"Just what do you think you're doing snooping around here?" the voice from behind asked in a sharp tone, startling the Scotsman.
The investigator jerked and spun to face a tall, gaunt woman. Her gray hair cropped close to her head, she almost resembled a man. Her pallor matched the color of her locks and if not for small dark eyes and pink lipstick, her entire head would appear as one bland hue of gray, like a cup of canned cream of mushroom soup.
"Well? Shall I call the constable?"
"I don't think that will be… " Duncan began, but was interrupted.
"I've been watching you from the window, you interfere. Get back to England before the tide strands you."
"My name is Duncan Dewar and I'm a guest of Reggie Norcroft," the Scotsman stated, extending a hand to the woman.
"We'll see about that!" she screeched and stomped off.
Duncan watched as the unpleasant creature marched around the corner and out of sight. He shook his head, then continued around the grounds.
Next, he explored the remnants from the fire of 1732. Rubble, some covered in moss, lined the perimeter of a large rectangle, about half a meter high. Grass grew inside the rocky outline of the former wing. Not much to see here, he thought and headed around the Victorian addition before returning back inside the house to say his farewells for the day.
He found Reginald in the kitchen, cleaning up the tea things as the shrew from the yard sat at the table, sipping a cup of the afternoon brew. Donald was nowhere to be seen. He paused in the doorway and watched as the woman took a bite of biscuit, then licked a finger before trailing it around the edge of her plate. She flipped her finger over and examined several crumbs she'd accumulated before placing them in her mouth.
"Just popped in to say good-bye, Reggie."
"Oh, Duncan," Reggie said, turning from the sink. "Allow me to introduce Dottie Peckham. Dottie, this is Duncan."
Mrs. Peckham looked first at her employer, then at Duncan, batting her eyes.
With mock humility she said, "My pleasure, Sir," allowing her head a slight bow.
Duncan checked into his small room at the Puffin. The restaurant and inn kept six cozy guest suites. It was no Blue Bell, but the accommodations would work for a short stay. The investigator sat on the bed and checked his mobile for messages. It had already been a long day. One from his brother read,
Call me as soon as you get this - Angus
Duncan rang his brother.
"Hallo, Angus, I got your message. What do you need?"
"I've got good and bad news, Duncan, which do you want first?"
"Well, give me the good news."
"I took your advice and gave Harold a vacation."
"Brilliant. Now what's the bad news?"
"Uh…"
A loud pounding on Duncan's door drew his attention from his cellular.
"Just a minute, Angus. Someone's at the door," Duncan interrupted his brother and went to see who could need in his room.
-7-
No Room At the Inn
"What on earth are you doing here?" Duncan asked, shock in his voice.
"You could be a little more hospitable, don't you think?"
Duncan picked up his cellular from where he'd left it on the bed as a cold wind blew through the doorway, depositing a lone leaf on the rug.
"A-n-g-u-s?" he said into the phone.
He glanced at the black screen. His brother had hung up. He turned to the red headed boy, now inside his small room.
"Shut the door, Harold," Duncan said, resignation in his voice.
Besides two sisters, Sophie and Lilly, the investigator had three younger brothers. His youngest, William, was enjoying an extended gap year in Australia, visiting with Lilly, who lived there. Duncan was so close in age to Angus, he rarely thought of him as a little brother. Harold, on the other hand, was unique. In his twenties, he still needed to find his place in the world. In the meantime, he helped run Angus's garages. It didn't take much doing, as the mechanics didn't need supervision, and Angus took care of personnel issues. Scheduling was his main responsibility, and that was no trouble for Harold. A numbers wiz, he'd developed a mathematical system for picking winners of football matches. He made a tidy sum each year and kept his methods secret. So establishing shifts and setting time tables came naturally to him.
"Well, what's going on, Harold?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"No," Duncan said.
"I've - come - for - my - holiday," Harold replied with an incredulous look on his face, as if any bampot would know why he appeared without notice on Duncan's doorstep. He added, "The one you suggested."
