A Corpse at the Castle

by R B Marshall

  “Yes. Oliver Seaforth.”

  The sergeant major was definitely taller and wider than Hamish, like the man in the pictures the stallion had shown to me. “Do you know if he ever wears a hat? One with a brim?”

  Dean’s head jerked back. “Maybe.” He lifted his hands. “I don’t know. Why d’you ask?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. But would becoming a grand master or whatever they call it be enough motive for murder?”

  “Probably not.” He narrowed his eyes. “Getting Hamish’s job at the Queen’s stud might be a better motive.”

  “You mean Craig? I talked to him. He doesn’t seem bothered about the promotion. And he already earns more than he spends, from what he told me, so money isn’t a motive.”

  Dean didn’t look convinced, but with a jerk of his chin he seemed to dismiss that topic of conversation. “That’s why I want to check his financial dealings. Rule out gambling debts or similar as a reason, in case he got himself into trouble with the local ne’er-do-wells.”

  “Are your bosses okay with you keeping the case open, if they think it’s accidental death?”

  He ducked his head and started rearranging the salt and pepper cellars in front of his place setting.

  Like a guilty schoolboy. “They don’t know?”

  He glanced up at me. “I’m hoping it might stand me in good stead in my application for detective rank.”

  I took another swig of my wine. “So why are they paying my investigation fee?”

  This time the flower vase got added into the mix. He studiously avoided my eyes.

  “They’re not?” I moved the pepper grinder out of the way to get his attention.

  With a sigh, he sat back in his chair. “I’ll pay. It’ll be worth it if it helps get me to DS.”

  “Detective Sergeant?”

  He nodded.

  “D’you not have to do an exam for that?”

  “Yes, but there are only so many spots here in the Highlands. So if I don’t want to end up in a big city station, it would help my application to solve a case like this.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t have to go paying out of your own pocket. How about I don’t invoice till you’ve solved the case, and then the bigwigs will maybe pay my bill out of gratitude to you?”

  “Would you do that? Do you not work on a retainer?”

  I pursed my lips. “Can I be honest with you?”

  His eyebrows crept upwards, then he moved a hand up and down, obviously alluding to the uniform he wasn’t wearing. “Policeman, remember? Honesty is always the best policy!”

  “Of course.” I felt my cheeks going pink. “It’s just—my business is pretty new. I’ve only had a few proper clients so far, plus I solved an embezzlement case at my work in London. Helped solve,” I clarified. “My colleague, Dev, worked with me on it. He’ll work with me sometimes in Aye Spy—he’s actually better with the financial stuff, so I might pass this on to him.”

  “I spy?”

  “Aye Spy Investigations. My business. Well, my IT security business. There’s my horse training business too.” I passed a card across the table.

  His forehead puckered. “I thought you worked for Lady Letham?”

  “I do. But as part of the deal she lets me use three of the stables for external clients. It doesn’t take me all day to do her horses.”

  “So,” he ticked off on his fingers, “you have a job training horses, a second job training horses and a third one doing computer consulting. Did I get that right?”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t mention to him that I was also hoping to get some clients who would pay me to compete their horses for them. Once my name got around a bit more, of course. I wasn’t exactly beating them off with a stick right now.

  He shook his head. “No wonder you never get any time off.”

  “Talking of which,” I consulted my watch, “I should really get back, if you don’t mind. I usually check the horses each night at bed-time. Thank you for a lovely dinner, and I’ll see what we can find out for you about Hamish.”

  Pushing his chair away from the table, he stood up. “Let me just pay the bill, then I’ll drive you back.”

  A couple of minutes later, we were out in the quiet street, a dog barking somewhere in the distance, and the faint smell of garlic emanating from the kitchens behind the restaurant. Dean had parked at the other side of the road, and as I stepped off the kerb, somehow I lost my footing and stumbled.

  Before I hit the tarmac, a strong hand grabbed my arm and swung me back to my feet—where I collided with Dean’s chest. His very hard, very manly chest.

