Scones and Scoundrels

by Molly Macrae

  “I brought fresh scones as a welcome-to-Inversgail present,” she said. “We make them—well, I don’t make, but a couple of my business partners do. For our tearoom. It’s down on the High Street. Cakes and Tales, next door to Yon Bonnie Books, which you might remember from when you lived here.” She was yammering as badly as Maida had the night before. She stopped and smiled, then reined that in, too.

  Daphne reached over the gate and took the bag. She opened it, sniffed, and appeared to consider what she’d smelled. Then she took out a scone and offered it to Rachel Carson. The dog ignored it. “This doesn’t bode well,” Daphne said, studying the scone and then sniffing more closely.

  Janet jammed her hands into the pockets of her khakis so she wouldn’t be tempted to grab the bag back.

  Daphne stuck her tongue out and took a quick, delicate lick, not unlike a snake flickering its tongue as it explored. And then she ate the scone in two gulps.

  “You’ll find napkins in the bag,” Janet said.

  Daphne waved the suggestion away and licked her fingers. A second scone went down at the more sedate pace of three gulps. “They’re quite good, after all,” she said, not offering one to Janet.

  “After all these years, how does it feel to wake up in Inversgail again?” Janet asked.

  “The jury is out, I think. Or, as I like to say, the loon has yet to laugh.” Daphne waved a scone as she talked, though not with the same finesse as she’d used the wooden sword. Rachel Carson followed the arc of the scone as it passed back and forth over her nose. When she saw Janet watching her, she turned her head and feigned indifference.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard a loon,” Janet said. “Do they live in Scotland?”

  “You obviously aren’t a birder. As a matter of fact, they’re found throughout northern Europe, but in this part of the world, they’re called divers. So you might hear one laughing in Inversgail, because they are native. Unlike you.” Daphne laughed at that, several trills longer than Janet thought necessary. Then she cocked her head and thought for a moment before saying, “I prefer the name loon, but it can be confusing in a town like Inversgail, where there are plenty of the bipedal, mammalian-type loon.” She laughed again, then snorted before taking another scone. “There certainly used to be, anyway. More than one town’s fair share, and I can’t see how that would have changed over the years. Gillian’s father is still here, for instance. One might have hoped for improvement, but then one might encounter someone like that woman who owns this house. Jada.”

  “Maida Fairlie?”

  “No, I’m quite certain her name is Jada. It’s an unusual name for a woman of her age from this part of the world. I wonder what the story is behind that aberration. And your name is Janet. You see, they both begin with the letter J.”

  “Well, yes, that’s one way to remember them,” Janet said, wondering how Maida would like being rechristened.

  “The best way, I assure you.” Daphne tapped her forehead. “Remember, excellent memory. Now, what do you know about this affair at the library Friday night?”

  “It should be a good time. People are looking forward to meeting you and welcoming you back. Welcoming you home.”

  “But I’m not the only attraction. I’m sharing the stage with Gillian’s father. In fact, as the presenter of a plaque of some sort to her father, I might be considered ancillary to the whole affair. Invisible.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re considered the draw and the star, Daphne. Honoring Alistair for his work is the added attraction.”

  “These other people, though. This group calling itself something unbearably long so they can use the acronym GREAT-SCOT.”

  “They’ve worked closely with Alistair. They did a lot of the replanting in the glen.”

  “All earnest, I’m sure. They’ll most likely wear green shirts. I’ve met the type.”

  “Anyway,” Janet said, “it’s a good combination of celebrations. Welcoming home the internationally acclaimed environmentalist while recognizing the work of a local one—it seems like an energy-efficient sort of event. And then there’s the music and dancing. It’ll be lively, and a lot of fun.”

  Daphne peered at Janet with the same consideration she’d given the first scone she’d bitten into. “You make a good point. If nothing else, it will use fewer plastic plates and forks.”

