by Hannah Reed
“The owner of a business has to be the one to take in the money and watch over the till,” I’d heard Kirstine say whenever Vicki suggested hiring more staff. “Employees will either rob you blind or give it all away.”
I wasn’t as cynical, but whatever the case, Kirstine could be found watching the cash register most of the time.
A sudden flash of insight told me Kirstine and I weren’t much different when it came right down to it. If I had to cater to customers day in and day out, I’d probably get as snippy as she was. I hadn’t even been able to stand the thought of sitting at the welcome table for a single day. Lucky for me, I had a career that suited my personality. If I needed to get away from the human race, I just crawled into my writing cave and stayed there as long as I needed to.
“Well, if it isn’t Eden Elliott,” Kirstine said in typical fashion when addressing me. “And what would you be doing out on a day like this? I thought our lovely weather would have driven you away by now, or at least kept you indoors.”
“I’m adjusting to your weather,” I said.
I noticed one of yesterday’s trial programs lying on the counter and picked it up.
“You can’t have that,” Kirstine said. “It was bought and paid for by one of my customers who couldn’t make it to the event but wanted a copy, as her son competed. She’ll be in soon to get it.”
I paged through. “I’m only taking a peek.”
“Well, don’t crease the pages or you’ll be the one answering for it, not me.”
I flipped through until I found the events listed in the afternoon. What I was looking for were the trials and participants competing after one thirty. Isla had been very much alive up until that time.
I figured we could remove the names of any handlers and judges on the trial field between one thirty and roughly four from the main suspect list, at least initially. It would be rewarding to narrow the field from everybody who attended the event to a more select few.
Unfortunately, after finding the page I was looking for, it turned out that the only events between one thirty and two thirty were a herding dog demonstration given by Kirstine’s husband, John Derry, in the far field and Charlotte’s sheep shearing demo. That period of time had been filled by them while the judges conferred and selected the winners. Great. Out of an entire community, I’d only been able to cross John and Charlotte off of the persons-of-immediate-interest list, and as much as I didn’t want to, I also put an imaginary pencil mark (not quite ready to use permanent ink) through Kirstine’s name. She’d been tending the shop all day and knowing her, she hadn’t given it up for even one second of time, let alone the time it would have taken to feed Isla a cupcake, send her to Oliver’s van, wait for the pills to take effect, then trot out there and strangle her. Someone would have noticed her absence.
I glanced up from the program and caught Kirstine’s eye.
I didn’t know how to begin communicating with her now that we were warily examining each other over the counter. With a less hostile individual, I might have started with small talk and worked my way around to the questions I needed answered. But our relationship wasn’t that comfortable or polite. As for her husband, John remained remote and barely communicative, but I still hadn’t figured out whether that was because he sided with his wife, or if that was simply his nature.
“Have you heard any more about Isla Lindsey’s murder?” I began.
“Only that it’ll be a surprise to me if the shop survives,” Kirstine answered. “It’s one thing to have a murder right on our own property, but the weapon of choice used in the attack on Isla is going to hurt business and I’m not sure we will ever recover. I told Vicki not to start that club until after the event. You were there. You heard me. Now look what’s happened!”
“That’s a bit harsher than necessary,” I said, my hackles rising to defend my friend. “Vicki is already blaming herself. She doesn’t need you piling on. The victim and her family are the ones who should be in our thoughts. They are the ones who are truly suffering. As to the shop, Sheepish Expressions will continue as always. Tour buses will still stop as they always have. I can’t imagine any of your regular customers leaving because of this. Yes, the skein-of-the-month club has had a setback, but Vicki couldn’t have predicted this. We can’t blame her. I certainly don’t.”
Kirstine should have closed her mouth after that. Instead she went after me by saying, “I don’t know who you think you are, coming into my shop and treating me this way. You have no right to be inside Sheepish Expressions without my consent, and I’m asking you to leave right now.”
Without giving it much thought, I whipped out my warrant card. “I’m investigating a murder,” I said. “I’m a special constable, appointed by Inspector Kevin Jamieson himself, and I have questions for you regarding the murder, which you will answer.”
Kirstine looked stunned as she squinted at proof of my appointment, but she recovered quickly. “Well, I’ll be . . .”
I felt a surge of satisfaction. But it didn’t last.
“Your threating attitude means nothing to me,” she went on. “What are you going to do? Arrest me under false pretenses?”
Kirstine had her arms crossed and her mind set. She clamped her mouth closed. I wondered if my expression appeared as thunderous on the outside as it felt inside. I sincerely hoped so. I knew I had to act fast, before she paralyzed me with venom from her snake tongue, rendering me helpless before injecting her special brand of poison. Chances of coming out the winner would be about as likely as betting on an injured horse in the Kentucky Derby.
It was time to get down to the real reason for my visit to the shop.
“Vicki gave you the yarn kits to be shipped,” I said. “Did you mail them as she asked you to?”
“What is this? I’m under suspicion?”
