Hope Everlastin' Book 4

by Mickee Madden

  Lachlan rose to his feet, despite Roan's terse advice for him to sit and remain calm. But Lachlan wasn't in the least calm. A brewing storm of anger was visible in his dark eyes.

  "Mr. Baird, I prefer you remain seated, if you will."

  "I'll stand if I please, in ma own home."

  The inspector's mouth stretched a bit further in its condescending grin. "Yer home? I thought Mr. Roan Ingliss—"

  "Wha' do you want from us?" Lachlan asked heatedly.

  "Don't say anything more," Winston warned.

  "Bloody hell!" Lachlan sucked in a breath and glowered at the inspector. "Fegs, mon, the members o' this household have gone through quite enough!"

  The inspector nodded in mock appreciation of Lachlan's statement, then eyed the information on his pad. "To be sure, Mr. Baird, and ma heart does go ou' to each and every one o' you. However, there's more goin’ on here than a couple o' dead bodies. So let's stop playin’ games and get to the truth."

  "You believe one or mair o' us is capable o' murder?"

  Grant chuckled a bit nastily. "Mr. Baird, I'm satisfied Cuttstone murdered Miles. And, though I shouldn’t admit to this, I really don’t care how tha' murderin’ bastard—pardon me ladies—met his end. But I have been curious abou' the happenin’s at this house for a long time. You see, Mr. Baird, some years ago, I came here on one o' the tours, and I met yer ghostly relative. Oh, no' in the context tha' I spoke to him. No. Unfortunately. But I saw him as clearly as I now see you."

  "He had the ability to appear verra much alive," said Lachlan, his voice husky from the stress squeezing his insides.

  Grant nodded. "I'll never forgot tha' day. You could say it led me to take up reading abou' the paranormal as...oh, kind o' a hobby. I'm a curious mon by nature, and I'm curious abou' the anomalies surrounding this house and its occupants."

  He gestured expansively with his free hand, the grin intact and his gaze unwaveringly fixed on Lachlan's face. "So wha' does a mon in ma position do abou' all the questions runnin’ round in his mind?"

  "I repeat," said Lachlan bitterly, "wha' do you want from us?"

  Grant released a breath through pursed lips. "Mr. Baird, park yerself back on tha' couch, and I'll tell you exactly wha' it is I want to know."

  Lachlan hesitated then lowered himself next to Winston.

  "Thank you," said Grant cheerfully. He thoughtfully rubbed the spiraled top of the pad beneath his chin. "Okay, here's wha' I have. Feel free to jump in at any time wi' an explanation."

  He looked upward, as if taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Lachlan's hands were fisted atop his lap, but he loosened them when Winston nudged him.

  "There are four headstones ou' by the oak in the field," the inspector began, his gaze riveted on Lachlan. "Now, o' course Lachlan Baird's grave is duly registered, and I found the paperwork grantin’ the Cambridges' burial on the property. However, Miss Staples is anither matter. It has come to ma attention tha' the news media misspelled her last name, but there are no records regardin’ her death wi' the county, under either name."

  "It happens," said Roan.

  The inspector's gaze shifted to him for but a second. It returned to Lachlan with disquieting intensity. "On the night o' the attempted burglary, ma dear friend and co-worker, Constable Clare Bruce, handed me a most curious report. Accordin’ to him, no' only did a mon in this house claim to be the Lachlan Baird, but a womon said she was Beth Staples. Then o' course, we have the newspaper articles statin’ Mr. Baird is in fact a descendant, but I found it a wee strange tha' there was no mention o' Miss Staples. And more curious still, I haven’t encountered her durin’ ma investigation, which makes me wonder why this womon is hidin’.

  "So, either there's a very cunnin’ scheme afoot here to defraud the public, or...a no' so cunnin’ scheme to confuse the police. Whichever the case, I intend to have those bodies in the field exhumed and examined."

  "The hell you will!" Lachlan bit out, jumping to his feet.

  "Sit down!" Grant ordered.

  Lachlan defiantly glared at the man. When at last he sat, Grant gave an irritable shake of his head. "I know Beth Staples arrived at Prestwick Airport in July o' last year. I also know she arrived at this house by taxi. I have in ma position a copy o' the list o' passengers—bearin’ her name, thank you—and Callum MacGregor's log o' his fares tha' same week. Imagine ma surprise when his log revealed he had picked up a fare at Prestwick, and delivered this same fare to our verra own Baird House."

