"Aye, most are," Duncan said, a painful memory stirring in his mind. He continued, "I'm wondering if it's the kind of place I could live."
Angela halted and turned to the Scotsman.
"Are you talking about the inn?"
"Maybe."
They walked on in silence and by the time the couple returned to the Blue Bell, the pub was a beehive of activity. Donald and Skye had arrived and wonderful aromas filled the room.
"We're jist about to begin. Ye take yer seats, Laddie," Donald encouraged the couple to get comfortable.
A large table had been set for the Dewar party, while other small tables accommodated villagers who chose to have Christmas dinner at the inn. Staff served the first course, traditional Scotch broth. Donald's chef appeared to announce the soup.
"Todee I've prepared Scotch broth fir ye. The traeditional Christenmas soup with barley, lamb, and rrroot vigtables. Please enjoy," Andrew said in so heavy a brogue, it almost required translation.
He bowed and returned to the kitchen while Duncan shot Donald a glance, and the innkeeper responded by shaking his head and shrugging. A paradigm shift had occurred in the Blue Bell's kitchen since Mondo arrived. The familiar hot broth felt like comfort food, and the pub's patrons enjoyed the soup.
After about ten minutes the staff returned, fetching soup bowls from the tables and depositing smoked salmon at each place. Mondo was not far behind.
"On this beautiful Christmas Chef Mondo has prepared the smoked salmon with the lemon dill butter for his friends," the chef said before bowing with a flourish.
Armondo lifted his arm, forefinger pointing to the ceiling, and twisted his wrist in a circular motion as he bent at the waist, like a magic genie. The man should have donned a turban. The performance drew applause from the village crowd, who, not sure how to respond, did not want to insult the foreigner on such a day.
"Gracias, gracias," the Spaniard repeated, holding his colossal fleshy palms towards the Blue Bell's patrons as if to stymie the kudos he craved.
He marched back to the kitchen, pride and satisfaction glowing from his face. Taye hadn’t seen the likes of Armondo Berluca before.
The fish course proved delicious. Mondo's talents shone for all to see. The large man had created quite a stir in the tiny village. Duncan caught Robert Abernathy giving his wife a dubious look. After tasting the dish, the baker's expression changed to admiration.
Donald's chef appeared with a turkey on a rolling cart. A wreath of fresh herbs, apples and oranges surrounded the large bird, its crispy skin the perfect shade of brown.
"Fir the finale, roastit bubbly jock, neeps and tatties with a chutney garnish," the man announced, sharpening a sword-like knife above his head against a metal rod, before taking a bow.
Duncan wondered if the maneuver was a veiled threat aimed at Mondo.
Now the patrons had to clap. To ignore the local man after rewarding a stranger with such a response was unthinkable. Duncan felt like he was in a mid-century Moscow communist party meeting, where each comrade was afraid to be the first to cease applauding for fear of being reported to the secret police. His musings were interrupted when a waiter placed a plate of turkey, cranberry chutney, mashed potatoes and yellow turnips before him. The investigator inhaled the satisfying aroma of this course and tucked in.
Conversation in the room rose to a din as the happy revelers enjoyed each others' company. People chatted between tables and Duncan conversed with several villagers, introducing Angela as his girlfriend. The Charmicles called across the room and asked when he would be dropping by with Mr. Lincoln again. Their dogs, General Washington and Roosevelt, missed the animal who had saved his life on Holy Island. The investigator replied that he'd have to check with Skye, as he didn't have the nerve to step out with the canine alone. Everyone laughed, by now having heard of Mr. Lincoln's escapades with his reluctant owner.
After removing the plates from the main course, waiters poured coffee for the guests as everyone awaited dessert with anticipation. The final course had been kept a secret. At last, Mondo strolled into the room, a waiter carrying a tray close behind. The chef's large body shielded the platter from prying eyes.
"And now for the true finale, no?"
Mondo smiled, baring his large opera singer teeth at the crowd, who erupted in cheers, forgetting their loyalty to the local man. Armondo Berluca enjoyed his moment of glory before taking a swift step to the side, revealing a large, somewhat ugly, smooth dark brown lump.