“No, of course not. The inspector wants all the kits accounted for. I’m merely following his instructions and inquiring.” Okay, so I used his name to get what I needed. Kirstine wasn’t going to cooperate with me without some sort of higher authority in the mix. “There were twenty-two of them. You took them with you. Did you or did you not mail them in a timely fashion?”
I was actually hoping that Kirstine’s natural unhelpfulness meant that they hadn’t gone out until Friday or even Saturday. If they’d still been in the mail on Saturday, those kits and members wouldn’t be of interest to the investigation.
“Well?” I prompted when Kirstine didn’t answer my question. “When were they sent?”
Something about her attitude changed in that moment. She still had dagger eyes that could wilt a whole field of sunflowers, but they weren’t fixed on me as before. They were roaming the room.
She began puttering instead, straightening items on the counter before she said, “If you must know, they went out the minute the post office opened on Thursday morning.”
“Obstructing an investigation is a serious offense,” I told her, sensing that she wasn’t telling me the entire truth.
“You and your threats! I answered your question, didn’t I?”
“Anything you care to add?”
“Certainly. Here it is. Be gone with you, and next time my assistance is needed in this investigation, send the inspector. I’ll be answering only to him from now on.”
Well, that certainly hadn’t gone well. I’d need to brush up on my interrogation skills, and either learn to deal with difficult people or learn to avoid them in the future. Although avoiding them probably wasn’t an option if I planned to continue on in the capacity of a law enforcement official. We all have to deal with nasty people from time to time. Even the inspector must have to put up with disparaging remarks and unwilling subjects.
Standing outside on the porch, I decided to follow up on those cupcakes tomorrow by paying a visit to Senga Hill. She’d surely be a refreshing change after dealing with Kirstine. I expec
ted that Senga could enlighten me regarding cupcake purchasers.
Although with two hundred of them sold, I wasn’t holding out much hope.
CHAPTER 11
In the early evening, Vicki appeared at my cottage door with a covered dish in her hands.
“Barefoot broth,” she told me, setting it down on my small kitchen table. “It’s been such fun making some of the Scottish dishes that I remember from my childhood.”
The aroma was heavenly. Vicki was an excellent cook. “Barefoot broth?”
“Potatoes, barley, cabbage, turnips, whatever is on hand. As the days cool off, I’m thinking about inky-pinky and bubblyjock.”
She laughed at the expression on my face and went on to translate. “Inky-pinky is beef-and-carrot stew and bubblyjock is roast turkey. You’ll get a chance to try both before . . .”
The light in her eye turned sad. She didn’t finish her sentence.
We both knew what she meant. Before I had to leave Scotland.
Quickly changing the subject, she said, “I made a big batch and took some over to the Lindseys.”
“How are they doing?”
Vicki shrugged. “Bryan wasn’t available. Andrea seems to be screening his visitors, making sure he’s left in peace as much as possible. She thanked me, though.”
“You’re a good person, Vicki.”
“I do what I can.”
“Do you want to stay and chat?”
“No, I better dash,” she said.
“A hot date?”
“I’m expecting company is all,” she said vaguely.
“I was hoping you could make a few phone calls to the members you sent kits to,” I said, still bothered by my confrontation with Kirstine. “Make sure they arrived, let them know that we will have to pick them up. Let them know in a nice way, of course.”
“A few calls! I packaged twenty-two! I’ll contact them first thing tomorrow. Okay?”
What could I say? I couldn’t insist. The woman was expecting company. And I was pretty sure I knew who it was.
Speaking of company—I hadn’t been expecting any but soon after I’d finished the delicious barefoot broth and straightened up the kitchen, Leith Cameron and Kelly dropped by on their way home from the chartered ocean fishing excursion. It was still drizzling, fog patches had drifted lazily into our valley right before dark, and the air was heavy with the promise of more precipitation. In the yellow glow from my table lamp, Leith was sun-nipped and wind tossed. He smelled of fresh sea breeze as he sank into my armchair in the humble little cottage I now called home (however temporarily) and accepted my offer of a hot cup of tea.
“A fine fishing day. We caught plenty o’ bass and a few flounder,” he reported, biting into a shortbread I offered, which I had recently purchased at Taste of Scotland, handmade by Ginny Davis. Leith went on, “And a conservation-minded bunch o’ blokes they were, practicing catch and release, since they were on a business trip with no way tae keep their catch anyway. And nary a single mate hanging over the rails.”
“No excessive drinking?” I asked, pleased when Kelly came and sat down next to me. Her eyes closed in contentment as I massaged one ear then the other.
“There was some, but this lot could hold their liquor.”
I smiled with pleasure at his enthusiasm for his work. What a life Leith led—raising barley for the production of whisky in fertile Highland soil, spending pleasurable days on the water of the North Sea or wading the River Spey, enjoying a local whisky or brew here and there. An active outdoorsman, rugged and capable. It gave me pause to consider what it would be like to travel in Leith’s world, glamorous as it seemed on the surface. But he’d been out all day in the rain. Spending the entire day outside, rain or shine, wasn’t my thing. Customers who might or might not behave themselves, rough seas, rain gear, dampness that penetrated and chilled the bones, gave me a better perspective.
