Dressed to Kilt (A Scottish Highlands Mystery)

by Hannah Reed

We all went silent for a period of time as we reflected on the dead woman.

  “I found something tucked inside Snookie’s health record,” I said, remembering to bring it up.

  Bridie brightened. “And how is our little Snookie?”

  “She’s adjusting.”

  “I knew she would, with the right person, and I sensed ye were that person.”

  “Yes, well, we are getting on well. Anyway, inside Henrietta’s records someone had sketched the Elliott crest and motto on a piece of paper.”

  Bridie smiled. “Fortiter et Recte.”

  “Do you remember the sketch?” I asked Bridie. “And who drew it?”

  Bridie frowned in concentration. “Not offhand. Can you show it to me?”

  If only I’d taken the time to drive to the cottage and get it. “No, but I’ll bring it by as soon as possible.”

  “I best be off.” Patricia rose. “It’s still snowing. The roads will continue to worsen. And I’ve never been much o’ a driver in bad weather.”

  After the appropriate good-byes, the three of us stayed to discuss the topic I’d come for.

  It turned out that Bridie, clan chieftain of the Dougals, had a passion for the past. In fact, she dwelled there as comfortably and contently as she did in the present, if not more so. One of the characteristics of old age, I imagined, when the current days weren’t nearly as interesting as those of old.

  “The Elliotts were rustlers,” she told us. “They raided in this area from the thirteenth century all the way into the sixteenth, and were well known fer going south of the border into England and stealing cattle.”

  “See how colorful your ancestors were!” Vicki said.

  “Ye’re the spitting image o’ yer grandfather Roddy,” Bridie said, “with yer ginger highlights and those eyes that ye can’t tell fer sure if they’re blue as the sky or green as grass. Yer father took after his mum more than his da, but Dennis was a fine specimen o’ a man, too, just as handsome, but in a dark, smolderin’ sort o’ way.”

  “Do you have any photos?” Vicki asked.

  “Not a one. We had a fire years ago and lost many valuables.”

  Vicki didn’t give up easily. “Tell us more.”

  “Eden, yer mum sat in the exact chair ye’re in right this minute, before the fire as we are today. This was before ye were even a glimmer in her eye when they were still newlyweds. We exchanged a few letters early on, we did. She was a lovely girl.”

  Suddenly I recalled hearing about that visit. It had been a very long time ago. My mother had told me about the two of them paying a visit to Scotland to meet my father’s family. At some point, though, we had stopped speaking of the past.

  “They were so much in love,” Bridie mused. “I refused tae believe the gossipmongers when they talked aboot what he’d done. Yer grandfather woulda had something tae say about that, if he’d been alive at the time. Roddy was a perfect gentleman and raised his son tae be one, too. I can’t imagine what happened. I guess it’s best that Roddy isn’t here tae have tae deal with the shame o’ it.”

  “Do you have any idea where Eden’s father is living now?” Vicki asked, refusing to look my way, getting the elephant in the room out in the center.

  Bridie appeared startled by the question. “What do ye mean?”

  “Eden’s father,” Vicki prompted. “Dennis. We thought we might visit him.”

  Which wasn’t even close to the truth. I hadn’t agreed to that! But it hardly mattered because Bridie piped up and said, “The last time I saw Dennis was thirty-two years ago at his father’s funeral. He was leaving fer Chicago that same day. In fact, Dennis told me he was anxious tae get home tae his family.”

  My mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible.”

  “He was in a hurry tae catch his plane,” Bridie insisted.

  I shook my head. “But he never came back.”

  “That can’t be possible,” Bridie went on, “It was many months after the funeral that I heard he’d abandoned yer mother in her time o’ need and left her tae cope with her disease and with ye alone. I’m not even sure who told me. Ye know how gossip seems to have a life o’ its own and nobody will admit tae startin’ it. Yer grandparents weren’t alive tae substantiate or deny the truth o’ it. The Elliotts still remainin’ in the area were distant relatives, scattered, and none that I knew well enough tae speak with on such a delicate matter.”

  “Are you saying, Bridie,” Vicki said, “that all along you assumed Eden’s father had gone back to the States and had left them sometime in the proceeding months?”

  “Aye. Isn’t that what happened?”

  “And Eden, you assumed he stayed in the Highlands?”

  “He did,” I said.

  “But I woulda heard,” Bridie argued. “He went off, he did.”

  “Then,” I said, suddenly caring very, very much, latching onto the fact that my father had told Bridie he was in a hurry to get home, “where the hell is he?”

  CHAPTER 23

  My friend and occasional tormentor sat across my kitchen table. We were eating leftover stew. Vicki’s Inky Pinky was just as good tonight as it had been the first time she’d served it.

  Outside, the night was deeply dark without a single star showing through the cloud cover. Holiday lights twinkled from the brightly strung logs and boughs scattered around my tiny cottage. Snookie was sound asleep in her favorite chair beside the fire. Coco and Pepper were curled up together on the floor so tightly entwined that it was difficult to know which body parts belonged to which dog.

