Hooked on Ewe

by Hannah Reed

  “I found them in the trunk of her car,” I said, placing a hand on Vicki’s shoulder, a small token of my understanding of the tense situation between the two half siblings.

  The inspector stood to the side and said gently, “There’s good that came out o’ this. Our Sean won’t have tae drive far and wide tae recover them.”

  She nodded, and I could tell that she was doing her best to shake off her emotional upset, realizing that Kirstine’s treachery was actually a valuable shortcut in our hunt for the murder weapon. And it didn’t hurt that the inspector mentioned the benefit to Sean as well.

  “Well, I doubt that we’ll find any skeins missing from this lot,” he said, indicating the recent arrivals. “But we best be as thorough as we can and make a good showing o’ it.”

  Together the three of us opened each package and examined the contents. We didn’t expect to find anything out of place, but it was a necessary task.

  “All accounted fer,” the inspector said when we finished.

  I placed Charlotte and Senga’s kits in with the others.

  “Ye have handled yerself as a right professional,” Jamieson said to me. Was that a hint of a smile? “Don’t look so surprised, Eden. Ye’ve collected the majority o’ the kits in record time. With these, we’ve accounted fer nearly all the kits. Whose are still missing?”

  “Only Andrea Lindsey’s and Harry Taggart’s sister’s,” I told him.

  I heard Vicki gasp beside me. “Don’t tell me one of them murdered Isla!”

  “That’s a bit premature,” the inspector reassured her. “Finding the source o’ the yarn will be only one o’ the missin’ links in this case. We cannae assume anything.”

  I was in full agreement with Jamieson.

  “However,” he warned. “We proceed with caution from this point forward. We are dealing with a desperate and violent individual.”

  That, too. This murder hadn’t been hatched up long before Vicki had made up her yarn club kits. This was most likely a desperation killing. Otherwise the killer would have chosen a more convenient time and place. That same desperation might cause the killer to strike out again.

  “Once I get the last kits, then what?” I asked, thinking of cupcakes and sleeping pills, and a motive so compelling it seemed worth killing another human being over.

  “Ye mean the last kit,” the inspector corrected me. “One of those two has tae be missing a skein o’ yarn.” Then he addressed Vicki. “We’ve gone over this, and ye say there isn’t any spare yarn. Not an extra skein tucked away?”

  “No!” Vicki shook her head. “I used all of it to finish up the kits. That’s why I didn’t have any extras for the people asking.”

  “So one o’ those two it ’tis,” he said, glancing at me. “Do ye want me tae take it from here? Finish up the collecting?”

  “I can handle it,” I told him, not exactly sure what he’d been working on, but confident that it was at least as important as this task, most likely more so. And I wanted to see this through.

  He nodded, pleased, and said, “I’ve been working on a plausible motive. I’ll send Sean to poke around a bit, speak with as many o’ the spectators as possible. We have a tough nut tae crack. But with each o’ us doing our part, we’ll soon have the proper suspect in custody and charged with homicide.”

  The inspector seemed confident in the end result as he bade us farewell and we watched him drive away down the lane.

  “Sometimes, the man is unreadable,” I muttered.

  “He keeps too much to himself,” Vicki said, heading for the house. “But he has a difficult position and this is the way he’s learned to cope. And at least he has you and Sean to lean on.”

  I followed her in and gave her a detailed accounting of my confrontation with Kirstine.

  Vicki gasped in shock when I related the confrontation over the contents of the trunk, how Kirstine had chased me around the car. But after I described how Kirstine had been on the receiving end of a hefty blast of pepper spray, she was laughing out loud.

  “You really let her have it?” Vicki squealed. “Oh, I wish I could have been there!”

  I was feeling pretty satisfied with myself. It wasn’t too often that I got the best of Kirstine in our occasional skirmishes. But this time she’d really gotten what was coming to her. Maybe in the future, she’d think twice about crossing me. We were never going to be BFFs, but some plain old common courtesy would have been appreciated.

  “You’re a loyal friend,” Vicki said after hearing every single detail of the pepper-spray scene and enjoying every minute of it. “Now I better get back to dying yarn, and you need to catch Harry before he finishes up and drives away.”

  “He’s still out there?”

  “He was not too long ago, and he had quite a lot of equipment to load,” Vicki informed me.

  Good. That made him the obvious next person to contact. Besides, he would be the easiest of the last two to approach. Andrea would be with her grieving brother. I was going to feel like an intruder when I showed up, asking about her yarn kit.

  And, according to Lily, Harry had been disappointed in the hospice fund-raising efforts. This was the perfect opportunity to follow up on that as well.

  Leaving Vicki, I walked outside and found Coco and Pepper running toward me from up the lane. They followed me to the side of the barn, and I took the time to pet each of them and give a little cuddling to Jasper, all while keeping one eye on the lane in case Harry drove past.

  I sat down on the hay bale with Jasper in my arms, and while he purred my thoughts drifted.

  Bryan and his wife had argued the night before she died. Why? Had she done something unforgivable, given her husband a reason so powerful that he’d lost control? Could he have really been so unaffected as to have killed his wife and then gone out to the field to compete—and win?

