"H-a-r-o-l-d!" Duncan screamed after stepping from the car. "Get back here!"
Every second counted. The investigator watched as his brother trotted back to the vehicle, carrying a blue ticket printed with the number 3.
"Jinks! I'd bet Abigail was here before us," Duncan said.
Back at the pub, they checked Donald's log. Sure enough, Abigail turned her ticket in twenty minutes prior to the Dewar group, while Walter's team beat them by five minutes.
"That's going to set us back," Angus said, shaking his head.
* * * * * *
Skye busied herself pouring tea for customers. Blue Bell staff rearranged furniture and added tables to the lobby, increasing the inn's dining capacity. It seemed most of the village turned out for the award presentation. Rivalries outsiders were unaware of flared behind polite smiles and conversation.
Mondo pulled a chair up to the table in the corner shared by the Dewars. The chef wore his suit and new tie, received as a gift on Christmas. The tartan plaid tie matched his tan ensemble more than his original accessory and made the outfit more attractive. Armondo appeared distracted as he pressed his palm against his head, smoothing his unruly curls.
"I've been meaning to ask you, Chef, how's Frogo?" the investigator inquired.
"He is very good, Duncan. I will tell him you requested about his well-being, no?"
Duncan nodded. He'd grown fond of the director of the Tormes Academy for the Arts during his time in Spain. Mondo served as the academy's chef, but took a leave of absence to partner with Margaret in an Edinburgh restaurant. So far, no progress had been made, but the chef and his mum hoped to work on the project in the new year.
The pub door opened and Donald met Susanne and Wally Wallace, escorting them to a reserved table in the middle of the room. The innkeeper's broad smile welcomed the pair. Duncan didn't like to see his friend getting cozy with the new girl in town, due to her nephew.
Walter wore his usual expression, something between a sneer and smile, oozing contempt on the commoners that surrounded him. Overcast with a chill wind, the weather demanded coats and scarves. Wally had these accoutrements, along with designer dark jeans, bespoke Italian leather belt and loafers, and his standard turtle neck sweater. His staple suede jacket topped his ensemble. He refused the tea offered by Skye, then glanced around the room with indifference.
"Before we get started," Donald's voice boomed over the address system, followed by an ear-splitting high pitched screech.
Someone ran to the equipment, turning a knob. After a short conference with whomever was in charge of the audio system, the innkeeper tried his announcement again.
"Before we start, we wish to thank each and every one of ye fir yer support. We raised 275 pounds fir the Taye Beautification and Protection Fund from our bake sale."
Gasps and applause interrupted his speech.
He continued, "Thank ye to all the entrants fir donating yer time and goods and thank ye to everyone who bought the delectable creations. In addition, the Christmas market boosted the Tyne Preservation Fund by 325 pounds."
Donald allowed the audience their response, as he smiled and nodded at council members from both villages. The fundraising had been a success. He handed the microphone to a councilwoman from Taye.
"Good afternoon," Millicent Carnaby said. "It's obvious from the amount raised by our sale that all of yer entries were delicious. Ye are all winners and the judges had a most difficult time making their decisions. Because of the spectacular items created, we are, for the first time, awarding two crowns."
Millicent paused and gazed at her audience, expecting them to be duly impressed. She glanced at her notes before continuing.
"For Old Fashioned Currant Cake, Mr. Armondo Berluca takes first place, and a gift certificate from Alyn and Sons, Purveyors of Fine Men's Clothing and Bespoke Accessories!"
Mondo dabbed his forehead with a serviette before rising. He grinned from ear to ear, taking several bows, as the locals applauded his victory. Who could begrudge a professional chef this win? The elderly Mary Robertson gave her rival, Joy Bruce, a sidelong glance and a nod. Ladies who hadn't spoken since last year's contest granted each other smiles, disappointed perhaps, that they did not win the title but relieved their nemesis didn't either.