  "Wha's the point!" Lachlan snarled. "I dinna deny she was here!"

  Grant's eyebrows, as dark as his curly hair was white, quirked upward. "So you were here, then?"

  "Aye!"

  Winston shot to his feet, his face livid. "Are any o' us being charged wi' something, or are you here based on your curiosity, Inspector? Wha’ever your answer, I can't allow this questioning to continue wi’ou' a solicitor present."

  Grant pinched the bridge of his nose for a short time. "And will you tell this solicitor why you have a Yank buried in the field, o' who there isn’t a single report to verify her death? And will you explain to this solicitor where this—" He gestured impatiently to Lachlan. "—Horatio character actually hails from, and how is it Miss Deliah and Mr. Reith's fingerprints can’t be found on anythin’ in this house or in the carriage house?"

  His knees suddenly unable to support his weight, Winston sat. He was dimly aware of Deliah entwining the fingers of a hand through his, but he found no comfort in this gesture. His mind raced to no foreseeable end, and his heart seemed to be lodged in his throat.

  "Aye, we did a thorough dustin’ for fingerprints," Grant went on, no trace of his usual sarcasm present in his voice. "And you know, Mr. Connery, anither matter which has me confused is, you bein’ a renowned psychic and all, how is it you didn’t know the Phantom was hidin’ in the cellar?"

  "Do ye know wha' be a telepath?" Deliah quietly asked the inspector.

  He nodded.

  "The Phantom was verra strong in this ability."

  "Don't say any more," Winston told her.

  "Ahhh. So, Miss Deliah, you're tellin’ me he was able to block his presence from Mr. Connery?"

  "And maself."

  Grant bobbed his head. "Anither psychic. Fancy tha', miss. And wha' o' Mr. Reith? Is he also psychic?"

  "Ma brither only just arrived here a few a days ago," said Deliah, a maternal frown leveled at the inspector.

  "Yer brither?" Grant chuckled, and again it was an unpleasant sound. "I don’t see a family resemblance. Tell me, does he also sprout wings?"

  This time, Lachlan, Roan, and Winston shot to their feet, their expressions protective, almost murderous. The inspector studied them for a time. He curtly gestured for them to sit, then gestured again more forcefully when they remained standing. One by one they sat and exchanged conspiratorial glances, all of which Grant filed away in his mind for later reference.

  "Donnely insists Miss Deliah had wings afore Constable Bruce arrived the night o' the break-in."

  Winston snorted derisively. "And you believe him?"

  "Normally, I'd think the mon daft. But as I said, I don’t believe in coincidence. So how is it the siblin’s here don’t have fingerprints?"

  "That's ludicrous," Winston charged, trying to make light of the question. "Obviously, your team missed them."

  "No. Even if someone believes themselves diligent in erasin’ their prints, there's always at least one we find." Grant leaned forward and braced his forearms on the top of his thighs. His expression was deadly serious as his blue eyes glanced at each person with practiced scrutiny. "You might say I'm like a dog wi' a favored bone. I won’t give up searchin’ till ma teeth are firmly locked onta wha' I consider ma prize."

  "Some dogs choke on bone slivers," said Beth, entering the room.

  Ignoring Lachlan rushing to her side and the others' horrified expressions she stopped in front of the cold hearth, folded her arms against her chest, and met the inspector's startled
gaze with one of cool disdain. "Kindly permit me to introduce myself."

  "Be quiet!" Lachlan warned, at which she dealt him a scolding look.

  Grant stood and faced Beth. Although his expression was one of deepening interest, his demeanor betrayed his wariness.

  "Inspector Grant was abou' to leave," said Winston to Beth. His piercing gaze shifted to the inspector. "Don't return wi’ou' a search warrant."

  The inspector spared Winston an impatient glance then looked at Beth and Lachlan for a long moment before his gaze lifted to study the portrait above the mantel. He blinked in mild confusion and scratched the nape of his neck.

  "Anither relative, are you?" he asked her.

  "I was listening in on the conversation," she said stiffly. "I'm the dead Yank. Or rather—"

  "Beth," Lachlan moaned.