The investigator stood stunned, gazing at his younger brother, putting the pieces of this latest puzzle together. He had told Angus Harold deserved a vacation. Angus had recently joined Duncan in Spain for a holiday while the investigator worked a case. Harold had hinted to Angus that he felt left out. Ach!
"Do you really want to spend your time away on Lindisfarne, Harold? There's not a lot to do here."
His brother's face began to fall.
Duncan continued, "I mean, I'm more than happy to have you, but, there's no pool to lay around, no nightlife to speak of, and the weather's dreich."
Harold perked right up again.
"Oh, you're wrong, Duncan. There's plenty to do here and we'll be together."
We sure will be, Duncan thought, glancing around the tiny room with the double mattress and no room for a cot. The bed's length was just sufficient, but it wasn't wide enough for the two brothers.
"I think we better see about getting you your own room, Harold."
"Oh, there are no other rooms."
"The Puffin is full up?" Duncan asked.
"Everything's booked."
"How can that be?"
"September and October are almost like high months here. All the rooms are already booked by birders," Harold explained.
There was no way out of it. Duncan and his brother would have to share the room. Despite the inconvenience, he felt touched that Harold wanted to holiday with him and decided to make the most of the situation.
"Have you eaten, Harold?"
"Nae and I'm famished," he admitted, adding, "let's find a chippie."
"I think we better settle for the inn's restaurant. Scran's good there."
The brothers made their way to the Puffin's café and ordered fish and chips, the dish Harold was craving, and just as Duncan said, the food proved tasty. They decided to try Lindisfarne Mead, a honey-infused alcoholic beverage, in lieu of a pint.
After finishing the fried fare and lingering over the mead, Duncan asked, "Why didn't you ring me up and tell me you were coming last night?"
"I only decided this afternoon. Angus gave me a week's holiday. Thank you, by the way, for convincing him." Duncan tried to protest, but his brother continued, ignoring him, "I plan to take at least two."
"Two what?" Duncan asked.
"Two week's holiday, of course. He owes me more than that. I hadn't given any thought to what I should do or where I should go. I might have preferred Spain, but you didn’t ask me to come along. Ah, dinnae fash yersel," Harold said, holding his hand up. "I understand you and Angus are close, and we couldn't both come at once. Anyway, I asked Mum's advice and she said joining you here was a fine idea."
Duncan thought back to remarks he and Angus had made about Harold in Spain and how angry his mum got. He could see Margaret's hand in this situation. He looked at his brother. Harold's freckles gave him the appearance of one much younger than he actually was. His red hair, trimmed short on the sides, but left long enough to create a tousled look on top, added to his youthful appearance. His blue eyes reflected an innocence, or was it wonder, not often seen in twenty-somethings. He tried to think of any close friends of Harold's that he knew of. He wasn't sure his brother socialized outside of the family.
"I agree with Mum. We'll have a fine time together. I do think you might want to give Angus some warning about extendin
g your leave, though," Duncan advised.
While the brothers chatted, an attractive waitress flitted around their table. She offered to bring them another round of mead, which they declined. She returned a few minutes later inquiring as to dessert, which they also decided to forego.
Once the girl disappeared into the kitchen, Harold remarked in a monotone, "I never get this kind of service when I'm alone."
"It's probably because you look too young to afford a tip," Duncan replied, chuckling.
Back in the room, the brothers arranged suitcases, toiletries, computers, et cetera, and decided on sleeping arrangements. Harold took the left side of the bed, that closest to the loo. Duncan was exhausted from his early morning and suggested they get some sleep. Harold agreed and flipped off the light. Duncan, his back to his brother, hugged a pillow, realizing there'd be no rolling over during the night -- there wasn't space on the double mattress for that. Light from a street lamp shown through the room's thin window shade into his eyes. He squeezed his lids closed and relaxed as exhaustion swept over him. Just as his mind began to wander and he slipped into a state of slumber, his brother began snoring.
