by Hannah Reed
I wondered what Leith would have done differently. He’d produced a daughter but hadn’t been able to establish a lasting love relationship with the mother of his child. Based on his devotion to Fia, she definitely wasn’t one of his regrets, though.
And what about Henrietta McCloud? Did she regret her choices? Apparently so.
“What did she say that made you think she regretted past actions?” I asked Gordon.
“A few weeks ago we had lunch together. She got a faraway look in her eyes and looked about tae cry. When I asked her what was the matter, she wiped her eyes and said something tae the effect of, ‘If only I’d been a better person. I dinnae deserve tae have a happy life filled with bairns like I’d always dreamed o’. I don’t even deserve tae have a nephew like yerself, Gordon, ye’re like a son tae me, and every day I give thanks fer havin’ ye in my life.’”
I didn’t find her ruminations particularly unusual. My mother, when dying, had uttered similar sentiments. “If onlys” and “why hadn’t Is” are probably very common when one is facing the end of life. But my mother had let go of unresolved issues from her past and accepted what was. Henrietta hadn’t had the chance for that reconciliation. She’d been robbed of that possibility, not by an inner malignancy but by an external one.
“Then last week,” Gordon continued, “I heard her mumbling something about setting things right, and it seemed like whatever decision she made had lifted a heavy weight from her shoulders. She wasn’t exactly happy, but I thought she’d come tae terms with her lot.”
“Any idea what she meant by setting things right?”
“None. I asked what that was all aboot, but she said tae never mind.”
I continued to question Gordon about his aunt while Leith listened patiently. As far as her nephew knew, Henrietta minded her own business, attended church regularly, didn’t gossip, and took care of Bridie’s needs with loyalty and dedication. When I asked him how she got on with Archie and Florence Dougal, who were the only ones at the moment with legitimate motives, Gordon responded that their relationships remained courteous from the beginning until the end, if not exactly warm.
“They appreciated her attention tae Archie’s mum,” he said. “No one could fault her fer her care o’ Bridie, that was fer sure.”
“Your aunt came to live with Bridie when she was a young woman,” I said. “I would have thought she and Archie would have developed an affection over the years. ‘Courteous’ seems an odd way to describe their relationship.”
“I was thinkin’ more o’ his wife,” Gordon said. “A cold fish, that one. From the first time Archie brought her home tae meet his mum, Florence didn’t warm tae Aunt Henrietta. But then she hasn’t warmed much tae me, either.”
Gordon’s observation was the first concrete evidence I had that Archie’s wife had an issue with the dead woman prior to the discovery that Bridie had revised her will. If Florence hadn’t liked Henrietta from the very beginning, how would that have changed once Florence found out about Henrietta continuing to live in the house once Bridie was gone? It wouldn’t have gone over well at all.
I rearranged the suspect list in my head, moving Florence Dougal ahead of her husband. Florence was about my height and carrying a bit more weight. If I could pull a heavy wooden tub across a warehouse floor, so could she. And she certainly knew her way around the distillery.
I thanked Gordon for his cooperation and watched him leave through a doorway leading into the other areas of the distillery. When Leith and I reentered the tasting room on our way out, Bridie was waiting for us. She had Henrietta’s Scottish Fold in her arms and a catlike grin on her face.
“Snookie needs a new home,” she announced, her eyes riveted on me. “Some nice and cozy cottage away from all this sadness and that lonely bedroom. She doesn’t understand that her best friend isn’t coming back. And she’s taken quite a liking tae you.”
“Leith,” I said, ever hopeful, avoiding the old woman’s eyes. “Kelly might enjoy a playmate.”
“Ye’re the one in the hot seat, not me,” he replied.
“I can’t keep her here,” Bridie said, pleading. “It’s too much fer me to care fer her, what with having enough work taking care o’ myself now. Henrietta used tae look after me like I was royalty. She spoiled me, she did. And besides, what do I know about a cat!”