"I helped with that," Margaret whispered to Duncan, pride evident in her voice.
Angela gave her beau a questioning glance. The investigator placed a reassuring hand on his girlfriend's thigh and smiled.
"May I present Clootie Dumpling, made with the currants, the sultanas, the cinnamon and the ginger, accompanied by the rum infused clotted cream!" the chef announced, the big man's volume swelling with the word, cream.
Wild applause erupted, including a standing ovation from some.
Again, Chef Mondo bowed like Ali Babba with his middle eastern flourish, then called to the kitchen. The Blue Bell's chef appeared, looking disgruntled. Armondo embraced Andrew, draping his arm around his shoulder, and the two bowed in unison, eliciting more applause. Andy Gordon rose with a smile. The Christmas spirit won out, even in the kitchen.
After the crowd enjoyed the pudding, people began to disperse. A smaller group stayed on, enjoying a glass of wine, night cap, or pint. It was a merry evening indeed, until Walter Wallace made an appearance. The arrogant imposter escorted his aunt to the bar, then found Angela. Duncan fought back the urge to ask the fraud outside, but remembered his analysis, still running on his computer in room nine. With any luck, he'd have more answers tomorrow. The investigator watched as Angela greeted the toad.
"Say, who's the handsome bloke with yer girlfriend?" a waitress asked Duncan.
The Scotsman smiled and shrugged, attempting to appear unconcerned.
He saw the lass smile at Wally and place her hand on the arm of his suede coat. His trousers, shirt and shoes were different, but he retained the fur lined jacket everywhere he went. Then, Angela threw her head back and laughed. Enough was enough.
"Happy Christmas, Mr. Wallace," Duncan said, approaching the charlatan.
"God bless us everyone," he replied in a smug tone, turning his back to the investigator.
"I'm going to turn in, Angela," he whispered.
"Excuse me, Wally," the lass said, adding, "hope to see you at the treasure hunt tomorrow morning."
-9-
It All Begins with a Recipe
"All right, everyone, quiet yerselves," Donald commanded.
After a moment, the room grew silent as people focused on the innkeeper. Donald spoke into a microphone. Someone had dug out an old public address system and plugged it in, amplifying the older man's voice.
"These are the rules. Find yer group. Ye can work as a team, since everyone isn't available each day. Groups are posted in the lobby, behind me," Donald pointed over his shoulder, "and out front. There's a new hunt each day. Ye'll be given a number reflecting the order in which ye've solved the day's clue. For instance, today, ye'll all receive the clue at once. Whoever figures out the mystery first will get tomorrow's clue first, and so on. We've a special prize for the first person to complete the hunt. Good luck to ye!"
Pandemonium ensued as everyone tried to locate their groups. Donald had to organize the people, utilizing his crackling sound system, before clues were passed to the participants. It took a good half hour before things settled down.
Duncan, Angela, Harold, Angus, and Skye found themselves on the same team.
"I've got some pull," Skye said, grinning at the others.
The five looked at the clue they received from an organizer of the hunt. It was a list of food without any further instructions: sultanas, ginger, cinnamon, soda, salt, flour, nuts, brown sugar, butter, eggs, treacle, golden syrup, orange juice.
"Hmm," Duncan said, running hi
s fingers through his hair.
"It's a recipe," Angela whispered, "but I have no idea what for."
Duncan glanced around at the other groups. He spotted Abigail Neward giving her nephew, the police inspector, a knowing glance. Jimmy Smythe nodded at his aunt and the two were off in a car at once.
"Abigail knows what it is," he said to Skye, "look," he pointed at the compact car speeding out of sight.
"Well, she is a master of riddles. Ach! What are we going to do?" Skye asked.
Abigail had made a name for herself solving the riddle at the village's Saint Andrew's Day celebration. She almost created a scandal one year when she dared solve the enigma submitted by Donald, known as the creator of the annual brainteasers.
"I'll tell you what, follow her! I parked Dad's saloon around the corner. Sneak out the back and join me. Hurry now!" Angus commanded.
