by Mary Birk
“This will be better. You brought your old kit? With the needles? Like I told you?”
Lance nodded. “Sure.”
“We’re going to get high for New Year’s like you never did before. I got fireworks for us.”
“Fireworks? What’s that?”
“You mix coke with heroin and shoot to the stars.”
*****
Anne’s mother and sisters came down to tea without Anne or Michael, then excused themselves to go back upstairs. They were pleasant to everyone, but stayed no longer than was necessary to be polite. Less than twenty minutes, Reid judged it. And none of them approached him. When he tried to talk to them, their eyes went vacant and they conversed with him courteously, albeit perfunctorily. All except Jeanne, who actually turned and walked away from him when he was speaking to her, as if he didn’t exist.
Miranda, on the other hand, was staying close to him. When she brought a cup of tea over to him, he took it, more for something to do than because he wanted it. He tried to signal his disinterest, but Miranda didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m at an absolute loss about what to do about my February fancy dress event with Broddie gone. Rodney says there’s bloody little chance the firm will take over the sponsorship on its own.”
He murmured some sympathetic words, keeping his eyes on the stairs. It was still possible Anne might bring Michael down, and he wanted to be sure he saw them right away.
“Apparently, Pooley had some problems recently and the firm took some losses, so they’re not likely to want to step in for the museum.”
“Rotten luck all around.”
“So true.” Miranda motioned her brother over from the drinks table.
Rodney handed Krystal a glass of wine, then brought his date over to join them.
“You summoned me?” His face held affectionate mockery.
“Did you tell Daddy about Broddie?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance.”
Krystal scrunched up her face. “Isn’t it awful? I went online when Rodney told me. They think he was murdered.”
“Murdered? I didn’t hear that.” Rodney’s face went grim. “The call I got yesterday said the police thought he’d he died accidentally. Then this morning I heard from one of my colleagues that it was a drug overdose. Where did you see they think it was murder?”
“BBC. Possibility of foul play is what it said.” She sipped her wine. “That means murder.”
Rodney looked troubled. “I’m sure Dave said they thought he was doing speedballs and overdosed.”
“No, foul play. I saw it. I was on my laptop upstairs, but I think there’s a computer in the library anyone can use. I heard Lady Anne saying she was going in there to check her emails after breakfast. Want me to show you?”
“Not now. After dinner maybe.” Rodney patted Krystal’s arm.
So Anne had been in there this morning on email, Reid thought. With Grainger, no doubt. They’d probably been talking by mobile phone, as well, making plans for their future together.
“Speedball? Heroin and coke, right?” Miranda wrinkled her nose. “You should tell Daddy, Rodney.” She looked at Reid. “He knew Broddie too.”
Rodney nodded. “Dad made the introduction to Pooley for me that got me my job at Damien.”
Reid decided he might actually be able to help with the investigation even from as far away as Dunbaryn. If the Greenes were friends with Pooley, they might know considerable dirt. “Did he use drugs?”
Rodney looked away. “Maybe years ago, but he was kind of a health fanatic now. He was all about the business. He worked crazy hours—he’d be there early in the morning before anyone else and leave late. The only partying I ever heard of him doing was with clients or to bring in clients. Things like museum benefits. You met him at one of Miranda’s do’s, Terrence. The Burns exhibit.”
Where Von Zandt had threatened Pooley. Rodney had been there as well, Reid remembered, though he hadn’t registered the connection between Miranda’s brother and Pooley at the time.
Miranda gestured to her stepfather who was standing nearby talking with Darryl and Lance, to come over. The usually quiet Rafe was in the middle of enthusiastically telling a story to the two young men, who were grinning at whatever he was saying. “Broddie lived in the same building Mum and Rafe’s flat’s in, but I don’t know if they knew each other.” She turned toward her stepfather, not seeming to care that she was interrupting. “Rafe, did you hear the police think Broddie Pooley was murdered?”
