The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries

by Carrie Bedford

  “No, Fergus!” I yelled at his retreating back. Damn. Josh and I ran after him, calling to him to stop while Arbroath loped along behind us, panting with excitement.

  Fergus rushed outside, approaching a shadowy figure on the lawn. My heart was like a piston trying to hammer its way out of my chest. The figure turned out to be Lachlan, who gave his rifle to Fergus. “You take this,” he said. “I’ve got a knife. The officers went that way.” He pointed towards the side of the house.

  “Don’t go over there,” Josh pleaded. “They’re professionals. Let them handle it.”

  Lachlan scoffed. “We’ve already had a murder and a firebomb. I’d say they’ve had their chance.”

  Fergus and Lachlan set off, sidling along the wall like a couple of aging commandos. At the corner, they stopped and peered around before setting off once more. Josh and I looked at each other. We had no choice but to follow them. Pitch dark, the night enveloped us, the only light bleeding from a couple of upstairs windows. Mist coiled around us, muffling sound. Still, I turned to stare into the shrubs along the driveway, sure I heard leaves rustling and twigs breaking. Someone was trampling through the undergrowth, moving in the direction of the road, away from the house.

  Headlights lit up the driveway, sweeping wide yellow circles as a car sped in through the gate. It braked suddenly, and the tires skidded on the gravel. Silhouetted against the headlights, black figures spilled on to the driveway. Another vehicle arrived and pulled up beside the stationary car. Doors flew open, and several more people got out and ran up the drive. Then they turned sharply and disappeared amongst the cypress trees. Over the sounds of scuffling in the bushes, someone yelled. “We’ve got him.”

  In the darkness, a group of figures emerged from the trees. I couldn’t see much, but it looked as though two officers held another man by both arms, pushing him into one of the police cars. Doors slammed, and the vehicle reversed out of the gate while the other sped towards the house.

  Lachlan led us back to the front steps. I was shaking, not with fear, I realized, but fury. How could I protect Fergus if he threw himself in harm’s way? Unable to help myself, I jabbed a finger at his shoulder. “That was irresponsible. You know you’re in danger and you should be doing everything you can to look after yourself, not go running around in the dark like that.”

  Lachlan snorted when Fergus apologized. In the awkward silence that followed, Inspector McMahon got out of the car that had come to a halt right in front of the house. First, he hurried over to talk with the officers who’d been on duty in the grounds. Then he walked back to join us on the front steps.

  “It was Jameson,” he said.

  “Nick’s father?” Fergus looked dazed.

  “He had another bottle of kerosene in his rucksack. And he was threatening you, screaming that he’d get you next time."

  “That makes sense,” Lachlan said. “I’d been thinking it might be him. He bowls for the cricket team. Took eight wickets in the last match of the season. He knows how to throw.”

  That was about the longest speech I’d heard Lachlan make.

  McMahon nodded his agreement. “I haven’t talked to Jameson myself yet, obviously, but we’ll hold him for twenty-hours. The danger is over.”

  But the danger wasn’t over. While everyone smiled at the news, Fergus’s aura still swirled above his head.

  23

  The clock chimed eleven, but none of us were thinking of sleeping yet. Mrs. Dunsmore lit the fire in the drawing room, setting the backplate bear’s eyes glowing. She insisted on bringing us mugs of hot chocolate to warm us up. Fergus barely moved or talked. He seemed stunned by McMahon’s news. We all were. We’d all seen Nick’s father, enraged by the death of his son, accusing Fergus of being responsible. I had put him on my list of possible threats, but the violence of his attack shocked me.

  The problem was that nothing was resolved. The police had Jameson in custody, but Fergus remained in danger, which meant that the threat came from someone or something else. I whispered the bad tidings to Josh.

  “We need to tell Fergus,” he said. “He has to know. He has to remain on alert.”

  Fergus overheard our whispers. “It’s still there then?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “But who’s left?” Josh asked. “Who could be after Fergus now, if not Jameson?”

  “Whoever killed Duncan. Until the police find him, Fergus remains vulnerable.”

