Scones and Scoundrels

by Molly Macrae

  “But sing slowly, so I can get them down,” Summer said.

  “Break-ins.”

  “Patchouli.”

  “Unhappy memories.”

  “Conversation stoppers.”

  Janet gave Christine a look. “What kind of clue is that? Oh wait—whisky society.”

  “The wrong whisky.”

  “Peeping Tom.”

  “Tom’s temper.”

  “Sam Smith.”

  “Daphne detecting.”

  “Daphne defending.”

  “Daphne disappearing,” Tallie said. “Daphne Wood, Daphne and trees, Daphne and Apollo. Whoa.” She waved her hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

  “Whoa, is right,” Summer said.

  “Her website—”

  “Whoa! Let me catch up.” Summer tapped madly on the tablet, then pointed at Tallie. “And go.”

  Tallie did, ticking points off on her fingers. “That story you told us, Mom, about Daphne wanting to be called Laurel but not telling anyone. And Christine, your mum’s memory of Daphne—that she had an idea Daphne would want to get away. She said something like ‘they often do and come back later.’ The rough patch Gillian said Daphne had their last year. And her website. She posted her own retelling of the Greek myth of Daphne. It takes place in a northern garden warmed by gulf winds, but in this version, Daphne is caught by Apollo. No one comes to save her, so eventually she saves herself. She turns herself into a laurel tree.” Tallie sat back, the others staring at her.

  Then Summer and Christine spoke at the same time, Summer saying, “Rape?” and Christine asking, “Who was this Apollo?”

  Janet studied her daughter. “Fill in the blanks,” she said. “Give us a clear trail to follow.”

  “I will, but I’ll tell you where they lead. It’s Gillian’s dad. It’s Alistair. He killed them.”

  29

  Alistair’s pet project, before Glen Sgail, was restoring the Farquhar garden, up there where the library and high school were eventually built.” Tallie said. “That’s your northern garden warmed by gulf winds. He worked there with Girl Guides and Boy Scouts.”

  “Gillian and Daphne were Guides,” Janet said. “Gillian said they spent a lot of time in each other’s houses, but Daphne spent more at Gillian’s. Alistair called them the two musketeers.”

  “At the ceilidh, Daphne called Alistair an old sinner,” Tallie said, “and presented the plaque on behalf of all garden gnomes. Then he told her to walk carefully. That could have been a threat.”

  “Made so publically?” Janet asked.

  “Made in Gaelic,” Summer said. “That isn’t exactly the same thing.”

  “It was taking a chance,” Tallie agreed, “but anyone who understood the Gaelic probably didn’t hear it as a threat or just laughed it off.”

  “Rab didn’t see it as a threat,” Christine said. “He repeated it to her, later, and he hardly takes time to threaten dust on the bottom shelves.”

  “Just her presence in Inversgail had to be a threat to Alistair, though,” Tallie said. “Think of the damage she could do if she said anything. But think of the damage he did to her.”

  “If it’s true,” Summer said.

  “You’re right. If. But it seems pretty certain she ended up pregnant, and the story of Daphne and Apollo isn’t a happy romance.”

  “At the signing, Daphne commented on Alistair being attracted to a couple of the students,” Janet said.

  “Do you think Gillian knows?” Summer asked.

  “She almost certainly didn’t know,” Christine said, “or Daphne wouldn’t have been the author-in-residence. But, given the way Gillian reacted outside Tom’s house, when Janet asked her about Daphne’s ‘difficult patch’ in their last year, she’s heard since.”

  “And I think I know when she heard.” Janet told them about the afternoon Daphne invited Gillian to go hillwalking and share old memories. “Except Gillian talked about things Daphne didn’t remember, so Daphne brought up something Gillian might not remember. Daphne didn’t tell me what that was, but she said Gillian not only didn’t remember it, but claimed it couldn’t be true. Daphne said it ruined the afternoon. At the time, I thought she was exaggerating.”

  “Alistair’s fit enough to hike in and out of the glen,” Tallie said.

  “But why the break-ins? Why kill Tom?” Janet asked.