  It might have been an idyllic setting. Instead of feeling in a holiday spirit, I’d had plenty of time to think of theories on the slow drive back to the farm through heavily falling snow as I followed Vicki’s car taillights, since they were all I could see.

  Where had he gone? Had Dennis Elliott vanished into thin air somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean? But if there had been any plane crashes, my mother would have known; someone would have contacted us if the airplane he’d been on had gone down. Barring that tragic explanation (one easily dismissed), I was absolutely positive that my father had not returned to the States.

  “I’ll check every airline,” Vicki said, intuitive as ever. Sometimes I think she can read minds. “To make sure.”

  “It might have been part of his plan,” I said. “To throw off anyone looking for him.”

  “Right,” Vicki said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “A master plan to make those in Scotland think he was in the States and make you and your mother think he was in Scotland. And why would he go to all that trouble?”

  I glanced at my friend. Her face was rather flushed, not at all her normal coloring. “He had another woman on the side,” I said, “and wanted to begin an entirely new life. His father would have disowned him for leaving us, you heard Bridie. She was clear on that point. My grandfather was a gentleman and expected the same from his son. So, he had to have a plan.”

  Vicki was ready with a retort. “For one thing, his father had just died and wasn’t around to judge him. For another, his name was blackened the minute he deserted you. So he had nothing to gain by disappearing after leaving the funeral.”

  I hated her voice of reason. “He probably went to Paris or London with her.”

  “Then we’ll find his name on a passenger manifest from around that time period. I need you to confirm for me the exact date of your grandfather’s funeral.”

  “It must be somewhere in my mother’s personal things in storage in the States.” I played with my food and realized that Vicki was doing the same. Neither of us was particularly hungry after high tea at the Dougal estate.

  “Bridie will remember the exact date. Your grandfather obviously meant a lot to her.”

  “You never give up, do you? Besides, he’s probably dead by now.”

  Vicki rolled her eyes and said, �
�Ami says you’ve been spouting that for years. ‘He’s dead, so why bother?’ But he’d still be relatively young, in his sixties. And for your information, Ami and I are bothering”—Vicki’s words were slow and precise—“so you can stop being bothered.”

  “And how does that work exactly?”

  “We find his trail, follow it to its conclusion, and then you can have some closure.”

  “And you think this is how I want to spend my last days in Glenkillen?”

  When Vicki didn’t respond, I went on, “Don’t you have anything better to do than hang out here harassing me?” I meant those words, too, however unkind they sounded. All I wanted was for Vicki to go back to the main house so I could enjoy some much-needed alone time. I was a firm believer in personal space and quiet time, and my friends had been suffocatingly close today.

  I’d been all friended out.

  And if I didn’t hear from Ami again until I flew into Chicago, it would be perfectly fine with me. The more I thought about slinking off, the better it sounded.

  Vicki studied me before saying, “I don’t have anything better to do than talk some sense into you.”

  I stared out the window at the falling snow. “Where’s Sean? Shouldn’t you be cozying up to him? On a night like this you two should be together.”

  “He’s busy.”

  Vicki didn’t look particularly upset. Odd. Usually she whined when he was pulled away on duty in the evening. “What’s he doing?”

  “I can’t say. I mean he can’t say.”

  I was doing a slow burn from annoyed to infuriated, and for more reasons than just one. The Elliott family and my father weren’t exactly my favorite topics, and I’d been pressured by sheer force of numbers to deal with those unpleasant things. Then I’d been kicked off the case for no apparent reason, pushed out of a loop I’d become accustomed to being part of, and it didn’t feel so good. In fact, it felt awful.

  Vicki, even more flushed than earlier, leaned her elbow on the table and dropped her head to her hand.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, concern washing away the hostility.

  “A bit hot and dizzy,” she said. “I hope I’m not coming down with that nasty bug that Kirstine had.”

  “Let me walk you home. It’s been a long day.”

  Vicki didn’t protest, which caused more worry on my part. Usually she’s a fiercely independent woman who takes care of herself and refuses any assistance of any kind, whether it’s an offer to help at the shop or with something as simple as doing her dishes.

  But tonight, after we bundled up against the howling wind, she hooked her arm in mine and we plowed through the gathering snow with the two Westies following in the path we created. I made sure she was safely inside with plenty of lights shining and her feet up on the sofa before leaving her alone.

  Outside, I glanced up the path toward my home. White lights sparkled in the windows, invitingly, with the promise of a warm fire and gentle feline company. The cottage beckoned to me, but instead of returning, I turned in the opposite direction and trudged along the lane leading to Sheepish Expressions. The chilliness of evening was actually a welcome relief. It felt good to inhale the fresh windswept air and enjoy the darkness and the silence all around me. Completely quiet except for my own breath and the swish of my boots through the new snow.

  Even without stars to guide me, I could make out the lane. I remembered an observation I’d made to Vicki recently during the amber weather alert. It really was like living in a snow globe, flakes cascading all around me.

  Reaching Sheepish Expressions, I was about to turn back when something caught my eye, a flash out of the darkness of the parking lot. Something that didn’t belong in the white and black of tonight’s world, not part of the grayness between them, either.