“I couldn’t possibly,” I stammered. “I’m only in Scotland temporarily. I’m leaving in two weeks, and . . . you’ll hire another companion, right? The new employee can take care of Snookie.”
“Maybe some time in the future I’ll have another, but not when Henrietta’s death is so fresh in my mind. I don’t care about a bit o’ dust. But a cat! I couldn’t possibly cope.”
“Why don’t ye give it a go, Eden,” Leith suggested when he should have been staying out of the conversation, especially if he wasn’t going to volunteer. “It might be good fer both o’ ye. And if need be, I’ll find the beast a new home when the time comes.”
“I’d hate to disrupt Snookie twice,” I said, but I noticed that my tone wasn’t nearly as firm as I intended it to be. “Once she adjusts to the cottage, it will be much more difficult to . . .”
“I gathered a few o’ her things.” The slyster interrupted my babbling. “She doesn’t need much. A log o’ her health and vet visits, and all the supplies tae keep the both o’ ye in fine form until well intae next week.”
“Then it’s settled,” Leith said.
They were ganging up on me.
“I don’t know the first thing about caring for a cat,” I said.
But it was too late. Snookie had been transferred into my arms. Her ears were down flat against her head, and since that was one of her characteristics, I couldn’t tell how she felt about all this. Didn’t regular cats plaster their ears to their heads when they were upset? And swish their tails? Snookie’s tail wasn’t swishing. Oh no, was she purring?
“It’s the easiest thing on earth,” Bridie, the woman who claimed she knew nothing about this cat, explained. “Brush her a bit, feed her when she’s hungry, and make her feel loved. Ye can put her in that little crate right by the door. She’ll travel in more comfort that way, and there’s her bag beside it.”
I really needed to say no, there was absolutely, positively no way I wanted to get roped into this. I tried to dredge up a firm negative. Instead I squeaked, “But . . . what about Vicki’s Westies? They’ll fight with Snookie.”
That was lame. Coco and Pepper didn’t fight with Jasper. They wanted to play with him. Although the barn cat was above all that and refused to give them the time of day. “And we already have a cat,” I croaked.
Before I knew what was happening, Snookie was in the carrying crate. Leith raised it by the handle. He handed me her bag of personal belongings.
Then he led me, dazed and confused, out of the house and into the cold.
Kelly watched our approach from the Land Rover, her tail wagging.
The cat meowed.
I groaned.
CHAPTER 13
“What a cutie,” Vicki said, her eyes instantly taking in the new addition to the household. A moment earlier, she had entered my cottage with a tote over her shoulder and balancing a slow cooker between both hands. She’d expertly knocked on the door with an elbow. Expecting her, I’d opened the door to delightful aromas wafting from the pot and realized I was starving. Touring a crime scene will do that, make me crave life-sustaining nourishment.
“A boy or a girl?” she asked.
“Snookie is a female.”
“Where did she come from? Did you rescue her from a snowdrift? Poor, sweet little kitty.”
Vicki placed the slow cooker on my counter while I explained how I’d inherited Snookie in spite of my resistance, which had been futile. The Scottish Fold had already checked out every nook and cranny of the cottage and was now sitting on one
of the upholstered chairs: legs and tail sprawled out in front of her, front paws resting on her belly exactly like the position of a traditional Buddha statue. She acted like she owned the place already.
“I can’t possibly keep her,” I said. “I’m leaving in less than two weeks! Not that I want to go, you know that, but I’m being forced out by rules and regulations. And having a fur ball for a roommate will only make it harder to leave than it already is going to be.”
Vicki gravitated to the cat and sank to her knees on the side of the chair to get a better view. They stared at each other, and then Snookie stretched forward, sniffed, and gave Vicki a lick on the nose.
“You’ve been officially accepted,” I guessed.
“How could you even consider giving her up? I travel all the time with Coco and Pepper. You could take her back to Chicago with you.”