  But Isla Lindsey seemed to have a knack for arousing strong emotions in just about everybody. Didn’t normal people have controls, switches that flicked on when their tempers flared? Instincts that warned them in advance when they started seeing red? But maybe somebody had finally snapped. It was possible.

  Except the sleeping-pill-laced cupcake indicated that her murder wasn’t quite as spontaneous as all that. Someone had planned ahead far enough to make sure Isla was incapacitated before attacking her, which weren’t the actions of a person who had lost control. Same with the presumed rendezvous at Oliver’s van—if Isla went there on her own, it must have been prearranged.

  The person responsible probably had to act quickly, yet execute with perfect precision and keep his (or her) wits about him all day long.

  I smiled at Jasper and said, “Look at me. Pretending like I have experience dealing with a cold-blooded murderer.” He continued to purr, unconcerned with human issues.

  I was certainly out of my element. There wasn’t exactly a huge need for researching homicides in the romance genre. I dealt in very different chemical reactions, mixing male and female attractions and watching the results. Exploring life, not death.

  I needed to keep this case in perspective, not let it get under my skin, not allow it to affect me on a personal level. Keeping emotions out of it wasn’t going to be easy. No wonder the inspector had an aura of sadness about him. I couldn’t imagine dealing with violence and the most perverse sides of humanity on a daily basis without being changed by it.

  As Vicki had pointed out, at least the inspector had Sean and me. He could complain all he wanted about the volunteer, but Sean was eager to please. And now he also had me, for what that was worth. Maybe, eventually, he would learn to put more trust in my ability to shoulder at least a little of his responsibilities. A part of me really wanted that to happen. In fact, I told myself, he did act as though he valued my opinions. That was a start. If only he’d confide more, allow me a glimpse into his inner thoughts. What was the mysterious
man thinking? Most of the time, I didn’t have any idea.

  Sitting on the hay bale it occurred to me for the first time that I’d never picked up the lawn chairs I’d borrowed from the barn to watch the dog trials. I hoped they were still in the field.

  I left Jasper, walked up the lane, and cut into the field, heading toward Harry’s truck parked in the general vicinity of the huge refreshment tent, which had been taken down and hauled away. The props—gates, pens, fences—had also been disassembled and removed, and any accumulated litter had been picked up and disposed of.

  There was no sign of two lawn chairs.

  Actually the grazing field had been restored to its original condition, leaving not a single sign of our human interruption other than a few tire tracks I noticed here and there where volunteers had driven through with their loads. A few more Highland rains and those would disappear, too.

  A flock of sheep watched my progress from a hillside nearby. I saw two border collies higher still, lying on the shady side of that same hill, resting but alert to the possibility of wayward action on the part of his sheep. John wasn’t in view, but from past performance, the dogs knew their jobs inside and out and didn’t need anyone managing them on that front. Don’t let sheep stray, that was their mission.

  Oliver and Lily, who’d arrived late in the cleanup process, had stayed until the end, and now I saw them walking away together in the direction of the lower lane where Lily had parked her car. They both waved and continued on.

  For me, the only lasting reminder of the fund-raiser would be the memory of Isla Lindsey’s dead body and that awful moment when I’d opened the van door. Those few minutes would stay with me forever.

  I veered toward where Harry’s truck was still parked, the cab pointed away from the lane, the bed filled with metal parts. And were those the lawn chairs on top of the pile? I saw Harry on the far side of the vehicle. He opened the driver’s door, then grabbed an overhead handgrip for leverage and pulled himself into the seat. I heard the motor start up, so I hurried around the back of his truck.

  I was about to call out to him to get his attention, but his name lodged in my throat when I realized the truck’s taillights were glowing and the vehicle had begun to move backward, not forward as I’d expected. I was right in its path.

  He gave the gas a blast, and the truck lurched directly at me. I had seconds to react. With my survival instincts in full gear, I realized there wouldn’t be time to sidestep clear.

  I did the only thing that came to mind—I lunged to meet the gate at the back of the truck and anchored one foot on the bumper, then pulled myself up.

  “Harry! Stop!” I managed to shout, clinging to the truck.

  He must have heard me because he whipped his head around, and if the look on his face was any indication, he was just as startled as I was. He slammed on the brakes, threw the gears in park, hopped out, and ran around to help me down.

  “Wha’ the blooming heck! Oh, my dear God! I didn’t see ye there!”

  To say I was a bit rattled would be an understatement. It had been a close call.

  “Are ye hurt?” he asked, helping me down.

  “Shook up a little, that’s all.” The fear I’d been feeling subsided and turned to annoyance. Why had he backed up instead of driving forward and circling around? And didn’t an experienced driver automatically check the rearview mirror before backing up, even in an abandoned field?

  “I never even saw ye back there!” he went on. “Ye coulda been kilt.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Let me give ye a ride,” Harry offered, his voice still a little shaky. “That way I’ll know exactly where ye are.”

