinic's pharmacy while Caroline brought the car close to the building's exit. He relayed his diagnosis and prognosis to her on the ride back to Taye.
"I really should have snapped a picture of you, back there in the woods," she declared as they entered the Blue Bell's car park.
"So you could black mail me later?"
They both laughed and Duncan paid the price for it with a thudding pain in his head.
"Thank you for your help. I had no idea I was hurt except for my hip. I must have been quite a spectacle, standing there against that tree."
"You certainly were!" She stifled a laugh. "You reminded me of an Indian Chief with your arms crossed and that indignant look on your face. What really happened out there? Did you tussle with a wood sprite or goblin?"
Duncan raised his eyebrows, questioning the existence of goblins and sprites. She went on to explain that locals once believed ghosts, fairies and hobgoblins roamed the Wood of Taye and the Rock of Taye, the steep, rocky hillside near her home.
"Let me buy you breakfast as a gesture of appreciation and I'll tell you how I got my concussion and leafy costume," Duncan suggested, holding his breath while awaiting her response.
Skye served their made-to-order eggs, sausage, and oatcakes in the pub. The lounge stopped serving breakfast at nine, so Duncan and Caroline ate in the tavern. No other customers intruded on their meal. They made small talk while waiting for the food. Skye smiled her approval at Duncan when she brought out a fresh pot of tea. He realized she must have thought he was here to make his apology. Now was as good a time as any.
"First, let me apologize, Mrs. Menzies, for my abrasive manner the other day. I know it got unpleasant for you, and I'm sorry. I will try in the future to be more considerate of your feelings."
He hadn't planned on mentioning Caroline's feelings.
"Please, call me Caroline", she paused for a second then continued, "I accept your apology."
Duncan waited for her to say something else, but she didn't. He decided to move on.
"Do you know anyone who drives a small, gray-blue, beat up economy car?" he asked.
"Yes, I do," she replied.
Again he waited for her to elaborate, but she added nothing. He looked at her face, trying to read her expression. Caroline had a coolness to her personality that suggested a semblance to the American movie star, Grace Kelly.
"That car tried to run me over earlier today," Duncan revealed. He added, "On the road to your home."
He continued to scrutinize Caroline as she inhaled deeply.
"I suppose Peter may have been responsible. He drives a car like that and often doesn't come home until the wee hours of the morning. I'm sure it wasn't intentional. He probably just didn't see you in the fog. I'm sorry you got hurt, but thank goodness it wasn't more serious."
"Yes, I'm thankful for that," he responded with a smile. "And, I'm grateful you came along and were willing to help. How are your eggs?" he added, still beaming at her.
He was determined to keep things pleasant. He would not repeat his mistakes of the other day. Spending this time with her was worth the injuries he sustained.
The eggs were good. The entire breakfast proved tasty. Duncan did not mention that there was no mist or that Peter drove on the wrong side of the road that morning. He simply enjoyed Caroline's company. He explained he had planned to visit Castle Taye to speak with her this afternoon. Now, he hoped to postpone. He wanted to take it easy the remainder of the day and give his hip and head a rest. She agreed to keep the first of December open for his call. She walked Duncan to the front desk where Donald sat.
"Hello, Mr. Merriwether," she greeted the innkeeper.
Donald's smile spoke recognition and friendship between the two.
"Our friend here," she tilted her head toward Duncan and continued, "had a mishap this morning. He has a concussion, and someone needs to check in on him throughout the day to inspect his pupils."
"I can manage that," Donald claimed. He looked Duncan over from head to toe and frowned. "What on earth happened to ye?" he asked suspiciously.
For some reason Duncan thought of the Blue Lady.
"Well, it wasn't the Blue Lady, but it was a narrow escape from a blue car!" he blurted out.
Donald and Caroline looked at each other with something like skepticism.
"Are you sure you are all right?" Caroline asked. "Let me look at those pupils right now!"
