RIGHT ROYAL REVENGE, A

by R B Marshall

  “Face like thunder, it was.”

  “Whose face was thunder?” Trinity appeared beside me, without her troupe of male admirers, for once.

  “The colonel,” I said, then saw the perfect excuse to get away. “Is it time to go home?” I gave her a look that I hoped said ‘yes’.

  “That’s what made me come over,” Trinity said, obviously taking the hint, “We need to go. We’ve an early start tomorrow, remember?”

  With a sense of relief, I turned to the sisters. “See you next week, ladies.” Then I hustled my flatmate out to the car park. It had got chilly while we were inside, and I shrugged on my coat, fishing in the pocket for my keys.

  “Good chat?” asked Trinity. “Looked like you was getting quite cozy with Humpty and Dumpty.”

  I laughed at that. “Just trying to do like you said, and get better at pumping people for information.” Then I remembered that I hadn’t spoken to the postman. “Rats,” I said, and turned back towards the pub, undecided.

  “What’s that?” Trinity asked.

  “I meant to speak to—”

  “No, I mean, what’s this?” She pointed at something on the passenger side of the car.

  She pushed a button on her phone to start the torch app, and we both gasped.

  Running along almost the whole length of my lovely, shiny car, was a thin gouge in the blue paintwork that hadn’t been there when we arrived.

  “Someone’s keyed ya,” Trinity said, her eyes blazing as she stared around us, her fists balled as if ready to fight.

  But in the half-light of gloaming, the car park was empty, with no vandals in sight.

  “Right!” Trinity stormed off, and appeared seconds later with Dean in tow. “Look at that,” she pointed at the scratch. “Some toe rag’s ruined Izzy’s car.”

  He glanced across at me.

  “We just came out and found it like this,” I said. “But it was fine when we arrived.”

  “Wait there, and I’ll go and check if the pub has CCTV.” Dean strode off.

  While we waited, Trinity and I inspected the rest of the car. But, apart from that one gash, the vehicle appeared to be okay. “It’ll be easier to see in the daylight,” she said, just as Dean reappeared. “But who would’ve done that to ya?”

  I had a good idea who might have, although I wasn’t sure why. But I didn’t want to say anything in front of the sergeant, who might not agree.

  “There’s a camera, right enough,” he said, with a disbelieving shake of his head. “But it wasn’t switched on. Harry says there’s never any trouble here.” He produced a piece of paper and a pen. “I had to borrow these from the pub. Let me take some notes and I’ll make a report tomorrow when I get to work.”

  “Should ya not be interviewing everyone that’s inside?” Trinity asked.

  Give Dean his due, he didn’t get riled at this. “I will, but I need to take details from you first. Now, what time did you arrive here this evening?”

  We gave him the information he needed, and by the time he’d finished, a small crowd had gathered, gawping at our predicament. “Back inside, all of you,” Dean made a shoo-ing motion. “I need to take statements from everyone.”

  “It’s hardly the crime of the century, Sergeant Lovell.” Constable Adamson tucked a lock of shiny black hair behind her ear and batted her false eyelashes at him. “Surely it’s not worth wasting police time on something as trivial as this?”

  “Nevertheless, an act of vandalism was perpetrated,” Dean gave the policewoman a hard stare at this point, and I realised that he, too, had come to the same conclusion about who was responsible, “and it’s our job to investigate.”

  “I hope he nails the skank,” Trinity murmured, quietly enough that only I heard.

  “Mmm,” I agreed. So, that was three votes for the bobby as the baddie. Sounded like it was unanimous. Now I’d just have to work out why.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trinity sashayed into our cottage on Sunday morning, carrying two Kalista specials. “Day off!” She announced, in such an upbeat tone that Jorja started dancing around her feet.

  Bleary-eyed, I looked up from my laptop. “Just what I need,” I said, taking my coffee from her. “You’re a saint.”

  “Got you a muffin, too,” she said, depositing the package in front of me.

  “And an angel,” I added. “Thanks.”

  “Before I went, I checked on Leo’s leg. He looks way better today.”