Rafe stopped in the middle of his story. “Who?” He looked confused, as if the name didn’t seem familiar.
“You know, Broddie Pooley, the big shot at Damien Investments who lives in your building. He was at the Burns exhibit.”
Rafe furrowed his brows. “Pooley? Oh, right, the man that Rodney mentioned last night. He lived in my building? I hadn’t made the connection.”
“They’re saying it was murder.” Miranda seemed to be enjoying sharing the news, Reid thought. Natural, but a little ghoulish.
“Murder?” Lance shook his head. “You knew him, Darryl, right?”
Darryl shrugged. “Not well. As I said before, I’d just met him a few times with people.”
George Greene sauntered over. “You’re talking about Broddie Pooley? I saw the news on my laptop. Is there anything new? Do they have any idea who might have done it?”
Krystal, clearly enjoying being the center of information, spoke up. “They said they wanted to speak with anyone who’d seen him that evening. That he’d had dinner in his flat with someone and they asked that person to come forward. I think that’s all.”
Reid listened to the discussion, all the while keeping the stairs in his view, but there was still no sign of Anne and the baby. When his mother started to leave the room, he excused himself to follow her.
Before he could find a way to ask, she spoke, smiling at him. “If you’re looking for Anne, chérie, she’s resting upstairs with the baby. It’s certain to be a late night.”
He nodded. So bothering Anne to see Michael right now was out of the question. The time was going by too fast, and he wanted to make sure he made the most of it. He hadn’t seen the baby since just after the nappy lesson. After he’d realized he needed help, he’d gone to find Meg in her room. She’d told him to wait, went into Anne’s room, and came out with a stack of nappies and assorted baby cleaning products, then they’d gone back downstairs to the library. She’d directed him as he cleaned and changed Michael. She was polite but impersonal throughout the lesson. He’d tried to make conversation with her, but she made it clear with her curt responses she wasn’t interested in talking to him. How exactly had he become the villain?
After she’d taken Michael back upstairs to be fed, Reid found a half-empty drawer in the big desk and stashed his supplies so he wouldn’t have to bother anyone again when the need arose. Perhaps he couldn’t feed the lad, but he could take care of the rest.
He’d spent the rest of the afternoon with his brother-in-law taking the other children sledging down the hills to the west of the estate. The snow was perfect for their sledges, and the children played until they had to be dragged inside for tea. Hannah and Phillip had been quickly accepted and taken under the wings of the Haney children and appeared to be having the time of their lives.
Haney had stationed himself at the top of the hill, and Reid was in charge of making sure the kids landed safely at the bottom. He’d helped each one half-way back up the hill with their sledges, crunching in the thick snow. At the halfway mark, Haney took over and helped the child the rest of the way up. A lot of work, but the children were having so much fun, it was worth it.
Someday Michael would be old enough to do this, so Reid counted it as practice. He didn’t know how he would stand it when Anne left and took his son back to the States. Maybe he and Anne could agree that he’d have Michael on an equal time basis. His son should be here in Scotland as much as possible. And, assuming Anne and Grainger h
ad their own children together, they could certainly spare Michael sometimes.
He’d talk to Anne later.
*****
Miranda hit the print button. “There. That should be what you wanted. Can’t you tell me why you need it?”
“Just routine. I was curious to see who Pooley’s invitees for your February do were.”
“Is it part of the investigation into his murder?”
“In a manner of speaking. Don’t tell anyone about giving it to me, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” She smiled. “I’m happy to help.”
He started rifling through the pages. “It’s much appreciated.”
“I’ll go up and start getting ready. You’d better too. It’s your party.”
“I will. Doesn’t take us men as long to get ready. I’m going to work for a while.”