  From where I stood, I thought I could make out a large object, tucked back in the lot. My heart began to pick up several extra beats per second.

  I wasn’t sure what to do.

  Should I investigate? Or hurry home and lock my door?

  The inspector might have revoked my law enforcement license, but he couldn’t do anything about my need to explore and rule out trouble. I took a few cautious steps into the shadows, hoping I hadn’t been exposed if someone was out and about. But why would they be? The shop was closed. What reason would anyone have to be on the grounds?

  Thoughts of robbery went through my head.

  As I edged closer, I could see that the object of my attention was a vehicle covered in snow, and it looked abandoned for the night. I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps someone had visited the shop earlier in the day and had experienced car trouble. They probably had to leave it here until morning. That was a logical explanation.

  Except, as I approached, I could see that the car’s windshield wipers had been activated recently. The front windshield wasn’t as thick with snow as the hood and roof were. There! Again! The wipers slowly arched across, the blades clearing the window.

  Someone was inside the vehicle! But the interior was dark. I couldn’t see inside.

  I fumbled in the pocket of my coat, grateful when my gloved hand found the cylinder of pepper spray, the protection I’d refused to give up with my warrant card earlier in the day. That act of rebellion might turn out to be a stroke of extremely good fortune.

  I’d have much preferred never needing to use it ever again.

  Snow began falling faster, so heavy I could hardly see the vehicle from where I stood. My eyelashes were coated with the heavy stuff as I crept even closer, realizing there would be no chance of getting a plate number, or the make and model of the car. Not with all this snow.

  I went over my options. This would be my last chance to take steps in reverse, hurry back up the lane, get inside, and call the police, let them come out and investigate.

  I’d known from the start that I wouldn’t do that, though.

  So I removed my glove, flicked the spray nozzle on the pepper spray from the safety position to on, and continued moving forward, stopping only when I was close enough to the driver’s side of the car that I could have reached out and touched it.

  Prepared to defend myself if necessary, I rapped on the driver’s window with my ungloved knuckles. Snow on the window had accumulated and was a good three inches thick. Because it was so wet and heavy it stuck where it landed. I could see the impression made by my knuckles.

  As the window slid down under the weight of the snow, it fell away in sheets, giving me an opportunity to peer inside.

  I recognized the occupant.

  And almost fired a blast of pepper spray anyway.

  It would have served him right.

  “Would ye believe it if I told ye I was takin a wee nap?” Sean Stevens asked, looking totally busted.

  “How could you do this to Vicki?” I shouted, my voice cutting sharply through the night silence. “Spying on her! What do you think? Some other guy is coming to visit her tonight? I wish that were true!”

  I put the pepper spray back in my pocket where it wouldn’t tempt me.

  I bent down and packed snow between my hands.

  Then I reached through the window and smashed it into Sean’s sneaky little face.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Are ye some kinda nutter?” Sean sputtered from the driver’s seat, his face awash in melting snow.

  I turned and stormed away. The weather had nothing on my thunderous mood. I was my own red weather alert, and Sean should be running for shelter. Wait until Vicki heard this.

  Instead he chased after me, yelling. “Ye have it all wrong, ye do. Will ye stop fer a bloody minute?”

  The going was tougher than coming. The path my boots had created coming down the lane had already disappeared as I went up. The effort gave me time to cool off a little, down to about a roiling boil.

  I whirled. “What a creepy thing to d
o to Vicki. She deserves better.”

  Sean’s face was wet from the face wash, and the shoulders of his police jacket and the top of his cap were covered in snow. “I wasn’t spyin’ on Vicki.”

  “Then what were you doing?” This should be good. Let’s see him worm his way out of this one.

  “I was watchin’ yerself. If ye weren’t such a hothead, you’d have considered that possibility instead o’ goin’ off like a rocket tae the moon.”

  Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. I’d just assumed the worst. Not that stalking me was any better. Was Sean telling the truth? If this was a lie to get out of a tough situation, Sean had concocted it in record time. He’d always been an open book in the past, wearing his thoughts and feelings on his sleeve for all to see.

  Constable Steven might have often displayed signs of his own self-importance and could be a bit of a buffoon, but I’d never thought of him as deceptive or conniving, so there might be something legitimate about his claim.

  “Me?” I squeaked. “You were watching me? Why?”

  “Why don’t ye come back tae my auto where it’s warm and where we’ll be out o’ these forces o’ nature. And we can talk.”

  So we trudged back. I slipped into the passenger seat, feeling more like I was inside an igloo than a snow globe. Within several seconds the windows steamed over. Not that it mattered. The world was white outside.

  “Well?” I said, waiting for an explanation.

  Sean squirmed, fiddling with the defroster buttons, turning them on. “I want tae tell ye, I really do, but I’m in a precarious position, in trainin’ fer a real position as a police officer, and I have certain orders. Telling ye things I’m not at liberty tae divulge will violate those orders and put me at risk o’ termination.”

  That was a distinct possibility. In the past, the inspector had attempted to make the special constable redundant on at least one occasion that I was aware of. Though since Sean had gone for police training, Jamieson’s threats had subsided, but they could easily be revisited with enough provocation.