  “To silence him, because Alistair found out Daphne told him. Or it’s what we’ve said before—he killed Tom to make him look guilty.”

  “Or it’s both,” Christine said, “and killing him solved two problems.”

  “As for the break-ins,” Tallie said, “what if Norman is right and they have nothing to do with the murders?”

  “What about the patchouli?” Janet asked.

  “Sneak thieves might go in for a dab behind the ears,” Christine said.

  “Do you know where else you find it?” Summer asked. “Insect repellents. Handy when you hike in a wooded glen.”

  “Sam,” Janet said. “Could Sam be Daphne’s child?” She shook her head and answered herself. “Sam was too young.”

  “If Alistair knows Tom likes whisky, but doesn’t know much about whisky, he might choose the wrong bottle,” Christine said. “Where’s that membership list? Have you read it?”

  Janet held up the envelope. “I did. I don’t remember seeing his name, but he might have gotten lost in the ones I didn’t recognize.”

  “Who did you recognize?” Christine asked. “I know what I recognize when I see it—that look on your face. You’re hiding something you think is funny.”

  “That might depend.”

  “It usually does.” Christine took the envelope, opened it, and scanned the list. “Maida? That almost makes my head spin.”

  “Keep reading.” Janet turned to Tallie and Summer. “It isn’t just the members’ names. It tells how each of them became a member, who they inherited membership from or if they were invited.” She glanced at Christine. “Ah.”

  “Mum?” Christine let the list fall to her lap. “She inherited it from her dad some years after Tony and I settled in the States. Not that I look forward to the day my old dears are gone, but won’t that make an interesting inheritance?”

  “Will you tell them you know?” Janet asked.

  “No, why spoil the secret? And suppose Mum decides to leave the membership to someone else? I do wonder if she can tell us anything about Daphne and Alistair. Maybe the Farquhar garden will give us a footpath into her foggy memory.”

  “Is there time to go this evening?” Janet asked. “Only, we don’t want to tire her.”

  “Early evenings are good for her,” Christine said, “and company might stimulate her memory. She’ll think it’s a party. I’ll give Dad a bell and warn him.”

  Helen McLean smiled around the room at David and Christine and their three guests, and then she asked David if she’d remembered to bake. David assured her the house had smelled wonderful, and he’d bring everything ben when the kettle boiled. Christine had brought fairy cakes and shortbread from Cakes and Tales, made from Helen’s own recipes, and she and her father felt the deception forgivable. Christine had told Janet she hoped the rest of their deception was forgivable as well.

  “Mum, we walked around the Farquhar garden today.”

  “Lovely!”

  “And I told these three that you helped with the restoration. Did I get that right?”

  “No, I don’t think you need a reservation. You don’t need a reservation, do you, David? Oh, he must have gone to get the tea. Call Alistair, he’ll know. You’d think I would know; I spent hours enough up there.”

  “With the Girl Guides?” Janet asked.

  “Aye, Guides and Scouts. Lads and lassies.”

  “‘Bonnie bairns among the blossoms.’ That’s what you called them,” David said, as he brought in the tea tray. “You taught them the names of the plants.”

  “I did! Some of them never took to it, of course, but it rubbed off on o
ne or two.”

  “Daphne Wood?” Christine asked.

  “The names, aye. She loved the common names and the Latin. But she was one of those pernickety girls. Didn’t like digging in the dirt.”

  “But then she surprised us, didn’t she?” Christine said.

  “Aye,” Janet said. “Such a surprise.”

  “She went to Canada,” Tallie said. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Much farther than some girls go,” said Summer.

  “Such a surprise,” Helen said. “I’m glad you remember, too. I tell David the fairies come and play tricks with my memory.” She took the plate David handed her. “Och, well, I did bake fairy cakes. I’m so glad.”

  “I was just as surprised to find out who the father was,” Janet said.

  “Now that is something she never would tell me, though I had my suspicions.”

  Christine exchanged looks with the other three. Janet interpreted the look as, Tread carefully.