She grabbed Duncan by the shoulders, squaring his chest towards her own. She tilted her head to look up in his eyes and used a hand to lower his chin so she could view his pupils. She had wanted to touch his face since that moment in the car when she saw his jaw clench. She scrutinized each of his eyes. He hoped his emotions were not showing. It was difficult for him to stand with her, in this quasi-embrace. If Donald had not been present he might have forgotten himself and kissed her.
"They seem the same," she eventually declared, oblivious to his reaction to her.
"Now dinnae ye worry about him," Donald chirped in Caroline's direction. "I'll be looking after him today and so will Skye. Ye hurry along with yer business, Miss Caroline."
The innkeeper reached across the desk and squeezed Caroline's arm. Obviously they were close friends. Caroline obeyed Donald and said her good-byes, popping back into the pub and chatting briefly with his daughter.
Duncan watched from a lobby window as Caroline walked to her car and then drove away towards the bridge leading out of town. It occurred to him that she had business to attend to and had interrupted her day to care for him. He felt a little gooey on the inside. Donald's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Alright, let's be getting ye up to bed."
"I'm not supposed to sleep until later tonight, according to Doctor Prew," he responded. "Maybe I should just sit in the lobby and read for a while."
"That's right. Ye sit here and rest. I'll get what ye need from yer room," he offered.
Duncan asked for his briefcase, laptop and MacNab history volume. Donald had a bellhop retrieve his belongings, and Skye brought him a glass of water. She also scrutinized his eyes. Caroline must have told her about his concussion. After fussing over him for a few minutes, they left him to his reading. As it turned out, he did not feel up to concentrating or focusing on words on a page. So, he just looked out the window and watched the drizzle fall.
He reflected on his time with Caroline. He had two close calls with her today, one when she took off his running jacket and again when she gazed into his eyes. She did remind him of Grace Kelly, in demeanor and looks. He shook off the idea that she was unattainable. Old Stove Pipe Stuart had managed it. After he completed this investigation, he would make his own attempt.
He thought about how gracious and kind Donald had been towards him. The Blue Bell's owner stopped by to check on him at fifteen minute intervals. Since the man limped, it was an effort to get up and walk to the sofa. Skye also flitted by every so often. Duncan appreciated the care they took with him.
Donald asked him if he'd like to join him for a late lunch. Duncan was exhausted, but wanted to stay awake until he passed the magic twelve hour mark, meaning twelve hours since he acquired his concussion. Then, he could sleep. So a lunch with coffee seemed a great idea. A ploughman's lunch sounded appetizing to Duncan, so he ordered that again. Donald had the day's Special, Rumbledethumps and sausages. He explained that the traditional border dish of potatoes, cabbage, onion, and cheese was a favorite from his childhood. The innkeeper kept the conversation moving.
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p; "Dae ye ken the Taye attracts fishermen from all over the world? All the great anglers come here. The other wildlife isn't bad either. Ye can find otter and pearl mussel amongst the Atlantic salmon. We get our fish caught fresh each day." Donald beamed when speaking about this area. "A few years back there was an awful controversy about the wild beavers. Scottish Natural Heritage trapped as many as they could, thought they were artificially injected into our ecosystem. They stopped after enough uproar, though."
Following an extended conversation about the politics of the wild beaver, the two men moved on to other topics. The older man wanted to know if he had noticed Ben Lawers on his way to Killin. Yes, Duncan had seen the mountain in the distance. Donald gazed at the fire as a pleasant expression spread across his face. Duncan waited and drank his coffee, sensing Donald was reliving a happy memory.
He examined the innkeeper's visage closely. Mr. Merriwether had a plump, round face. His snowy gray hair thinned to the point of near baldness across the top of his head. Great cheeks bunched into high, red mounds when he smiled. His features added to the impression that his head would be the perfect model for a carved knob on a mahogany staircase newel.
"Aggie and I used to hike there. It was our special place," he stated.