  It was like the earth stopped turning for a couple of seconds, my gaze trapped in his, my body held close against him.

  Feather-light, he dropped a kiss on my lips. “Too much wine for you this evening, my lady.” Taking my elbow, he turned me carefully and escorted me to the passenger side of his car.

  We didn’t talk on the way home. I spent most of the time staring out of the window, chastising myself for letting him kiss me when I was—well, what was I to Craig? His friend, he’d said, just that afternoon. Was that really all I was to him?

  I looked at Dean’s profile, shadowy in the dark. Despite the evening we’d spent together, I knew very little about him—his conversation had been about current events, or funny stories from the local community. Nothing about himself. He was the classic tall, dark stranger.

  Anyway, like he’d pointed out, did I really have time to be seeing anyone right now? I had two businesses I was trying to establish, plus a new boss to impress.

  Lifting my chin, I watched the moonlit landscape flit by as we drew closer to Glengowrie. It had a soporific effect, and I was feeling quite sleepy when Dean finally parked his car under the old oak tree.

  He ran round to open the door for me, then took my arm as I turned toward the stable yard. “I’ll chum you while you check the horses. Can’t have you falling over again and breaking your neck.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled through a yawn. Between tiredness and wine, I was having difficulty making my legs do their job properly, and his support was quite helpful. Not to mention that he smelled deliciously of cocoa butter. Or did he just remind me of chocolate, with his dark looks and brown eyes?

  We were greeted by a few suspicious snorts, and some ticklish whiskers as we progressed around the yard, but fortunately there were no sickly horses, and nobody lying too close to a corner of their stable and unable to get up. All was well.

  Dean stopped with me at the door to the cottage. “I know it was really a work thing, but… tonight’s been good. Thanks, Izzy.”

  My head spun at his proximity. It was like I’d stepped into a chocolatier, surrounded by the most intoxicating smells. And then I was surrounded by his arms, and his lips met mine.

  For a minute, I felt like Charlie in the chocolate factory, living the dream. I swear the policeman even tasted of chocolate, however that was possible.

  With a last peck on the nose, he released me, and opened the door behind me. “Till next time,” he said with a flicker of a smile, and disappeared into the night.

  The next morning, Trinity came down the stairs to find me sitting at the breakfast table in something of a daze, staring at the list of ingredients on the cornflakes pack as if they were written in Swahili. “Did someone stay out a bit late last night?”

  “Mmm,” I mumbled.

  She gave me a blackbird look, all sharp eyes and tilted head. “This calls for a Kalista special.” Grabbing her keys from the shelf beside the door, she beckoned me forwards. “C’mon. I’ll take you. The horses can wait for ten minutes. And ain’t you lucky the café missed getting flooded.”

  A minute later, I was slumped in the passenger seat of her Mini and we were zooming out of the yard.

  “So, tell me, what’s the story from last night?”

  “Um,” I scrunched my eyes. It was too bright today. Scrabbling in her glove box, I managed to find a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on
. “Dean wants me to do a bit of investigation for him. Check out Hamish’s finances.”

  “Dean?” I didn’t need to look at her to know that her eyebrows had rocketed.

  “Sergeant Lovell.”

  “First-name terms!” She glanced sideways at me. “And…?”

  I put my head in my hands, as memories flooded back. “And he kissed me.”

  She banged the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. “I knew it! He likes you.”

  “I’d had a bit much wine—”

  “Never!” she interrupted, sarcastically.

  My eyes would have rolled harder if my head hadn’t hurt. “—and I stumbled. He caught me before I fell. And the kiss just, kindof, happened. It was like a brotherly thing.” Then I remembered that he’d kissed me again at the cottage door. “I think,” I added.

  That earned me another sideways look. “We can re-visit that later.” The car slowed. “But that’s us here.” She parked at the kerb outside the shop and jerked her thumb at the door. “Let’s get you some caffeine.”