  “Brilliant, thanks for doing that.” Why was my flatmate so much more of a morning person than me? It wasn’t like I’d had anything to drink at the pub.

  “Maybe you can’t cope with the late nights,” Trinity suggested.

  Oops! Had I said that out loud? I turned pink.

  “You’s the talk of the town, would you believe?” She sat down opposite me at the dining table. “Or your car is, at least.”

  I took a sip of cappuccino, and felt the caffeine hit my bloodstream almost instantaneously. “Who’s getting the blame?”

  Trinity had bought herself a flapjack, and broke a piece off. “Drug lords is the front-runner.”

  My mouth fell open. “Drug lords? They can’t think I’m into something like that, surely?“

  “No, but you antagonised them somehow.” She chewed on her oaty biscuit. “They haven’t worked out all the details.”

  “Huh. I think gangsters like that would do more than scratch my car if I annoyed them.” Another sip of coffee lubricated a few more cylinders in my brain. “So nobody suspects the policewoman, then?”

  “Nope. Vicky has them all fooled.” She dropped a piece of flapjack to the floor for Jorja, thinking I wouldn’t notice. “You need to watch that one.”

  “Tell me about it.” I got up to give the dog her breakfast, hoping that would discourage my flatmate from giving her any more titbits. “So it’s your lunch with The Terminator today? Where’s he taking you?”

  “I think it’s The Brae, again. I heard they do a Sunday special—roast with all the trimmings.” Trinity wasn’t a vegetarian, like me, although she seldom ate meat since we cooked together. “To be honest, I’m looking forward to it. I fancy a nice bit of beef.”

  The corner of my lips twitched. “Are you sure you’re talking about the food?”

  “Obviously,” she said with a wink. “But I ain’t forgot I’ve to ask him about the horseman’s guild.”

  “Thanks. It’ll be good to have someone on the inside. Try and find out who’s taking over, now that Hamish and Oliver are dead.” The Balmoral Stud manager and the local vet had been leading lights in the secret organisation, until a fellow-member with a grudge had killed them both.

  “Will do, boss.” She chewed on another piece of flapjack. “What’re you up to today? Will you see Dean?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t, not till they solve the case.”

  “But what they don’t know…”

  “It’s not worth the risk. If that PC Adamson saw us, Dean might get fired.” I pointed at my computer. “I’m going to push on with investigating Pat’s death. I’ve not had much time since it happened. And I’ll see what I can find out about that bothersome bobby.”

  “Maybe you can get her fired.”

  I screwed up my nose. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But if I can find out what her problem is, maybe I can get her to stop.”

  Like I said before, I’m ever the optimist…

  “Afternoon, Evan,” I called over the garden wall.

  The Glengowrie postman stopped digging in his vegetable patch, and shaded his eyes so he could see me. “Oh, it’s yourself, Miss Izzy. What brings you round here?” He stood in the middle of several raised beds with neat ranks of onion, carrot, and other plants that I couldn’t recognise from that distance.

  I nodded at Jorja, who he wouldn’t be able to see, since she was at my feet. “Just taking the dog for a walk.” Of course, I didn’t mention the fact that I’d looked up where he lived and deliberately chosen our rou
te so we’d pass his cottage, in the hope that I could speak to him. He would think I was some kind of mad stalker. “Remember, the little terrier I saw the other week? I’ve kind of adopted her.”

  “Well, there’s lovely,” he said, striding over so he could make a fuss of Jorja, who put her front paws on the wall so he could scratch her head. “She seems a sweet little thing.”

  “She is.”

  “Is you all recovered, then?” When he saw my frown, he clarified, “From finding the body, I mean.”

  “Yes, thanks.” Inwardly, I smiled. The postie had given me the perfect cue to ask the question I really came for. “Actually, I wanted to check something with you, something the Misses Large told me. They said that Mrs McDade used to buy a lot of things from catalogues. Is that right?”

  He ran a hand through his brown hair. “Ise not really supposed to talk about things like that.” My heart sank. “But, since I read in the paper that you help the police, I s’pose I can tell you.

