Dressed to Kilt

by Hannah Reed

  “I’ve never seen this particular sketch before. But I have a warm place in my heart fer the Elliott crest and motto, and I’d do anythin’ tae make you see it the same way. If only ye’d soften yer heart.”

  “You loved my grandfather, didn’t you?”

  “More than life itself,” she said with wet eyes. “But it was a long time ago and not meant tae be. We went separate ways and never connected in a way I’d hoped we would. He was a special man.”

  She slowly folded it along the worn crease, halving it.

  Her eyes widened in surprise.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “‘Princess Hen.’ I know that term o’ endearment. Yer da used it when he was visiting with his new bride. He used it often. He called yer mum Princess Hen.”

  “Are you saying my father drew this?”

  “Aye, who else could have?”

  This sketch was a link between the two that I had been looking for, but not the one I’d expected.

  “But it would have been intended for my mother. So what was it doing in a notebook belonging to Henrietta McCloud?”

  Bridie and I looked at each other.

  Neither of us had an answer.

  CHAPTER 28

  It was late in the afternoon, a little after six o’clock. Evening’s twilight had arrived hours ago, along with a steady drop in the temperature that caused me to reach quickly for the car’s heater control and turn it up as far as it would go. By the time I drove away from the distillery, I felt weary and ready to relax in front of a warm fire with Snookie. But instead of turning toward the cottage, I resisted the urge to indulge in creature comforts and headed for Glenkillen.

  The teatime gathering hadn’t produced much new information, but old questions had been raised, and they were foremost in my mind. Until I resolved them, or at least began the process of inquiry, starting the ball in motion, I wouldn’t be able to unwind.

  I parked and entered the Whistling Inn only to discover that Janet Dougal wasn’t in her room.

  “She was told tae stay put,” Jeanie griped with a sour expression, nervously fingering a hoop ring on one of a multitude of ear piercings. “I suppose I have tae inform the inspector. He won’t like it one bit.”

  All tiredness vanished at this new development and I felt a surge of adrenaline. “She skipped town?” I was ready to run her down myself if need be.

  “No, no, nothin’ as bonnie as that. Herself is over at the pub.”

  “I’ll apprise the inspector,” I said, already turning away to pursue Janet before realizing that he and I were no longer a team. Our friendship had suffered during this investigation, and I wasn’t sure that we could find our way back to what we’d once had, especially considering the limited time before I left. The inspector had been cold and detached when we’d spoken earlier, without a hint of the camaraderie we’d once shared.

  I went back to the car, hauled my laptop out, and slung the computer bag over my shoulder as a pretense for my presence at the Kilt & Thistle. Not exactly a cover, since I needed the computer to contact Ami, if for no other reason than to make arrangements for my first week back in Chicago. I’d need a place to stay while I regrouped and planned the next phase of my life. Even though I’d originally needed a break from her, the reality was that I needed her now more than ever.

  Thankfully, the pub was lively, more so than when I usually hung out here during the day. Entering gave my mood an upbeat swing that matched the atmosphere of the place. There were plenty of customers, and a musical duo—one on the fiddle, one on guitar—entertaining the pub’s patrons with some fine traditional folk music. After I ordered a pint at the bar, one song ended and another started up, a song I recognized, “Annie Laurie.” I sang along with what seemed like the entire pub. We raised our voices. “Her voice is low and sweet and she’s all the world to me / And for bonnie Annie Laurie I’d lay me doon and dee.”

  This was one gathering place I’d really miss, my home away from home. Where else would a roomful of customers join together and sing like this?

  I sipped the ale, my eyes sliding over the patrons until I spotted Janet sitting alone at a table far from the musicians, with her own pint in front of her. That seemed strange to me. I’d never have pegged the American woman as a beer drinker. To me, beer lovers are easygoing, happy sorts who go with the flow. Janet didn’t fit with that image.

  “I suppose you are going to haul me back to that wretched inn,” she said, a bit loud and aggressive when I walked over. This wasn’t her first pint. “You can’t expect me to stay in my room day and night, eating the same food over and over. And that proprietor! I swear she isn’t even trying to make those meals tasty. But what can you expect from the Scotch. Anyway, it’s a free country last I checked and I have a right to be here. If you try to arrest me, I will demand to place a call to an attorney.”

  So she didn’t realize I was an ordinary citizen, that my rank had been pulled and I didn’t have any authority over her. I decided not to enlighten her and to take full advantage of her inebriation.

  “Would you like a dram of whisky with that?” I asked, thinking that Janet spouted off about her rights every time I ran into her. It must be rough when the whole world is against you. “Beer and whisky go together well.”

  Janet shook her head, and it bobbed a bit loosely. “I never want to see another glass of whisky in this lifetime. I never should have gone to that tasting. Look where it’s landed me.”

  I sat down without being invited.

  “It will turn out okay,” I reassured her in a best-friend voice. “The inspector released you. That means he has his doubts. The important thing for you to do is to help us catch the real killer.”

