Dressed to Kilt (A Scottish Highlands Mystery)

by Hannah Reed

  “Sean, see that herself’s immunity remains intact and watch out, she’s got a record o’ aggression.”

  After a few more verbal indignations from Janet, Sean managed to convince her that it was in her best interest to go along without creating a scene, and he escorted her from the room.

  “Who finally decided to come forward with information?” I wanted to know the minute we were alone.

  “The bit aboot seein’ her drive off from the inn came from an anonymous tip-off, called in early this morning. The part about a witness tae her arrival at Bridie’s house, well, that was a fabrication on my part.”

  I feigned surprise at such underhanded tactics. I’d have done the same if I’d thought of it. “You trapped her!”

  “Her confession was a surprise, I must admit. I’d already found out aboot her past assaults on that poor man in the States, before the call came in.”

  “No idea who saw her driving away from the inn?”

  “Somebody who shoulda come forward immediately, but better late than never. It was the catalyst that got me goin’.”

  “Don’t you need that witness?”

  “Not with Janet Dougal admittin’ she went out tae the house.”

  “So you actually arrested Janet for Henrietta’s murder.”

  “She hasn’t been charged yet, but it’s appearin’ likely that she will be.”

  I shook my head in wonder. “I never gave her a second thought.”

  “A number o’ factors came intae play. It was a stroke o’ luck.”

  What could I add? Janet hadn’t even been a consideration as far as I was concerned. I’d had a one-track mind. I’d been after Florence Dougal. It was hard to let go of her perfectly wonderful motive and instead accept that Henrietta had been killed by a kook simply because she had slighted her one too many times.

  “And all along I thought you and Janet were an item,” I said with a grin.

  “There’s room in that jail cell fer one more,” the inspector warned.

  I picked up a piece of cold, dry toast and nibbled on it.

  The inspector rose and said, “I best be on my way.”

  “To put the screws to her, I imagine,” I said, with a straight face.

  The inspector didn’t dignify my comment with an answer. He turned on his heels and disappeared after passing Patricia Martin with a terse greeting.

  She entered the room and said, “I saw Janet Dougal being escorted away by that constable. What’s goin’ on?”

  “I can’t say yet.”

  “The police have arrested her for my sister’s murder, haven’t they?”

  And without waiting for a reply, she was gone, chasing after Jamieson.

  CHAPTER 20

  I stepped out of the inn onto the sidewalk and raised the collar of my quilted coat against a gust of icy wind from the north. I didn’t feel any particular sense of relief now that Janet was in police custody. Maybe it was too soon for my brain to process, the reality that this woman was capable of murder not having set in yet. Whatever the case, I should have been glad that Henrietta’s murder was cleared up, and those of us involved could go back to living our lives. I’d been completely off the right track with Florence Dougal, but I told myself I wasn’t exactly an expert in crime solving and should forgive myself if I chased after a red herring or two. No one had been hurt by my singular focus on the wrong suspect, and the inspector had done what he does best—solve crimes.

  Still, I was more than a little embarrassed by my mistake. Maybe the fine art of crime fighting wasn’t my forte. It had been an interesting side job, though, as rewarding as entertaining readers with romance and intrigue.

  My role as special constable was more passive than active for the time being, so what should I do? This day and the next several could be rearranged to suit myself. I didn’t feel like writing at the pub even though I knew I should. Yet the warmth of the fire at the Kilt & Thistle drew me in, and I took a table as close to the fireplace as possible after greeting several regulars. Dale was at his post behind the bar as usual. “I’ll order something in a little while,” I told him as I slung off my coat and hung it on the back of a chair.

  I still felt certain that more than one thing had been going on. Janet might have murdered Henrietta McCloud, but what about that threatening note? How did it fit with the American woman, and did it necessarily have to? I leaned back and stared into the fire. If (as I was starting to suspect) the warning found in the mail didn’t involve the murder, the timing of its arrival couldn’t have been worse. And so I’d allowed it to become the focus. It had overly influenced me. I had a lot to learn.