  “If you ask me, Mrs McDade is not a well woman,” Evan continued in his sing-song Welsh voice. “Almost every day, it’d be boxes, boxes, boxes. But then, there she’d be at the post office a few days later, sending everything back.”

  I thought back to a girl who’d been in my class at school. She’d buy something, wear it with the label tucked in carefully, then return it for her money back. Was Francine doing something similar? It would be a way to keep up the appearance of having an extensive wardrobe, without actually spending much money. But surely Pat had been loaded? Did he not share his wealth with his wife? “That’s interesting, thanks. I’d better get on with our walk. I’ll let you get back to your garden.”

  He gave Jorja a last scratch behind the ears, then, with a quick wave, I walked off, deep in thought.

  Things were not right in the McDade household, as far as I could tell. But how would I get to the bottom of it and work out who’d killed Pat?

  I waited till Jorja and I got home before phoning Dev, as I decided it would be easier to take notes if I was sitting down. “Afternoon,” I greeted him. “How’s things?”

  He sounded out of breath. “Izzy! You just interrupted an epic game of tennis. I was whipping Charlie’s—”

  There was a crackling noise, and then his girlfriend came on the line. “Don’t you listen to him! The ball was on the line. Chalk flew up!”

  “Are you outside?” My forehead wrinkled. Dev had never been one to exercise much. Perhaps Charlie had been a good influence on him.

  “Don’t be an eejit. We’re on the x-box.” Dev must’ve grabbed the phone back.

  That made more sense—my Irish friend was a prize geek, and was more likely to play virtual games than real ones. “I’ll not keep you long, then. I just wondered if you’d found out much about Pat McDade yet? I’ve discovered that his wife has something of a shopping habit.”

  “Ah, well,” I could almost hear Dev running a hand through his hair. “I’m not to the bottom of it yet, but there’s surely something weird going on in that man’s accounts. It’s like he’s robbing Peter to pay Paul—shuffling money around to make it look like he’s well off, when really, there’s not much there.”

  I frowned. “Even with a successful business?”

  “I’d need to be doing a proper audit to be sure, but if I’m right, you’ll find there’s some serious mis-management going on there, and it’s not doing as well as it seems. Over-staffing, stock going out of date, last season’s fashions left over…”

  I remembered the sale rail that Trinity had plundered. There wasn’t much profit left when clothes were sold at fifty percent off. “That’s interesting, thanks. Are you able to check out his wife as well? Francine? I’m not sure what her maiden name was. I assume she’s the one that’ll inherit now he’s dead. I’m wondering if she’s having an affair.”

  “There can’t be that many Francines in Perthshire, it’s hardly a common name. I’m sure I’ll find her.”

  “Great, thanks. I’ll let you back to your tennis, then. Say goodbye to Charlie for me.”

  “Live long and prosper.” With that, he was gone.

  “They’ve got money troubles,” I announced as Trinity came in the door later that afternoon. “The McDades. Dev found out there’s some shady stuff going on in Pat’s accounts.”

  “Magic, thanks, I had a really nice time.” Trinity had turned on her sarcasm gene. Pulling off her jacket, she hung it on a peg in the hallway.

  I got up from the dining table. “Sorry. I’m doing my socially awkward thing again. How was your lunch?”

  If we’d been in a comic strip, Trinity would have had big yellow stars in her eyes. “It were amazing. The beef was so tender and tasty…”

  “Are we still talking about the lunch?” I teased, then glanced at the door. “He didn’t come back with you?”

  She shook her head. “Had to get away. He’s working over west tomorrow.”

  My forehead puckered. “Y’know, Trinity, you probably don’t want to hear this, but if this were me, who had a boyfriend that only met me for lunch and made excuses to get away for most of the week… You’d tell me to watch out in case he’s married.”

  Her excitement deflated like a pricked balloon. “He don’t seem the married type. There’s no ring on his finger.”

  “No white band where he’s taken one off?”

  “Nah, I’d have noticed.” Then she looked up at me, sharp-eyed. “Ain’t you the one who can find that stuff out? Check out his socials.”