  The bell over the door tinkled as we entered the café, and I dropped the sunglasses back over my eyes, because it was almost as bright inside as outside.

  Scarlet curtains hung at the windows, with the lower half covered by white nets hanging from a brass pole. Ladder-backed chairs with crimson cushions surrounded tables covered in strawberry-patterned cotton tablecloths. And everything was brightly lit by hanging lights with red vinyl shades. It seemed like Kalista’s favourite colour was red. Or perhaps she just wanted to give the place a warm and cozy feel?

  Trinity approached the counter and ordered my drink for me.

  While she did that, I noticed that the Large sisters were back at their window table again. “…and she was seen having dinner with that policeman, the one who jolted Zoe Wainwright, at the Aye-talian in Blairgowrie,” the larger Miss Large was saying.

  “Jilted her, aye,” her thinner sibling said.

  “And,” Edie leaned conspiratorially across the table, “they were seen kissing!”

  “No, they never did?”

  It was only then that I realised they were probably talking about me and Dean. I buried my chin in my collar and turned my back on them, sure my cheeks were flaming red.

  “Only been here five minutes and she’s already sunk her claws into the most illegible bachelor in the area.”

  “Aye, eligible bachelor, aye.”

  “Here.” Trinity thrust a large cup of cappuccino at me, then glanced over at the window table. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Thanks,” I grunted, as we both hurried out of the café.

  With a groan, I sank into the seat of her car. “How did word get out so quickly? We weren’t even here, we were in Blairgowrie.”

  Trinity shrugged, then put the car into gear. “Small towns, nothing better to do than talk about your neighbours.” She cut her eyes at me. “An’ they told me before I came up here that I’d find village life boring.”

  “Well, they need to find something else to talk about.” I gave her a sideways look, the caffeine beginning to do its thing on my neural pathways. “Talking of gossip, you never told me how you got on at the funeral?”

  “It was a sad day,” she said with a smirk.

  “And the farrier…?”

  Hurtling round the corner of the stable yard, she screeched to a stop outside the cottage. “We’re here. Get that coffee down you, girl. We’ve got work to do.”

  “And the farrier?” I persisted. “C’mon. I spilled my beans.” That sounded weird. “So to speak.”

  A smug expression crossed her face. “Got a date with him on Saturday.”

  I raised the cup at her, then took a slug. “Good on ya!” The caffeine hit my system like an electric shock zapping a cartoon character, and my eyes pinged fully open.

  Stepping out of the car, she made a ‘hurry up’ motion at me. “C’mon. We need to get going. Eagle arrives today, remember?”

  The thought of seeing Slytherin Stan again made me shudder. “Ugh.” Depositing the sunglasses, I clambered out.

  She looked back at me. “We need to have a catch up. I’ve loads more to tell you from the funeral, but we ain’t had a minute since then. Maybe when we get Eagle sorted?” She strode off without waiting for a reply.

  Intrigued, I stared at the spot where she’d been standing just a few seconds ago. Wonder what she found out? Cradling the coffee, I hurried after her. Maybe the yard work would finish the job the cappuccino had started and clear the fog in my brain.

  But the thing that woke me up properly wasn’t my work. Instead, I was catapulted into the day by the sight that greeted me when the Balmoral lorry pulled up in the yard a while later. Driving the truck wasn’t Stan the groom, as I’d expected. It was Craig.

  My cheeks coloured as he stepped down from the cab and raised a hand.

  “Over here.” I motioned to the box we’d allocated to the stallion, hoping Craig was far enough away not to wonder at my blush.

  He nodded and started to open the ramp to get the horse out.

  Unlatching the half-door, I held it wide while he led the stallion in.

  “Let me just get his saddle and bridle from the lorry,” Craig said as he came out, giving me a quick peck on the cheek as he passed.

  Convinced I was turning pink again, I watched in confusion as he retrieved the tack from the lorry, then marched off towards the tack room. Then my brow puckered, and I hurried after him.

