Rachel pointed to the steps leading up. “Upstairs are our personal quarters.”
Diana figured the tour was over, but Rachel surprised her.
She had a gleam in her eye. “I just have to show you something. Do you mind another flight of stairs?”
“Not at all,” both Diana and Parker said together.
They followed Rachel, who spoke over her shoulder.
“My daughter, Hannah, has the cutest quilt which Deydie just made for her.” When Rachel reached the top, she opened the door to a little girl’s dream bedroom, complete with canopy. “See on the bed? Deydie calls the new quilt Let’s Get Sheepy.” The quilt consisted of wide vertical strips of sheep fabric of various colors alternating with white.
“That’s delightful,” Diana said.
“Hannah is very much into fishing, like my husband, but Deydie thought she needed to expand her repertoire.” Rachel laughed. “Hannah acts like she just tolerates sheep, but I know she loves her new quilt.”
They closed the door and headed downstairs to see the large living room and kitchen. When they were done, Rachel held the front door open for them. “I’ll turn you over to Sinnie now and let you get settled in at Duncan's Den.”
Diana picked up her backpack. “Thanks.”
Once outside again, Sinnie guided them two doors down to Duncan’s Den. The quilting dorm, it turned out, was simply a large cottage with extra beds set up in each bedroom. But it was cozy and would be a great place to hang out with the quilters when they arrived. Diana and Parker chose the bedroom at the end of the hall on the first floor.
Diana quickly set her things in their room, knowing they needed to hurry to Quilting Central. Deydie McCracken had made herself clear on the phone, and Diana needed to head her off at the pass, in case she had thoughts of scalping Marta for killing off the colorful characters of the Buttermilk Guild.
It was only a few minutes’ walk to Quilting Central through one of the byways between the cottages called wynds.
When Diana stepped from Thistles Wynd onto the walkway that faced the North Sea, the view took her breath away. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of the world. Such joy and peace filled her. But then she remembered the phone conversation with the cranky, old head quilter and her moment of peace evaporated.
Sinnie opened the door to Quilting Central and let them pass through the entrance. “That’s Deydie over there,” she whispered.
Deydie was a short stout woman, seemingly almost as wide as she was tall. She had a white bun wound at the back of her neck, a black skirt that hung nearly to the floor, and a pair of scuffed black Army boots. The soft expression on her face, as she held a baby against her shoulder, made Diana think she’d pegged the woman all wrong. Deydie was nothing but a softie! She was swaying and singing to the baby with such gentleness that the scene made Diana smile.
“Come,” Sinnie said. “I’ll introduce ye.”
But as they made their way over, a woman about Diana’s age leaned over and said something to Deydie. The old woman spun around quickly, stared at Diana as if she’d cut holes in her favorite quilt, then handed the baby to the woman who’d spoken to her.
Deydie’s demeanor changed from loving granny to pissed-off wolf, as she barreled toward Diana. The change was so abrupt that Diana took a step back, wishing she was armed with more than her quick wits.
“Where is she?” Deydie demanded. “Where is that she-devil?”
Sinnie laid a hand on Diana’s arm. “I think she means Marta Dixon.”
Diana squared her shoulders and donned a modicum of false confidence, as if slipping into a business suit. “Marta is at Partridge House, settling in.”
The woman shifted the baby and rushed to the door. “Hello, Diana, I’m Cait Buchanan. This is my gran, Deydie.”
Cait seemed nice enough, but Deydie was looking for a fight.
Diana didn’t take the bait. “Cait, it’s nice to meet you. Deydie, it’s nice to meet you, too. I appreciate you both letting us come early and extend our visit. And thanks, Cait, for agreeing to conduct Marta’s interviews.”
Deydie glowered at her. “Ye have quite the nerve to bring Marta Dixon here. Especially after what she’s done.”
Diana pulled out her logical argument, the one she’d been rehearsing for the village. “Marta coming here will be good for Gandiegow and the Kilts & Quilts Retreat. Free publicity. You have to be happy about that.”
