The Arms of Death

by Maggie Foster

  * * *

  Chapter 25

  Friday

  Ginny hurried across the restaurant and slipped into the booth across from Caroline.

  “Thank you, for working me in. I know you’re busy getting ready to fly to Hawaii.”

  “You sounded upset.”

  “A lot has happened this week and I need to unload.”

  Caroline smiled. “That’s what friends are for. So tell me everything.”

  Ginny caught the waiter’s eye. “Just coffee.” She looked across the table at her friend and wondered if it was fair to burden Caroline with doubts about the male sex just before she flew off to a wedding, but she needed a sounding board. She took a deep breath and launched into a summary of the week’s events.

  Caroline listened with flattering attention, then sat studying Ginny’s face. “So what you have is two men competing for your attention.”

  Ginny made a face. “I guess you could say that.”

  “It sounds like every girl’s dream.” Her eyes took on a wistful expression.

  Ginny shook her head. “It’s more like a nightmare. What upsets me most is the tactics they’re using. Hal wants me to drop the investigation so I won’t spend any time with Jim, and Jim is digging up dirt on Hal to try to undermine our relationship.”

  “It sounds like simple jealousy. Can’t you just wait it out? It’s bound to blow over.”

  Ginny thought for a moment. “I more or less promised Hal I wouldn’t see Jim and wouldn’t continue the investigation.”

  “So you lied to Hal.”

  “I didn’t mean to. It just sort of happened.”

  “And Jim?”

  Ginny frowned. “When he showed up at the Homestead today I was almost glad. We needed to clear the air and we did. Sort of.”

  “That’s when he started smearing Hal?”

  “Yes.” Ginny took a minute to calm down. “He said it was part of the investigation. That was his excuse.”

  “But he didn’t need to share it with you.”

  “Maybe he did. If it’s true, it’s evidence.”

  Caroline nodded slowly.

  “Well, it seems to me you have a lot of possibilities here and some decisions to make.”

  “Go on.”

  “First, are you going to ignore Hal and continue investigating, or are you going to let him dictate your actions?”

  Ginny screwed up her face. If she was going to demand respect from Jim, it seemed only fair that she do the same with Hal. “He didn’t dictate, exactly.”

  “You think he’s right, the investigation should be dropped?”

  “No, I don’t, but maybe I should let the professionals take it from here.”

  “Is there anything you can do they can’t?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the point, isn’t it? If I can help, I have to keep going, but if I can’t, then I should butt out.”

  Caroline leaned forward. “In all the years I have known you, Ginny Forbes, I have never seen you back down from anything.”

  Ginny smiled. It was true. She’d gotten into trouble over her — well, stubbornness, let’s be honest about it — more than once. She met Caroline’s eyes. “My father taught me to finish what I begin.”

  “Okay. So the next question is whether you need Jim’s help to finish this project.”

  Ginny considered this for a moment. “Not need, but, as an infectious disease specialist, he has access to information I can’t get on my own.” She took a sip of her coffee, then set the cup down. “Although I might be able to use Alex for that.”

  Caroline beamed. “Excellent! You thumb your nose at both of them, team up with your brother, and finish what you started.”

  Ginny smiled. “Where did you learn to think so clearly?”

  “From you, dear. You need to push those emotions aside and focus on the facts. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

  “Yes!” Ginny grinned. “Yes, it is.”

  * * *

  The Friday night ceilidhs were more than just parties. They were an opportunity for the Scots to come together and enjoy their heritage; the music, the dancing, the food, the jokes, and most especially, the men in kilts. Ginny made sure she would never have to work on a Friday night so she would be free to attend.

  Caroline looked up from adjusting her ghillies and nudged Ginny.

  “Who is that?”

  Ginny followed Caroline’s gaze. There was little doubt whom she meant. Jim stood half a head taller than everyone else gathered around the punch bowl. It was clear he had attracted the attention of more than themselves as he was engaged in conversation with a bevy of female attendants, her own mother among them.