  Hadn’t I warned myself to tread lightly around those involved in this case? And here I’d almost been run over by a potential suspect. Yet Harry really did look shocked, almost taking the incident harder than I was. I managed to smile and accept the ride. So I got into the truck beside him, and we drove the short distance back to the farmhouse.

  “I have a few questions for you anyway,” I told him when he stopped. “Do you have time to stay for tea?”

  “I could use it, that’s fer sure.”

  “By the way, those are Vicki’s lawn chairs in the back of your truck,” I said.

  “That saves me asking around fer the owner.”

  After Harry carried the chairs into the barn and placed them where I directed, we paused beside Vicki’s door. I most definitely intended to let her know that he was with me, so I stuck my head in. “Harry and I will be having tea in the cottage,” I called out to her.

  I heard her muffled reply from the direction of her yarn workroom.

  Then I led him back and put on the kettle while we practiced the fine art of small talk. Then, with cups of tea and a few scones, we settled at my small kitchen table to discuss important issues, especially those concerning his disappointment in the proceeds from the earlier events.

  “Lily told me this morning,” I said when he asked how I’d found out about his financial concerns.

  “I thought the inspector might have been the one tae inform ye, seeing as how ye’re assisting him with his investigation.”

  So it seemed that Harry, along with most of the village, already knew about my new appointment as special constable. I refrained from telling him that the inspector hadn’t mentioned it. For a moment, I felt exasperated, but what did I expect? A few days with a new title didn’t instantly make me an equal partner.

  Harry went on. “It’s no secret, anyhow, about the lack o’ funds. All those at the last o’ the fund-raiser’s organizational meetings heard me say our past efforts were most likely goin’ tae be short o’ expectations.”

  I pulled out my notepad, clicked open a pen, and politely asked if he objected to me taking notes.

  “Ye do whatever is best,” he answered.

  “All right. Where and when was the meeting held?” I asked, starting with what I already knew.

  “Friday, the day before the fund-raiser, at the Kilt & Thistle.”

  “Who attended the meeting?”

  He named several individuals, including Isla, Oliver, Lily, and Andrea. Briefly I wondered why everyone from the welcoming committee had been included except me. Then I realized that I might have been, but since I’d stopped attending the earlier meetings, how would I have known about this one?

  “I spoke with the group that evening,” Harry said, “about certain concerns.”

  “Regarding their efforts on behalf of the hospice?”

  “Aye.” Harry wasn’t exactly evading with his responses, but he wasn’t elaborating, either, and that bothered me. Was I going to have to drag every bit of information out of him, piece by piece?

  “I’m a special constable, as you are aware,” I ventured. “Inspector Jamieson requested my assistance with the murder investigation. So you can feel free to speak with me the same as you would with the inspector. Everything you say will remain confidential.”

  “I already went over all this with the inspector.”

  “Once more time, please. You might remember something now that you didn’t earlier.”

  Harry nodded, but still didn’t speak.

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” I nudged.

  “I don’t like tae speak ill o’ the dead, is all.”

  Interesting. “I understand and sympathize.”

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t have tae come tae light.”

  “It’s going to have to. Come to light, that is. But all of us involved in the investigation will be as discreet as possible.” To say I was intrigued would be understating my growing enthusiasm.

  Harry sighed, took several sips of tea, and gazed out the window while I waited for him to elaborate.

  After he must have realized that I wasn’t going to give up, I learned that he’d been concerned about the financia
l records pertaining to the fund-raising events throughout the summer. Collected funds seemed to be off from what had been thought were realistic projections. High hopes and crowded events had been offset with disappointingly low returns.

  “As treasurer, Isla Lindsey was responsible fer keepin’ the books,” he said. “She seemed tae be havin’ trouble getting caught up with financial reporting and hadn’t made much headway by early in the summer, so I went ahead and hired help fer her.”

  “Senga Hill?” That was consistent with what the baker had told me.

  “Aye, but she didn’t work out. I had reports that Senga didn’t have the required knowledge and that she was makin’ mistakes and causing even more setbacks in getting current with financials. I had tae let her go.”

  “On Isla’s advice?”

  “Aye.”

  I sipped my tea while Harry admitted that at some point after Senga left he’d begun to suspect a thief inside the office.

  “By last month, my suspicions were mounting. Something wasnae adding up. So I hired an outside firm tae do an audit without alerting the staff. The auditors came in after hours tae go through the books. Last week, I was given the results o’ the audit. Somebody was embezzling, that was fer certain. Most likely skimmin’ cash during the actual events, but far worse—unauthorized checks had been written against the account as well.

  “I dinnae know what tae do. The only one with that much control was Isla, and sure if it wasnae her handwriting on the checks. I’d considered her a valuable asset. Bryan Lindsey has been a longtime friend. How could I make this public and ruin their lives?”

  Harry’s story was credible. It would only take a quick phone call to the firm he’d hired to verify his claim. I had no reason to doubt him.

  I thought about how Isla had been instrumental in Senga’s dismissal from the hospice office. In Senga’s own words, she’d been accused of making mistakes. My mind went back to the conversation with Ginny Davis about the importance of a business owner being involved in all aspects of the business. I even considered Kirstine and her tight grip on the cash register.