Dressed to Kilt (A Scottish Highlands Mystery)

by Hannah Reed

  “No one’s come forward,” the inspector said. “Let’s assume fer now that the murder occurred after four o’clock and before seven when the guests gathered in the tasting room. I forgot tae mention when ye inquired aboot the suspect list a moment ago that ye’ve been eliminated in spite o’ yer ability tae hover in the vicinity o’ disaster.”

  I did a Jeannie-worthy eye roll as he continued, “And fer the sake o’ argument, let’s add Bridie Dougal tae the list of those who didn’t murder Henrietta McCloud. See? We’re makin’ headway. And one o’ the guests wants tae have a chat with me that might shed new light. Although I’m not holding my breath.”

  “Janet Dougal?”

  “Aye. She wants tae have a chat with me privately. The request was on my voice message first thing this morn.”

  “I’ll bet she does.” And light isn’t what she’s hoping to shed, I thought.

  “And what is that supposed tae mean?”

  “Nothing, other than it would be nice if she had something constructive to add.”

  After a piercing stare, he presented me with the most interesting news so far. “Henrietta was in Bridie’s will.”

  “Don’t you mean Bridie was in Henrietta’s will?”

  “I meant what I said. Henrietta didn’t have a will or any real possessions tae leave behind other than a few family treasures that Patricia will claim. But if she’d lived, she’d have been well taken care o’.”

  After a moment’s thought I said, “She was loyal to her employer for a lot of years, and Bridie strikes me as a generous woman. I’d be more surprised if her longtime companion had been left out. What were the terms of the will?”

  “Once Bridie was gone, Henrietta was tae stay in the house and be cared for through a trust until her own passing.”

  “Did Archie know?” I asked, sensing a possible family conflict.

  “Aye, Bridie updated her will this past summer, before Henrietta’s diagnosis, and she told her family all about the change. At the time, the old girl assumed that Henrietta would still have a long life tae enjoy—twenty years or more, barring some unexpected illness.”

  “Like terminal cancer.”

  “It’s a sad situation, it is. Archie and Florence Dougal weren’t too happy when Bridie presented them with that arrangement, thinkin’ they would move intae the family home once Bridie was buried.”

  “Bridie will probably outlive us all.”

  “Aye, isn’t that the truth.”

  I remembered that Archie and Florence had their own home in the village, and mentioned it.

  “They do,” the inspector said. “But the daughter-in-law had her sights set on playing lady o’ the manor and didn’t get on well with Henrietta.”

  “I don’t see a motive for murder, considering Henrietta wouldn’t live to enjoy the house. Oh . . .” It was becoming clear. “Except they didn’t know she was dying.”

  Jamieson nodded. “Bridie’s son and daughter-in-law weren’t apprised o’ the victim’s condition. And neither o’ them has a solid alibi. They were flitting here and there. According to him, he was seeing that the whisky was properly selected. And the wife was busy with the table settings and getting herself ready.”

  “That certainly makes for interesting speculation.”

  “That it does.”

  I pondered this new information. Archie and Florence had a motive. They wanted their mother’s house and her companion gone. And they both had plenty of opportunity to slip into the warehouse and fill a washback with whisky. One thing we knew for sure—this was premeditated. Someone had put a lot of thought and planning into her murder.

  We sat for a few minutes, quietly contemplating, sipping tea. I was going to miss these shared moments at the pub, hashing over possibilities with the inspector. I especially enjoyed times like these, when our conversations ended and each of us sat in reflection, at ease without the need for spoken words.

  “How is Katie doing?” I finally broke the stillness to ask.

  “Aboot the same. The doc says the next twenty-four hours are critical. Her parents have arrived and are optimistic that she’ll make a full recovery. When I questioned them about Tainwick, neither was acquainted with Henrietta McCloud nor her sister Patricia. They weren’t even familiar with the McCloud name, saying none are living in the area, at least that they are aware o’. I did a bit o’ investigating, and what they say is true. Whatever McClouds were there in the past, they’ve moved on since.”

  “So, if the murder and attack are connected, it isn’t through Tainwick.”

  “Other than a common place o’ birth, there isn’t another link at present.”

  We fell silent again.

  The assault on the caterer was most likely a robbery gone wrong. It certainly appeared that way. Unless Katie had seen something at the tasting she shouldn’t have, something that didn’t impress her as important at the time, but had worried the killer enough to go after the young woman.

  “Do you have Katie under protection?” I asked.

  “The medical team has been advised against allowing any visitors other than the parents and Gayle, who, by the way, is stayin’ with her boyfriend temporarily in case whoever did this returns to her house. She didn’t seem too put out by the arrangement, though. I suspect she’ll enjoy a few days cozying up tae her beau.”

  “I was thinking Katie could use additional security.”

  “We think alike, we do.” He frowned in concentration, then brightened as an idea struck. “I believe we’ve found another job fer our Sean.”

  “I thought he was protecting Bridie.”

  “Bridie dismissed him without my consent, claiming he has better things tae do than babysit her.”

  “I hate to see her all alone in that big house.”