  “That is Jim Mackenzie.”

  First the Homestead, now the ceilidh. He was following her. Ginny instantly squashed the thought. He had as much right as anyone else to be there. Even if he hadn’t been family, strangers were always welcome.

  “Ginny, you’re frowning.”

  “Am I? Sorry.”

  “He’s very tall, and very handsome.”

  Ginny looked back at Caroline, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “And very eligible.”

  Caroline arched one eyebrow. “I wonder if he dances?”

  “Why don’t you ask him? It’s Flowers of Edinburgh.”

  “Too late! Jane has collared him. For his sake, I hope he can poussette. Come on. I have time for only one more before I have to leave for the airport.” Caroline’s flight was an overnight. “I hate to miss the rest of the evening.”

  “They’ll have dancing at the wedding, won’t they?”

  “Maybe, but it won’t be half as much fun as this.” Caroline dragged Ginny onto the floor, making a beeline for two young men who were also looking for partners.

  Scottish Country Dancing requires all the dancers to stay alert, to be ready to move on cue. Ginny found it easy to ignore Jim while she was following the intricate patterns that make up the dances, but each of the couples ‘stood out’ a rotation at the bottom of the dance. At such times, one’s attention tended to wander and she found herself watching Jim. As a result, she missed her entrance and was laughed good-naturedly back into place to try again.

  As the set bowed and curtsied on the final chord, Ginny turned to Caroline and gave her a hug. “Have a safe trip and I’ll see you next week. Take notes. I want to hear all about it.”

  “You will. Bye.” Caroline hurried off.

  Ginny found herself immediately pulled into the next dance. She was always a favorite partner and rarely allowed to sit one out, but three fast and one slow dance later she was ready for a break and retired to the side of the room.

  She was watching the dancers with pleasure, when she became aware of someone standing just behind her right shoulder. She turned, knowing what she would find and determined not to let it bother her.

  “Good evening Miss Forbes,” he said.

  “Good evening Dr. Mackenzie.”

  “Are you enjoying the dance?”

  “Always, and you?”

  “I’m a bit out of my depth.”

  “You didn’t do any Scottish Country Dancing in Virginia?”

  “Well, yes, I did, but it’s been a long time. I haven’t done this since I left for college.”

  Ginny smiled, her eyes on the dancers. “Your grandfather is fun to watch. Even at his age, he can dance most of us off the floor.”

  “I’m beginning to think that cane is just for show.”

  “And to frighten the children.”

  Jim smiled. “Did he ever frighten you?”

  “Oh, yes. He used to chase us off the creek that runs behind his property telling us it was dangerous. Not that we cared, of course.”

  “You mean that tiny trickle of water at the bottom of the garden? How could that thing ever be dangerous? It’s not more than six inches deep anywhere.”

  She turned to look at him. “Water moccasins, flash flooding, and broken glass, to name three possibilitie
s.”

  He blinked. “Yes, of course. I had forgotten.”

  “Was it safer growing up in Virginia?”

  “In many ways, yes. You can walk barefoot through the grass there and not have to worry about being stabbed or stung, and the weather isn’t as extreme.”

  “Or as interesting.”

  He smiled. “Nor as interesting. We get a rare hurricane, but mostly soft breezes off the ocean and a temperate climate that slides gently through all four seasons. I don’t know how anyone stands it.”

  “They must all be bored to tears.” Ginny found herself smiling up at him. She caught her breath and turned back to the room, taking pains to look as indifferent as possible. To her annoyance, she could see a number of pairs of eyes on them, the faces ranging from frank interest to discreet smiles. There were no secrets in a community of this size.

  “Would you care to dance?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You want to try De’il Amang the Tailors?”

  He bowed. “I’m throwing myself on your mercy.” He held out his hand.