Chef Mondo approached Millicent at the microphone and enveloped the councilwoman's hand in his own, shaking his enormous fleshy paw up and down with vigor. The tiny woman's whole body seemed to flop with Armondo's arm movements and Donald grew alarmed she might sustain an injury. The innkeeper interrupted the revelry by offering his own handshake to the chef, along with the prize certificate. Mondo bent to receive a gold foil crown from Donald, then returned to his seat.
During this display, Robert Abernathy leaned from his table to Duncan's and said, "He fought me tooth and nail for the right to use me kitchen to prepare that cake. That chef of yours is nothing if not persistent. Me terrier even gave up after running him off half a dozen times. I figured if man's best friend accepted him, I ought to as well. He should split that award with me, considering the inconvenience of him taking o'er me kitchen at all hours of the day and night!"
Robert chuckled before withdrawing back to his own table, where he retold the story to anyone who cared to listen. Now Duncan understood the argument he'd witnessed between the baker and chef. With the Blue Bell's kitchen overrun by the Dewar family, Mondo sought oven space and privacy to create his winning cake elsewhere. He shook his head, amazed that the chef from Spain had created such a quintessential Scottish cake. He remembered how the buttery currant concoction had melted in his mouth.
"And now for our other winner," Millicent announced, her voice cracking.
The woman was clearly winded from her encounter with Mondo. She paused to increase the anticipation. The same ladies, moments before happy with the contest results, tightened as they realized their reputations were still on the line. A tense atmosphere hung in the pub as the contestants strained to hear their own names called.
"For her brilliant creation, Angela Smith with Gingerbread Kirk!"
Angela's jaw dropped, her mouth forming a perfect O. She looked from Duncan to Margaret, then to Chef Mondo, who smiled his approval, nodding violently at the lass. Somehow his foil crown managed to stay plastered on his head.
"Angela, Angela Smith, where are you? Please come claim your prize, a gift certificate from Cat's Books of Tyne," Millicent called into the microphone.
"Go on, Darling," Duncan urged the shocked Angela. "Go get that crown!"
As Angela walked to Millicent, the other contestants pondered what this meant for them. They weren't as delighted for an ordinary citizen to win. They couldn't be expected to compete against a professional chef, but surely their creations were better than anything this lass could produce. Bushy gray eyebrows knit together on several faces while scowls appeared for the moment on others. Then they recalled the exquisite gingerbread house, displayed to an unfair advantage on a pillar. Still, it was a thing of beauty. Expressions softened at the memory and gave way to smiles and applause. Perhaps it was time to pass the baton to the younger set, anyway. It was good to see the youth of the community carrying on the old traditions.
The lass turned to the assembly and mouthed Thank you to all present before crowned by Donald. The charming, gracious Angela won the hearts of the more aged, if not more experienced, bakers that day. Duncan could hear rumblings of What a sweet lass, Who is that beautiful girl? and Her ginger kirk was brilliant, from throughout the pub. His girlfriend returned to the table, somewhat embarrassed and overwhelmed by her experience.
Abigail Neward congratulated Angela in person. Hoping for a win herself, she had donated the reward when approached by council members on the spur of the moment. They'd explained that there would be two winners and their last minute decision to provide prizes. The book store owner knew she wouldn't be on the victory dais if asked to contribute the gift.
"Your fruitcake was brilliant, Abigail,"
Duncan said.
"How did ye know I entered me cake?" Abigail asked, suspicion spreading across her face.
Uh, oh. Duncan had made a strategic error. All heads at the table turned towards the investigator, awaiting his explanation. Mondo scowled at the Scotsman, while his mum raised an eyebrow and Angus placed his hands on his hips. This could get ugly. No one knew he'd watched as the contestants brought their entries into the Blue Bell. He'd breached protocol, and perhaps put the integrity of the contest in question.
"I'd recognize your touch, anywhere, Abigail. Besides, your fruitcake is known all the way from the strath to Killin," he claimed.
Abigail smiled, her bright blue eyes twinkling. She thanked Duncan and left on the arm of her nephew. Once in the car, the investigator's response began to puzzle her. This was the first year she'd attempted the almond paste wrap around her cake. Could he really have recognized her fruitcake from its reputation? Abigail pondered this as Jimmy drove to Tyne. She had an art contest to judge on the morrow, and decided to let the subject of the baking competition drop, for the time being.
