by M. B. Shaw
* * *
‘Thank you for coming. Really. It means a lot.’
Kathy greeted Iris in the grand hallway of the castle, clasping both of Iris’s cold hands in her own warm ones.
‘Of course,’ said Iris. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it. You look fabulous, by the way, as ever. Is that the dress you got in Milan?’
Kathy nodded, smiling, smoothing down her scarlet taffeta bodice. The dress was indeed spectacular, a strapless, couture vision of red ruffles and feathers that came right to the floor, revealing just a hint of sky-high gold stiletto.
‘I know the red’s a bit of a statement. I’m just waiting for Rory to say something about “scarlet women”. But I don’t care.’
‘Nor should you,’ said Iris.
‘I’m happy,’ Kathy added defiantly, as if daring Iris to contradict her. ‘Jock and I are happy and excited about our wedding, and I want tonight to be about that. About us, for once.’
‘Well, I’m sure it will be,’ said Iris, trying to find a way to hug Kathy that didn’t involve getting a mouthful of feathers. Iris herself had opted for a slightly more low-key look for tonight’s wedding rehearsal dinner, a wine-red jumpsuit with a matching velvet wrap for her bare shoulders. She felt good in it, confident, which was just as well, given that she was about to have to face Jock MacKinnon and the rest of his hostile family. Worse, she’d as good as promised Stuart Haley that she would act as his unofficial spy this evening.
‘Don’t say anything to Angus,’ Haley had instructed her, after Iris filled him in about Jamie’s latest revelation. ‘I don’t want him spooked, not yet anyway. But watch him. His reactions, his mood, who he’s talking to. Or not talking to. And if you have a chance to talk to Eileen Gregory privately, let her know I’ll be wanting to take an official statement from her about Paola Contorini in the next couple of days.’
‘Can’t you tell her yourself?’ asked Iris. ‘She was jittery enough when she came to see me, about Jock finding out. I expect she’ll be avoiding me like the plague this evening.’
‘I would, but I’m up to my eyes here,’ said Haley. ‘We’re close to cracking this thing, Iris. I can feel it.’
Taking Kathy’s arm now, Iris allowed herself to be led through the hallway, past the fire crackling impressively in the vast baronial hearth. Scented candles made everything smell of myrrh and cinnamon, like a Christmassy church, and sprigs of holly and berries added to the festive atmosphere.
‘So how was the actual rehearsal?’ Iris asked. ‘It was this afternoon, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, and believe it or not, it was pretty smooth,’ said Kathy, with a sigh of relief. ‘Jock’s best man’s been laid up with flu, but Rory stood in for him and actually managed to get through the entire thing without being a douche.’
‘Imagine that,’ said Iris.
‘I know, right?’ said Kathy, but the brief flicker of happiness quickly faded into a more solemn look. ‘It felt really strange not having Milo and Sam Sam there. You know I’d planned for the two of them to be part of the ceremony? I had these super-cute outfits made, and they were going to have our rings in little velvet pouches on their collars…’
‘I know. It must be hard.’ Iris gave her a supportive squeeze, and tried not to think unworthy thoughts about silver linings. Although, on the other hand, it would have been fun to watch Emma’s and Rory’s faces at the sight of two furry little ring bearers. Whatever happened with the case, or the finishing touches to the portrait, she’d promised Kathy she would be there for the wedding. Even without Milo and Sam Sam, she was expecting some ‘Californian’ surprises. ‘So who’s here tonight?’ she asked, changing the subject.
‘Only family, really,’ said Kathy. ‘Apart from the Reverend Michaela and you. We were going to do something bigger and splashier, but after my babies – I couldn’t face it.’
‘Isn’t Angus coming?’ Iris tried to keep the note of alarm out of her voice.
‘Oh yes, he and Hannah are here,’ Kathy said airily. ‘I was counting them as family. Or at least as part of the furniture.’
They’d reached the door to the drawing room, where a low hubbub of voices suggested that the other guests were already assembled for a pre-dinner drink.
‘You go on in,’ said Iris. ‘I need to pop to the loo.’