As soon as the library door closed, he put his reading glasses on and perused the list. He’d expected some of the names: Rodney, because they worked together; George Greene and Darryl Duggan, because they’d both known Pooley. But he was surprised by some of the other names, and surprised so many of the guests at Dunbaryn were on Pooley’s guest list, starting with John Stirling. Also included were Rafe and Flora. Surprisingly enough, his brother-in-law was on the list. It was definitely the same Thomas Haney, as the address matched Pippa and Thomas’s house. Reid wondered what that was about. How had Haney gotten on the list? Also included were some celebrities’ names—Felicity, the popular singer, and a few minor film stars. An interesting mix.
Not surprisingly, neither Van Zandt, nor anyone Reid knew to be associated with him, was on the list.
He gave Harry a quick call to let him know he was emailing him the list to be cross-checked with any names that had cropped up anywhere else in the investigation. He looked at his watch and realized he would have just enough time to get showered and changed if he hurried.
Chapter 22
THE OLD CHAPEL, located at the far end of Dunbaryn Castle, had been built hundreds of years ago. Long stone hallways from the kitchen led directly to the chapel so the family and their guests didn’t have to brave the cold outdoor wind to get to the sanctuary. The guests who weren’t staying at Dunbaryn could either enter through the house or directly from outside, through the chapel’s main door.
In addition to the guests who were spending the holidays with the Reids, numerous neighbors and friends were invited to Mass and the festivities surrounding the christening. The buses had been arriving and letting people off in front of the chapel, and the place was already full.
Reid was glad to see John Stirling had arrived. He’d personally extended an invitation to two of his closest friends, Stirling and Peter MacTavish. The three of them had gone to boarding school together, and then shared a flat when they were at Cambridge. After Cambridge, Stirling and Reid went into military intelligence under the auspices of the Royal Air Force while MacTavish pursued advanced studies in finance at the London School of Economics. Following their RAF stint, Stirling and Reid again shared a flat while they attended Oxford for their own advanced studies while MacTavish began his career in banking. The friendship between the three remained strong through the years, their ties extending from the social to the inevitable business relationships that evolve between men who’ve known and trusted each other over a long period of time.
Unfortunately, MacTavish was tied up with his own family commitments for Christmas Eve in Glasgow, and couldn’t make it to the christening. Stirling, on the other hand, who was single with a vengeance, would be staying until the day after Christmas, as he could generally do what he liked, when he liked. Stirling lived a fast-paced and expensive lifestyle, which he could well afford, thanks to his successful business endeavors, including North Sea oil, shipping, and security. A man of many talents, he’d agreed to sing with Meg and Pippa during the services.
Reid was looking forward to having a chance to talk to Stirling; he felt like he’d been floating alone on a raft for months, avoiding people so he wouldn’t accidentally let on about the pregnancy or have to answer questions about Anne. Discovering Anne’s betrayal had filled him with a physical, almost unbearable, pain. Afterward, he’d called his solicitor to make an appointment to discuss annulling his marriage.
The snow hadn’t stopped, but instead was now coming down with an intensity suggesting they were in for a major storm before morning. It hadn’t kept people away, but it might send them home early.
The stone walls of the chapel were illuminated by candles rimming the altar and in large ornate candle holders placed all around the room. Behind the altar stood a large fir tree, decorated only with candles perching at the end of the branches. The scent of incense burned over the years hung in the air. The room was on the cold side of chilly despite the ancient radiators being turned on full tilt, kicking out as much heat as the old pipes allowed. An effort had been made to supplement the heating with electric fires at the end of the pews and behind the altar. The pews were lined with red velvet cushions to serve as a barrier from the cold, tartan blankets in the Reid pattern lay on the wooden backs for the attendees, and the guests’ feet were protected from the full brunt of the cold stone floor by thick red carpeting lining the floor in front of each pew.
The small chapel rang with the sounds of Christmas carols being played on the organ to the side of the altar. John Stirling’s hauntingly beautiful voice led the singing, joined by Meg Grainger’s clear soprano voice. Pippa, who sang the alto role, was concentrating intently on the keys. She wore a long-sleeved pink dress with a deeply cut neckline, and her chestnut brown hair was pulled back in a long twist falling down her back. Her husband sat next to her to turn the pages as she played. Pippa and Thomas were well matched, Reid thought. He ran the family’s distillery, and Pippa ran him.
