Murder at the Castle

by M. B. Shaw

  The monster and his bride, thought Iris.

  If Jock was ‘mortified’ by his fiancée’s outfit, as Emma Twomey claimed, then he was doing a bloody good job of hiding it. Standing there in his cape like a vile, predatory black crow, grinning and preening himself, he seemed to Iris to be practically throbbing with pride that Kathy was at his side. As well he might be. She looked amazing.

  ‘Hello.’

  Iris jumped. Rory MacKinnon had materialised beside her, minus Catwoman, with two flutes of champagne in his hands.

  ‘On your own tonight?’

  He handed one of the glasses to Iris, who accepted it warily.

  ‘Yes. You?’

  He gave a tight smile. ‘I came with a friend. I thought you might have brought your policeman chum along. Haley.’

  Iris frowned.

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Rory shrugged. ‘Just village talk, I suppose. I heard the two of you were thick as thieves.’

  Iris found it hard to believe that anyone in the village would be talking about her and DI Haley. Although, coincidentally, she had been wondering where Stuart was this evening, before Rory had brought it up.

  What’s he fishing for? she wondered.

  ‘No one in Pitfeldy seems to have anything better to do than gossip about these bodies of yours,’ Rory drawled, apparently determined to needle her into a response.

  ‘The bodies aren’t mine,’ she replied coolly. ‘I just happened to find them.’

  ‘Indeed. You and your muse.’ He layered the last word with sarcasm, looking over to where Kathy had freed herself from Jock and was now chatting happily to the wife of one of the tenant farmers.

  ‘You could give her a break, you know,’ Iris found herself saying. ‘She’s trying.’

  ‘Oh, she’s trying all right,’ said Rory wryly, sipping his champagne. ‘Trying to get her hands on every last penny of Dad’s money.’

  ‘I thought you were drawing up the prenup?’ Iris observed, sipping her own drink.

  Rory’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did she tell you that?’

  ‘Why? Was it supposed to be a secret?’ Iris asked guilelessly.

  ‘Not a secret,’ he sounded irritated. ‘But a private family matter, yes. Although God knows why I’d expect her to respect something like that,’ he added bitterly.

  ‘Surely the important thing is that if you’re drawing up the prenup, then Kathy’s no threat to you,’ said Iris. ‘You can protect your and your sister’s inheritance, if that’s really what you’re worried about.’

  ‘Oh, I’m worried about a lot of things, Miss Grey,’ Rory said sourly. ‘If your friend Kathy Miller had a modicum of sense, she’d be worried too.’

  ‘Oh?’ Iris eyed him suspiciously. ‘About what?’

  Rory grunted and looked away, aware perhaps that he’d said more than he’d meant to. ‘Never mind.’

  Raised voices from the other side of the room distracted both of them momentarily. It appeared that Mrs Gregory, the castle housekeeper, was having a heated exchange with Hannah Drummond, Angus’s girlfriend.

  ‘I’d better go and sort that out,’ said Rory, draining his drink. Then, looking Iris squarely in the eye, he added, ‘I hope you and I can at least be civil to one another while you’re in Pitfeldy, Miss Grey.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Iris, surprised. ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

  ‘I just meant – I’ve no quarrel with you, personally.’

  ‘Nor I with you,’ said Iris, more confused than ever.

  Why was he so awkward all of a sudden? Was he trying to tell her something? Or was he playing some sort of double game?

  If so, Iris had no idea what it was, or why he was playing it. She felt very much on the back foot all of a sudden.

  ‘Good,’ he said, apparently satisfied, ‘that’s settled then. Oh, and do give your detective friend my regards when you see him again, won’t you?’

  And with that, he was gone, slipping into the throng of guests and making his way towards his father’s housekeeper like a slimy black eel.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘You’re a lucky man, MacKinnon. A damned lucky man.’

  Sir William Roebuck, Chief Constable of Banffshire Police and an old poker friend of Jock’s, gazed admiringly at Kathy’s back view. Specifically, at her shrink-wrapped bottom, Pilates-pert and as tempting as a ripe peach in its chiffon casing.