The investigator hoped the episode would pass, but it seemed his brother was just getting started. Before long, it sounded as though a lumber crew, keen on leveling a forest, worked next to him. Duncan began to worry Harold had a medical condition. Who in their twenties makes that kind of racket when they sleep?
After a half hour and several attempts to stymie Harold's snores, Duncan rolled off the bed and sat on a suitcase next to the small desk under the room's window. With all the luggage, there wasn't space to pull out the chair. The investigator flipped open his laptop and soon the glow of the screen illuminated his general area. He began entering data into his fault tree analysis program.
Duncan gained notoriety in his twenties when he came up with a new way to quickly determine the cause of accidents. His mum still had framed covers of the magazines, featuring Duncan, mounted on the wall. His analysis program was based upon Boolean algebra and proved quite effective. It utilized deductive reasoning, just like his literary hero, Sherlock Holmes. This led to a successful career in the insurance business, heading up a team of life insurance investigators. Publicity regarding his relationship with Caroline Menzies derailed his career, but his recent case in Spain gave him a leg up on a fresh start as an independent consultant. At least that was one way to look at it.
The investigator worked into the wee hours entering the facts he had gathered from Reginald into his analysis. Satisfied with his work, he realized Harold had finally ceased snoring. He saved his program and turned off the computer. Glancing at the bed, he saw his brother sprawled across the mattress. Duncan curled up near one corner, grasped his pillow and sank into a deep sleep.
He awoke with Harold's elbow pressing against his spine. Lanky, his younger brother had no trouble filling the double bed. Duncan pushed his brother's arm away and rolled over. Harold, still sleeping, had an angelic look on his face. Hard to believe that face was the source of what sounded like a squad of chain saws buzzing away most of the night.
I'll have to be sure and thank Mum for suggesting this, Duncan thought, checking his watch. It wasn't quite six and he estimated it was past two when he finally went to bed. He closed his eyes with the hope of getting a few more minutes of sleep.
The humming of his cellular woke him a half hour later.
"I dinnae hear from ye last night. Are ye well?" Donald asked.
"I'm fine, Donald. I got an unexpected visitor in the form of my younger brother, Harold," Duncan whispered.
"Ah, yer accommodations were adequate then? Will we see ye later?"
"I'll ring you up this afternoon, Donald, if that's all right."
"Aye, we'll be at the house. Enjoy yer morning, Lad."
Duncan glanced at his brother, who managed to sleep through the conversation, and shook his head. He decided a quick run would be a good way to start the day and changed into his running suit and joggers.
He had it in his head to gaze at the open ocean and headed east, up Chare Ends to a dirt road he'd noticed the morning he arrived. Brisk air met him, but the scattered clouds meant he had no fear of rain. The lane he'd chosen traversed pastures and small hills before reaching a beach. Duncan gasped at the sight spreading out before him. The North Sea rippled in fuchsia pink, reflecting the rising sun. The scant clouds above also took on this tone. He'd never witnessed a sunrise like this.
The Scotsman sat down on the top of a hillock and drew his knees to his chest for warmth. His eye caught some movement to his right and, training his gaze in that direction, he detected an animal scurrying from the undergrowth that grew near the sand. The varmint appeared in silhouette, with a small creature hanging from its mouth. It disappeared in a moment, but Duncan recognized a fox grasping a bird by the wing. The fowl flapped its free wing violently to no avail.
He turned his attention back to the sea, wondering what other wildlife lived on Lindisfarne. The sun had broken the horizon and the North Sea's color began to fade from hot pink to a soft peach before becoming its familiar frigid deep blue. Duncan stood and swiped the sand from his clothes. He then jogged back to the Puffin, witnessing the village come alive with activity.
Vans filled with supplies for the island's grocery, pubs, and inns joined him on Chare Ends, their drivers staring at the stranger as they passed. The sun warmed his back as he ran west before turning south on Marygate. There he met an unlikely traffic jam. A flock of small birds trod down the street en mass, not caring if they shared the lane with motorists. The Scotsman slowed his pace to observe these tiny fowl who acted as though they owned the island. They turned right on Fenkle Street. Watching them round the corner like a band in a military tattoo was a once in a lifetime sight for Duncan, who continued on to the Puffin.