Slipping away, she made her way along the empty corridor towards the kitchen and staff offices. This would be her best chance to catch Eileen Gregory privately and pass on Haley’s message. A quick poke of her head into the kitchen revealed that the housekeeper wasn’t there, so Iris tried her office, a tiny little room next to the laundry with a desk and an armchair and a few of Mrs G’s personal things. There were no photographs, Iris noticed, other than a formal MacKinnon family portrait taken in front of the castle when Rory and Emma were teenagers, with Jock and Fiona standing stiffly on either side of them and the castle staff, including Mrs Gregory, lined up behind. But a few knick-knacks and postcards provided a modest sense that this was Eileen’s private space. She wasn’t here either, though, and Iris would have to get back to the drawing room in a minute.
Grabbing a pen and a sheet of notepaper from the immaculately organised desk, Iris began writing a quick message:
Tried to find you. Police will need a statement in coming days.
Happy to help if you need me.
Iris.
Folding it over and writing PRIVATE, she placed it on the top of the neatly stacked in-tray before something caught her eye.
It was a little pile of small white envelopes, right beside the in-tray. The one on the top was at an angle, its corner jutting out, breaking the otherwise perfect symmetry of the housekeeper’s desk. Slowly, Iris pulled it from the stack, rubbing the familiar stiff paper between her thumb and forefinger before she turned it over.
There it was. Faint. Almost invisible to the naked eye, unless you were looking for it:
A round imprint of a thistle.
* * *
‘There you are! I was about to send out a search party.’ Kathy, all smiles and red ruffles, advanced warmly on Iris as she walked into the drawing room. ‘Darling, get Iris a drink, would you?’
Jock, looking as stiff as ever and a little tired in his formal jacket and tie, handed Iris a flute of champagne from a silver tray of pre-poured glasses, avoiding eye contact.
‘Thank you,’ said Iris. The envelope was burning a hole in her pocket. She still found it hard to believe that Mrs G could have written all those horrid, spiteful letters to poor Kathy. Clearly, she’d misjudged the housekeeper’s character badly. Iris had always thought of Eileen Gregory as rather cold and brittle, but never as actively malicious. But now she questioned everything. Could Mrs G also have poisoned the dogs? Her distress about Milo and Sam Sam had seemed genuine, as had her frightened confession about Paola Contorini having been Jock’s mistress. But what if both of those things had been a front? What if Jock had never known Paola? What if, somehow, Eileen Gregory was trying to frame him, and was using Iris to help do her dirty work?
Evidently, tonight wasn’t the time to act on any of this. At some point she would have to let Kathy know about the envelope, if nothing else. But first she would need to talk to Haley, and make a plan. Tomorrow.
Meanwhile, she took a look around the room. Angus and Hannah were sitting together on the sofa nearest the door, looking faintly awkward, Iris thought, and not quite part of the group. Eliza was flitting around, collecting empty glasses and canapé plates. And at the other end of the room, standing around the fireplace, Rory, Emma and Emma’s husband Fergus formed a separate group, deep in conversation with the vicar.
‘Iris, you know the Reverend Michaela, don’t you?’ said Kathy, beckoning the vicar over.
‘Of course,’ said Iris, forcing a smile. ‘Nice to see you again, Reverend.’
‘Michaela, please,’ said the vicar. ‘I first met Iris at the church fair back in August,’ she told Kathy. ‘She and Jamie Ingall trounced headmaster Donnelly an
d I at the coconut shy. Poor John’s pride was terribly hurt.’
Iris snuck a glance at Angus, who stiffened visibly at the mention of ‘poor John’.
‘It feels like a very long time ago now,’ the vicar went on.
‘Doesn’t it?’ agreed Kathy.
‘I suppose because such an awful lot has happened since then. You’ve certainly seen Pitfeldy at its most eventful, Iris. Autumns up here are usually very sleepy affairs.’
A slightly awkward silence fell at this veiled reference to the Girls in the Wood. To everyone’s surprise, it was Hannah who broke it, getting up from the sofa and joining the group.
‘How’s the portrait going?’ she asked Iris. ‘Have you finished it yet?’
‘Not quite,’ said Iris. ‘I’m still tinkering.’
‘I think we’ve finished it,’ said Kathy. ‘It looks awesome. But artists are all perfectionists.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Hannah, smiling down at Angus.
‘I’m not an artist,’ he muttered, not smiling back, but Hannah seemed not to notice his bad mood.