  “On it,” I said, and turned back to my laptop.

  “Humphrey,” I announced as Trinity pulled something from the oven in a cloud of steam. “No wonder he keeps that quiet. Humphrey Oliphant.”

  “You’re never serious? Humphrey? I ain’t ever met anyone called Humphrey.” She almost spat the word.

  “No wonder he uses a pseudonym. I think I would too if that was my name.”

  She put a tray of flapjacks onto a wire cooling rack, then glanced across at me. “Anything else?”

  “No wives yet, if that’s what you mean. I think his family is quite well-to-do, which might explain the posh name. But he doesn’t seem to interact with them much. I’ll keep digging.”

  Half a minute later, a plate containing a warm piece of home-baking appeared at my elbow, and Trinity sat down opposite me. “I forgot to tell ya about the guild thing. Termie says—”

  Taking a bite of oaty sweetness, I gave her a look.

  “What else am I going to call him? Hump?”

  That made me laugh so hard I sprayed crumbs all over the table.

  She pursed her lips to hide the smile that twitched at the corners. “Like I said, Termie says they’re having a meeting this Friday to decide who’ll be the new grand master. And you’ll never guess who’s applied to be a new member?”

  Frowning, I scratched my head. “The only person I can think of who’d qualify is Craig. But he said he wasn’t interested. And he’s in Windsor,” I added.

  “Think closer to home,” she hinted.

  “It’s never Jason?”

  “Got it in one. Well, two.”

  I shook my head. The showjumper really did have a high opinion of himself. “I wonder if they’ll let him in.” I took another nibble of flapjack. “This is good, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Termie weren’t sure. It’s only a few months since he joined himself, so he ain’t got a handle on all the politics yet.”

  “I suppose that means he’ll not be standing for Grand Master. So he wouldn’t have killed Pat as a potential rival.”

  She looked daggers at me. “’Course not. He reckons they’ll choose one of the older members.”

  I remembered the framed picture of the guild members that I’d seen in Hamish Douglas’ study, and grabbed my phone. “I’ve a photo in here somewhere,” I said, scrolling through my ‘recents’ album until I found it. “I’ll send it to my laptop so it’ll be easier to see.”

  A minute later we were looking at the guil
d members in some anonymous function room. Chests puffed out and proud looks on their faces, they surrounded their ex-Grand Master, Hamish, in his gold chain, purple tartan, and fancy staff. I pointed at the ones I could remember. “So, Hamish and Oliver—and now Pat—are dead.”

  “And that one is in prison,” Trinity said with disdain in her voice, pointing to another member.

  “Which doesn’t leave that many ‘older members’ left.” I racked my brain to remember what Craig had said when he’d named them for me. “The one at the end is George Reid the saddler.” Then I pointed at a fat man in the back row. “And he breeds Clydesdales, from what I recall. And beside him’s a horse dealer, Quincy or Quentin or something.”

  “There’s our farrier, Will.” Trinity pointed at a bald man in the front row. “And Termie beside him,” she said with a smile.

  “Yes. And that one,” I indicated a barrel-chested, grey-haired character, “is a gentleman farmer. Oh!” I remembered something else Craig had said, about his wife running the pony club. “He must be Senga's husband. Senga Downie.”

  “Senga?” Trinity’s eyes widened. “An’ you thought Humphrey was bad?”

  “Only time I’ve come across a Senga before, it was someone who’d been christened Agnes, but didn’t like her name.”

  Trinity blinked at me, and then she worked it out. “Backwards! I get it.” Peering at the photo again, she said, “So you think one of these guys might have killed Pat because he wanted a better chance to be the big man?”

  “Maybe. It’s certainly one theory. But it could also have been a business rival like the colonel, or some thug he owed money to. Or his wife…”

  Throwing up her hands in exasperation, Trinity pushed her chair back. “So how do we work out whodunnit?”

  I sighed. “Slowly, it seems. Maybe the police will get there first. But Dev still has some digging to do on the financial side.”

  “And you can surely find out more about Francine and that Jason.”

  “I can try. And if you can find out from Humphrey—”