  ‘So what is she supposed to be? A virgin bride?’ he asked, a fine spray of pastry crumbs falling from his full lips as he bit into a slice of warm apple pie, his third. ‘Is that what the veil’s all about?’

  ‘Dracula’s virgin bride,’ Jock corrected smugly, gesturing to his own outfit. ‘Only two months to go now till the wedding.’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s right. New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?’ said Sir William, his fat jowls quivering. ‘Will her real wedding dress be as sexy as that one?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Jock. ‘Of course, all that’s assuming this nonsense with the bodies and your lot running around the estate is over by then. I’m not getting married in a sea of yellow crime-scene tape, I can tell you that.’

  Sir William looked uncomfortable, his beady eyes darting around as if seeking some way out of the conversation.

  ‘It will be over soon, won’t it, Bill?’ Jock pressed.

  ‘I’ll do what I can, Jock,’ the chief constable said, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘You know that. But at the end of the day it is a murder inquiry. Stuart Haley’s usually pretty efficient.’

  ‘Dear God, don’t mention that loathsome oik’s name to me, Bill, I beg you,’ Jock snapped. ‘I mean it. I won’t have that man in this house.’

  ‘I understand.’ Sir William tried to put a placating hand on his friend’s arm, but Jock shrugged him off.

  ‘Do you really think he’s all that good?’ he asked curtly. ‘Your “efficient” DI Haley’s been harassing me and my family. He’s even been upsetting my old gillie, Edwin Brae, and Edwin’s not a well man, as you know. I’ve told you all this, Bill. But as far as I can see, nothing’s been done.’

  ‘That’s not true, Jock,’ the chief constable defended himself. ‘I made it clear to Haley that I didn’t want him coming tonight, for example. He wasn’t happy about it, I can tell you. There were a number of people, witnesses or perhaps even suspects, he’d hoped to talk to. But I put my foot down.’

  ‘Well. Thank you for that,’ said Jock grudgingly.

  ‘But I can’t simply call the whole investigation off just because it’s an inconvenience to you,’ Sir William clarified, nervously, loosening the collar of his priest’s outfit with a clammy finger.

  ‘Can’t you?’ Jock raised an eyebrow knowingly. ‘I thought you were in charge.’

  ‘Two women are dead,’ Sir William hissed, his voice so low it was barely audible.

  ‘Two women nobody seems to have missed,’ Jock hissed back. ‘Migrants, probably. Or prostitutes. No one’s looking for them. No one cares, Bill.’

  ‘Maybe,’ the chief constable admitted. ‘But even so…’

  ‘I’m asking for a favour,’ said Jock, bringing his face menacingly close to his friend’s. ‘Like the favour I did for you last year, when the papers came sniffing around my door. You do remember that, don’t you?’

  The fat man flushed scarlet. ‘For God’s sake. You know I do. And I’m very grateful.’

  ‘I appreciate that,’ Jock said silkily. ‘But it’s not gratitude I need right now, Bill. It’s something just a bit more concrete.’ There was no mistaking the latent threat in his voice. ‘You are the chief constable, after all. Have a think about it.’

  He walked away, leaving Sir William staring after him, anxiety etched into every fold of his round, doughy face.

  * * *

  ‘Do you have a second?’

  Kathy grabbed Iris by the elbow, dragging her away from Reverend Michaela, by now a distinctly worse-for-wear St Joan.

  ‘Of course,’ sa
id Iris, feeling a little tipsy herself and still struggling to process her odd encounter with Rory earlier.

  ‘How was she, by the way?’ asked Kathy. ‘The vicar? Do you think she likes me again? I mean, do you think she’s forgiven me over the whole fair thing?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Iris, smiling. ‘Forgiving’s part of her job. You look stunning, by the way.’

  ‘Oh – thanks,’ said Kathy, touched.

  ‘And so does the house. It’s a great party.’

  ‘Do you really think so? Are people enjoying it?’ Kathy asked nervously. For one so blessed and beautiful she could be touchingly insecure at times. ‘I put a lot of thought into it. I really wanted to make Jock proud.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve done that,’ Iris reassured her. ‘But what did you want to talk to me about?’