Deydie’s glower intensified. “Happy about it? What would make me happy is if ye took the Buttermilk Guild killer to the end of the dock and dumped her in the sea! Get her out of Gandiegow now!”
Diana stood her ground. “I can’t do that.”
Deydie nodded, and for the slightest moment, Diana thought she’d won. But then Deydie went for the door.
Cait stepped into her path. “Gran, no. Ms. Dixon stays.” Diana thought Cait was the bravest woman she’d ever seen. But maybe Cait knew Deydie wouldn’t hurt her with the baby in her arms. “Besides, I told you Ms. Dixon’s publishing company has sponsored this event. You don’t want to give back all the money, do you?”
For a moment, Deydie’s old face looked conflicted, but then she grabbed a broom by the door. “I’ll let Marta Dixon decide whether she wants to stay or not—after she meets the business-end of my broom!” Deydie swung it as if batting a mangy dog out of her way. “Nay. She won’t want to stay after I have a wee chat with her.”
Cait stepped into Deydie’s path again. “Ye can’t do this. The retreat goers—who are expecting to meet Ms. Dixon—will be here in a week. We handpicked them.”
“Ye handpicked them. I had nothing to do with this.”
“Regardless, the retreat goers signed up for this special session and we have an obligation to them to provide the program that we said we would.”
“Ye’re all numpties,” Deydie proclaimed. “And Caitie, ye should know better.” Then the old woman blew through the door.
Diana followed and had to jog to keep up. Deydie might be ancient, but she was doing some serious power-walking.
“Wait,” Diana said, but Deydie kept moving, ignoring her.
Diana caught up with Deydie and her broom as she slung open the door to Partridge House. “Marta Dixon! Get yere arse out here! Now!”
Jacques was the first to appear and blocked the old woman easily.
Deydie cranked her head this way and that, trying to see around him.
“Ms. Dixon is busy right now,” he said, his French accent thicker than it was before.
“Do ye know who I am?” Deydie said, as if she owned the village. “I’ll speak with Marta Dixon now.”
“No. You won’t.” Jacques was as unmovable, and seemed as large, as the bluffs above the village.
Deydie tapped Jacques’s chest with the handle of her broom. “Get out of my way. I didn’t get a chance to speak with Marta Dixon at the bookshop in Glasgow. But I will now?”
“Wait a minute,” Diana said. “You were at the bookshop? You drove all that way to see Marta?”
“No. I took the train. Sadie told me Marta was going to be there. Besides, I had been wanting to go to the wool shop in Glasgow for my winter knitting. Deydie gave a frightening grin. “I saw what happened …that woman throwing blood all over that murderer.” Her white bun flopped side to side as she shook her head. “Marta Dixon never should’ve killed my quilters that way!” She pointed a finger at Diana. “She got what she deserved at that bookshop! I only wish I’d thought of it first!”
“But were you there when the body was found?”
“What body?” Deydie asked impatiently.
“Marta’s editor was murdered,” Diana answered.
Deydie looked away, trying to peek around Jacques again. “I don’t have time for yere jabberin’.”
Diana was perplexed. “Where were you last night?”
“I was home,” Deydie said irritably to Diana before turning back to Jacques. “Now out of my way, ye big French oaf. I’m goi
ng to find Marta Dixon.” She tried to swat Jacques with her broom, but he blocked it with one beefy hand.
“Was anyone with you last night? Any witnesses?” Diana was sounding like the Detective Chief Inspector.
“I was alone, lassie. Me old bones were hurting and I went to bed early. I’m right as rain today, though.” She glowered at Diana, as if she meant to wield her broom at her next, just for making her admit to a little arthritis. “Now, tell this bloke to move so I can take off Marta Dixon’s head.”
Diana touched the old woman’s arm. “Deydie, there was a second murder last night.”
“I know, there’s murder in all the books. And murder is what she did to the Buttermilk Guild!”
Diana wasn’t sure how to get through to her. “No. There were two real murders. In Glasgow. Marta’s editor,” she repeated, “and a woman named Judy Keith. A quilter.”
“A quilter?” Deydie slammed her hands on her hips. “What quilter? And why are ye talking about murder?”
