by Hannah Reed
I glanced over, surprised that he’d maintained a level of consciousness high enough to follow the conversation, let alone offer up an opinion of his own. Before he crawled back into his inebriated shell, our eyes met. His were barely focused. I supposed it was just another sign of how deeply the Scots felt on the topic of independence, that it could cut through even Bill’s sodden brain.
Soon after that, Marg delivered the steak pie (which was delicious), and I forced myself to block out the rugby game and its spectators, and all the theories rolling around in my head regarding the murder, and take care of an important business decision while I ate.
It was time to send Falling for You to my editor at the publishing house.
But shouldn’t I give it one more look-over first?
Rereading Ami’s suggestion to let it go, I forced myself to do just that.
I composed an e-mail cover letter, attached the manuscript I’d worked so hard to create, and hit the send button. There, gone. Its future was out of my hands. Time to move on.
Several e-mail questions from Ami were calling for my attention from the in-box.
“Did you send off Falling for You?” one asked. “Have you started on book two?” another message inquired.
That was problematic. My writing had slowed considerably since I’d become involved in investigating a local murder. But what to tell my friend? The situation was complicated. Ami wouldn’t mind that I was on a break from my work, but it would take the rest of the evening to explain to her my new role as special constable and the last few days of the investigation.
Her third question was easier to answer. “I hate to flip-flop on my original suggestion that you get going with a Highland romance of your own, but those scenes you created while abstaining were smoking hot. Are you bottling up all that juicy sexual tension of yours for the next book?”
“No time for that sort of thing,” I replied without elaborating. Let her think I was writing rather than running around looking for a killer. “Although I did have the opportunity to go out on the North Sea with Leith Cameron and we spotted some amazing wildlife.” That should give her something to ponder. I circumvented the nitty-gritty about other recent events and dove right into my thoughts about book two. No need to let on that most of those ideas were last week’s brainstorm.
Actually, I’d given the next book in the Scottish Highlands Desire series quite a bit of thought early on, making notes as inspiration struck. It needed lots of conflict, something to set the two new main characters at cross purposes, and a situation that would bind them together.
Daniel Ross, brother of the ruggedly handsome hero from the first book, and Jessica Bailey, best friend of the heroine from Falling for You, needed to meet through some inciting incident, setting the tone for the action to come. I needed to create sizzles and sparks between them.
“Regarding book two,” I went on. “What do you think of the title Hooked on You? I realize there’s plenty of time to decide, but I have to call it something while I work on it.” I sent the e-mail off and took a few bites of my steak pie. And I was surprised a few minutes later when her response came flying back through cyberspace. “I love it! So talk to me. Give me a teaser.”
“I’m still having thoughts in progress,” I wrote back evasively. “I’ll have that teaser for you soon. Right now my ideas are a bit of a jumble.”
If only real life were as simple as the lives of my characters. With all the real-life drama unfolding in Glenkillen, Daniel and Jessica and their quest for love were going to give me a needed respite once this case was solved.
Before I could think of anything else to add, I blinked back to the present and realized that the pub was beginning to fill up. The rugby match was over. Someone had thrown more logs on the fire, and now it roared and crackled, its warmth a welcome addition to the coziness of the pub. The pub’s recently arrived customers weren’t very familiar; I recognized some but none of them by name, other than the pub owners and Bill, who had several more empty pints in front of him.
I hit the send button to transmit the last e-mail to Ami and powered down the computer just as Vicki slid into a chair across from me.
“Perfect location,” she said, beaming at me. “You couldn’t have picked a better spot. Hope you don’t mind that I invited a few others to share our table. We’re a bit early as are some of the others. The family won’t arrive until later. I thought we’d have a drink together before things get going.”
Vicki was all dressed up in a black dress and sparkly dangling earrings and a matching necklace. And by her cat-who-got-the-cream smirk, I could hazard a guess—she’d invited Sean Stevens and Leith Cameron to join us.
Sure enough, within a few minutes of each other both of them appeared, pulled out chairs, and they ordered a round of ales and lagers. A pint or two was in order, especially after sending off my book and now surrounded by friends.
Sean had cleaned himself up. He’d changed out of his uniform into a pullover shirt and black trousers. His hair was slicked and groomed in a manner suggesting he had taken more care than usual. Almost as though this were a big date.
Leith wore a kilt with a blue dress shirt and a hot stomping pair of boots. What a handsome man! Those blue eyes. The sexy kilt. The way he wore his clothes and the relaxed manner in which he met the world. Very sexy.
“I can’t stay long,” he said, leaning in to share a private moment. “I’m picking up Fia fer the night. But I wanted tae pay my respects.” His Scottish blues met mine. “And I wanted tae see how ye were fairing, too.”
Caught off guard, I almost blushed. Then I collected myself and said, “I just sent the book off to my editor.”
“Yer friend Ami approved, did she? I knew she would.”
Our drinks arrived and the four of us saluted one another.
“I might have overstressed my point one day not too long ago,” Leith said when we had a private moment again. Vicki and Sean were lost in a conversation of their own. “And should have rectified it during our boat ride, but my mind was favoring the moment. What I mean tae say is that I might have sounded like a heartless man, what with not letting the women turn my head.”