  “Ye’re looking at me as though ye think I have a say in the matter. She’s a tough old bird, used tae having her own way. Besides, even if it turns out that her own son murdered the house companion, he isn’t about to harm his mother.”

  I was forced to agree. “The obstacle of contention has been removed.”

  “Both of his problems have been eliminated. Henrietta is gone. And he’s been assured that the family business will remain in the family for at least another generation. Archie will groom his son tae take the reins after him.”

  “I really hope the murderer isn’t Bridie’s son.”

  “It would kill Bridie faster than advanced age is goin’ tae.”

  He used his cell phone to call Sean and assign him to the hospital to guard Katie. “And don’t leave her side until I relieve ye,” he warned. “Plan tae spend every night until she’s released intae the care o’ her parents. And don’t let on that we’re concerned over her safety. Tell the parents it’s routine.”

  I’d heard that before. I was quickly learning that routine was anything but routine.

  When the inspector departed and I was alone at the table, I dug my laptop out of a tote to touch base with Ami and was surprised to discover that she hadn’t left any messages for me. It was odd for her to go off and forget about me. Didn’t she want to hear about the whisky tasting? In her own words, she’d been excited about it. Not that I had anything earth-shattering to report about my personal life. Leith and I hadn’t shared anything more than a hug. And that was only because of the murder.

  Missing her, I sent off a short synopsis of yesterday’s main event, starting the action at the tasting, with a brief description of the food and differing flavors of each sample of whisky based on age. I even included a description of my date and his innate ability to wear a kilt to its best advantage. Then I went on to share the ending with her—the horror of finding Henrietta, drowned in a vat of whisky, and the subsequent investigation into her death after the abrupt end to what should have been a great evening.

  Sometimes a reply to an e-mail to her comes
zooming right back at me. Ami is addicted to her computer and the Internet, especially to social media, spending many hours every day writing her historical romances on her home computer and then communicating with her fans.

  This time, though, all was silent.

  I could have really used a word or two of comfort from my friend.

  Where was she when I needed her?

  CHAPTER 12

  Leith Cameron found me, still at the same pub table, staring at my laptop, hoping for a new message in my inbox. While I waited, my mind had been processing all the information I’d learned regarding Henrietta’s murder, with special attention to the lack of alibis and newly discovered possibilities for motives within the Dougal family.

  “I thought I’d find ye here,” he said, giving me a crooked, boyish grin as he slid into the chair closest to me. “I had tae leave Kelly in the Land Rover, so we have tae be double-quick, or she’ll complain aboot the cold.”

  I returned his smile. “Double-quick?”

  “I’ve come tae collect you. Tae offer my special brand o’ service.”

  I arched a brow. “Are you propositioning me?” I teased. Our relationship has been casual and prone to a friendly innuendo now and then, such as the one I sent zinging his way now. This handsome man could make me smile in the most trying of times.

  “Aye,” he said, grinning widely. Then he explained. “I’m offerin’ tae be yer bodyguard fer a private viewing o’ the warehouse. I thought ye might be interested, considering yer lofty status as one o’ our finest crime fighters.”

  “That’s a stretch,” I said with a laugh. But was I interested? Absolutely. “I’m not sure that’s possible until the inspector—”

  “He approved my suggestion not more than half an hour ago. I was over at the distillery, payin’ my respects tae Gordon Martin, when the inspector came by.”

  The inspector must have finished searching for clues. There wouldn’t be anything left to find, because Jamieson was thorough, but I still wanted to see it from the vantage point of an observer rather than as the unwilling participant I’d been during the discovery of the body. “Yes, I want to see it.”

  “Mind ye, it won’t be a social event, considerin’ the circumstances. A tour o’ the distillery can be set up fer a later date when this is behind us. But Gordon is willing tae share a wee bit o’ his own opinion as tae how it mighta happened.”

  “He’s already spoken with Jamieson about these opinions of his, right?” No way was I going to step on my boss’s toes.

  “O’ course. But ye never know. It might be helpful tae have ye do a walk through as well.”

  I quickly gathered my belongings, bundled up in my quilted coat, and followed Leith to his vehicle, where the border collie was patiently waiting in the backseat. As soon as she spotted me, she stood up and began to wag her tail. We reunited after I slid into the front seat, with plenty of hugs, pats, and licks.

  “I told ye a porkie,” Leith said, after he’d gotten in behind the wheel. “Kelly likes this sort o’ weather just fine. She’s got a thick winter coat and doesn’t mind nearly as much as we do.”

  “I’m used to you stretching the truth.”

  He grinned and started the Land Rover, and we pulled away from the village center. A few minutes later we parked in the distillery’s lot; reassured Kelly that we wouldn’t be long, though she didn’t seem concerned about waiting in the SUV; and walked into the tasting room, where we found Gordon Martin.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I told him, all the emotions of the previous evening washing over me.

  He nodded solemnly and said, “Anything I can do to help find my aunt’s killer, I’ll do, starting with my own theory and how I think the manner o’ her death mighta come about.”

  We walked through the warehouse to the back and paused next to the tub where we’d discovered Henrietta’s body. I vividly recalled those first moments when I’d tried to pull the body out.