He eased the door to his lodgings open and found Harold still asleep. He decided to take advantage and hit the shower while his brother dozed. The en suite was tight, but the investigator took his time, enjoying the hot water and steam. When he emerged, Harold had not woken, so he gave his younger brother a shove.
"Get up."
Harold rolled to the other side of the bed and opened his eyes.
"Good morning, Duncan." The boy glanced up and down at his brother before adding, "Aren't ye the ambitious one this morn. Up early, ready to go, and fresh as a daisy!"
Duncan stared at his brother a moment, deciding if he should mention last night's snore fest.
"Yes, I've a long day ahead. If you want to join me for breakfast before I set off, you'll have to hurry."
His brother smiled, leapt from the bed to the bathroom and slammed the door. Duncan assumed that meant Harold would start the day with him in the Puffin's restaurant. He hoped the boy could keep himself busy today. Harold showered and was dressed in under five minutes. He wondered if the lad was shaving yet, but didn't ask.
Over a traditional English breakfast, the investigator explained his plans for the day, "I'm going to have a look at the local copy of the Lindisfarne Gospels and… "
"Brilliant!" Harold interrupted. "I've always been interested in illuminated letters."
Duncan wasn't planning on his brother tagging along.
"You realize it's only a partial copy. The entire facsimile copy is in Durham Cathedral Treasury, if you'd like to view it."
"Nae. It's so detailed that a few pages will be enough to hold my interest for now."
The issue settled, they finished their meal and walked to the Heritage Centre. It was a crisp morning with little wind, and the walk boosted Duncan's spirits. The building had only just opened when they arrived, and the brothers were the first guests of the day. The entrance offered electronic presentations which distracted Harold. Duncan entered the exhibit alone. Not only were there excellent copies of pages from the Lindisfarne Gospels on show, but he noticed a special interactive computer display of approximately twenty pages from the famous book.
> The colors of the illuminated designs struck the investigator straight off. Many of the carpets, as they were known, contained hues similar to what he'd seen in the mosaic at Norcroft Manor. More complicated than Reginald's treasure map, the drawings included hundreds of Celtic knots, mythical beasts, pinwheels, and even hearts. The artist's intricate work overwhelmed him. Reggie's words about the left and right sides of the brain came back to the investigator. Perhaps both areas of his brain worked together as he tried to decipher the beautiful designs. The Scotsman thought he identified Egyptian and Mediterranean influences in the artwork, alongside the Celtic wheel cross.
Soon Harold was nudging up against him. His younger brother, mesmerized by the patterns, appeared unconscious of anyone else. The investigator moved a centimeter away as Harold crowded nearer the glass case. Duncan walked to another area and examined the pages on display there. Beasts appeared to swallow their own tails in the details of the cross design for the Gospel of Saint Matthew. But it was the carpet related to the Gospel of John that drew the investigator most. Its colors reminded him of Reginald's find, and the cross in the middle seemed similar to what was visible on the floor at Norcroft Manor. Also, the shapes that emerged from its four corners struck a similarity to that revealed in his client's mosaic. Could Reggie's design have been inspired by this Gospel? It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.
"Please refrain from touching the glass," a voice spoke near Duncan.
Without realizing what he was doing, the investigator had been tracing the patterns from the carpet with his finger against the display window.
"Sorry," Duncan said, glancing at the attendant with a smile. "Just got carried away," he added, withdrawing his hand.
A middle-aged woman with a name tag reading Lucy approached.
"It's easy to do here," she replied, flashing her own smile. Lucy continued, "I see you were experiencing a labyrinth, as many do who cannot walk one."
Perplexed, Duncan glanced again at her name tag which labeled Lucy as a Heritage Centre Educator.
Mystery: The Laird's Labyrinth: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 4) Page 6