  My cell phone rang.

  “Herself is still proclaimin’ her innocence,” Jamieson said from the other end of the line. “Nothin’ surprisin’ aboot that. I have enough tae hold her fer now, during which I’ll clear up a few unresolved details tae make murder charges stick.”

  “This feels anticlimactic, like there should be more.”

  “I know just what ye mean. Real life isn’t like one o’ yer books, though, and I have tae remind myself o’ that every time. There’s always some unfinished business. It isn’t all tidied up in the end with wrapping paper and a nice bow.”

  “What if Janet was set up? Someone could have lured her out there intending to cast blame on her.”

  “Every convicted felon says that from behind bars. I thought of it myself, and might have believed it as a possibility if not fer the rest. The restraining orders against her didn’t help her case.”

  “No, they wouldn’t have.”

  “The Martins are pleased as punch. Patricia Martin was like a bloodhound once she set eyes on the situation. I left her tae speculate, but she’s a sharp one and has figured out what’s on, and so that pressure is off.”

  Of course, Patricia and her political husband had been vocal about wrapping up the case as soon as possible to deter more attention than necessary.

  “The Edinburgh papers have been following the investigation?” I asked.

  “As have all the other rag sheets, with a lot o’ silly speculation.”

  “Anything more I can do?” And how did I feel about that? Did I want to continue to work to put Janet behind bars?

  But that wasn’t in my future because the inspector said, “Nothing that our Sean can’t handle. The weight o’ proper evidence is my burden tae bear noo.”

  I had complete faith in the inspector’s abilities. And in spite of his comments about real life’s untidy bows, by the time he was through, the ribbon would be tied perfectly.

  The last thing he said before disconnecting was, “Why don’t ye take some time tae enjoy yer last days in Glenkillen? Ye’ve been a big help. I couldn’t have done it without ye.”

  A big help? Yeah, right. The man was a solitary investigator. I might have been a big help if he’d kept me informed. As it was, I hadn’t been even close to the truth. Maybe I should do as he suggested and just enjoy.

  There’s something soothing about a roaring fire. It’s almost hypnotic and I found myself staring blindly into the flames, wondering what to do with the time I had left.

  Ten short days. Seven hours of daylight each day times ten days equals seventy hours of light from the sun. Not much time in the scheme of things. What should I do with it? Chucking my writing was tempting. Or I could reverse my schedule and write in the evenings from my cottage. If I put my mind to it, I could still have that first draft of Hooked on You completed by the end of the year. Without any further duties as a special constable, I could also spend as much time as possible with the friends I’d made.

  Like Dale and Marg, who had served me many times in this pub. And all the other shop owners I’d met around town—those from the bookstore, the inn, the whisky shop, the bakery—I wanted to visit all of them at least once more before leaving.

  Then
there were the most important people in my life these past six months. Vicki, who had been a wonderful and supportive ally since our meeting on that fateful inbound plane from London. And Charlotte and her many visits to the farm to care for the animals, always finding time in her busy schedule for a chat at the kitchen table. And what about Sean, blustering a bit and a tad self-important, but with a good heart and good intentions?

  And the animals on the MacBride farm—Coco and Pepper, and Jasper the barn cat, and now Snookie.

  And of course, Inspector Jamieson, appearing in my new life shortly after arrival, not always under the best circumstances, but his dry sense of humor and wit were calming forces in the darkest of times. And the inspector had been the one who had introduced me to some of the Kilt & Thistle’s more interesting culinary delicacies. I’d eaten haggis, thanks to his encouragement.

  An image of Leith Cameron’s handsome countenance appeared in the flames from the fire. He’d been the knight in shining armor who, along with Kelly, had rescued me from the side of the road all those months ago when the rental car I’d leased had broken down. I could still see the lazy grin and his easy self-confidence from that experience. It was hard to believe that he and I had attended the whisky tasting only this past Saturday. Three days ago. Finding Henrietta’s dead body would stay fresh in my mind forever.