  Ginny shrugged mentally and let him guide her into place across from him in the set. At least he hadn’t chosen something impossible for a novice to do. The dance was fast, but not complicated.

  At the end of the dance, Ginny decided he must have had a very good teacher. She deposited him on the sidelines to recover and let herself be led away to do the intricate and dangerous (to one’s ego) Black Mountain Reel, reflecting that he had acquitted himself well.

  She saw very little more of him, catching a glimpse in the sets for Petronella and Moneymusk and once across the room as he stood watching her. He was smiling and she couldn’t help wondering if it wasn’t just the cheerful mood induced by the music and movement. The reels, in particular, tended to incite peals of laughter, and good-natured teasing occasioned by the forbidden (and therefore mandatory) frills added to the dances, especially those with chases in them. It was hard to go to the dancing and not come away with a smile.

  As the dancing ended and the singing began, Ginny turned to the refreshment table. It groaned under the weight of cakes, candies, pastries, chips, dips, and other non-nutrient offerings supplied by willing volunteers. She would have been glad to find something more substantial this evening, as she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast.

  She half-expected Jim to materialize at her shoulder again. When he didn’t, she looked around, but could not find him.

  For some reason, this bothered her. She shrugged her irritation off. What did she care? The less she saw of him, the better. She found a place at one of the tables and joined in singing the cheerful chorus of The Wild Rover, already in progress.

  * * *

  Ginny watched as Angus Mackenzie walked to the end of the room, climbed the three steps to the stage and walked to the center front. He gathered the room with his eyes and it instantly fell silent. All eyes turned to him, all ears open. When the Mackenzie spoke, everyone listened.

  “I’ve an announcement this evening,” he said, without preface. “Jim, will ye please come up?”

  In the Scottish culture, the head of the entire family, no matter how far flung, was the clan Chief. Locally, the head of the family was the Laird. In general, these positions passed from father to son, but in default of a son, an alternate was chosen, usually a relative. There had been some speculation about who might succeed Angus Mackenzie when he died.

  All heads turned as Jim Mackenzie rose from his chair and walked up to stand beside his grandfather. Both men were tall, both well formed, and, side-by-side like this, it was easy to see the family resemblance.

  “Most of ye will not know my grandson. For that reason, he has consented to come tae us and take up his home among us. He’s young, yet, and does nae know our ways. Ye’ll need tae help him, I expect, but he kens his duty and is willing.”

  Ginny’s skin prickled. Knows his duty and is willing. What Jim had told her was that he had come back to Texas to care for his grandfather. That would not require a public announcement.

  The older man turned and looked full at his grandson, then turned to the gathered assemblage.

  “My son is dead,” he said, simply. “This is my heir.”

  Ginny started. Heir? But that meant—

  The entire room was on its feet, applauding. She rose, too, bringing her palms quietly together.

  Jim Mackenzie, heir to Angus. She should have seen this coming. What it meant was that, one day, Jim would be Laird.

  * * *

  Chapter 26

  Friday

  Ginny sank back into her seat, trying to digest the idea that Angus Mackenzie had brought Jim back from Virginia to prepare him for the role of Laird. Without telling anyone. He had that right, of course. It was his grandson. In the usual course of events it would have been his son. So it shouldn’t surprise her. Not really.

  Slowly, she became aware of a disturbance near the ladies’ powder room. She looked up to see Fiona Campbell in furious argument with another woman.

  “Ye’ll no get awa’ wi’ it, I tell ye.” The speaker was a white-haired great-grandmother who looked on the verge of a stroke. Ginny rose to see if she could mediate.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Doris, but I already have.”

  “Ye’ve ruined his chances. He’ll no get th’ scholarship noo.”

  “Your grandson did not deserve that scholarship. He is a lazy, shiftless, ignorant–”

  Her words were cut off as the old woman raised her cane and swung it at Mrs. Campbell’s head. Fiona Campbell threw her hands up to protect her face with the result that the cane came down on her arm, knocking her purse to the floor and spilling its contents across the room.