  “It could be medical,” Josh said. “A heart attack or a stroke.”

  “We can’t do much to stop that.”

  “Of course we can.” Josh sat up straight. “We can take you to the hospital to have you checked out. If there’s something wrong with your heart, they’ll find it. We should go at once.”

  “I’m not traipsing off to Oban at this time of night. Besides, I feel absolutely fine. I had a check-up two months ago and the doc said my ticker’s in perfect working order. Better than a Swiss watch, he told me.”

  “Then come with us to London. Maybe a change of venue is all that’s needed.”

  As I expected, Fergus shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but no. I’ve no intention of running away from my home, especially not now. For one thing, I have Duncan’s funeral to sort out. That will have to be held here.” He looked at me. “Would moving guarantee my safety?”

  “No, not necessarily.”

  “That’s what I thought. Let’s not talk about that anymore then.”

  “So what next?” Josh asked.

  “We should pick up where we left off,” I suggested. “Going through our line-up of suspects.”

  “Isn’t that the job of the police?” Fergus asked. “Inspector McMahon seems very competent.”

  “I think he is,” I agreed. “But we have to do what we can to help him. We’re running out of time. Let’s start with the estate sale, as that appears to be a pivotal factor in terms of timing and the number of people it will affect.”

  “But we’ve told the tenants and the staff that their futures are secure,” Fergus objected. “None of them have a good reason to hold a grudge.”

  “Lachlan?” I asked. “His job may be safe, but it won’t be the same for him if you’re not here. Perhaps he’s unhappy about that. He doesn’t want things to change.”

  “No way. He saved my life tonight, don’t forget. If not for him, I’d have been trapped in the office and burned to a crisp. Besides, if I die, things would change here anyway. It wouldn’t guarantee his job.”

  I stared at the fire, the leaping flames a haunting reminder of the terror we’d experienced that evening. “Not Lachlan, then.”

  “And not Mrs. Dunsmore, before you even think of putting her name on your checklist,” Fergus added.

  Josh stood up to poke the fire before picking up the Lagavulin and pouring three glasses.

  “Then what about Pierre?” I suggested. “He told me how he came to be employed here and how he thinks he’s succeeding in developing the gourmet dining business, but his story doesn’t add up. He’s a talented chef who worked in high-end restaurants in Paris. How did he end up working here?”

  “I thought about that too. Maybe he upset his boss, maybe he got fired. But why would that make him want to kill me? Or Duncan, come to that?”

  Could Pierre be involved? He handled sharp objects with ease, and one of his chef’s knives had killed Duncan. Poor Duncan, stabbed in the back. Just like the woman out on the moor. Memories of the gruesome slaying flooded my brain. Why had I seen that vision?

  I took the glass that Josh offered me ran my finger around the rim. “Fergus, have you ever heard anything about a murder here on the estate back in the sixteenth century? A monk who killed a young woman right in front of the priory that used to be there?”

  Fergus tilted his head. “Yes, I’m aware of it, but I don’t know the details. How did you hear about it?”

  I looked down at my hands, thinking about stopping before blurting out a story that might convince Fergus I
was crazy or unreliable or both. “I saw it happen. It was like watching a film, a short clip. The man wore a monk’s habit, the woman wore a long green dress. And, in the background, I saw an arched doorway that could have been part of the priory building.”

  Fergus looked sad, as if I’d disappointed him. It took him a while, but eventually he spoke. “I don’t see the connection. How is a five-hundred-year-old murder relevant to what’s happening now?”

  “I’m not sure. But it can’t be random chance that I saw that vision and, given our lack of any other leads, I think it’s worth pursuing.”

  “Perhaps there will be some information on the incident in the library?” Josh suggested.

  “Maybe, but we’d have a hard time finding it,” Fergus said. “I have a better idea. There’s an old chap in the village who knows everything about this area. Name’s Alistair Ross. If anything happened on the estate, he’ll know about it.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s too late to ring him now, but I will first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I mean, thank you for believing in me as well as for making the call tomorrow.”

  I was excited to meet Mr. Ross and to discover what he knew about the murder. If I learned what had happened at the priory, that would help me understand the significance of the vision.