"I beg your pardon," Duncan uttered. He was too caught up in inspecting his new friend's face to remember where their conversation had drifted.
"Ben Lawers. That was our spot. Agnes and I climbed it in all seasons." Donald glanced from the fire to Duncan and back again. Then he added, "Agnes was my wife, Skye's mother."
Duncan sensed this was sensitive territory and asked, "You really climbed Ben Lawers in winter, with snow?"
"Aye, it's a glorious place in winter. I thought we might see snow on it earlier this week, but the temperature rose. If ye stay here much longer, ye'll see it!"
"Donald, I'm impressed. I've read that hike is quite a trek."
The Blue Bell's owner expanded with pride right in front of Duncan's eyes.
"Well, that was before my arthritis. Back then no challenge seemed too big."
He gave Duncan an enormous wink and struggled to his feet. He headed towards the lobby, stopping at the bar. Then, he turned back towards the investigator as if he'd forgotten something.
"Back to the salt mine," he declared, raising his hand. "Something else I used to enjoy before my arthritis was ceilidh dancing. Ye'll want to join us, if ye are up to it of course, for our Saint Andrew's Day celebration."
Donald flashed a large grin at him before continuing to his post. Duncan enjoyed the pub's fire for another half hour. Then, he decided he was up for some reading and hobbled to his room. Skye helped carry his gear up and into room nine and turned on the telly. It fired right up.
"So, your father mentioned a Saint Andrew's Day celebration. Do you have a party at the Blue Bell?" He spoke over the television.
"No, not really. We do offer a special menu. Everyone attends a service at the Kirk of Taye, the old kirk, in the early evening. Then, we celebrate with a traditional dance. That can go on into the wee hours of the morning. Do ye dance a ceilidh?" she asked with a smile that resembled her father's.
For the first time Duncan noticed the family resemblance.
"Of course I do!" he replied. "I just hope I will be well enough to participate, if I am invited."
Saint Andrew's Day, the 30th of November, was only two days away. Duncan attended many ceilidhean growing up in Edinburgh. They always included the traditional dances, where six to eight people formed a ring that skipped and stepped to a reel. A live band consisting of fiddles, an accordion, and whistles provided the music. The evening would start with someone, usually an older adult, reciting a riddle. Next, poems were recited and stories told. Before the dancing began, the master of ceremonies would demonstrate the simple steps for the ceilidh dances. When the dancing was over, people guessed at the riddle's answer. The first to solve the conundrum got the honor of coming up with the next year's riddle. These celebrations to honor the patron saint of Scotland had been high points in Duncan's childhood. Living in London now, he was rarely in Scotland on November 30th. This would be a treat.
Skye told him that everyone was invited to participate in the Saint Andrew's celebration. Then she instructed him to stay awake at least until six o'clock. She would bring tea up at four.
"So make sure you're decent," she pronounced as she left.
Duncan could hear her laugh as she walked away from his accommodations. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and shuddered. He had hung about the inn all day resembling a vagabond! His jogging pants were ripped below one knee and had a hole at his hip. Somehow, this had escaped him until now. He decided a shower and fresh clothes were the first order of business. Duncan left the television running for fear it would not turn on later, if he switched it off now. He gingerly maneuvered through a hot shower and dressing. Then he propped himself up in bed and mindlessly watched afternoon programming.
His thoughts were starting to mingle with the television program in an illogical way when the phone rang. It startled Duncan, who realized he was almost asleep. He reached for the wall mounted phone and said, "Hallo?"
Chief Inspector Wallace introduced himself and stated that a report had been filed naming Duncan Dewar as a possible accident victim. At one o'clock this afternoon, Peter Menzies appeared in person at Police Scotland in Tyne and dictated an accident report to Constable Ainsley. Peter was driving through a misty patch of winding road and thought he narrowly missed a doe. After thinking about it, he decided it could have been a man, possibly the new stranger in the village. No local would be stupid enough to walk around the Wood that early in the day.
