by Hannah Reed
“What I told you is true,” she called, her words carrying on the wind. “Henrietta was impulsive and foolish when she was a girl. She took up with Dennis Elliott. I told her he’d break her heart. He had aspirations and wanderlust. He wanted to leave Scotland, but Henrietta set out tae tie him tae her. It didn’t work.”
The grave wasn’t more than six feet deep, but the sidewalls were smooth and icy. Standing on my toes, I thought I could reach the top. Whether I had the strength to pull myself up and out was another matter.
“You’ll stay where ye are, if ye know what’s good for ye,” she warned, anticipating my intention. I could hear the coldness in her voice.
It probably wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made, but I must have been in shock. I’d just heard that Henrietta had killed my father, and her sister had thrown me into a grave. I sprang up and made an attempt to gain purchase, to pull myself out. As I’d suspected, getting a good hold was going to be difficult because of the icy surface.
That didn’t matter because Patricia stepped hard on my fingers. When she removed her foot, I sank down, cradling my fingers in my hand, wondering if she’d crushed any bones.
“Your father came for his father’s funeral. Henrietta saw that as her opportunity to convince him to stay.”
“He was married to my mother. He had me.”
“She didn’t care. She had her own leverage. She had a son he didn’t know about.”
I stared at her.
“Aye, Gordon was Henrietta’s baby, not mine. She was so young, in no position to raise a child, but Connor and I were. She gave him up. Gordon was about seven at the time that Dennis came fer the funeral. I was his mum fer all intents and purposes, but then she wanted to take a perfect situation and ruin it.”
Patricia went on, as though her secret had been bottled up too long and she had to let it out. I was afraid to move a muscle, wanting to hear all of it, and the best way to make that happen was to stay quiet and listen.
“Henrietta waited for him after the funeral, led him to a secluded spot, told him about his son, told him he had to stay. He refused, said he’d contact her later and that he would take responsibility.
“Henrietta had so much rage inside her. When he turned to go, she picked up a large rock and struck him in the back of the head.”
I fought tears, feeling a pain deeper than any I’d ever experienced when I thought my father had abandoned me. “She killed him?”
Patricia nodded. “And I had tae help her cover it up. All these years went by with our secret safe and sound. Then she was diagnosed with cancer, given a life sentence, and then she decided she was going to confess her crime to Dennis’s daughter.
“I couldn’t let that happen. She promised to protect me and never divulge my role, but a new investigation would have been launched, and it would have come out, would have not only ruined my life but also destroyed my husband’s career. And Gordon? What would it have done to Gordon?”
“You tried to talk her out of it,” I said, thinking back to Janet’s account of Patricia and her sister at the inn. Arguing and upset, according to the American woman.
“She refused to listen tae reason. She didn’t care what her confession would do tae the rest o’ the family.”
“So you drowned her in a vat of whisky!” In that moment, I understood how dangerous this woman could be. She’d already cut off my ability to use my cell phone to call for help and had thrown me into a deep hole without any regard for my personal safety. What if I’d broken bones? I was certain if I had, she’d have left me out here to die from hypothermia and shock without a moment of remorse.
“Henrietta was dying anyway. I only sped up the process.”
So that was how she was justifying what she’d done? The woman was mad.
“What about the attack on Katie? On me?”
“I didn’t intend to kill the girl, but I didn’t want to risk the two o’ ye putting your heads together and connecting Henrietta tae Dennis. I had tae stop ye at all cost. And if the girl suffered some memory loss and forgot about some o’ that history she kept accumulating like a nosy nelly, all the better.”
“But I figured out the link between them anyway.” She didn’t need to know that Katie and I had indeed put our heads together. “It was only a matter of time before I would.”
“The attack on yerself, I would have gladly bashed yer brains in. None of this would have happened if not fer yer family.”
Patricia had undergone a transformation during the telling of the story. She’d been calm and unreadable throughout most of it, until a few minutes ago. Now she was highly agitated, her face an angry mask, her eyes flashing dangerously.
The only positive thing about this whole situation was that Patricia most likely didn’t have a weapon, or she would have used it by now. She didn’t have a gun, since they were hard to come by in Scotland, or a convenient barrel of whisky to drown me in. And if she had a knife, she’d have to come within striking range and then I’d hit her with a blast of pepper spray.
I still had a chance to get out of this mess and figure out how to climb out of this hole, but I’d have to keep my cool. Not try anything foolish. Patricia was taller but she also was older. But if it came to a fistfight or wrestling match, I’m not sure which of us would come out on top. I needed to think of a way to give myself an advantage.
Patricia could have been reading my mind because she said, “I’m sure ye can figure out how tae get out o’ there, so I’m going tae disable your car fer good measure. Nobody else is going to come out to the cemetery with the weather forecast calling for severe gale conditions. I wouldn’t have risked it myself, only I needed tae get this over and done with, then back tae Glenkillen before the real weather hits. This one is going tae be a red weather alert.”