  “Of course, we never went in for palm trees,” Helen said. She took a sip of tea and smiled at Christine.

  Janet saw a twinge of sadness in Christine’s eyes. Christine recovered, and smiled back at her mother, but the smile showed defeat, and Janet decided to step in. “Why didn’t you have palm trees, Helen?”

  “Colonel Farquhar never had them. They can grow along this coast because of the Gulf Stream and he had other Mediterranean plants, but he never took to palms. Agapanthus africanus, Pogostemon cablin, Erithroniums, and lucky or unlucky, he loved the flowers and fragrance of flax-leaved daphne.”

  Janet saw Summer sneak her phone out of a pocket, tap something into it, and then wince.

  “Is that what Daphne took?” Summer asked. “The flax-leaved daphne? I always wondered.”

  “Aye, one of the spurge-laurels. Nasty, messy, and effective. Lost the child and nearly herself.”

  “Then why did she go to Canada?” Tallie asked.

  “She couldn’t bear it otherwise, I suppose. She needed a new life.”

  “Daphne and Daphne,” Summer said.

  “Sad, isn’t it? He called them his flax-leaved and flaxen-haired beauties.”

  “Who did?” Christine asked. “Colonel Farquhar?”

  “Tcha. And you complain my memory is bad. It’s who we’ve been talking about. Alistair, the old goat. I had no proof—”

  “You said you only had suspicions,” Christine said.

  “Even a strong suspicion, without proof, is only a suspicion. But he up and quit teaching at the high school at the end of the term, and she suddenly had the money to go away.”

  “‘Old goat’ seems too kind,” Janet said.

  “No excuse.” Helen clamped her lips and rocked for a moment. “But it was only the one lass or the last lass for him. As far as I know.”

  “And how far is that, Mum? How do you know?”

  “I made sure he never worked with Guides or Scouts or bairns of any age again.”

  “So that incredibly awkward award presentation at the ceilidh was even more awkward than we thought,” Janet said, as the four said good night on Christine’s front stoop. “Do we sit on this overnight and see what we think about it in the morning?”

  The other three shook their heads.

  “Good.” Janet looked up at the stars. Scarce to be counted, she thought, recalling lyrics from Les Misérables, filling the darkness with order and light. “Good and bad, both. Poor Gillian. I’ll call Norman when I get home.”

  “How did your mum manage that?” Tallie asked. “Making sure Alistair never worked with kids again?”

  “She’s isn’t just a mum, she’s Mum.”

  Janet and Tallie dropped Summer back at the B and B, then went home. Tallie was silent. Janet drove, glad to concentrate on gears, proper lane, and legal speed instead of the sad story they were about to tell. She saw the light in Ian’s writing room, and Ian briefly silhouetted there, as they pulled into the driveway.

  “I wish we didn’t have to share this with Ian,” Janet said. “Not that we’re going to tell him, but we’re exposing it, and he and all the other numpties will hear it. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “We’ll close the curtains as soon as we get in,” Tallie said.

  “That won’t make it better. It won’t help Gillian.”

  “No.”

  They went in the front door and through to the living room. Janet looked briefly toward Daphne’s house before Tallie drew the curtain. Then she took out her phone.

  “You don’t want to sit?” Tallie asked.

  “It isn’t a comfortable call. I don’t want to be comfortable.”

  “Do you want me to call?”

  “No.”

  Tallie stood with her mother and listened as she told Norman Hobbs what they knew and what they suspected about Alistair Gillespie. Janet spoke slowly, clearly, softly, stopping only here and there to repeat something or to answer a question from Norman. At the end, Janet asked him what he planned to do.

  “You won’t go speak to him alone, will you? It could be dangerous. I can meet you there if you like—oh—yes, of course. Yes, that makes more sense.” Janet disconnected, blew out a long breath and shook her head. “That’s done. He’ll call Reddick and they’ll follow up.”

  “And you offered to ride shotgun?”

  “Don’t laugh at me.”

  “Never. Ever. I’m proud of you.”