  Kathy made a face. ‘I’ve had another one,’ she said, lowering her voice.

  ‘Another note?’

  She nodded. ‘Come with me.’

  Iris followed her upstairs and into one of the guest bedrooms.

  ‘Here,’ said Kathy, once the door was closed. The letter was in the same stiff, watermarked envelope as all the others, with the name handwritten, clearly from the same sender.

  ‘When did you get it?’ Iris asked, pulling out the neatly folded, expensive writing paper.

  ‘I found it at around five-thirty p.m., inside the zipped-up dry cleaner’s bag that contained my dress. You can take it with you when you go. Give it to the police.’

  Iris read the note aloud. ‘ “Leave him, before you’re sliced open like a pumpkin. Go home now”.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Kathy asked anxiously.

  ‘I think they’re getting worse,’ said Iris. ‘Have you told Jock?’

  ‘Not yet. I don’t want to spoil tonight.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time to think about protection,’ Iris suggested. ‘At least until the police have a lead on who it might be.’

  ‘No. I don’t want protection.’ Kathy bit her lower lip. ‘I guess I kind of read that one differently to you.’

  ‘How did you read it?’ asked Iris, surprised.

  ‘As this person getting frustrated. You know, because I haven’t left Jock yet? Because the other notes didn’t work? So now they’re, like, changing their strategy.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Iris, exasperated. ‘The problem is that their new strategy appears to be outright threatening to kill you. I don’t think “slicing you open like a pumpkin” is open to that much interpretation, do you?’

  ‘I think they’re implying that Jock would be doing the slicing,’ said Kathy. ‘They’re trying to make me afraid of him.’

  ‘Does it matter who’s doing the slicing?’ asked Iris.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kathy, defiantly. ‘And anyway, no one’s doing any slicing. No one’s hurt me, or even tried to hurt me. It’s only words. A coward’s words.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Iris. She detected a trace of fear beneath Kathy’s bravado. But she also detected courage, and a fierce loyalty towards Jock, both of which she needed to navigate with caution. ‘But don’t forget, two women have been killed here, by somebody. Two women whom we found.’

  Despite herself, Kathy’s eyes welled up. ‘I know.’ She paused, gathering her thoughts. ‘The thing is, I know this is serious. That’s why I let you show the notes to Haley, even though he hates Jock, and the feeling’s mutual.’

  Iris didn’t correct her.

  ‘I don’t want to be cavalier. But I also don’t want to be frightened off by some spiteful, shitty coward, who hides behind lies and empty threats. I don’t want to let this,’ she pointed to the note, ‘ruin my party, or my wedding, or my relationship with Jock, or anything else.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Iris.

  ‘But they are,’ Kathy went on, passionately. ‘They are ruining those things! I mean, this person, whoever they are, already has me questioning so many things. That’s why I invited you up here in the first place, Iris. Because ever since this started, I’ve looked at Jock differently, suspiciously. Which is exactly what this bastard wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘Probably,’ Iris countered. ‘But don’t you want to be sure, before you marry him? Whatever the letter writer’s motives. Don’t you want to know who those dead women were, and how they got here, and whether or not Jock was involved? Don’t you wonder why he’s so hostile to Haley, and so keen to have this investigation shut down? Or why he never told you about Mary? Or why he’s so obsessively protective of Edwin Brae? Or why his first wife left him and then seemed to disappear off the face of the earth?’

  ‘No,’ said Kathy hotly. ‘I mean, yes, I do want to find out who the bodies belonged to. Of course I do. And yes, I want answers to lots of those questions. But I was sure about Jock, before I started getting these damn notes. Sure about us. And whenever I’m with him, I still am. But when we’re apart…’

  ‘When you’re apart, you’re not sure. Not totally,’ said Iris.

  ‘No,’ Kathy admitted bleakly. ‘Shit, Iris, I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore.’

  A sharp rap on the door made both of them jump. Mrs Gregory, wearing a witch’s hat and clutching a broomstick, burst in disapprovingly.