She smiled as she gazed down at me. “Ye didn’t listen tae the reports, did ye? The schools and nurseries have been canceled fer the rest o’ the day. Everybody is goin’ tae be inside fer the remainder o’ the storm. Except you.
“It’s not the best plan I’ve ever made,” she admitted, “but it’ll have tae do temporarily. We’re a good distance from the main road. With luck you’ll freeze attempting tae make it. Or maybe you’ll get run over somewhere along this isolated stretch.”
The implication was perfectly clear. Patricia would be watching for me down that road.
“I have one more question,” I said, with a dozen on my mind. “What did you do with my father’s body?”
Patricia relaxed her features and became less emotional, more matter-of-fact. “Why, he’s buried in with yer grandfather. It wasn’t hard tae do a little digging so soon after the funeral. The ground had been disturbed already, making it easy.”
Then she turned away and disappeared from my sight. But I heard her parting words.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” she said.
There is something powerful about appropriately placed rage. For a good portion of my life I’d resented my father, believing that he’d gone off and abandoned us. His disappearance had affected my mother deeply at a time when she desperately needed his love and support. It had affected my relationships with men, had most likely been the reason I’d chosen a husband so poorly and why I’ve never been able to manage a lasting relationship. Growing up thinking your father didn’t love you wreaks havoc on your soul.
Now I had a new target for all that anger.
I lunged for the wall of the grave and attempted to scale it. But again I slid down. I made several more attempts until I finally jumped high enough that my hands reached the roughness of the wood planks edging the grave and found purchase. I’d never considered myself particularly athletic, but through sheer will I managed to pull my body weight up and rolled out onto the snowy ground.
The wind was fierce outside the hole and snow had begun to fall, not soft and gentle, but forceful,
heavy, and wet. Before I could get to my feet, I felt a blow to my side. And another.
Patricia had found a shovel and used it. I didn’t have time to react; the pepper spray canister was still inside my pocket. I’d needed both hands to claw my way out. I attempted to get to my feet, but she was strong and fast, and I saw her raise the shovel, directed at my head. My only option was to roll and pitch over the side, back into the hole.
“I came up with a better plan,” she said, peering down at me. “It’s still a bit makeshift but the goal is tae make yer death seem as accidental as possible. Ye had a breakdown and walked out tae the road. A car, not able tae see ye in the storm, ran over ye. No one will ever know that ye were bludgeoned tae death with this shovel.”
I saw movement behind her. Or thought I did. I must be delusional, I thought, shivering from the cold. I felt a throbbing pain in my side where she’d struck me with the shovel.
There. I saw it again. Patricia turned and stepped out of my line of sight. I heard voices mixed in with the howling wind. A minute or two passed in which I thought about venturing up. Except the woman had a shovel. If she struck me in the head, I’d be dead.
Then a form appeared above. One I recognized even though he looked more like a polar bear than a human covered in so much snow.
“I had the situation under control,” I called up, sure I looked the same.
“I can see that,” the inspector replied.
CHAPTER 31
Patricia refused to speak one word once she was in police custody. The inspector confiscated her keys, brushed a thick layer of snow from the door of her rental car, and handcuffed her to the inside. Producing a blanket from his own vehicle, he threw it over her and said to the silent woman, “We’ll be speakin’ more in a bit.”
Then he and I sat inside his police car, heater on high, while he made a call on his mobile to check the weather conditions and forecast. I’ve seen plenty of driving rain in my lifetime, but this was the first time I’d encountered driving snow. Pounding, driving, gale-force snow.
“Snow gates are up out on the main road,” he informed me after disconnecting.
“The road is closed?”
“Aye, due tae snowdrifts the size o’ munros. The patrol gritters are out tae help stranded fools like ourselves, but they won’t get tae us fer a spell. So we have plenty o’ time tae have a chat.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“The lot o’ us have been trying tae keep ye in one place and out o’ the mix. That was Vicki’s suggestion and a good one, tae spare ye in case things went bad fer yer father.”
“You all knew something was wrong, that he was involved, and nobody told me?”
“Only that it was a possibility. And then only after Vicki found out about yer grandfather bein’ interred in Tainwick and the dead woman from the same place. She came tae me with her concerns.”
“I wish she’d come to me with those concerns instead.”
“We wanted tae protect you,” he continued. “Both physically, after that incident at the hospital, and also from any potential o’ emotional fallout. But it’s been mostly a wasted effort keepin’ tabs on ye. I might not have been out here tae help ye, except fer a stroke o’ luck.”
I saw clearly what had occurred. I’d told only one person where I was going.
“Ami knew that I was going out to the cemetery. She contacted Vicki. Vicki called you,” I said.
“I followed ye this morning tae see where ye would end up, thinkin’ ye must be ontae something tae be out with the weather about tae turn bad. I stayed a good deal back, not wantin’ tae interfere with yer time at yer grandfather’s grave. I didn’t realize ye had company out there until the snow started falling in buckets and ye didn’t come back tae yer car. Imagine my surprise tae find ye fisticuffin’ with Patricia Martin.”