  Josh yawned loudly, but I felt as though I’d drunk ten cups of coffee. It seemed that Fergus had too, from the way he jiggled his leg and constantly checked his watch. “If you’d rather go to bed, you shouldn’t wait up with me,” he said. “I plan to keep myself busy for a while.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” I said. “I couldn’t possibly sleep.”

  “I still owe Knox a list of the furniture I’m willing to leave with the house. If you fancy running around counting chairs, that would be very helpful.”

  “Definitely.” I jumped up, glad to have something to do.

  Fergus’s face relaxed, some of the tension draining away. The lines around his eyes softened. He had to be going through his own version of hell right now: losing his nephew, nearly dying in a fire, and knowing that he remained in peril. Distraction was as good a tactic as any.

  “What about you, Josh?” he asked. “You don’t have to come, my boy, if you’re tired.”

  “Oh, I’m fine.” Josh pinched the bridge of his nose, which he often did when trying to solve a problem. “Mostly, I’m just feeling ineffectual. I desperately want to alter whatever is in store, but I can’t work it out. It’s driving me crazy.”

  I gave him a hug, sad to see him suffering. He loved his uncle and hated the idea of losing him. “We’ll solve this,” I said.

  “Before we get started, I have a few words to say.” Fergus stood up, his back to the fire. “Josh, you’re now the heir to the estate. And with this aura indicating my imminent demise, you may inherit far sooner than anyone could have imagined. So, you get to decide what you think should happen to the castle. Should we still sell? Or does this…” He ran his hand over his head. “Does this, and Duncan’s death, change everything? You’ve seen the accounts. You know what the financial situation is, but it’s your choice. If you want to keep the house, then we simply tell Knox the deal is off.”

  Josh stood to face his uncle. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say any of that. You’re not going to die. We won’t let that happen. That means you should sign the contract with Knox and get out from under the debt and the stress of looking after this place. Enjoy your retirement.”

  After a few seconds’ pause, Fergus nodded. A smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “I appreciate that,” he said. “Now let’s crack on, shall we?”

  We followed Fergus to the library where he retrieved the leather binder that contained the furniture register. “My grandfather first drew this up just after World War One,” Fergus told us. “Which means there will be many items on this document that are no longer here. We’ll have to mark them on the inventory sheet, but it shouldn’t take long.”

  By midnight, we’d been through most of the rooms in the tower, checking off all the beds, including several towering four posters, armoires in a range of woods from oak to walnut, side tables imported from Italy with marble tops and fancy carved legs. In one room, I fell in love with a pretty dressing table, painted white and decorated with green vines and leaves. The drawers were lined with green felt. The inventory described it as a nineteenth-century French pine dressing chest. Like a beautiful girl grown old, its bevel-edged mirror showed signs of age, with small black spots marring its surface, but it was still charming. We didn’t go into Duncan’s bedroom, even though the police had removed all the tape from the door. Fergus said he knew what furniture the room contained.

  It was strangely exhilarating to be wandering the castle in the middle of the night, or perhaps I was just overwrought from the events of the day. My whole body felt wound up so tight it would be impossible to sleep, so, when Fergus asked if we were willing to continue, I agreed at once, and Josh nodded. We worked our way along the picture gallery, noting the hall tables that held antique lamps, while Fergus jotted numbers on the inventory list.

  This part of the building reeked of smoke. The corridor leading to the burned-out office was closed off, with yellow tape crisscrossing the opening. We bypassed it and went downstairs. After checking off the dining room’s table, chairs and sideboards, we arrived back in the drawing room, where we’d started. Josh threw himself onto a sofa. His eyes closed, and he leaned his head back against a cushion. I took a seat next to Fergus so that we could review the final list together. As with the books, there were quite a few missing items, as well as some new ones, including the sofas we were sitting on.

  “What happened to this?” I asked, pointing to a listing of a Queen Anne tallboy dresser. “That will be a big piece of furniture. We can’t have overlooked it. Or this.” I put my finger on a description of a mahogany cylinder desk with satinwood inlays.