“Because there is an honest-to-goodness murderer out there. And the two murders are somehow connected with the Quilt to Death series.” Because her dad was a cop, Diana held back the bit about the quilts being the same as the quilts in books one and two. She finished with the bodyguard. “And this is Jacques. He’s here to protect Marta.” She nodded at the large man. “Give him a break. He’s only doing his job.”
Deydie stepped back and looked up at him, as if only now taking his measure. “Ye know I have to see her sometime.”
“Oui. Sometime.” Jacques was a man of few words.
The way Deydie was glaring at him, Diana was concerned Jacques might need to bring in reinforcements.
Diana motioned beyond the entryway but spoke to Jacques. “Can you let Marta and Tilly know that Parker and I will be ready to go in twenty minutes?”
“Where are ye heading?” Deydie said as if no one was going anywhere without her permission.
“We have an appointment at Spalding Farm to get some footage of Marta interacting with the animals.”
“Aye. The beasties. They may be only farm animals, but I’m sure they’ll want nothing to do with the she-devil. How are ye getting there anyway?”
“Cait said Sinnie offered to take us,” Diana said.
“Oh, she did, did she?” Deydie took off, huffing and muttering, as she made her way back through the cottages for what looked like Quilting Central.
Poor Cait!
Jacques grinned at Deydie walking away, as if the old woman had been entertainment instead of a threat. “I’ll let the Ms. Dixons know you’re ready to leave soon.” He went back inside and shut the door. Diana decided to forego witnessing the battle between Deydie and Cait. She’d text Cait and let her know that her grandmother was heading back to Quilting Central and Diana was at Duncan’s Den. Diana’s brain hurt, overloaded with what needed to be done and other worries. She still wanted to call her sister Liz. And she was wondering if she was going to see Rory again.
And there was more. Much more. Maybe at the farm, while Parker was filming Marta, Diana could pull Tilly aside and have that talk with her.
6
“Damned hairy coos.” Rory stepped on the gas as the last one meandered off the road. “Farmers really do need to check their fences,” he said to his colleague in the passenger seat. “I wanted to get to Gandiegow before the Americans to make sure the village is secure.” This wasn’t the first time he’d said this today.
“We’ll make a thorough sweep as soon as we get there.” Reid McCartney was always looking on the bright side of things, which didn’t seem to fit with the occupation of homicide detective.
Rory only grunted in response. Overnight, he’d gone through Parker’s video of the book signing and found nothing of importance. He’d left his chair outside Diana’s room early this morning, in plenty of time. But a flat tire on the way to McCartney’s and then the hairy-coos road-barricade had frazzled Rory. Or maybe it was sleeping upright in a chair. Or maybe it was because he didn’t sleep at all for thinking about the woman on the other side of the door.
McCartney, who hailed from this area of northeast Scotland, pointed. “Turn here. We’ll be to Gandiegow in a couple of minutes.”
They were in the middle of nowhere and there was no signpost at the turn. But then Rory saw the village down below. It was almost a drop-off.
“That’s it,” McCartney said. “Tucked right there between the ocean and the bluff. Make another right.”
The road had a steep incline and Rory had to remember to ride the brakes to make it into the village safely. Though he was in a terrible hurry.
“Park here,” McCartney said. “It’s a walking village.”
It felt like another delay to Rory. But the second he got out of the car, he saw Diana walking toward him with Parker at her side. His insides, which had been wound tight, relaxed and seemed to sigh. Which was ridiculous on so many counts. He’d only just met her.
Diana seemed to pause, too, and then resumed walking. He wondered if he’d surprised her like she had him.
Jacques, Marta, Tilly, and a young woman Rory didn’t recognize were right behind Diana and Parker. Since they were all coming in his direction, Rory waited.
When Diana was close enough, he said, “Where are you going?” Now, why was he sounding so gruff?
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Colin Spalding’s farm. Didn’t you get the itinerary I sent you?”
“Yes.” That had been another delay, when his printer at home had jammed. But I’m here now and everyone is okay.
“Hi,” she said to McCartney. “Good to see you again.”