Angus strolled around the corner of the inn, while Skye, Angela, Duncan, and Harold ran for the kitchen, the location of the back door. Several older people had taken over the area, attempting to mix together the clues and produce something that would hint at where they should go.
"Oh, I guess they had the same idea as we did," Angela said with a loud voice. "Let's see if the bakery's kitchen is available," she added, motioning for her teammates to follow her out the door.
The group climbed in James's car and Angus instructed everyone to duck as he drove from town. He didn't want anyone getting the idea to follow them.
"This seems a bit underhanded, doesn't it?" Skye asked.
"All's fair in love and war and treasure hunts, Lass," Angus said, following the route he'd seen Abigail's car take while flashing Skye a rakish grin.
They drove towards Castle Taye.
Rounding a bend, Angus stomped on the breaks as Harold shouted, "Look!" from the front seat.
Pulled to the side of the lane, the compact auto tilted to one side. Abigail sat in the passenger seat, but there was no sign of Jimmy. Angus pulled the saloon behind the owner of Cat's Books, who turned and shot them a disgusted look.
"Where are we?" Angela asked.
"It's the Rock of Taye," Skye said, adding, "but this doesn't make sense. How could that recipe lead her here?"
They read the clues out loud, several times. Abigail would get suspicious if they didn't figure something out soon. Duncan did not want to be called a copycat.
"Oh, my goodness! I know what it is!" Skye shouted. "The hermit's den is up on the Rock and that's a recipe for hermits! Come on, I know where the cave is," she said, excited.
The group piled from the car and dashed up the steep hill, following Skye. Duncan, who had experienced the Rock of Taye himself just a few months prior, decided to give his ankle and leg a rest and stayed behind. He tapped on Abigail's car.
She gave the investigator a disgruntled look and rolled down her window. He smiled at the lady. Usually her head held silvery blonde ringlets, but today she resembled a dandelion. She'd managed to apply her bright pink lipstick, but must have been too rushed to fix her hair.
"Well?" she asked.
"Hallo, Abigail. Did you have a nice Christmas?"
"Aye, it was a fine day," she replied. "How did ye know what the recipe was? Ye younger folk dinnae cook like the older generation."
Before Duncan had to answer, Jimmy came bounding down the steep hill. He was out of control and only stopped his descent by throwing his arms around a tree trunk. He was a tall man and his momentum served to whip his body around the pine, like a rag doll, before he came to a stop, just avoiding smashing into the compact.
"Whew!" the inspector exclaimed, holding up a large, red ticket with 1 printed in bold type across its face, before doubling over.
Jimmy Smythe gasped for air, bending and placing his hands on his knees. Duncan asked if he was all right and the inspector nodded, still trying to catch his breath. After a minute, he straightened.
"I saw yer crew on me way down. They'll be back shortly. I suggest we drive around the country and return to the village by the A827. No one will suspect where we've been."
"Isn't Jimmy clever?" Abigail asked Duncan, her eyebrows raised.
"He certainly is," the investigator replied.
The three had an enjoyable conversation about Hogmanay and the upcoming festivities. It took a good twenty minutes before Duncan's group returned. His teammates were laughing and teasing Skye. The innkeeper's daughter clutched a red ticket in one hand.
"Seems I didn't remember exactly where the hermit lived, after all," Skye admitted. She continued, "Lucky for us Robert Abernathy popped his head out and Harold spotted him in the distance or we might still be up there searching."
"The baker's up there?" Duncan asked with astonishment.
"Aye, Duncan. He's the one giving out the tickets," Angus said.
"So, I think we'd be wise to adopt Jimmy's plan and take the roundabout route back to Taye," Duncan suggested.
"Ye can follow me if ye'd like," the police inspector volunteered.
Back at the inn, Donald wrote down the groups in the order they'd finished the day's task. It took another hour after Abigail and the Dewars returned before anyone else arrived with a ticket. Poor Robert Abernathy spent the entire day in the Hermit's cave and finally had to be rescued by lantern at nightfall. Three groups never figured out the clue and were eliminated from the competition.