  Others had noticed the ruckus by now and come to help separate the women. Ginny and the granddaughter of the outraged Mrs. Blair drew her away and settled her on a nearby chair. Ginny ran to get some water, but by the time she had returned, the old woman’s lips were blue and she was struggling to breathe.

  Ginny swore to herself, left the water with the granddaughter, and ran for her purse. She was powering up her phone to dial 9-1-1 as she ran back, but found Jim there before her.

  Several things kicked into play at that moment. In any public emergency an MD outranked an RN, no matter what the MD’s training or experience. He could be a retired dermatologist and he would still outrank an ICU nurse, which wasn’t always for the best. Ginny had learned to step back, but hang around on the fringes, to make sure the MD didn’t actually injure the patient.

  That wouldn’t be necessary this time. Jim was an Emergency Medicine physician and could presumably be trusted to care for an old woman having a stroke (or whatever) and it would be up to him to decide when or whether to call for transport to the hospital.

  He had help, in the form of the granddaughter and two other women who had appeared at his side and were listening to instructions, nodding and moving off to do his bidding. That left her free to focus on the other combatant.

  Ginny slipped her phone into her pocket and looked around. Several people were on their knees, picking up the items that had fallen from Mrs. Campbell’s purse.

  Ginny looked down. There were a few things not very far from her feet; some cough drops, a lipstick, an emery board, and a tiny screwdriver, the kind you use to tighten the screws on a pair of glasses. Ginny gathered these up and started to hand them back, then stopped. The screwdriver had a rust-colored stain on its tip.

  She stood looking at the screwdriver, her mind clicking methodically through the columns on her Suspects list. Opportunity. Hal had said Mrs. Campbell was in the library on Wednesday afternoon. Witnesses would have to be found, and the security tape reviewed. Means. The tip of the tiny screwdriver could easily make a hole in the skin that could be mistaken for an insect bite and the rust-colored material might be blood. It would have to be analyzed. Motive. Revenge for the humiliation, and there must have been a hundred witnesses to attest to that. What about the virus? She loo
ked up to find Fiona Campbell’s eyes on her, wide with shock.

  “Ginny.” She felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Jim standing beside her.

  “Can I get your help here?”

  She nodded. “Give me a minute.”

  She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wrapped the screwdriver in it, being careful not to touch the tip, then looked around. Yes, Himself was here. She stepped over to him.

  “Mackenzie. A word, please, and it might be wise if you asked someone to hang onto Fiona Campbell.”

  The Laird nodded to a pair of young men standing nearby, then gestured toward a nearby corner.

  “Wha’ is it, lass?”

  “Has Jim told you about the investigation into Professor Craig’s death?”

  “Aye.”

  “One of the possible suspects is Fiona Campbell.”

  The Laird’s eyebrows rose at that, but he said nothing.

  Ginny showed him what she had found. “It might be blood. It might not. Perhaps you’d be good enough to ask her about it?”

  “Aye. I’ll see to it.”

  Ginny handed the screwdriver over to the Laird and hurried back to the medical emergency, her eyes averted from the sight of Mrs. Campbell being escorted into a back room and the door closing behind her.

  “What was that about?” Jim asked.

  “I’ll tell you later. What can I do here?”

  “Stay with her while I go meet the ambulance. She’s had two sublingual nitroglycerine tablets. Here’s the bottle. Keep an eye on her blood pressure for me.”

  “Right.” They had moved her off the chair and onto the floor. A first aid kit lay open beside her and someone had started taking vital signs. Ginny did a quick assessment and added her data to the notes on the cocktail napkin.

  The old woman had not improved much. Her skin was gray, cool, and damp. Her level of consciousness was also a good deal less bright than it had been. Ginny removed the bunched up jacket underneath her head, bringing the old woman’s trachea into alignment and making it easier for blood to flow to her head.