  “I told that inspector all that I know.” She looked directly at me with slightly vacant eyes. “I told you, too. You were there.”

  “Yes, I was. You admitted to driving out to Bridie’s home after Henrietta invited you.”

  “She did! I didn’t make that up.”

  “And when you arrived, she turned you away.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Let’s back up a little and work this out.”

  “It isn’t going to help. I already did that.”

  “Perhaps you’ll remember something more,” I said, sounding just like some character on a cop show. “Tell me how you originally found out about the tasting.”

  Janet’s eyes rolled up in thought. I sipped my ale and waited.

  “Friday,” she announced. “There were two Scotches sitting next to me in the inn’s dining room. At first I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. You know how they mangle the English language.”

  I let her outrageous comment slide. And I’d already tried to correct her on several other counts with no luck whatsoever. They aren’t Scotch, I wanted to say, they’re Scots. But apparently Janet wasn’t going to learn what she didn’t want to learn.

  “Go on,” I said, gritting my teeth and attempting to appear pleasant. “Did you recognize them?”

  “Not then, but certainly at the tasting. It was that sister and her son.”

  “Patricia Martin and Gordon?” Neither of them had offered this information when I’d asked the group directly how Janet Dougal had found out about the tasting. But perhaps they hadn’t been aware that she was eavesdropping. And on Friday, they wouldn’t have met her yet. She would have been just one more diner.

  “They were talking about this whisky tasting out at the distillery,” Janet continued. “Hosted by Bridie Dougal. That’s when my ears perked up, when I heard her name. And the man said something about Saturday night, and that it was a small intimate group, and that he’d meet her in the reception area a little before seven o’clock and drive her out to the distillery.”

  That was an easy explanation. Simple. Direct.

  “So you decided to joi
n them.”

  “Not at first. I was put out that Bridie hadn’t included me, but that wasn’t my initial plan. It was only after the fiasco with that woman, that housekeeper. She’d been cruel, asking me out and then slamming the door in my face. I drove back to the inn, changed my clothes, and demanded a ride when Gordon arrived. Biggest mistake of my life. Oh well, you know what they say about hindsight.” She took a chug of her beer. “Twenty-twenty.”

  “So you didn’t speak to Gordon and Patricia when they were discussing the tasting?”

  “Not him, no, he got up and left. Then I leaned over toward the table and said something about needing a ride and did she think I could ride out with her. And all I got was a sort of glare and right then another woman joined her. It was that housekeeper sister of hers. Course, I didn’t know it at the time, having only spoken with her on the phone, but the next day, when she pulled that stunt on me, then I connected that face to the same one from the night before.”

  “Henrietta was in the dining room?” I racked my brain and dredged up a little of the conversation I’d had with Patricia when we were establishing timelines. She’d stated that the last time she’d seen her sister alive had been Friday. That fit with what Janet was telling me. But Patricia had still withheld information that I’d asked for a few hours earlier. I wondered why and if the glances exchanged by Patricia and Gordon had anything to do with it.

  “The same. Those two put their heads together like I didn’t even exist, so I went back to minding my own business, as much as I could.”

  “You told all this to the inspector?”

  “Ad nauseam. A zillion times.” I heard neediness in her tone as she continued. “And a few more wouldn’t hurt. Do you ever see him with a woman? Does he date?”

  “We need to focus.” Janet was the victim of unrequited love, something that doesn’t enter into my romantic stories. Nothing is one-sided about those relationships even though it might seem that way at the beginning. Real life is much more painful, and Janet was suffering. “Back to answering questions regarding the investigation.”

  “Don’t you and the inspector share information? We already addressed all this.”

  “You and I are going over things once again with fresh eyes,” I told her, the assumption being that the inspector and I in fact collaborated on all aspects of the case. At least my eyes were fresh. Hers were glazed. “Did you overhear any of the conversation between the two sisters?”

  Instead of answering, she held up her empty glass. “Bartender,” she shouted out during a brief pause in the music. Her glass was quickly replaced with a full one. I was nursing mine. Not that Janet noticed or cared or offered to buy me one.

  “Did you hear any more of the conversation?” I repeated.

  “Those two sisters lowered their voices. The one who died the next day was facing my table. I didn’t hear much, but that housekeeper was upset, I could tell, blubbering and wiping her eyes and shaking her head as though she disagreed with what the other one was saying. She might have been refusing whatever the other one wanted, or something like that. Pretty soon, the one staying at the inn stood up and said they’d discuss this further and the other wasn’t to do anything until she said so.”

  “Is there more?” I asked when Janet didn’t continue. “Anything else?”

  She thought a minute and said, “No, but those two are like two peas in a pod. Both nasty, if you want my opinion.”

  And that was pretty much all Janet had to offer. She quickly finished the next pint and teetered out the door. I powered up my laptop, settling in to enjoy the music, and found an e-mail from Ami.

  “Don’t be angry with me,” she wrote. “I’ll explain my reasoning, but I want to do it in person. What time should I pick you up at O’Hare? And I insist that you spend the holiday with me. Wait until you see the decorations in downtown Chicago! And we’ll shop and wine and dine. Have you gone to Applefary yet? Hope all worked out well. Love and kisses, Ami.”