  Then I realized that I hadn’t heard from Leith, and I was used to some sort of contact almost daily. We’d gone together to the warehouse on Sunday to speak with Gordon, but yesterday had passed without a call from him or a surprise drop-in. Would I see him today? Should I call him? But what would I say? That I was free, maybe invite him to dinner? Actually cook him a meal in the cottage and afterward . . .

  Afterward what?

  I could hear Ami on the sidelines, cheerleading, encouraging me loud and clear, the same refrain she’d been singing since I arrived in the Scottish Highlands. Let yourself go. Experience life to the fullest. Ditch all those old-fashioned inhibitions. Quit “shoulding” yourself.

  “‘Should’ is officially banned from your vocabulary,” Ami had said that day in the Chicago airport. “So is ‘shouldn’t.’ Throw out those archaic words and begin anew. How many of us have an opportunity for a fresh start like you’re getting?”

  I’d smiled, knowing what came next.

  And it had. “Introduce a few new phrases into your vocabulary, like . . . ‘Yes, take me!’” she’d exclaimed with dramatic flair. “And . . . ‘More! More!’”

  “Stop it,” I’d ordered her, laughing.

  Much to Ami’s chagrin, I hadn’t followed what she referred to as her “sage advice.” But my characters had.

  And she hadn’t been completely wrong. I’d had a fresh start. After listing those I considered as friends, I realized my world had expanded by leaps and bounds, if not necessarily in the direction she’d envisioned.

  I heard a crackle and a pop and a spark leapt from the fireplace, bringing me back to the present. The logs had been nearly consumed and most of the flames had died down to burning embers. Dale appeared at the hearth with an armload of firewood. He tossed a few logs on, poked them around, and watched as they caught fire. Then he turned to me, wiping his hands on an apron tied around his waist, and said, “It’s all aboot the pub how the inspector has arrested that American woman fer murderin’ Henrietta McCloud. Before the talk goes out on the street and burns up the town wires faster than these pieces o’ wood, I thought I’d confirm the facts with ye.”

  “She hasn’t been charged with a crime,” I told him, carefully choosing my words. “The inspector is questioning her.”

  “Well, that’s hardly worth all the blarney going round. But we live in a wee village where nobody has a thing tae do except spread rumors without much care whether they’re true or not. They want this one tae be real, though, tae relieve them o’ the idea that it was one o’ our own who killed Henrietta.”

  Which was understandable. It would be easier to accept a foreigner as a murderer over one of the locals. And one more reason to distrust outsiders.

  “The other bit o’ news is that ye aren’t assistin’ the inspector any longer, that ye are off as special volunteer.”

  What? That was news to me. The inspector had suggested I take the next few days off, but he’d said nothing about relieving me of duty.

  My mouth snapped open to refute that, but I quickly closed it and reconsidered. It’s just gossip, I told myself. It’s not like this came directly from the inspector. Still . . . I felt a twinge of disappointment that the community had already dismissed me even before my boss had.

  “I’m looking forward to a few days to explore,” I told Dale, not confirming or denying what Jamieson would call local blather.

  “Ye ready fer a cuppa, then, tae start ye off?”

  “Yes, tea would be nice. And do you have any shortbread?”

  “I’ll see what I can do fer ye. I believe I can scrape up a biscuit or two.”

  By the time the tea arrived with an assortment of oatcake crackers and shortbreads, Sean had slipped in and taken a seat beside me. “It’s lookin’ like we have our criminal,” he said, helping himself to a shortbread.

  Sean glanced up as Dale placed a tea serving before me. “I’ll have a pint,” he said.

  “You’re on duty,” I pointed out, not for the first time. “Nothing stronger than caffeine for you.”

  “I don’t know how I survived without yer interference,” he said, but nodded to Dale. Tea would have to do.