  "—I was the dead Yank," she completed, undaunted by Lachlan stepping behind her and winding his arms around her middle. He kissed the back of her head and sighed heavily into her hair.

  "Beth Staples," said Grant in a monotone. "And you claim you were dead?"

  Beth glanced at the others with a mute apology. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart racing, but she couldn't allow the inspector to keep verbally hammering at the people she loved. Winston offered her a slight nod, telling her he understood her motive. It helped her to again focus on the officer.

  "Answer me one question, Inspector."

  His right eyebrow shot upward and relaxed as he nodded.

  "Are you seeking answers to assuage your curiosity, or looking for information to open another investigation?"

  He blinked in bewilderment then smiled in an offhanded manner. "In truth, ma curiosity."

  "Beth," Lachlan murmured, and she leaned the back of her head against his shoulder for a second.

  "All right," she said to the inspector, "I'll tell you everything you need to know. But if you use what I say against anyone in this house, I swear I'll rip your heart out with my bare hands."

  Grant's right hand went to the breast of his impeccable dark blue suit. "Does wha' you have to say involve criminal activities?"

  "No."

  Beth gestured for him to sit. She escorted Lachlan back to the sofa he'd been on previously, then briefly stopped in front of Deliah and Reith and passed them a look that told them she wouldn't reveal their backgrounds. She took one of the other chairs and positioned it in front of the inspector. She sat, her knees approximately eight inches from his, and primly folded her hands atop her lap.

  For the next half hour, she calmly told him of everything she now knew had led to her death, what had occurred during her existence in the afterlife, and how she and Lachlan had been given a second chance.

  Lastly, she told him about the twins, ending her revelation with, "So you see, Inspector Grant, we haven't been secretive without just cause. All Lachlan and I want is to live a relatively normal life with our children."

  Silence stretched on for an inordinately long time. The inspector's gaze flitted repeatedly to each of the guarded expressions then he released a burst of laughter.

  "You almaist had me, miss," he said, wagging a finger at Beth. Hardness crept into the lines of his face as he straightened his shoulders and crammed the pad into the breast pocket of his shirt. He stood and cast the group a scowl before cutting his gaze to Beth.

  "I'm retirin’ in four months, but tha's four months I'll be visitin’ you people till I get to the truth. You've a fine imagination, Miss-Whoever-You-Are. Perhaps you should be pennin’ stories for one o' the pulp publishers."

  He brusquely headed for the hall door, but released a cry of alarm when something whizzed past him and blocked his path. He staggered backward, a hand to his brow, and stared in horrified-fascination at the woman hovering in front of the doorway, her wings beating the air so swiftly, they were nearly invisible.

  Nearly, but not quite.

  He plopped back onto the chair he'd been using, his eyes transfixed on Deliah as she flew closer and then settled soundlessly on her bare feet. Her wings fluttered to a stop and she folded her arms against her middle as she eyed him with an unmistakable challenge to deny what he was seeing.

  "I be Deliah, princess o' the Kingdom Faerie. Twas I who helped Lachlan and Beth return to the livin’."

  A strangled laugh escaped Grant.

  Lachlan rose and approached the inspector, positioning himself alongside Deliah. "In August o' nineteen eighty-eight, you came wi' a womon to this house."

  The inspector's eyes narrowed and he nodded. "Ma wife. She died soon efter o' cancer."

  "You tried to take ma picture, but I wouldna allow yer camera to work."

  Grant unsteadily rose to his feet, his face blanched, his eyes misting with tears. "It is you," he murmured.

  "Aye. Wha' ma Beth told you is the truth. Horatio was invented to protect ma return, and Beth was hidden to protect her and our children."

  Grant loosened his tie, then the top two buttons of his shirt. "How...how the hell have you kept this secret? Rebirth and fairies." His gaze shifted to Reith, who shrugged.

  "Aye, I be a fairy prince."

  "King," Deliah corrected, smiling at him adoringly.

  "Wha'?" asked Lachlan, bewildered. "King?"

  Reith stood and shifted on his feet, chagrined at the attention he was receiving. "Dethroned and de-winged, for the time." He smiled ruefully at the inspector. "Ma wife. She has a temper."

  The inspector walked around to the back of the chair and gripped its top so fiercely that the ruddy color of his knuckles turned white. He made two attempts to speak, failed, then managed, "I knew there was somethin’ more no canny goin’ on here, but this...."