Ah, yes. Leith’s commitment to his daughter at the expense of his own personal life. I certainly remembered that conversation.
“Not heartless at all,” I replied. “The opposite, in fact. I think what you are doing for your daughter is totally selfless.” Then, without hesitation, I told him about how my own father had abandoned our family. When I finished, he said, “I can’t understand how a parent could do such a thing.”
“Me either. But it was so long ago. He’s probably dead by now.”
“My parents are gone as well. The best we can do is live good lives while we’re on this green earth and not look back with regrets.”
I admired Leith’s attitude. He didn’t dwell on the dark side of humanity like Inspector Jamieson did. The two men were as different as day and night.
Leith drained his beer and leaned toward me once more. “Would ye consider spending time with me again later in the week? I could show ye a few fishing spots.”
“Another boat ride?”
“Aye.” I must have looked doubtful because he added, “We could wait tae decide, if ye aren’t sure.”
I gave him the biggest smile I had. “I’m only thinking we might want to wait and see if the weather is going to cooperate.”
He returned my smile. “Aye, we can do that. So, what do ye say?”
Was he asking me out? A date? Or a neighborly gesture? He’s waiting for an answer. Don’t overthink it!
“I’d like that,” I told him.
Just then, Bryan and Andrea Lindsey arrived.
Leith looked toward the door and said, “Okay, until then, Eden Elliott.”
And with that, he rose and said his good-byes to Vicki and Sean. I watched
him weave his way to the door, where he spoke with the grieving husband and his sister before disappearing into the night.
When my gaze returned to the table, Vicki shot me an inquiring look, as if to say, What’s up with you and Leith?
I simply smiled in return.
CHAPTER 20
Dale had reserved space at the bar for Isla’s family members. Bryan and Andrea were instantly surrounded by villagers showing their support and extending their sympathies. In spite of the somber occasion, the atmosphere was warm, the beer good, and the music that commenced a moment later wasn’t overpowering.
I paused to appreciate the fiddler, piper, and harpist tucked in the corner, then picked up my laptop, slipped outside, and stowed it in the car. Since the evening was cooling off fast, I grabbed my fleece while I was out there, thinking I might take a short walk later before heading home for the night. With a clear sky and a slight chill it would be a beautiful night for a stroll.
Bryan was still surrounded as I made my way back to my table. I decided to wait until later to approach the grieving husband. Passing by Bill Morris, I sensed sudden movement, and something solid and unexpected popped up and hit me in the shin. I lost my balance and fell against him.
“You tripped me!” I said accusingly, as I indignantly righted myself.
“I didnae mean tae,” he said, slurring his words.
“You did, too. You stuck your foot out!”
“Never mind that. I hear ye got yerself a position with the inspector and ye’re prying intae the death of Isla Lindsey.”
“‘Prying’ isn’t the word I’d use. Investigating is more like it. Why?”
“She and her husband were havin’ a right row, they was, the night before she was killed.”
Another witness to the Lindsey argument. “Tell me.”
“Herself was with a large party but when they broke up, she went tae the toilets, and then she met up with her husband, right there it was”—Bill motioned to the table next to his—“and they went at it like cats and dogs. I thought ye’d want tae know.”
I’d had enough confirmation at this point to verify that the husband and wife had indeed had a serious disagreement. And even though Bill had been three sheets to the wind that night, and was again now, he was accurate. Plus, I suspected Bill heard and saw more than the rest of us thought he did, especially since regular patrons of the pub, used to Bill’s inebriated condition, probably spoke freely in his presence thinking he was past comprehension. Bill Morris might turn out to be a fountain of valuable information.
“Have you mentioned this to the inspector?” I asked, although one more account wouldn’t matter much. Charlotte and Oliver were more reliable witnesses when it came right down to it.
“Meself and Jamieson don’t see eye tae eye. He looks down on me, he does. Thinks I’m a sot, if ye can believe that.” Bill’s eyes were bloodshot and his bulbous nose had red veins running through it. “But ye always treated me with respect. I don’t mind helping ye.”
With respect? I wouldn’t have said that. Frankly, I mainly ignored Bill, since he was crude and rude even on his best days. But if he thought we were buddies I wasn’t going to claim otherwise.
“The husband was spitting mad, if ye must know,” Bill went on.
“Did you hear what the argument was about?” I asked, hoping he had. Charlotte had only been able to supply me with a general statement and Oliver said he hadn’t overheard.
“Aye,” he said. “A third party was involved. Somebody on the side, it was.”
“And?” I prompted.
“And wha’? I just told ye there was cheating going on.”
“You’re certain?”
“It was admitted by the guilty party.”
If Bryan had been unfaithful, he’d have no cause to be angry . . . so did that mean Isla was the one having an affair? Isla? Mean, bossypants Isla? I couldn’t picture it.
“Are you absolutely positive you heard correctly?” I asked, my imagination taking leaps and bounds. Remember the source. This is coming from the town drunk. Yet he’d been aware of the conversation during the rugby game earlier, alert enough to comment.