“To where? I gave up my mother’s apartment, remember? I don’t have a home any longer.” Then I remembered another problem with that idea. “And Ami, who is my last resort for temporary asylum, is allergic to cats.”
“Don’t worry, everything will work out.”
I humphed. Fat chance. “Everything might work out for you and Sean. And for Snookie eventually, and for all the other critters here at the farm. But not for me, it won’t.”
I didn’t mention that Ami had been strangely quiet lately, not deluging me with e-mails as she usually did. So even my friend across the pond might be abandoning me to my fate as a Chicago homeless person. No home decorated for the holidays awaited my return. No warm fire to share with good friends beckoned from afar. I pictured myself struggling to ward off stiff winter winds at Christmas time, huddling over sidewalk grates, and standing in long lines waiting for free bowls of soup.
“Look at you,” Vicki said lightly with a grin as she returned to the kitchen, seeing some sort of invisible humor that was escaping me. “You’re a sight with that big pout. Sit down and eat. A little comfort food will put you back on the right track.”
She placed dinner in front of me. It was a hearty winter stew and she’d artfully sculpted a border of mashed potatoes around the edge of the plate. “What is it?”
“Inky Pinky. Don’t you remember that I promised to make it for you, and now’s the perfect time what with winter settling in. The ingredients are simple—leftover roast beef, carrots, and onions warmed up in gravy with a splash of vinegar, salt, and pepper.”
“It’s wonderful,” I exclaimed after tasting a forkful, feeling better already. “Sorry for the whining, but I’m frustrated.”
“You’ve had to listen to plenty of complaining from me over the last months. Returning the favor is the least I can do.” She spotted my knitting effort where I’d left the work in progress on the other end of the counter. “I see the Merry Mittens are coming along nicely.”
“Just don’t look too closely,” I warned her.
“I’m looking very closely at your life since you arrived, since we met. You’re learning to knit. You have a cute kitty to warm your lap and logs burning in the fireplace. And speaking of sizzling, you have a hot man to show you a good time. From my point of view you lead a charmed life.”
“You sound like Ami.”
“She and I are smart women.”
“And as to a hot man, if you’re referring to Leith Cameron and our so-called date that ended in murder . . . well, that didn’t go off exactly as planned.”
“You still have two weeks,” the matchmaker said. “A lot can be accomplished if you put your mind to it.”
It was time for a subject change. “I thought Sean was joining us.”
Vicki paused with a forkful of Inky Pinky in midair. “He was. Until the inspector put him on another special assignment.”
“He’s watching over Katie Taylor. She’s the young woman who catered the whisky tasting and was attacked in her friend’s home early the next morning. That assault might not be related to the murder, but Jamieson felt it was wise to give her extra protection for a short while. Even if it’s unrelated, she may have gotten a good look at her attacker before he was scared away by her friend, and the guy might be lurking around.”
“I hope not.”
“The inspector is being cautious.”
“Sean said she woke up.”
“That’s great news. Has she talked about the attack?”
Vicki shook her head and said, “She can’t remember a thing about it. Sean says the doc thinks that’s common after a head injury. No one knows if she’ll ever remember.”
“Not such good news. Well, hopefully she’ll recover quickly and the doctor will release her to go back to Tainwick with her parents.”
I’d barely finished my sentence when Vicki jerked suddenly as though she’d been zapped by a surge of electricity. She dropped her fork to the floor. It clanged sharply. Recovering, she reached down and retrieved it, and when she sat upright again, her face was flushed. “Tainwick? Did you say Tainwick?”
“Why? Do you know of it?” I asked, puzzled by her reaction.
Vicki didn’t respond immediately. She rose, tossed the fork into the sink, and got a clean one. When she replied, she’d recovered her normal coloring. “Ah, sure, of course I do. It’s not far from Glenkillen, a little north of Loch Ness.”