After the Blue Bell cleared of customers and contestants, Donald leaned against the bar, exhausted. Joined by Skye and Duncan, the innkeeper was ready to drop.
"I'll tell ye one thing," he began with an incredulous expression. "These village ladies are a competitive bunch. We may have to give up these contests before a war breaks out. Did ye see the looks and scowls they was throwing at each other?" Donald asked. He continued, "I ne'er seen so many puckered brows, glares, and glowers. It's a fine thing yer friends won, Laddie. It prevented violence, I'm sure of it!"
The innkeeper wagged his forefinger at no one in particular.
"Let Jack drive ye home, Dad. I'll stay and finish up here. Ye need a rest and ye have no official duties tomorrow," Skye said, smiling at Duncan and leading her father to the door. "I hope ye'll stay put at the cottage and relax," she added.
The bellboy took a set of car keys from Skye and left the inn with Donald.
-11-
A Clue from MacNicholas
The next day dawned cold. Dark clouds moved across the landscape and no one knew if they bore rain or snow. Duncan returned from a run just as others meandered downstairs for breakfast. His brain overflowed with his plans for the next few days. The brisk jog helped to relax the investigator and clear his mind.
Last night, after Donald left for the evening, Angus and Harold rigged the old sound system to play music. Their party danced away the rest of the night, then returned the pub's furnishings to their normal positions. Duncan taught dance steps to Angela as she experienced a ceilidh for the first time. He took great joy in watching the lass, carefree and happy, dance around the room. It didn't matter that she stepped on his feet. She took whirls with Harold and his dad, but he put his foot down when Mondo enveloped the lass in an embrace. He didn't want the amorous chef getting any ideas. No, Armondo must be content with Skye and Harold as partners.
Mondo was so pleased with his victory and the complete crushing of his rival, the Blue Bell's chef, that nothing bothered him. Andy had, in fact, also entered an item in the baking contest, but came up empty handed at the awards ceremony. At times, Armondo danced his own jig, alone in the center of the group, his long dark curls contained by his gold foil crown, such was the chef's holiday joy.
After breakfast, the treasure hunters gathered at the inn's pub. Skye explained that since Abigail had to judge the art contest, taking place in Tyne's community center, and because Jimmy Smythe was on duty, their team would not participate that day. Angus smiled, realizing his group's major competition had been eliminated from the contest. Each day the number of contestants decreased for one reason or another.
"Is your father here this morning?" Susanne asked Skye as Wally looked on, his lips pursed together.
"Nae, Mrs. Wallace. He's enjoying a well-deserved rest at home."
"He's well, then?" the pretty widow asked.
"Oh, he's fine. He had no official duties, so he's staying clear of today's activities."
"I see," the woman said, disappointed she wouldn't see her friend.
Skye handed Susanne a sealed envelope and watched as she and Wally left the pub with Harry Alyn. She checked her watch and waited five minutes before handing Angus the riddle. A staff member would distribute the rest of the clues to the other teams according to the time table.
Angus led his group to the car and they drove away from the inn before reading the quandary. Skye did the honors.
"Care to ceilidh?" she repeated the short sentence.
"It's got to be the community center," Duncan said.
"I agree. I can't think of another place where the town holds dances."
Skye gave directions to Angus and he drove to Taye's community center. Once in the building, the team spread out to look for Robert Abernathy. They could cover more territory quicker this way. Barking drew Duncan to a small gymnasium. Robert leaned against a wall, and his Jack Russell terrier wagged his tail and woofed at the same time. The baker handed the investigator a green coupon with 1 printed on its face. Angus entered just as his brother received the ticket.
"Ye boys are doing well with the hunt. Keep up the good work. Ye'll be wanting the prize for winning," Robert Abernathy pronounced, mischief registering on his face.
"Thank you," Duncan said before the brothers trotted from the room and gathered their party together.