Not every Roman Catholic baptism was celebrated with a full Mass, but in the Reid family, they always were. This being Christmas Eve, they would have attended Mass in any event. It was going to be hard for Michael to learn his family’s values and customs living in the States. Reid just didn’t see how it would work to have his son living so far away. Why couldn’t he have fallen in love with a Scottish woman? Or even a reasonable American one?
Reid looked over at Anne, seated next to him, looking like a winter Madonna in that long white dress. The neckline, in contrast to the dress worn by Pippa, showed only the faintest suggestion of cleavage. Around her neck hung a small diamond cross and she wore matching diamond studs in her ears. Over her shoulders, presumably to keep her warm in the chilly stone chapel, was a short matching cape with a little cowl hanging down the back that could serve as a hood. It was so cold, she might need to use the hood if this place didn’t warm up soon. She held the baby securely bundled up in layers of blankets. His little face peered out, and he yawned.
The music stopped and the Mass began. Reid tried to concentrate on the words of the ceremony to focus his thoughts, but no matter what he did to try to forget how close his wife was sitting, he wasn’t able to do so. He could feel the warmth from her body and when she shifted, he realized perhaps the baby was getting a little heavy in her arms. He reached over and she handed the baby to him, her face neutral, while they listened to the sermon.
“It is in the home, the domestic church in which children first learn basic trust which is the foundation of faith. Without the experience of faith, hope, and commitment in the home, children will not be able to learn and understand the larger Church.”
Listening to the Monsignor’s words, Reid thought about what Anne and he had done to Michael by bringing him into their mess of a marriage. He made a promise to the child he held to try to make it up to him. Anne was listening attentively to the Monsignor, her face alight with what looked like devotion. She was good; he’d have to give her that. She played the role of a committed Catholic mother and wife beautifully, even while she had her lover waiting for her at home. He tried to shake off his bitterness by reminding himself he’d cau
sed this. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. He’d always done the wrong thing with her, or he’d done the right thing, but it had been the wrong time. She should have come with an instruction manual.
Shortly after the sermon, the Monsignor called them to the front of the chapel. As they got ready to go up, Anne took off her cape, and laid it down to leave it in the pew. The dress’s back, in contrast to the demure front, plunged down almost to her waist. No wonder she’d needed the cape. What an idiotic woman. The heater up at the altar didn’t provide nearly enough warmth for her to be so uncovered up there. He picked up the cape with his free hand and held it up, motioning for her to put it back on. She blinked at him, flushed, then nodded. He waited while she repositioned the cape around her shoulders.
Meg and Rick, who were to be Michael’s godparents, approached the baptismal font along with them. Michael was quiet during the process even when the holy water, which was also blessed, in Reid’s mind, by being warmed so as not to chill the baby, was poured on his little head. Afterward, Meg quickly covered the baby’s head with a warm hood.
The sound of Stirling’s voice leading the singing of the old Christmas carol, “What Child is This,” filled the room, and Reid felt more settled than he had for days. Even if he and Anne wouldn’t be providing a home together for Michael, he was thankful Anne, for all her reservations at becoming a mother, seemed to be doing an excellent job. Then his eyes went down to where the cape gaped in front and he could see where the bodice of her dress touched her chest. He let his mind go under the fabric, down around her breasts and down past her waist. He jerked his gaze and his mind away.
After the baptismal rite, they went back to their seats and Reid, no longer feeling in the least settled, tried not to look at his wife at all. He hadn’t spent this much time this close to her since she’d come to Scotland last spring. He thought he could hear her breathe and knew he was just imagining he felt her pulse. There was a spot, just above her left breast, where he could always feel her pulse. During lovemaking, he would kiss that spot, imagining her heart was beating for him.