"I know your investigation involves Peter, so I thought I'd ring you up and find out what, if anything, happened this morning. We're familiar enough with Peter Menzies," the chief inspector declared, a knowing tone in his voice.
Duncan caught Wallace's drift regarding Peter. He also caught the insults both outright and inferred in Peter's statement. He tried to quiet the rising indignation he felt. He made an effort to speak calmly.
"I was running on the road to Castle Taye when I heard an engine coming from behind me. Since the way is narrow there, I moved to the right side to give the driver plenty of room. In that area, the fog had already lifted, so visibility was good. I believe he purposely tried to either hit me, or scare me. I've got a concussion and bruised hip to show for it."
During this speech, Wallace quietly jotted down Duncan's statement.
"Do you wish to file a complaint?" he asked.
Duncan considered. "Not at this time," he replied.
"Well, if you change your mind, let me know," he stated, said good-bye, and hung up.
The call surprised Duncan. He figured Caroline had confronted, or perhaps warned, Peter about the incident. He chose to believe she confronted him. Peter had tried to get the jump on him by reporting an accident before he was accused of a crime. Duncan did not want to waste his time blaming Peter. Yes, he could identify the car, but he could not prove he wasn't obscured by fog this morning. Besides, if Peter got locked up for a few days, he might not hang himself, as Duncan hoped would soon happen. He formed his own view of Stuart's death and he waited for Peter to trip up and incriminate himself. What he was not sure of, was who else was involved.
Skye brought tea at four o'clock sharp. She carried a multi-tiered tray. The first level displayed small salmon mousse sandwiches tied with bows made from string-thin slivers of leek. The second level contained scones with clotted cream and locally made jams, while the third proffered tiny delectable confections supplied by the village baker. "You need to keep up your strength," she responded to Duncan's raised eyebrows.
Another girl soon followed through the open door. She placed a cloth, linen serviette, and silverware on his table. A young man next entered with teapot in one hand, and in the other a small, rectangular tray. China cups and saucers perched on this oblong dish, along with a smal
l footed plate of chocolates. The attendants returned downstairs and Skye snipped off the telly before serving tea. The wonders of the Blue Bell never ceased to amaze.
Duncan gorged himself on the treats included with this high tea. He was not that hungry, but couldn't help himself.
As he finished partaking of the chocolates, Skye whispered, "Those are from France," with a conspirator's attitude. Then, she checked his pupils. "Your eyes look good. Two more hours and you can take a nap, if you choose," she said.
He thanked Skye profusely for all she and her father did for him. He promised to leave a smashing review for them at all the online travel sites. They made a bit more small talk and then Skye returned to the pub, where she would finish her shift. Before leaving, she told him to call the front desk if he wanted dinner. The chef was making a wonderful soup tonight and she'd be happy to have a small tureen sent up to him.
He felt his vigor return. Whether it was the caffeine in the tea and chocolate or the calories in the delicacies, he did not care. He believed he could get some work done. He staggered to the wing chair. Duncan had stuffed himself, and once standing, he experienced the full effect of his gluttony. He resolved to get back to running as soon as his injuries permitted.
Duncan opened his laptop and waited for his programs to boot. He unlocked his email and opened a police report with photos of the incident attached. He steadied himself as a slight wave of nausea rolled over him. He was not the squeamish type, but he had never seen anything quite like this. He scrolled through a series of pictures, taken from all angles, which illustrated the scene.
A large, square merlon rested atop what was once Stuart Menzies. The ground must have been very soft because it seemed that the force of the stone had pressed the victim's midsection far into the earth. The merlon covered his waist, upper thighs, and abdomen. Each half of his body appeared raised at a slight angel from the stone block, or nadir of the scene. Stuart's expression was that of horror. Duncan expected something different, perhaps more gruesome, but the uniqueness of the remains had its effect. How horrible to find someone in this condition!
Mystery: The Merlon Murders: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 1) Page 7