  Time and schedules permitting, the four partners had developed the habit of meeting briefly before opening each morning. They met at the interior door between the bookshop and the tearoom to wish each other a good day and pass along news or information. This mostly consisted of Christine and Summer telling the bookshop two what specials were on in the tearoom and Janet and Tallie telling the tearoom two about sales going on in the bookshop. Occasionally, one or the other of them shared an inspirational quote. More frequently, someone told a joke to start the day with a laugh. This morning, keeping an eye on the clock, Christine said she had more details that Danny had given her over coffee in her parents’ kitchen.

  “This morning?” Janet asked.

  “He was sitting outside in his car when I arrived home last night.”

  “Do they know a name yet?” Tallie asked.

  “Danny says no. The police haven’t released that or a cause of death.” Christine took a deep breath that turned into a yawn. “Sorry. He said after we left last night—left Nev’s—a group on a pub crawl celebrating some lad’s twenty-first came in. Danny didn’t know any of them. They’d found their way from the pubs on the High Street. He wasn’t keen on them being there, but they weren’t causing a problem. At first. And then a couple of the lads got loud and started in shoving each other. Danny says he doesn’t know what it was about. He sent them on their way. The others left, as well, and he thought they’d cleared off. When he went out the back later, he found that poor lad. He remembers serving him, but he told the police he didn’t think he was part of the group.”

  “And it couldn’t have been an accident?” Janet asked.

  “There was a brick involved in such a way—” Christine put a hand to her mouth, then took it away. “An accident is unlikely.”

  “Is Danny all right?” Summer asked.

  “He’s stunned. It takes a lot to stun that man, but nothing like this has happened at Nev’s since he’s been there. Well.” Christine drew herself up.

  Janet saw Elizabeth II flicker into focus for a moment, and then it was familiar Christine standing next to her, tired but solid. Janet gave her a hug like the one she’d sent her home with the night before.

  “I’m not the one who needs hugs,” Christine said gruffly.

  “I know that,” Janet said. “And it isn’t for you. It’s for Danny the next time you see him.”

  Janet’s and Tallie’s personalities and talents meshed in their new business. Janet liked to say that, having known her daughter since she’d only been a bit of indigestion and then a kick in the ribs, she’d been fairly certain they would get along. They shared most duties and staked out a few they each preferred over others. Tallie, burned out after years of teaching contract law, liked opening boxes of “new” and keeping the computer inventory up to date. She also revived the Saturday morning children’s program that the previous owners had offered haphazardly. She never had great numbers of children, but discovered unexpected joy in reading stories and doing crafts. Janet, with her librarian’s eye for matching books to patrons, enjoyed ordering stock.

  “What are you buying for us today?” Tallie asked.

  “Fitness,” Janet said vaguely. She’d brought a stack of publisher’s catalogs from the office and then ignored them in favor of sitting at the computer for an online search.

  “I half-expected to hear that dog yapping all night, but I didn’t, or it didn’t.”

  Janet looked up. “I don’t think Rachel Carson is much of a talker. Daphne was more talkative this morning, though, and more …” She pursed her lips, debating what Daphne was more of, and then went with the catchall. �
�More interesting. If you change your running route tomorrow, you might see what I mean.” She told Tallie about taking the scones to Daphne and described the spectacle of finding her in the middle of Ross Street flourishing her sword. “I would love to see what Norman Hobbs would make of her.”

  “Forget Constable Hobbs and back up a moment,” Tallie said. “After the cold and decidedly odd reception she gave us last night, you took her scones? And you approached her as she stood in the middle of the street waving a sword?”

  “A wooden sword. She said it was a samurai sword workout and, frankly, it looked like a lot of fun. I think I could get into something like that.”

  “But not in the middle of the street.”

  “No, we have more room in our back garden. She looks very fit, dear.”

  “Well, that was a nice thing for you to do, Mom. I’m sure it made her feel welcome on her first morning back in Inversgail.”