  “I’ve just put them on this empty peg,” he said as I almost fell through the door. “Unless there’s anywhere special you want them?”

  I ignored his question and asked one of my own instead. “How did you know where the tack room was?”

  “I was shown it at…” he trailed off, looking guilty.

  “At…?”

  With a sigh, he sat down at the table. “At my interview.”

  “Your interview?” I repeated stupidly, dropping into the chair beside him before my knees gave way.

  Picking at some dry skin beside his thumbnail, he kept his eyes fixed on his hands. “I interviewed for your job. Unsuccessfully, obviously.” He risked a glance at me. “You were the better candidate.”

  My mind whirled. “So that was why Lady Letham knew you at the funeral?”

  “Aye.”

  I leaned back in my chair, wishing I hadn’t finished my cappuccino. News like this definitely needed coffee to help it make sense. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  He shrugged. “It never came up. And I could see as soon as I met you that you were a shoo-in for the job. It was always a bit of a reach for me.”

  There was silence for a moment as my befuddled mind tried to process this new information. Then I heard Trinity’s voice from outside. “She’s in there. In the tack room.”

  Footsteps crunched across the yard, and then Sergeant Lovell appeared in the doorway. He looked from Craig to me, and a muscle tightened in his jaw. “Good morning Ms Paterson, Mr MacDonald.”

  “Hi,” I said, giving him a feeble wave. For the first time in my life I wished I was one of those girls who didn’t leave the house without her ‘face’ on. My cheeks were surely puce by now, a colour that would only be concealed by the thickest of makeup. I pointed at the chair opposite. “Take a seat.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll stand,” he said stiffly, taking off his peaked cap and tucking it under his arm. “I just came to see if you’d heard the news?”

  I looked at him blankly. “News?”

  Beside me, Craig shook his head. “What’s happened?”

  Dean’s eyes fixed on Craig. “Oliver Seaforth has been found dead.”

  My hand shot to my mouth. “Really? How? When?”

  At the same time, Craig said, “But I was just speaking to him yesterday.”

  “Yes.” The sergeant’s voice was laced with suspicion. “And now he turns up dead.”

  Craig’s mouth fell open. “Ye canna think I would do such a thing? I
hardly knew the man. And why on earth would I kill him?”

  The policeman raised an eyebrow. “When two prominent members of the same society are killed, we start to wonder if there’s a connection. Maybe the books were getting cooked and those two got wind of it. Maybe someone wanted to become a member and their face didn’t fit. Or maybe someone,” at this point he gave Craig a hard stare, “wanted a promotion.”

  “Dean, you can’t go just accusing people like that without some evidence,” I interjected.

  “Dean?” Craig turned to me, hurt showing in his green eyes.

  Rats. “I, um—”

  “Perhaps you could give us a minute, Mr MacDonald?” the policeman interrupted. “I need to ask Ms Paterson some questions.”

  His jaw clenched, Craig pushed his chair back. “I’ll just go and get Eagle settled.”

  We waited in silence until we heard the rumble of Craig’s voice and the tinkle of Trinity’s from the other side of the yard.

  Dean took the chair opposite me, put his hat on the table and steepled his hands. “Mr MacDonald is here rather early?”

  I checked my watch reflexively. Ten o’clock. Why had life got so complicated before I’d even had my second coffee of the day? “He’s delivering the Queen’s stallion to me for training. He just arrived. Coffee?” I asked, getting up and going over to the kettle.

  “Tea, please. Milk and two.”

  I busied myself making our drinks.

  “So you can’t give him an alibi for last night?”

  I swung round, almost throwing hot water over the copper in the process. “How could you think that? You were the last person I saw last evening. It’s well over an hour’s drive from Balmoral in a lorry, and Craig just got here. He must’ve left before nine. Ask Trinity if you don’t believe me.”

  He came over and took the mugs from me, setting them on the counter. Then he put his hands on my forearms. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. You just—” he glanced down, “—I mean, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Sorry.”