‘Iris is going to give it to us formally on our wedding day,’ said Kathy, turning to look lovingly at Jock, who was sitting by himself in one of the brocade armchairs, staring off into space. ‘Are you tired, darling?’
‘Hmmm?’ He looked up, distracted. ‘No, no. Not tired. I am hungry, though. Now that Iris is here, I think we should sit down and eat. Where’s Mrs G disappeared to?’
‘I’ll go and find her,’ said Rory.
He looked well, Iris thought, handsome as ever in a dark suit and light blue shirt, and less brooding and bitter than usual. There was a confidence about him, she decided, that she hadn’t seen before. As if whatever private battle he was fighting with his father had either been won, or called off. Even the smile he gave her as he left the room was relaxed and easy.
Iris was still wondering what might have brought about this change of heart in Rory when he returned with a distinctly unrelaxed-looking Eileen Gregory, ushering her into the room with his hand resting reassuringly on the small of her back. Not for the first time it struck Iris that Jock MacKinnon’s housekeeper and his eldest son seemed to have an unusually close relationship. They’re allies, she realised now, although Mrs G looked nothing like a woman whose private battles had been won. Quite the contrary.
‘You wanted to eat, baron?’ she asked Jock nervously, at pains to avoid looking at Iris or acknowledging her presence in any way.
Has she read my note? Iris wondered, watching her. Or realised one of her envelopes is missing?
‘Yes,’ said Jock tersely. ‘Is cook ready?’
‘Almost,’ said Mrs G. ‘But I can seat you all now while she plates the starters?’
‘That sounds great,’ said Kathy. ‘Should we bring our drinks through or leave them here?’
Before Mrs G could answer, there was a loud rap on the drawing room door and two uniformed policemen walked in, a gangly young man whom Iris vaguely recognised as one of Stuart Haley’s underlings and a shorter, fatter colleague she hadn’t seen before.
‘Sorry to disturb you all,’ the first man began sombrely, pulling out his ID card. ‘Sergeant Danny Spencer, Banffshire Police. This is PC Gordon.’
Iris watched as the blood drained from Jock’s face and his fists clenched together in rage. ‘You have got to be joking,’ he muttered venomously. ‘Dear God. This is our wedding rehearsal dinner.’ He wrapped a protective arm around Kathy’s shoulder. ‘It’s a private family celebration. What the hell do you bastards want this time?’
‘I’m looking for Mr MacKinnon. Mr Rory MacKinnon,’ said the sergeant, ignoring Jock’s rant.
‘I’m Rory MacKinnon.’ Rory stepped forward, looking puzzled and only slightly less confident than before. ‘How can I help?’
‘Rory MacKinnon, I’m arresting you on suspicion of animal cruelty and criminal damage.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Rory let out a short, mirthless laugh. ‘There’s obviously been a mistake.’
‘No mistake, sir. You have the right to remain silent. If you do…’
‘Animal cruelty?’ Kathy cut him off, her eyes widening. Disengaging herself from Jock, she looked from Rory, to the policemen, to Iris, and then back to the sergeant. ‘Is this about my dogs?’ she asked, both hands fluttering agonisingly over her heart.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ the sergeant replied bluntly. ‘We have reason to believe that Mr MacKinnon is responsible for the poisoning of the animals.’
‘What reason?’ Jock demanded, looking ashen.
‘We have CCTV evidence of Rory MacKinnon buying rat poison at McGinty’s Hardware in Buckie the week before Ms Miller left for Italy,’ the sergeant explained.
All eyes turned to Rory, who stood in shocked silence, shaking his head.
‘We’ve also had a signed confession from one of the kitchen staff here at the castle that Mr MacKinnon paid her to slip small amounts of white powder into the dogs’ food, on five separate occasions.’
‘That’s a lie!’ Rory exploded.
‘Which part?’ Kathy shot back tearfully. ‘You buying the poison or you bribing the maid?’
‘All of it,’ said Rory. ‘This entire story is a revolting fabrication from start to finish.’
‘Who? Who made this “confession”?’ Jock asked.
‘I can’t release any further information at the moment, baron, I’m sorry.’
‘Haley put you up to this, didn’t he?’ Jock shouted, his voice breaking.
Ignoring him, the sergeant put an arm on Rory’s shoulder. ‘If you’d like to come with us, Mr MacKinnon.’