  ‘There you are.’ She bustled over to Kathy officiously. ‘Baron MacKinnon has been looking for you everywhere.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘He’s waiting now,’ said the housekeeper tartly. ‘He wants to introduce you to the Lord Lieutenant and his wife.’ Narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Iris, she added, ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ said Kathy, slipping the note surreptitiously back into Iris’s hand before ushering Mrs Gregory back towards the door. She knew that Jock’s long-term housekeeper didn’t like her, and most of the time she didn’t care. But just occasionally the older woman’s pursed lips and tutting headshakes got on her nerves. ‘Iris and I were just taking a break from the madness.’

  ‘Hmmm. I see,’ said Mrs G, who clearly didn’t. ‘Well, we’d best be going.’

  ‘I’ll see you down there,’ said Kathy over her shoulder to Iris, rolling her eyes as she followed the housekeeper back to the party. ‘Thanks for listening.’

  * * *

  Downstairs, Iris availed herself of two strong whiskies – it had reached that point in the evening – and wandered back into the ballroom, where the dancing was now in full swing. Kilts and costumes swirled through the air in an impressively choreographed display, while a first-class fiddle band played the familiar tunes of the Eightsome Reel, The Duke of Perth and the Dashing White Sergeant. Iris tapped her ruby slippers as she watched the dancers, wildly impressed that they all seemed to know these reels by heart, and slightly drunkenly wishing she could join in, when a male voice behind her made her freeze.

  ‘Well, hello there, Dorothy.’

  Jamie Ingall, smouldering as Al Capone in a pinstripe suit and trilby hat and smelling of aftershave and cigars, slipped an arm around Iris’s waist.

  ‘Happy Halloween. Very sexy outfit, by the way. I particularly like the socks.’

  Iris blushed vermilion. She knew the white schoolgirl ankle socks were too Ann Summers. What had possessed her?

  ‘I didn’t see you here earlier,’ she mumbled, wishing she weren’t already so tipsy.

  ‘No. I just arrived.’

  ‘You never called,’ she blurted, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she knew she’d thought them. ‘After our dinner.’

  ‘Nor did you,’ said Jamie. Looking at her curiously, he asked, ‘Are you angry with me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Iris, hating herself for how pompous she sounded. And also for lying. Because she was angry, whether she had a right to be or not.

  ‘Good.’ Jamie smiled broadly. ‘Want to dance, then?’

  ‘God, no,’ said Iris, wishing that Jamie weren’t looking quite so handsome. ‘I mean, I can’t dance. Not to this stuff. I don’t know the step
s.’

  ‘Ach, away with you! It’s easy as pie,’ Jamie insisted. And before Iris knew what had happened he’d hauled her onto the dance floor. They joined a long line of couples, each with clasped hands, forming a tunnel along which pairs of individual dancers each took their turn doing a sort of sideways skip in time to the music.

  ‘Don’t look so panicked,’ Jamie laughed, clocking Iris’s terrified expression as their turn drew nearer. ‘Just follow my lead. It’s fun.’

  To Iris’s surprise, it was. Letting herself go, allowing Jamie to lead her through the tunnel to whoops and cheers and whistles of encouragement from the other dancers, she found herself laughing and relaxing properly for the first time all night, the combination of Jamie, the music and Jock’s Scotch all working their magic. So what if he hadn’t called? It wasn’t as if he owed her anything, or she him. He was here now, and suddenly that was all that mattered.

  She hadn’t realised until that moment quite how suffocating she’d begun to find the various MacKinnon family dramas, the petty rivalries, jealousy and mean-spiritedness that seemed to pervade life at the castle, and how much anxiety they provoked in her. Emma’s snobbery, Jock’s arrogance, Mrs Gregory’s disapproval and Rory’s game playing had all combined to bring Iris down, and create a certain unpleasant tightness in her chest. And hanging over it all, of course, was the thought of those two bodies hidden up at the bothy for all those years, and the horrid undercurrent of danger and threat from those sinister notes to Kathy.