  “The mystery o’ the threatening note has been solved,” he told me.

  “Oh?” Another piece of the puzzle connected without me.

  “’Twas Archie and Florence’s boy, Hewie, away at college. One o’ his classmates egged him on tae throw a scare intae his grandmum tae get her tae back off on sellin’ the family business.”

  “It had nothing to do with Henrietta’s murder.” As I’d come to suspect.

  Sean shook his head. “Florence Dougal is in hot water with the inspector fer covering it up. She found out aboot it right after it was sent and kept it hidden.”

  “Florence slipped up when she mentioned skating on thin ice,” I said.

  “Not much in the woman’s head, if ye ask me opinion, tae make a foolish mistake like that. Once ye told the inspector aboot what she’d said, he was on tae her but good.”

  So it was finished. Hewie Dougal had pulled an ill-timed prank. Janet Dougal had tipped over the edge of reason and killed Henrietta. It was only a matter of time before we discovered why she’d attacked Katie and me. I couldn’t fathom why. Unless she’d gone totally crazy and intended to murder everyone she thought had slighted her.

  “Why are you here?” I asked next. “Vicki’s at the farm.”

  “Ye’re not always spot on, ye know? Fer yer information, she’s on her way tae this very pub. So is Leith Cameron.”

  What a pleasant surprise, was my first reaction. I’d kill some time at a cozy table filled with my very favorite people. My fireside wish was coming true. “What’s the occasion?”

  “That’s fer me tae know, and fer ye tae find out.”

  “Oh, good, I love intrigue.”

  But several minutes later, I could have eaten those words.

  Leith strolled in first. He didn’t take a seat as I anticipated but instead came to stand behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. Before I could turn and peer up, ask him what was going on, sensing some drama about to take place, Vicki slid into the empty chair opposite Sean.

  In my peripheral vision, I became aware that others at the pub had turned their attention our way.

  “Go ahead, Sean,” Vicki said.

  “I’m hear tae officially relieve ye o’ yer duty as special constable,” he said, solemnly. “And I am requiring the return o’ yer warrant card and any other equipment that is the property o’ the Scottish
government.”

  He’d said it so professionally, so coldly, that I was taken aback.

  “It’s routine,” Vicki pointed out, not looking me in the eye.

  “Really?” I said in disbelief, glancing from Sean to Vicki and back to Sean. Then I fumbled in my coat pocket and produced the card that I’d carried to identify myself as a part of the law enforcement team. Apparently my membership had expired.

  “Anything else ye should be returnin’?” Sean said.

  “That’s all,” I lied, refusing to give up the pepper spray I’d been approved to carry, wondering why my termination hadn’t been handled privately. Although then I probably would have cried. Here, in the pub, I intended to keep a stiff upper lip.

  Sean took the card and slid it into his shirt pocket. “Now ye can go back tae a regular life.”

  “Yes,” I muttered.

  I saw concern in Vicki’s eyes as she leaned forward, speaking softly so only those at our table could hear, “Besides, it’s time we found your father,” she said.

  CHAPTER 21

  It was the last thing I expected, and more than I felt capable of handling. Especially from this gathering of friends. Instinctively, I attempted to rise, tears threatening to erupt, but Leith kept steady pressure on my shoulders.

  “At least hear Vicki out,” he said, his voice as firm as his grasp. Music started up in the background, not especially intrusive, just enough to give us some privacy. Those who had been following our interchange determined that their eavesdropping was at an end. They went back to their own drinks and settled down to their own business. But the damage had been done. I’d been publicly humiliated. By friends, no less.

  All I wanted was an escape route, but I wasn’t going anyplace surrounded by this determined bunch, so I nodded, as though I had a choice.

  “Ye might call this an intervention,” Sean announced to me.

  “Sean.” Vicki shot him a look that said she could handle things just fine on her own, that this was a delicate situation and he should step down.