“Is there something unusual about the place? The first time I heard reference to it, I thought the name seemed familiar. What about it?”
“It’s just a small village like ours. Nothing special about it at all.”
“Then why were you so startled that you dropped your fork?”
“Me? I wasn’t startled at all, just clumsy. What gave you that idea?” Vicki sat back down and concentrated on eating.
What had made me think that? The startled expression on my friend’s face when I mentioned Tainwick? The dropped fork? The evasive eyes? All of these things? Or was I overreacting after a day filled with all kinds of suspicions? Probably. It had been one of the longest in memory, beginning at this very table with Charlotte’s visit, then a lengthy conversation with Janet Dougal at the inn, followed by a call to the hospital, then Bridie’s house, and the distillery. No wonder I was seeing things where they didn’t exist.
Vicki wasn’t involved in the investigation in any way, hadn’t been present at the scene of the crime, didn’t have any stake in the murder other than the fact that Sean was involved. She had absolutely no reason to react suspiciously.
I decided to test her anyway. “Henrietta McCloud was also from Tainwick,” I announced with a bit of theatrical flair. “Her sister told me they lived there growing up.”
But Vicki simply shrugged. “We all have to be from someplace. That’s as good a place as any.”
“Don’t you find that odd?” I pressed on. “The murder victim and one of the guests from that evening viciously attacked?”
“What does the inspector say?” She was calm and met my eyes.
“Not much. In fact, he’s considering dismissing it as coincidence after interviewing her parents and not finding a connection.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
“He tends to store things away when he can’t make sense of them, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten.”
“He’s good at what he does. And with you by his side, and my Sean, the killer doesn’t stand a chance of getting away.” She smiled.
I decided I’d imagined Vicky’s reaction after all.
While we finished our meals, I went on to tell her a little about my trip to the distillery with Leith. Vicki was back to her old playful self because she said, “You two were meant for each other. If only one or the other of you would realize it and do something to move it to the next level.”
“I’m not so sure. His focus is on raising his daughter and earning a good wage so he can educate her.”
“He’s a young man with a lot of energy.
He should be able to manage a woman, too. I bet he could manage you just fine.”
I didn’t bother trying to explain. I’d tried before. Leith had been very clear from the beginning. He wasn’t into the dating scene. Fia’s well-being was his primary concern, as it should be.
“Want another helping?” Vicki offered.
“Yes, but I’m stuffed.”
“I’ve brought a few seasonal decorations to make the cottage sparkle,” Vicki said after we’d rinsed and put away our plates. She dug through the tote she’d had slung over her shoulder when she arrived. “I decorated my house this afternoon. Let’s do yours now.”
Was everyone in this place delusional but me? “I have to leave before Christmas,” I reminded her. “I don’t feel very festive at the moment.”
“Posh,” Vicki said. “We’ll fix that.”
So we spent the rest of the evening decorating while Snookie looked on. It didn’t take much to transform the cottage. A glass bowl filled with tiny multicolored ornaments as the table centerpiece. Cascading strands of silver and white gift bows dangling from strings in front of the window gave the illusion of falling snow. We wrapped birch logs in twinkling lights and framed them with votives and strung fragrant evergreen garland on every available ledge.
Bright white lights, candlesticks, red and gold, silver and green. Vicki’s talent for holiday décor gave my world a soft glow, however temporary.
Afterward we sipped hot mulled wine before the fire while real snowflakes began to fall outside. We even decided to introduce Snookie to Coco and Pepper. Vicki trudged through the newly fallen snow and returned with the Westies. The trio got on famously. Somewhere in Snookie’s past she’d been used to dealing with dogs. That was a relief, one less worry.
Later that night in my bedroom, I tried to coax Snookie into the room without success. I left the door ajar in case she decided to join me later and realized that several hours had passed without a single thought of Henrietta’s murder. Even the looming departure date had been glossed over earlier and forgotten in the spirit of friendship and camaraderie.