  He tried to smile, and again failed. "Ma mither-in-law used to swear she'd seen fairy circles in her yard, and I thought her daft. And ma wife, Kathy, God rest her soul, would say to me, 'Tis better to believe in fairy circles than believe in nothin’ a’tall'. If only they were here to see you."

  "Now that you know everything," said Winston, "wha' do you plan to do wi' the information?"

  Grant shrugged. "Take it to ma grave."

  Several sighs of relief were heard.

  "But I can’t guarantee anither officer won’t get curious in the future. There's a lot o' unanswered questions involvin’ this house." He looked at Lachlan dazedly. "If I were you, I'd take ma family and go somewhere ye're no' known. But you'll need papers."

  "I'm taking care o' tha'," said Winston, surprised he'd offered the information.

  "Good. Good." The inspector's head bobbed as he fell thoughtfully silent for a time. Then he looked at Beth. "You need to have tha' headstone removed and the...kist. Don’t leave any evidence you died, lass."

  Lachlan nodded. "Aye, we should remove them. Fegs, so much to think abou'." He acknowledged Grant's shaken look and added, "Tis a lot to digest, I know."

  "Aye. Aye, it is."

  "Would you like a cup of coffee, Inspector Grant?" asked Laura, now feeling sorry for the man.

  With a strained grin, he shook his head. "Thank you, but I don’t think ma stomach would keep it down."

  "How long will the cellar be cordoned off?" asked Roan.

  "It can be taken down now. I've no doubt the Phantom murdered Mr. Miles, or tha' the killer's daith was anythin’ mair than an accident."

  "Thank God," Roan muttered, and raked the fingers of one hand through his hair. "The sooner tha' mess is cleaned up down there, the better I'll sleep."

  "Me, too," said Laura. "At least Miles hasn't been seen since—" She clamped a hand over her mouth and winced at her own stupidity.

  "Since when?" asked Grant.

  "Miles' spirit was here for a while," said Lachlan wryly, "but he hasna been seen since the Phantom's death."

  "Weel, I think I've heard all I can take for one day." The inspector laughed. He sobered and added, "I'm sorry I've been a royal pain. Since ma wife died, I haven’t had much to keep ma mind busy. Crossmichael's a quiet place. No' much happenin’."
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  "But you do understand why we've had to do some creative juggling to protect ourselves?" asked Beth.

  "I do. You're from Washington State, tha' right?"

  "Yes. Kennewick, Washington."

  The inspector sighed. "Might be best if you and yers head for the States."

  "Lachlan and I have been discussing the possibility."

  Grant nodded and glanced at Roan and Winston. "I'll take ma leave now. If you need anythin’, feel free to call on me. I'll do ma best to discourage any further investigation into the occupants here. But as I said, get rid o’ Miss Staples' kist and headstone. If any questions are asked, play dumb. That's the best advice I can offer."

  Beth stood and extended a hand to the inspector. He hesitantly clasped it. "Thank you."

  "Thank you." He laughed a bit shyly, and his eyes took on a sparkle as he regarded Beth. "Wha' do you think o' Scotland?"

  "I hate to leave. If you ever come to the States, give us a call. I'm in the phone book."

  "That's very kind o' you." He walked around the chair and clapped his hands against his small paunch. "I best be leavin’. I came on ma free time, but I should be checkin’ in, soon." A genuine smile youthened his face as he took a long look at the others in the room, lingering lastly on Deliah's serene features. "I can’t thank you enough for sharin’ the truth wi' me. Miss Deliah, I feel as if I've been given a second chance, too. I believed in fairies as a very young lad, but grew dour as I got older."

  "Whenever ye feel a dour moment, Inspector, feel free to have a visit wi' me," she said with a smile.

  Roan asked Grant, "Do you like to fish?"

  "Very fond o' the sport, aye."

  "Then let's plan to make a day o' it when the weather warms up a bit."

  The inspector beamed. "Whenever you say, Mr. Ingliss. Good day, all. Ma thoughts will be wi' you."

  Everyone in the parlor remained silent until they heard the front doors open and close. Deliah continued to stare down the hall, a wistful expression on her face. "He be a lonely mon." Her gaze shifted to Roan. "Twas kind o' ye to offer to take him fishin’. Wha' be fishin’?"