  “The final stage in the process o’ maturing whisky takes place in this room,” Gordon explained, giving me some background. “Tae be considered whisky, the casks must remain sealed fer a minimum o’ three years, but many lie aging in the wood fer eight, ten, twelve, even as long as fifteen years, during which time a small amount evaporates.”

  Leith piped up. “Which is called the angel’s share.”

  “I like that,” I said.

  Gordon continued, and I noticed his face was drawn with grief and exhaustion. “Our objective is tae produce consistent flavors each time. That’s my most important job.”

  “Consistency is an art form,” Leith added. “And Gordon is the best.”

  Gordon flushed at the compliment but plowed on without acknowledging his own expertise. “A distinctive flavor and bouquet is attributed tae the essential oils in the barley and a pure source o’ water, along with the origin o’ the casks. Even our climate influences the flavor. I play only a small part in the final product.”

  “I know that the source of your casks is a business secret,” I said, “but are they made specially for you?”

  Gordon shook his head. “Ours are shipped from a bourbon producer in the States. Casks can only be used once for bourbon, but they can be used over again fer our whisky. So the bourbon producer is happy and we are happy tae take the casks.”

  While I found everything I’d just learning fascinating, and wished I’d taken time for a tour earlier in my Highland visit, the murder was foremost in my mind. I eyed the tub where Henrietta had drowned and said, “Tell me, Gordon, what do you think went on here prior to your aunt’s death?”

  “Someone pulled the empty washback over to this cask,” Gordon said, and then I remembered that he’d called it that last night. Washback. He’d said something about it being a vat used to ferment whisky prior to maturing. This one was made of wood, still filled almost to the brim with whisky as it had been when we discovered it last night.

  “Do you mind?” I asked. Without waiting for his reply, I walked over to one of the empty ones and gave it a push. It didn’t budge. Then I tugged at it instead, pulling it toward me. Step by step, I managed to drag it a bit at a time. A few inches more, having my answer, I stopped.

  “Heavy,” I announced. “But I could have moved it over underneath the cask if I’d been determined.”

  Gordon selected a wooden hammer from a nearby shelf. “This isn’t the exact one used to open this particular cask,” he said. “I brought it along for demonstration purposes. The mallets in this room were taken away by the police fer examination.”

  He went on to point out what he referred to as a keystone near the rim of the cask. “That area is thin enough tae punch out with this mallet once we want tae tap it fer the whisky inside.” He showed us what was certain to have taken place prior to Henrietta’s murder. “The washback was placed there, just so, then the hole was punched, and the whisky allowed tae pour out intae the washback.”

  “Wouldn’t someone who worked here have noticed that sort of activity?” I asked. “It had to have been arranged in advance.”

  “This warehouse isn’t frequented much, other than tae bring in another batch tae age. It has its visitors during tours, but we don’t do much in the way o’ during the winter months. Sometimes we’ll have a private tour, but none recently. Especially not yesterday with the private tasting planned. Someone must have known that and taken advantage o’ the opportunity.”

  I gazed at the vat filled with whisky.

  “This was extremely well thought out,” I muttered. “Someone set this up prior to the tasting fully intending to lure the victim . . .” I paused, realizing whom I was talking with. Henrietta’s nephew. Did I really have to go into graphic details?

  “Don’t try tae spare my feelings,” Gordon said.

  “I don’t want to cause you any more pain,” I said, not sure that was possible.

>   “The only way tae relieve what my family and I are going through is with the capture o’ the monster who did this tae my aunt. Someone drew her in here, overpowered her, and held her head under until she drowned.”

  “She musta been in a weakened state anyway and easy to overcome,” Leith said. “Last I saw her, she had lost a lot o’ weight. She was thin as a groat.” Then to me, “It’s out and about that she had cancer. I’m not at all surprised. Seeing her waste away, I knew she wasn’t well.”

  “Gordon,” I said, “think back. Did she say or do anything that might be significant to the investigation? Any change in her mood? Was she more anxious than usual?”

  “I’ve been goin’ over and over the days leading up tae her death, askin’ meself those same questions.” He gave me a helpless shrug. “But nothin’ comes tae mind.”

  “She was dying,” I prodded. “How was she handling that news?”

  “Aunt Henrietta wasn’t a complainer even at times when she had all the reason tae gripe. She kept going on as usual, regardless o’ the circumstances. Once we found out about the cancer, my mum tried to convince her tae accompany her back tae Edinburgh where she could be cared fer properly. She refused tae budge.”

  “We should all be as determined tae carry on when our time comes,” Leith added. “There’s something tae be said aboot passing on in familiar surroundings, not away from the comfort o’ yer own home.”

  Then Gordon frowned. “Sometimes she would make a comment or two regarding her past. I think she had regrets.”

  “I imagine that’s a normal reaction,” Leith said. “We all have things we’d change if given a second chance.”

  I glanced at Leith. He’d expressed a truism, one well worth remembering. If I could have a do-over, what sort of man would I choose now that I was older and wiser? One more like myself? Someone prone to introspection and more sensitive to the needs of others? Next time, if there even was a next time, I’d put more value on kindness.