  “She probably doesn’t get many fresh scones delivered to her doorstep out in her woods.”

  “I’m surprised she even eats them,” Tallie said.

  “You’d be surprised how fast she eats them.”

  “But, generally, you think she improved with a good night’s sleep?”

  “Yes,” Janet said after some thought. “She’s very sure of herself. I’d say she’s mostly sunny, with a smirr of condescension.”

  The door jingled and a man they hadn’t seen for some months stepped in.

  “Reddick!” Janet said. “What a delight. Is Quantum with you?” They’d all been quite taken with Reddick’s collie when they’d met. Reddick, a slim man with dark hair and dark circles under his eyes, was a member of the Major Investigation Team from the Specialist Crime Division of Police Scotland.

  “I don’t think he’s here for a chat,” Tallie said quietly.

  6

  Mrs. Marsh and Ms. Marsh.” Reddick nodded at Janet, then Tallie. “It’s good to see you both looking so well. Quantum sends his best woof.”

  Janet stood up. That was the difference between Reddick and Norman Hobbs, she thought. Norman was proper and professional, but he would just as likely sit down, cross his legs, share a cuppa with you, and ask for extra biscuits. Norman had used every page of the pink princess notebook given to him for his work by his niece. Reddick had been an occasional customer during his convalescence after a bad fall some months earlier, and Janet liked him. But standing to meet him balanced the formality she sensed between them. And his tired eyes told her more than his pleasant words or the supposed greeting from his collie.

  Tallie came to stand beside her mother. “What can we do for you?”

  Reddick opened a zippered portfolio and removed three clear plastic bags. He laid them on the counter, one beside the other. The first, which was also the largest, contained a book by Daphne Wood—a copy of Gathering My Thoughts and Thimbleberries. The second contained a receipt from Yon Bonnie Books for a copy of Gathering My Thoughts and Thimbleberries. The third held one of their bookmarks.

  Janet glanced quickly at Tallie—calm, relaxed, but gazing seriously, steadily at Reddick. Waiting. Janet waited, too. Reddick looked around, and appeared to listen.

  “No customers,” said Tallie. “Tuesday mornings tend to be slow.”

  “Valuable time for paperwork, then? I’ll try not to use it up. I take it you’re aware of the death last night at Nev’s?” They’d seen Reddick at Nev’s occasionally, as well, along with Quantum, whose posture was every bit as professional. “These items were recovered in the course of our inquiry. Actually, with one other item.” He took another bag from the portfolio and laid it down beside the others. It held a credit card receipt for one night’s lodging at Bedtime Tales.

  “Oh my.” Janet glanced at the ceiling and then squinted at the receipt.

  “Have you identified the victim?” Tallie asked. “Are these his?”

  “The name has not yet been released. Ownership hasn’t been determined.”

  The door jingled and a couple of women speaking German came in.

  “I’ll stay with the customers,” Janet said. “See if Summer can get free, Tallie, and the three of you can go upstairs.”

  Tallie went and Reddick started to gather his plastic bags.

  “Before you put them away,” Janet said, interrupting him. “What’s the date on the book receipt?”

  “The same as for the B and B: four days ago. Any chance, at all, that the room—”

  “Hasn’t been cleaned at least once since?” Janet shook her head. “More like two or three times.” Then she thought of another question. “Will Constable Hobbs be helping with your investigation?”

  “I’m not authorized to give out that information.”

  Janet nodded as though that answer was fine and made sense. It was, and it did, but it was also unsatisfying. Reddick went upstairs with Tallie and Summer. Janet chatted with the Germans and rang up two of Daphne’s books for one and a book of folktales for the other. When they’d gone, Janet sent a text to Christine in the tearoom, asking her to call when she had a moment. Her phone rang almost immediately.

  “That’s the difference between Reddick and our Norman,” Christine said when Janet told her Reddick’s unhelpful answer. “Besides the fact I used to change Norman’s nappies when I babysat for him back in the Mesolithic.”