Rory didn’t like her cheery greeting to his inferior. But he decided it was harmless.
“Do you want to come along?” Diana asked.
Rory’s brain froze, and McCartney cleared his throat and took over.
“You go,” McCartney said. “I’ll stay and start surveying the village for problem areas.” McCartney’s eyes shifted to Diana and then back to him, as if looking for clues.
“Yes,” Rory agreed. “I should go with Ms. Dixon.”
Diana leaned toward Rory. “Just so you know, Leo came with us to Gandiegow. He’s taking a nap in his room over the pub.” Before he could respond she turned briskly to McCartney.
“You should check in with Quilting Central and tell them who you are. You’ll want to speak with Deydie McCracken.” She laughed wryly. “Good luck.”
McCartney nodded, as if he was taking directives from Diana now.
“Call me if anything seems off,” Rory said.
“Will do.” McCartney said as he headed for the village.
“Ride with me,” Rory said. “We’ll follow the others.”
The interior of the car buzzed with an energy that wasn’t present when McCartney had been his passenger. Rory struggled to get the atmosphere more businesslike than personal. “So Leo?” he asked.
“I was certainly surprised when he was at Marta’s this morning,” Diana said. “So I guess he was questioned and released?”
“There was nothing to hold him on,” Rory said. “How is Marta acting around him? Does she seem fearful?”
“No. Mostly indifferent, if I had to put a word to it. I think she’s truly shocked by the two murders. We all are,” Diana said, though she seemed calm.
“Anything else transpire that I need to know before we get to the farm and around the others?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing murder-related, only publishing business.”
“How did ye sleep last night?” he asked. As soon as the question came out, he realized he shouldn’t have. It was too personal. He hadn’t asked McCartney how he’d slept!
“Not very well,” she admitted. “Too much on my mind. How about you?”
Too much on his mind, too. “I slept like a babe,” he lied.
They glanced at each other at the same time, and Rory could have sworn there was an honest to goodness spark between them. He’d se
en it. He’d even swear under oath that it had happened.
But when he looked away, there was another glint of light, and he realized that the spark had been nothing more than the sunlight bouncing off her chunky silver necklace!
He swore that when he got to the farm, he was going to stick his head in the nearest watering trough and wash away all the crazy thoughts that this American lass had put in his head. After that, he was going to do his damnedest to find the Quilt to Death murderer. Because if Diana didn’t leave Scotland soon, he wasn’t sure what he might see or say next. Or what he might do.
* * *
“No!” Marta held her arms up, away from the offered rope. “Keep that nasty sheep away from me!”
It seemed as if the whole entourage rolled their eyes at once—Diana, Rory, Jacques, Tilly, and Parker.
Diana thought the sheep wasn’t nasty at all. She looked over at Rory and they shared another moment—about fifty of them since they’d gotten to the farm. Diana put her thoughts back on the sheep. Miss Bo-Peep was the cleanest sheep she’d ever seen, though that wasn’t saying much, as Diana had never before seen a sheep up-close and personal. Miss Bo-Peep, who belonged to Ewan McGillivray—the rope holder--was just a visitor to Colin Spalding’s farm, and was as adorable as the rest of her current surroundings. Five majestic Clydesdale horses were corralled within a wooden fence, whinnying for more of the fresh carrots and apples the human visitors had given them earlier. Fancy chickens with fluffy feathers atop their heads wandered around the yard along with white-as-snow ducks. And three large docile dogs stood guard beside their master, Colin Spalding, watching the strangers from America. Thank goodness, Parker looked to be getting it all on her video camera. Now, if only Marta would cooperate.
Ewan McGillivray, Laird and owner of Here Again Farms and Estates, dropped his sheep-rope-holding arm to his side and frowned. “Och, I gave Miss Bo-Peep her bath before we drove here.” Right off, it was easy to read Ewan. He was good-natured, good-looking, nicely-dressed in a kilt and a polo with the Here Again logo over his heart. But he was no Rory Crannach. Perhaps Ewan’s one flaw stuck out from under his golf cap—his large ears. But Diana liked him instantly.
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