  Suddenly, I felt warm and cozy and loved. All the annoyance with her that I’d experienced earlier drained away with the last swallow of the pint of ale. I shot back an e-mail with my arrival time and went on to return her loving sentiments before telling her I was going to Tainwick to the grave site first thing tomorrow.

  After that I headed for my cottage, parked the Peugeot in the barn, and popped in to check on Vicki before calling it a night.

  She was on the sofa, propped up with a pillow, with her laptop on another pillow.

  “You look better,” I told her.

  “And I feel a little better.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, Sean made chicken soup.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Off doing cop stuff,” she said vaguely. “I’m loving these ancestry sites I’m finding online.”

  I laughed. “You’re obsessed.”

  “It’s addictive,” she agreed. “Still no leads on Dennis Elliott, though. Unless he’s changed his name, which I sort of doubt.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Would he have gone to that extent to disappear? He wasn’t wanted for any crimes, at least none we knew about. Why else would a man with a richly historic Scottish name change it? I agreed with Vicki. It was unlikely.

  “We need more information,” Vicki added, “and I’m not going to find it online. I’ve exhausted those resources.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Your grandfather’s gravesite might hold some clues. Lots of the older gravestones are like memorials. Sometimes they mention relatives and friends who aren’t even dead and buried at the time.”

  “His grave isn’t that old. He died in the nineteen eighties.”

  “If that doesn’t pan out, we can visit the Tainwick library. It has a local history section. If nothing else, we might find out where some of your current relatives live and contact them.”

  “Bridie seems to know a little. She offered to help.”

  “The more, the merrier. When should we make the trip?”

  “When you’re up to it. In a day or two?”

  “Okay.”

  I left it at that, intentionally dangling the loose ends. And then I went home to the cottage to the soft welcoming meows of Snookie, with her cute little folded ears and her reassuring purr.

  CHAPTER 29

  Today was Thursday, December 13.

  My flight was scheduled to depart from Inverness on the 22nd with a layover in London, then on to Chicago. Only nine full days left in the Scottish Highlands. In the village of Glenkillen. At the MacBride farm. In my cottage.

  Six months ago I couldn’t imagine coming here. I remembered vividly, as though it were only yesterday. Ami had to accompany me to the airport to make sure I boarded. This morning, I couldn’t imagine ever leaving. Vicki might have to shove me on the return flight.

  I’d seriously considered an option—going back and forth, living in Chicago and visiting as often as I could. But I know one thing about myself, at least. I needed to establish a home and get involved in a community. I have every intention of visiting Glenkillen again someday, but what I really wanted was to make my permanent home in these beautiful highlands. It was an impossible dream.

  With the bed comforter pulled up around my ears and Snookie practically wrapped around my head like a fur headpiece, I thought about the possibility of a future alone. Men brought complexity and risk to one’s life, even in the alternate world of Rosehearty, Scotland, where my Highlands Desire Series takes place.

  There, the men are always strong, rugged, competent, hardworking, pretty much perfect, except they are also damaged by past relationships. Either they’ve sworn off love because they don’t believe in it, or they’ve lost true love and have given up on ever finding it again.

  In my stories, the hero and heroine initially work at cross-purposes, bu
tting heads before falling in love.

  In the real world, Leith Cameron has been my inspiration for both Jack Ross and Daniel Ross, each brother appearing in his own story—Jack in Falling for You and Daniel in my current work in progress, Hooked on You.

  But Leith doesn’t appear to be damaged by anything. He did have a daughter out of wedlock without marrying Fia’s mom, and being a single parent must be hard. But in general, he’s easygoing. Lately, I’ve been suspecting that “easy come, easy go” is his real attitude toward life and women. He’s committed to raising his daughter and I respect him for that, but if he has a serious side other than when he’s parenting, he hides it well.

  And as for the two of us butting heads, I couldn’t think of a single example. And even though I think he is one of the sexiest men in all of Scotland, my heart doesn’t pound when he is near.

  What about the inspector? Immediately the rational part of my brain snorted. He was twenty years older, practically old enough to be my father. A widower, who cared for his wife until the end. Jamieson still wears his wedding ring, an indication that he keeps commitments until death and beyond.

  While Leith is outgoing, the inspector is introverted, like me. There’s nothing shy about him, though. He just values his privacy. That got me thinking about the home he has somewhere out in the middle of nowhere, a cabin of sorts, according to Vicki. I’d never been invited out and probably never would be.

  Talk about butting heads! We’ve done some of that lately.

  Before I could pursue that line of thought any further, someone rapped on the cottage door. I grabbed a robe and opened the door to find Sean standing outside.

  “I’m not comin’ in,” he reported when I extended the invitation. “This is me seein’ ye in the flesh so I can report that ye’re in me sight.”

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “It’s freezing out there,” I said, closing the door. “And I have a few questions for you.”