Bill’s eyes flickered and then closed. I didn’t want to lose him. So I gave him a shake and his eyes popped open again.
“Are you telling me that Isla Lindsey was having an affair?”
He nodded his head at that. “That’s wha’ I’ve been trying tae tell ye. That sister o’ his had words with him while the wife was in the loo, musta told him what his wife was up tae.”
Andrea? I glanced toward the bar, where recent arrivals Oliver Wallace, Lily Young, and Harry Taggart were in the condolence line. Andrea was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “So you didn’t actually hear?”
“Are ye going tae keep interruptin’?”
“Go on.” If he closed his eyes again, I was going to clobber him.
“So the sister fills his ear and I can see he’s gettin’ hot around the collar. Then she takes off. Pretty soon here comes the wife, and I hear him ask her, ‘Are ye cheatin’ on me? Cuz I chust heard that ye were.’ And herself, she gives him a smirk and says, ‘Now, why would I go off and do a thing like that when ye provide fer me like I’m the queen o’ England.’ All sarcastic, she was, and he got a right temper at that.”
So Andrea had instigated the fight? Interesting. “Did you hear who it was that Bryan accused Isla of cheating with?” I asked, wondering what sort of man would have anything to do with dreadful Isla.
“No, but I’m bettin’ the bloke was Harry Taggart,” Bill said, his head beginning to sag. “I saw the two o’ them together right before and I heard that one’s name bandied back and forth between herself and the husband a bit later. What Harry saw in the likes o’ her, I donnae have a Scooby.” And his chin sank to his chest.
The excitement that had been building up inside me sank. Bill Morris had missed the boat on that one, since I knew Harry had been discussing serious embezzling business with Isla, not planning a rendezvous with her. He’d been throwing her a lifeline, albeit one that she’d refused to grab hold of.
Right?
Before I made it back to my table, I crossed paths with a couple just arriving, Kirstine and John Derry. I nodded in acknowledgment, fully intending to continue on. But Kirstine stepped in my path. I prepared for whatever trouble she intended to make.
To my astonishment, she apologized. Even more surprising, her contrite expression told me she meant it.
“I owe ye an apology fer my awful behavior,” she said with sincerity. “I shouldn’ta hidden Vicki’s kits, nor lied about posting them. I don’t know what came over me.”
“And I apologize for overreacting,” I offered. “I shouldn’t have sprayed you.”
Kirstine glanced over to the table where Vicki and Sean were sitting and said, “That one’s another I have tae make amends with.” She nodded good-bye to me and moved on.
I stood there, still in utter surprise but feeling overwhelmed with relief, then spotted Inspector Jamieson off to the side in the shadows. I caught his eye and he motioned me over.
“You aren’t having a pint?” I noted with a small tease. “You work constantly, don’t you, Inspector?”
“I’m not here tae lolly, if that’s what ye mean.” He glanced in Sean’s direction. “At least if he has tae be love-struck and forget his station and responsibilities, he isn’t doing it while wearing the uniform.” Jamieson didn’t appear to be angry, though; in fact, his tone seemed almost kind and understanding. Or maybe he was relieved that Sean wasn’t going to be underfoot tonight.
“What does it mean if someone says they don’t have a Scooby?” I asked.
“No clue,” he told me.
“You don’t know, either?” I asked, surprised.
“No,” he chuckled, “I haven’t a Scooby means I haven’t a clue.
”
Right then, patrons throughout the pub broke into song as the background music swelled with the familiar tune of Auld Lang Syne.
And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
Fer auld lang syne.
Inspector Jamieson and I sang along. He had a rich, deep voice with perfect pitch.
When it ended and the music had died down to a level more conducive to conversation, I told the inspector about my exchange with Bill, finishing with my own personal opinion. “He claims Isla was having an affair with Harry Taggart, but he obviously misread the situation. According to a conversation I had with Harry, he was actually confronting Isla about projections being off at the hospice. Bill saw Isla arguing with Bryan afterwards, and jumped to conclusions that she was having an affair with Harry.”
“Bill’s a drunk,” the inspector agreed. “Ye can’t put much stock in anything that comes outta his mouth.”
“But if what he says is true,” I said, playing devil’s advocate, “Bryan Lindsey could have killed his wife for cheating on him.”
“And why would Bryan murder his wife in such a public place when he coulda made it seem like an accident anytime he preferred?”
Which had been my original thought as well. “You must have questioned Bryan regarding that argument.”
“In as gentle a manner as possible, considering. He’s taking his wife’s death hard, and hasn’t been fit fer hard questions. His sister Andrea’s been protecting him, but tomorrow she goes back tae her job and won’t be hoverin’ as she has.”
“You didn’t ask about him and Isla arguing that night?”
“He claims it was all a misunderstanding, something about mistaken identity, and that it amounted tae next tae nothing. I also broached the subject o’ missing funds, not accusing his wife directly, but he doesn’t seem tae know anything about that. Or so he said. I’ll put those questions tae him again tomorrow.”