“And was about to win, I might add,” I said. It was easy to insert a little humor into the situation now that it was under control, now that Patricia Martin wasn’t a threat any longer. And as to winning, I could only imagine how I looked down in that hole.
The inspector smiled. “Ye’re resilient, that’s fer sure, and I’ll put my wages on ye fer future events.”
After that I told my story. I didn’t leave anything out. By the time I got to the end, my voice was quivering and I completely broke down when I told him where my father’s body was buried. Earlier I’d been in survival mode. Now the full impact of my loss and what might have happened to me sank in.
The inspector produced a box of tissues and made more phone calls, then got out and went over to Patricia’s car.
While he was gone, through tears I could no longer control, I reflected on Henrietta’s solitary life and her voluntary seclusion. In a way she had been a criminal hiding away, imprisoned for life after that one destructive act of violence. Ultimately, neither of the sisters had escaped their abusive home life. They’d perpetuated it with more acts of violence.
I thought of Gordon Martin and how he’d cope when he discovered that he’d been raised by his aunt and that his real mother had killed his biological father in cold blood.
It seemed like forever before the inspector returned. I must have looked an absolute wreck with my damp face and red swollen eyes.
“This is going to devastate Gordon Martin,” I said. I wasn’t going to be the only one impacted by Henrietta and Patricia’s actions.
“Henrietta must not’ve been capable of raising him,” the inspector guessed. “She had deep-seated emotional issues. But that sister over there”—he gestured toward Patricia’s car—“isn’t even a wee bit better when it comes right down tae it. What a pair!”
“I just realized that I have a brother,” I said, and somehow that dawning knowledge made me feel slightly better. “If what Patricia said is true.”
“It has the ring o’ truth.”
“Did you get her to confess while you were in her car?”
The inspector held up a small recorder. “She decided tae talk after I threatened tae leave her out where she’d tried tae leave you.”
“You? Coercing a suspect?”
“When it’s necessary.” He gave me a piercing glance. “And I’ll deny that if ye go blathering it aboot.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
He let me listen to the tape. Her story was the same as the one she’d given me, but with a few more details. Patricia had been aware that Janet Dougal was attempting to infiltrate the group gathering for the tasting. She’d impersonated Henrietta to get Janet out to the house. Patricia had also been the one who called in the anonymous tip placing Janet outside the inn, that tip leading to the American woman’s detention. Patricia was a shrewd, evil woman.
“I wonder about the letters my mother wrote. I imagine she sent them to Bridie, and Henrietta intercepted them.”
“’Tis a fair assumption.”
“You shouldn’t have fired me in the first place,” I said. “I understand your thought process, why you did what you did, but we could have worked through this together.”
“Aye, it wasn’t one o’ my better decisions.”
To my surprise he leaned over and wrapped his arms around me. I could feel the warmth of him through our coats. He smelled slightly of aftershave. If I didn’t know better, I might think he had been really worried about me. Or maybe I didn’t know better. The inspector’s innermost feelings were on full display for the first time.
Once he released me, to lighten up what was becoming an awkward situation, I said, “Now that Janet Dougal is a free woman, she’ll be coming for you.”
Jamieson grimaced.
“Don’t you feel any guilt about locking up an innocent woman?”
“I was startin’ tae suspect that she’d set herself up fer the fall so she could chase me around the jail cell. Thanks tae yer fine detectin’ today, I’ll be a
ble tae give Janet Dougal a royal send-off. Or better yet, I’ll have Sean see her ontae the first plane out o’ here, while I begin a process tae ban her permanently from Scotland.”
Shortly after, a snowplow arrived, its enormous blade clearing a swath down the road. Sean descended from the passenger side of the cab and made his way to us through knee-high snow.
“I don’t know how Eden got away from me,” he said to the inspector through a crack in the window.
“She’s a wily one,” Jamieson agreed, stepping out.
“I’m sorry,” I called out, feeling guilty for having deceived Sean.
Eventually, with the snowplow leading the way, we caravanned back to Glenkillen.
It would have been easy to dwell on the negative, but in fact, I was one lucky woman.
In so many ways.
And I owed a great deal of gratitude to the inspector.
He always seemed to have my back.
CHAPTER 32
The next several days were snowed-in ones. It was a good time for me to reflect on the past and plan for the future. And to grieve for the father I’d lost so long ago.
When the weather conditions improved, a backhoe would dig up my grandfather’s grave, searching for my father’s remains. I felt confident that the inspector would find what he was looking for and that I’d find closure, although certainly not in the way I’d expected.
I spent those long days and evenings before the fire with Snookie on my lap and the crest sketch my father had drawn on the side table next to me. Between my knitting needles, the most amazing thing was happening. A skein of yarn was slowly growing into recognizable Merry Mittens.
During that time, I turned off my cell and landline, didn’t open my laptop at all, and Vicki, somehow sensing that I needed to be alone, kept humanity at bay. She was always hovering nearby, though, in case I needed her.
Once the snow finally stopped falling, I’d had enough sadness and put away my pain and anguish to focus on the short amount of time I had left.