‘I wouldn’t like to,’ snapped Rory, shrugging him off. ‘This whole thing is a hideous mistake. But I will come with you, sergeant, for my family’s sake. Enjoy your dinner, everyone,’ he said shakily to the room at large. Turning to Eileen Gregory directly, he added, ‘Call my solicitor, please, Mrs G. Dad has the number.’
And without another word, flanked by the two policemen, he left the room.
Chapter Thirty-one
Stuart Haley watched on his monitor as Rory MacKinnon was read his rights for a second time, relieved of his watch and wallet and escorted cordially to an interview room. Stuart reckoned his expression was angry but controlled, a potentially dangerous combination, particularly in a highly educated and cunning barrister with an axe to grind.
On the one hand, Stuart had solid evidence that Rory had poisoned Kathy Miller’s dogs. More than enough to arrest him, and hopefully enough to charge the bastard in due course. The fact remained, however that, evidence or not, and sticking to procedure or not, if he’d got this one wrong – if it somehow turned out MacKinnon was innocent – then his career was over. To put it mildly, that was not a comfortable feeling.
A few minutes later, Sergeant Spencer appeared at Haley’s office door.
‘He’s in Room Five, sir.’
‘Well done, Danny.’ Haley offered his sergeant a seat. ‘How did it go?’
The young man exhaled deeply, the stress of the evening beginning to show. ‘Not too bad, in the end,’ he replied. ‘The baron was not happy to see us, and Ms Miller was upset, you know. Obviously. But MacKinnon came without too much trouble.’
‘He denied it, I take it?’
‘Oh, aye. He denied it all right.’
‘And he asked for his brief, I assume?’
‘He instructed the housekeeper to call his solicitor before we left,’ said Sergeant Spencer.
Haley nodded. ‘Well, he won’t talk till his lawyer gets here, which won’t be till the morning. So you’d better settle him in for the night.’
‘You’re not going to question him now, sir?’ the sergeant sounded surprised.
‘No,’ said Haley. ‘There’s no point. He’s too smart to say anything to me on the record. Besides, it’ll do him good to have a night in the cells,’ he added, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. ‘Did you see Iris Grey up there w
hen you arrested him?’
‘She was there, yes, sir.’
‘And who else?’
Sergeant Spencer reeled off the list of names. ‘It wasn’t a big party.’
‘OK,’ said Haley. ‘You let MacKinnon know what’s happening and then get off home and get some sleep. Nice work, sergeant.’
Rubbing his eyes, he glanced up at the clock on his office wall. It was only eight o’clock but it felt like midnight. He ought to get home and try to sleep himself, but he wanted to get the download from Iris once she got back from the castle. With any luck that would be sooner rather than later. After Rory’s arrest, they might just call the whole thing off and not even have the dinner. Then again, if they did, he’d be curious to know how Angus Brae had reacted to everything. Curious about a lot of things, in fact.
The ringing desk phone made him jump.
He picked it up at once. ‘Haley?’
‘Detective! I didn’t know if you’d still be at work this late.’ Martha Lane’s soft, southern American tones dripped down the line like warm honey. Haley had contacted the pathologist at her Edinburgh lab yesterday, after Iris’s tip-off from Mrs Gregory, but he hadn’t really expected anything to come from it.
‘Oh, I’m still here, professor,’ he said wryly. ‘I’ve got nowhere else to go.’
‘Well, I’m happy I caught you,’ said Martha.
Haley perked up. ‘Dare I hope it’s good news?’
Martha chuckled. ‘Well, it’s certainly news. Whether it’s good or not rather depends on who you are…’
* * *
The rehearsal dinner was an extraordinary affair, and perhaps the most absurd example of the English ‘keep calm and carry on’ spirit that Iris had ever witnessed. All of the guests took their assigned seats at Mrs Gregory’s beautifully laid table, studiously ignoring Rory’s empty place. The entire baronial dining room, in fact, looked like a scene from Beauty and the Beast, all gleaming silverware, sparkling crystal and candelabra, with vases overflowing with winter greenery and berries set against a backdrop of medieval tapestries that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a museum. And at the head of the table Kathy, an exquisite, scarlet Belle, held court and made conversation with the numbed, dead eyes of a woman forced to pretend that this was still a happy occasion. And that her soon-to-be son-in-law hadn’t just been arrested for fatally poisoning her beloved pets.