Wally, his Aunt Susanne, and Harry Alyn finished fifth. The Alyn lad had purposely been placed in the newcomers' group to aid in figuring out the solutions that required local knowledge. It was the recipe aspect of the riddle that stumped them. Duncan watched as Susanne chatted with Donald in the pub. Walter flaunted his boredom for all to see. So rude! Susanne gave Harry the credit for solving the day's challenge. The young tailor beamed with pride and stated that he looked forward to tomorrow's puzzle.
After Duncan enjoyed lunch with his teammates in the pub, he explained that he had some work to do. Angela expressed the desire for a nap, while his brothers planned to explore some of the local wilderness. Skye went back to work. All the holiday activities created a huge demand for meals, endless pints and toddies at the pub. Business was booming.
Back in room nine, Duncan signed on to his computer with anticipation. He'd tweaked his program over the last two days and expected results or at least clarification. He checked his analysis. It read, 100% complete. This was what he'd been waiting for. The results answered one question, but left him with several more.
-10-
A King & Queen Crowned
A crowd gathered early at the Blue Bell. Their numbers only slightly decreased by the elimination of three teams, the treasure hunters waited anxiously for word of how the challenge would proceed.
"We'll be giving ye yer clues in the proper order and with the same time lag as ye had solving yesterday's mystery. Jimmy, here's today's puzzle," Donald said, handing Inspector Smythe a sealed envelope.
A discontented rumbling proceeded from the crowd. They weren't ecstatic having to wait around to receive the day's riddles.
"Ye can come back or enjoy some complementary refreshment until yer group is called," the innkeeper announced. "Duncan, here's yer clue," he added. "Oh, by the way, we'll be announcing the bake contest winners at tea time, right here!"
His team raced to the car, where they could open the envelope with privacy. Angela giggled with anticipation. No one thought to keep track of Abigail's movements.
"Where our ponies once grazed, a diff'rent chariot displays," Duncan recited the riddle. "What on earth does this mean?" he asked, turning to Skye.
"I haven't the foggiest," she exclaimed, a worried look trailing across her face.
"Where's that bookworm, Abigail?" Angus demanded.
The group scanned the car park for Abigail's compact car. It was no where to be seen.
"Ach!" Angus exclaimed, "they've left already. I bet she knows exactly what the conundrum means."
"We could follow somebody else," Harold suggested, as if
his mind were elsewhere.
It most likely was, Duncan thought as he watched his redheaded brother's blank stare.
"I, for one, would like to solve something on our own, instead of piggybacking onto the efforts of others," Skye stated.
"Pshaw!"
"Clipe!"
"Ach!"
"Glaikit!"
The lass took the comments thrown at her with humor, laughing and referring to her teammates as plagiarists.
"I'm sure we can figure this out, if we put our heads together," Angela said.
"It's not much of an enigma," Harold commented.
"What does it mean then?" Angus demanded.
"Start the car and I'll explain," the boy said.
Angus complied.
"Go to the nearest village green," Harold instructed.
"That would be Tyne."
"People used to let their horses and cattle graze on the village greens, now there's usually a car park somewhere nearby for different chariots," Harold stated.
The girls cheered as Angus sped towards Tyne. On a straight stretch of motorway a vehicle passed in the overtaking lane, breaking local speed regulations and driving out of sight.
"Say, wasn't that the Alyn lad?" Skye asked.
"Step on the accelerator, Angus," Duncan ordered.
Soon they arrived in Tyne. The village green was cleared of the tents and stalls from the Christmas market, and Robert Abernathy sat in a folding chair, huddled under a blanket, next to the duck pond. Duncan watched as Harry Alyn climbed back in the car with Susanne and Wally, clutching a dark blue ticket.
"Harold, go over to the baker, by the pond, and get our ticket. Run!" Duncan said.
Harold didn't move and Duncan had to yell at his brother.
"Harold! Now!"
The boy caught on and dashed from their vehicle, his red hair streaking across the green. Harold could move. He grabbed something from Robert Abernathy, but made no move to return to the car. A small dog rested on the baker's lap and Harold petted the animal, engaging Robert in conversation.
Mystery: The Christmas Contest: A Duncan Dewar Romantic Comedy of Mystery & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 5) Page 6