I shook off my initial jealousy. My life was rich in color as well, even though I chose to live inside my head as much as or more than I did outside of myself. I created action scenes. Leith lived them. The introverted me served tea, while the extroverted he related his adventures on the high seas. Although I hardly had anything to complain about, either. Here I was wishing for Leith’s life when probably many dreamed of having one like mine. I should be happy with what I had.
Actually, I realized with a sense of contentment, I was.
I had to admit that I’d been missing something in the past, but I’d found it the minute I stepped off the plane and walked into this new country. Back home, I’d lost my way, had barely existed. These days, though, I feel alive.
Besides, after the last few days, nobody could accuse me of retreating from life. Events had been far more exciting than I preferred.
Leith helped himself to another shortbread.
The romantic side of me had chosen to loosely base my hero Jack Ross in the first of the Scottish Highlands Desire stories on this man. If only Leith knew about that little fantasy and his role in it! What would he think? He would never find out unless I told him, and that would never happen. But what if he read the book? I hadn’t considered that until this moment. I could only hope he wouldn’t recognize himself within the pages if he did.
“What have ye been up tae since morning?” he asked.
“You won’t believe what I’m going to be doing,” I said, going on to tell him about my new appointment as special constable.
“You’ll be an asset tae the inspector, that’s fer sure,” he said when I finished describing the brief ceremony. “But watch yerself out there. That line o’ work is as dangerous as bad weather is on the open sea. The difference being those o’ us who travel these waters usually are aware from certain signs if conditions are aboot tae turn on us. You might not have that same warning when it comes tae criminal types.”
“The inspector isn’t going to give me anything I can’t handle,” I assured him. “He’s so used to investigating solo and on his own terms, it’s going to be difficult for him to accept my help for anything other than the most mundane tasks.”
“What does Sean Stevens think o’ all this?”
“He’s looking forward to bossing me around once he gets his permanent badge.”
“Isn’t that just like him.”
We laughed together.
“I have a fishing charter later tomorrow morn,” Leith said. “But if ye don’t mind rising early, and if ye care tae meet me at the harbor fer a short ride, I would like tae show ye something.”
“What is it?” I had so much to do tomorrow as it was. None of it pleasurable, though. I’d love to chuck it all for the open sea.
“I’m hoping tae surprise ye.”
“I like surprises.” Oh my gosh. We were flirting. “But tomorrow is going to be busy, so I can’t afford to be away for long.”
“Aye, an hour or so and I’ll return ye to chasin’ yer villains?”
I laughed.
Leith gave me a winning, lopsided grin. “How aboot seven?”
Inwardly I groaned. Outwardly, I smiled and said, “Seven is fine.”
“First light at sea is a priceless experience.”
“You just ruined the surprise.”
“Not a bit,” he said mysteriously. “Ye’ll see.”
A few minutes later, he stood. “I best be goin’ home tae give Kelly her supper.”
After they left, I’d barely cleared away the dishes when I thought to check my mobile phone. I’d turned off the ringer in the pub so I could focus on my work, and had forgotten to turn the volume back up. The phone rang in my hand.
A familiar voice on the other end said, “It’s aboot time ye answered. I was ready tae drive over and wait fer ye to show up.”
“Inspector. And hello to you.”
“Ye haven’t set up the voice messaging, forcing me
tae call repeatedly.”
“I’ll take care of that,” I said reluctantly, with little enthusiasm to follow through. I was getting used to freedom from devices that tracked my every movement and from long lists of those excepting immediate responses to their voice messages. “And you shouldn’t have bothered. I can see the missed calls from you.”
“Is it too late fer me tae come by yer cottage? I’m still in the area.”
“Not at all. I’ll put on the tea.”
After hanging up, I wondered where he might have been when he’d made the call to me. That led to a moment of speculation over his solitary life and his home. I’d heard that he lived in a remote area well outside of Glenkillen and inland from the sea. In a hunting lodge of some sort. Sean had told me that after his wife’s death, the inspector had sold their village home, preferring the woodland seclusion of a rustic cabin.
In contrast, Leith Cameron, like most gregarious individuals, never minded sharing his past, present, and future plans. We’d had long conversations about his family history, about his ancestors who worked the important small-scale food production land while sharing grazing on the poorer-quality hillsides. These early tenant farmers were called crofters, and Leith still lived in the traditional crofter farmhouse where he’d been born and raised.
Inspector Jamieson, on the other hand, rarely allowed a conversation to turn from professional to personal, and when it threatened to do just that, he rapidly brought it round to topics of a less private nature.
Ten minutes later, his knock resounded, and he swept into the room when I opened the door. “I thought we might begin by breaking down the list o’ those we need tae interview first thing,” he said after hanging his raincoat on a hook by the door to dry and we were situated at the table with yet another pot of tea and more shortbreads. I cradled my cup, enjoying the warmth, but had had more than enough of the beverage for one day if I expected to sleep later.
“Have you acquired any new information since we last spoke?” I asked.