  Janet didn’t sleep well, imagining others sleeping less or not at all. Norman Hobbs called as she cradled her coffee the next morning. The coffee wasn’t doing its job, and she wondered if the caffeine had crawled back into bed where she wanted to be. After she hung up with Hobbs, her sleepless night seemed like a waste.

  30

  Alistair has an alibi,” Janet told the others when they met in the doorway between the bookshop and tearoom.

  “That sounds like the beginning of an alphabet book by Edward Gorey,” Christine said. “Except Gorey was funny and Alistair’s alibi is annoying.”

  “And not just alibi, but alibis,” Janet said. “He was at an AA meeting in Fort William, with plenty of witnesses, the night Sam was killed. The day of the signing, immediately after he left here, he drove to Glasgow for a two-day seminar at the university, with time-stamped receipts and more witnesses to prove it. Norman says he was gracious about being suspected, and he thanked them for believing Gillian that Tom didn’t kill Daphne or himself. I guess, considering the ceilidh and that he did show up for the signing, he didn’t feel threatened by her.”

  “I didn’t know he goes to AA,” Christine said.

  “He told Norman that’s why he goes to Fort William.”

  “Does this leave us looking like nosy eavesdropping snoops?” Summer asked.

  “No,” Janet said. “It doesn’t and it won’t. Even the thought makes me want to stamp my foot. In fact—” She raised her foot and looked at the others. They each raised a foot and they brought them down together. “So there.”

  “So there, but what now?” Tallie asked.

  “Now for something harder, but it might have been in the backs of our minds all along. We wondered why Tom went back to Nev’s the night Sam died, and we wondered if Gillian went back with him. If she did, some of the pieces we’ve been wondering about might fall into place.”

  “But Danny didn’t see her,” Christine said.

  “I know. There are other buts, too. But every clue that pointed to Alistair also points to Gillian. Let’s take today and try to identify the buts. Think about the ifs, too, though. See what we come up with. I’ll start a new document.”

  “Call it ‘Let’s Hope Not,’” Tallie said.

  “Narrative or list?” Summer asked.

  “Any way you want. Use your initial when you add something.”

  “I’ll let Mum and Dad know they’re on their own again for tea,” Christine said.

  As Tallie unlocked the bookstore’s front door, she glanced at her mother. “Do we know what we’re doing?”

&n
bsp; “We aren’t hurting anyone,” Janet said. “At the moment.”

  “I thought you were going to say, ‘as far as we know.’”

  “That, too, but ask me again later.”

  “Do you want me to take care of orders this morning?”

  “Sure.”

  Janet had brought her laptop from home. She put it on the counter, then cleared a space on a shelf below where she could slip it out of view when her attention needed to be on business. She opened the computer, turned it on, and created “Let’s Hope Not.” Tallie watched her from the office door before going in to run the reports she needed.

  Rab and Ranger arrived before any customers. Ranger nodded at Janet and headed for his chair. When Rab had him settled, Janet asked after Rachel Carson.

  “She’s a bossy wee bisom,” Rab said.

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry.”

  “No need. I ken someone who might take her. Do her some good.”

  “Do Rachel Carson some good, or the person?”

  Rab considered. “Could be both.” He nodded at the laptop and then the cash register. “I can watch this, if you’ve work.”

  “Sure, for a while.” Janet nodded toward Ranger. “He and I will be over there, if you need us.” She took the laptop and sat in the chair next to Ranger’s. She began the new document with the buts, hoping she’d find enough objections to Gillian’s guilt to close the laptop and feel foolish, without ever getting to ifs. Ranger sat up when she started typing, as though taking an interest.

  “I’m looking for answers for what happened to your housepest’s friend,” she told him quietly. “Wish me luck.”

  The ifs began popping in almost immediately and brought a slew of whys, dids, what ifs, and could haves with them. She deleted her work, gave it some more thought, and then saw that Christine had lobbed in three questions. Janet answered them with two of her own.

  C: Why did Tom go back to Nev’s?

  J: Maybe he went back because Gillian did and she needed him there? Danny didn’t see her, but she could’ve been in the passage or the alley.