It was a quick drive back to the inn, where Angus registered his ticket with the day's time keeper. Their team would receive the first envelope on the morrow, which was a good thing since the Dewars had to return to Edinburgh that day to attend Duncan's gala.
The investigator spent the afternoon with his dad and brothers while Angela shopped the high street at Tyne with Margaret. Duncan discussed his dilemma regarding Donald's plan to sell him his share of the inn. No one could offer any specific advice, but his dad did recommend he not rush into anything.
* * * * * *
Angus held his hand out to receive the day's envelope from Donald. The innkeeper clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, disapproving of the lad's ambition. These contests were supposed to just be for fun. Donald sized up Duncan's brother. He might just be the perfect winner for the treasure hunt. The older man handed Angus his clue. The innkeeper would chat with Susanne during the ten minute interval before she'd get her envelope.
Their team followed the now familiar protocol of piling in the automobile and leaving the car park before reading their hint. This time, Harold read the paper.
"Santa's home, after someone pinched the pole," the redheaded lad repeated.
"Brilliant! We don't celebrate Christmas for 400 years and we're supposed to know details about MacNicholas and his dwelling!" Angus said, exasperated.
Skye frowned at Duncan. He assumed the lass didn't care for his brother's competitive nature.
"Let's pull over and think about it," Duncan suggested.
Angus eased the car to the side of the road and the group brainstormed. Angela drew a sketch of what she thought the North Pole looked like. Harold suggested South Pole as the answer, but that didn't make sense to the others. Skye drew a blank.
"Sorry, but I'm no help this… Wait!" she exclaimed. "Maybe it's Ben Lawers. It is the highest point around," she stated.
"It's worth a try," Angus said, pulling the auto back onto the road and driving towards Tyne. "Just tell me where to turn," he added.
Duncan doubted that the council would make Robert Abernathy hike to the top of Ben Lawers to hand out tickets. Yet, it was a favorite spot of Donald's. Could the innkeeper have written this clue? The investigator leaned back in his seat and caught a glimpse of Angela. He couldn't wait to see her in formal attire this evening.
"Stop!" Duncan shouted.
Angus stomped the brakes, afraid the vehicle was about to collide with a stag or some other animal lurching from the trees that lined the lane.
"What is it?" Angus demanded, look
ing from one side of the road to the other while no obstacle appeared.
"It's not Ben Lawers. When we get to Tyne, turn left at the green and take the next left after that."
Angus followed his brother's instructions. Duncan had him make a quick right, once they veered away from the green.
"Park here," the investigator commanded.
"What's this?" Angus furrowed his brow and turned to look over his shoulder at his brother.
On a side avenue parallel to Tyne's high street, the car had stopped in front of the police station. Duncan leapt from the vehicle without a word and trotted up the steps, opening the building's glass doors with a fluid motion and disappearing inside. After what seemed like a mere second, he returned, waving a large gold ticket over his head and grinning ear to ear.
"What do you say to that, Angus?" he said once back in the automobile.
"How did you know to come here?" Angela asked.
"If someone pinched MacNicholas's North Pole, his home would be pole-less, get it? Pohlis?" Duncan explained.
His Scottish teammates began to laugh. Local brogue pronounced the word for law enforcement as poh-liss, almost identical to pole-less. Angela, not growing up in Scotland, didn't get the joke so Skye explained. The lass then giggled with the rest.
"Let's get back to Taye and turn our ticket in, Angus. We've still got the drive to Edinburgh to make," Duncan said.
When they made their way around Tyne's green, Angus spotted Susanne and her nephew driving in the opposite direction. As the autos passed each other, he kept an eye on the Wallace estate car, which turned off the high street onto the lane they'd just come from.
"Ach! They're following us, I'd wager," Angus said. "I just saw Susanne and Wally take a turn away from the green. They must have seen us."
"What's good fir the goose and what not," Skye stated.
"Well, it may still take them a while to figure out where we went. Step on that accelerator, will you?" Duncan said.
Mystery: The Christmas Contest: A Duncan Dewar Romantic Comedy of Mystery & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 5) Page 7