  “You aren’t that old,” Janet said. “You’re barely more than Neolithic.”

  “You’re a good friend, Janet. The difference between them is that Reddick is eminently trustworthy, while Norman wouldn’t worry at all about telling us who else is working on this or if those items will identify the victim or someone else. Customer, I have to go.”

  Janet had more customers of her own. She helped one set find guide books for a trip to the Orkneys and Shetlands and sold ten postcards to a pair of sisters up from London. After suggesting the sisters write the cards over tea in Cakes and Tales, she saw Reddick returning with Tallie and Summer. Summer started back toward the tearoom, but at a word from Reddick, came with him and Tallie to join Janet at the sales counter.

  “I’ve one more question for you,” Reddick said. “Do you maintain a community directory of any sort? A list of area organizations? Information about clubs, associations, societies, interest groups?”

  The three women shook their heads throughout his catalog.

  “You’ve tried online?” Tallie asked.

  “With no luck.”

  “A list like that might be useful,” Janet said with a shrug at Tallie and Summer. “If you tell us what kind of group you’re looking for, we might be able to come up with something.”

  Reddick shrugged, too. “It’s as much for myself as not. I heard a whisper about a whisky society. Single malts?”

  “Ian Atkinson,” the three women said in unison.

  “Atkinson,” Reddick echoed, and Janet wondered that he didn’t shudder. While Ian Atkinson hadn’t been directly at fault, actions he’d taken had led to Reddick’s fall and prolonged convalescence. “He writes those books, those Single Malt Mysteries, doesn’t he? Well, it was a longshot, in the first place. Thank you for your time.”

  “What do you think?” Janet asked after he’d left. “Do we know the victim’s name?”

  “We can probably guess,” Tallie said. “Sam Smith stayed here four days ago. If Summer’s description matches Danny’s, that would clinch it.”

  Summer wrapped her arms around herself, drawing her shoulders in. “He’d been hiking. He wanted a comfy bed for a night, and a hot shower.”

  “Smith. I wonder if that’s how he found Nev’s?” Janet got a blank look from Summer and raised eyebrows from Tallie. “Smith Funerals is next door. Did he say anything about a family connection to Inversgail, Summer? Or ancestor hunting?”

  “No.”

  “Do you remember anything else about him?”

  “Why? What does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t. Summer, I didn’t mean to be—”

  “I need to get back
.” Summer pulled away as Janet reached a hand toward her. Arms still wrapped tight, she went back to the tearoom.

  “Now look what I’ve done,” Janet said.

  “It’s all right,” Tallie said. “You haven’t done anything.”

  “Except be insensitive.”

  “She needs to go bake something. She’ll bake through it and she’ll feel better. Reddick had a lot of questions. She’s just had enough.”

  Gillian came into Yon Bonnie Books over her lunch hour. She didn’t look annoyed, but she had disconnected that morning without saying goodbye. Janet held her breath and smiled as she came toward the sales counter.

  “How goes it, Gillian?”

  “I owe you thanks and apologies. If I’d had any idea how difficult all this—” Gillian’s hands and fingers splayed in alarming directions. She looked at them and tucked them in her armpits.

  “You’ve been under a lot of stress,” Janet said.

  “Thank you. For that and everything. Is Tallie in? I need to thank her again, too, for finding the house.”

  “Out doing a few messages.”

  “I’ll catch her later, then. You might be happy to hear that I finally reached Daphne. She said you called round. With scones.” Gillian looked at her hands, again, took them from her armpits, and rubbed her face. “Have you thought about marketing your scones for their remarkable curative properties?”

  “I’ll mention it to the others. So you think Daphne will settle in all right? She seemed cheerful this morning.”

  “I have hope,” Gillian said. “I also have an extra half-hour for lunch today, and Tom told me I needed to come see your window display. He said it’s Daphne Wood’s woods incarnate, and he’s right.”