  “They were probably in the east wing,” Fergus said. “The damage occurred in 1941, and I don’t think anything was retrieved after the bomb fell. My grandfather wanted nothing to do with it after his sister was killed, and then of course he himself died a few months later.”

  I thought back to my foray into the east wing with Lucy. I didn’t recall seeing the tallboy, but there had been a desk.

  “Shall we go over there to see if we can find some of these items?” I asked.

  “There’s no point. The furniture is probably damaged beyond repair, if not by the initial impact, then by the damp. No, we mark these off as missing. That way, Knox only pays for what he can actually use.” Fergus ran his hands over his eyes. “I’ll talk to the insurance company tomorrow and sort out how to get the fire damage repaired. Who knows, perhaps all this mayhem will change Knox’s mind and he won’t go through with the purchase after all.”

  “Not much chance of that,” Josh said. “He seems fairly determined.”

  I felt my eyelids droop. When the clock struck two, I decided to go to bed.

  24

  Josh and I woke up late on Monday morning and scrambled to shower and dress, anxious to check on Fergus. Before we’d gone to bed, Lachlan had pulled a chair up outside Fergus’s bedroom door and declared he’d remain there all night, which made me feel a bit better. I’d even managed to sleep for three or four hours. When we got downstairs, I gave Fergus a hug. He looked better than he had the night before, although still drawn and pale, and his aura continued to rotate rapidly over his head. He said he’d called the historian, Alistair Ross, who planned to arrive at ten, which would give us time to grab a quick breakfast.

  “While he’s here, I have things to do.” Fergus sighed. “I should make arrangements for Duncan’s funeral and also talk to the insurance company. I could do with Josh’s help, if that’s alright?”

  I nodded, knowing Josh wouldn’t be particularly interested in talking with the historian and would far rather be with Fergus. We ate in silence until the doorbell rang. I heard Mrs. Dunsmore�
�s brogues clicking on the hall tile and then a short conversation before she brought in Mr. Ross. Thin and grey-haired, he wore a brown suit with leather patches on the elbow, and stood stick straight. He reminded me of my Latin teacher in school. Still, his eyes twinkled when Fergus introduced us. “Delighted to find someone who’s interested in the history of the estate,” he said, shaking my hand.

  Fergus led us into the drawing room. “I’ll leave you both to it. Stay for lunch, if you like, Alistair."

  When he and Josh had gone, Mr. Ross sat down opposite me and launched into a story about the Campbells, once the most powerful clan in the region. “They built Kilchurn Castle in the fifteenth century. You’ve seen it?”

  “Not yet.” Josh and I had intended to visit the ruins of the castle up the road at Lochawe. But our plans for sightseeing this weekend had been dramatically curtailed from the moment we arrived and I saw Fergus’s aura.

  The historian described the genealogy of the Campbell clan, their rise to power, and their centuries-long feud with the MacDougalls, who were kinsmen of the MacDonalds. “The feud culminated in the Glencoe Massacre,” he said. “They murdered their MacDonald hosts, a terrible act which has forever besmirched the Campbell name.”

  I nodded as he recited names and dates I would never remember. When Mrs. Dunsmore arrived with a tray of tea and scones, I took advantage of the momentary break in the monologue to ask him a question, hoping to direct him away from the Campbells and towards the specifics of the estate.

  “I have a question about a priory on the castle grounds. I think it was occupied for about fifty years from 1500 on?”

  “Ah yes. That is a fascinating story.” Ross clapped his hands together. “The monastery at Ledaig was damaged by a fire, which claimed the lives of several monks and a few locals who were in the building at the time, probably being cared for in the infirmary. Anyway, the monastery was lost, and the monks were homeless. Some were taken into the abbey at Ardchattan, and others moved east. Thirty or so monks, including the abbot, were invited to move here to the estate, lodged in what had been a stable block, a short distance from a small chapel. Presumably helped by the laird, they rebuilt and expanded the stables, connecting them with the chapel to provide accommodations and a cloister. They ended up staying for, as you say, half a century or so. At that point, the community disbanded, its members moving to various other monasteries across Scotland.”