“Diana!” Deydie hollered from her desk. “Isn’t it time for another giveaway?”
“Yes.” Oh, crud! She’d have to run to Thistle Glen Lodge to get it. Why hadn’t she stopped Ham from taking that box upstairs and had him bring it to Quilting Central instead?
Probably because seeing Rory had distracted her from her job!
* * *
With a notepad in front of him, Rory sat at one of the long tables at Quilting Central, working through the interviews with the quilters, fishermen, and retreat goers, one at a time. He’d hoped one of them had seen something unusual, anything that might give him a lead into Jacques’s death. Rory couldn’t get out of his head what Diana had said about Leo resenting Jacques. Poisoning seemed like a weasel’s way to commit murder, so that fit. Was Leo clearing people from Marta’s life to make room for himself again?
All during the interviews, he kept an eye on Diana. She was busy flitting from this person to that—pouring tea, plating scones, retrieving sewing tools, and just generally making sure that everyone was comfortable. It was downright irritating! She hadn’t asked him if he needed anything!
Now Diana was headed for the door. Alone!
“Thank you. We’re done here,” Rory said to the quilter he was interviewing. He stood and with a few long strides intercepted Diana. “Where do ye think ye’re going?”
“You heard Deydie. I need to get the next giveaways. They’re at Thistle Glen Lodge.”
Rory crossed his arms. “I thought I made myself clear. Ye’re not to go out alone. I’ll go with ye.” He wasn’t sure why he’d offered. He could’ve gotten MacTaggart or McCartney to go. But the thought of one of them buddying up with Diana just didn’t sit right with him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she argued. “You have an investigation to run. I’ll get one of the Duffys to walk me.” She looked over at the tall Gandiegowan brothers.
Rory had overheard the other women cooing over the Duffy brothers’ good looks, describing Ham and Gregor as studs. Normally, Rory was as rational as they come, but he couldn’t help imagining Diana as a butcher scanning the meat case, trying to select the best cut of beef as her escort.
“Nay. I’ll go.” Rory opened the door for her.
“You don’t look happy about it, but suit yourself,” she said flippantly, as she crossed the threshold.
Outside, a storm was brewing. The sea was whipping herself into a lather. A cold breeze hit them and Diana shivered.
“Don’t ye have something more appropriate to wear?” he asked.
“I didn’t expect it to be so cold,” she said defensively.
Well, her little trench coat wasn’t doing her a bit of good against the lash of Scotland’s north winds. Plus, he couldn’t help but notice her black mini skirt wasn’t covering much. But he certainly did enjoy the outline of her perfect bum. “Ye’ll freeze to death if ye don’t put on something warmer.” He gazed at her long legs in her biker boots. God, she was sexy. She hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her whenever she’d bent over to speak with one of the quilters.
“Here.” Rory slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He was hot anyway.
She opened her mouth, but he shut her down. “No argument.”
“Fine. I am a little chilly.” She slipped her arms in the sleeves and zipped it up, swimming in his jacket. She looked both ridiculous and cute, and he couldn’t have been more pleased with himself.
When they reached Thistle Glen Lodge, she opened the door.
“Wait a minute,” he said, putting an arm out to stop her from going any farther. “Why isn’t this locked?”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking at him nervously.
Damn but he had a clue. Tilly must’ve forgotten to lock it when she’d gone back to get her bag. He’d have a word with Ham, too, because he’d gone with her. It was infuriating that these villagers weren’t heeding his instructions. Well, Rory knew who had the power in the village. He’d talk to Deydie about getting the dorms locked down tight and laying down the law about safety.
Cautiously, he opened the door and stepped inside. Diana followed him.
There was a crash upstairs and Diana was instantly in Rory’s arms, clutching him around the neck, her face only inches away from his. Good lands, her scent was intoxicating. But her eyes were big and her breath shallow. She was truly scared.
“What was that?” she whispered.
He was short of breath, too, but not from fright. The American lass must be taking up all the oxygen or his lungs had forgotten how to function.
Another crash came from upstairs and broke the spell.
“Stay here,” he said. And though he knew he shouldn’t, he brushed his lips against hers.
She breathed in and sighed, “Oh.” An ‘oh’ that said she might want to do it again.
He gazed into her eyes for just a moment, then reluctantly unlatched himself before heading toward the noise.
But the lass didn’t stay put as he’d urged. Gripping his bicep, she followed him down the hallway toward the stairs on the other side of the living room. She clung to him so closely, she could’ve been his body armor.
Whoever was upstairs didn’t give a damn about making noise while they ransacked the place. But then it went quiet again. They crept the rest of the way up the steps and found that two of the three doors were closed. He assumed the criminal was behind one of the closed doors, but peeked through Marta’s opened door first, just to be sure.
He took it in all at once. The room was a shambles. Clothes and towels were tossed everywhere, along with ripped magazines and an empty package of McVities Digestives. Sprinkled over the mess were cookie crumbs, feathers from a presumably shredded pillow, and pills of assorted colors. The strangest thing in the room, though, was lying in the center of the sunshine yellow quilt: a sleepy, or at least very relaxed, badger. He must’ve worn himself out from trashing the room. Or had swallowed one of the pills. The badger was still breathing, though, so he must be all right.
Diana poked Rory’s shoulder and whispered, “What is it? Let me see.”
Rory tried to back out slowly, but she wasn’t having it. She dropped his arm and stepped around him.
“Uhhh,” she uttered, no louder than a light breeze across his cheek.
He linked their hands and quietly pulled them into the hallway and closed the door.
“How do you suppose it got in there?” she asked quietly, as if to let sleeping badgers lie.
“I don’t know.”
“What are we going to do now?”
He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to call the SPCA. But first, please tell me yere box isn’t in the room with that pest.”
“No. Tilly would’ve had it stored in her room, not Marta’s.”
Rory made his call. The SPCA said it would be a couple of hours before they could get someone to Gandiegow. Good, Rory thought. It would give him time to conduct the rest of his interviews.
He opened Tilly’s bedroom door and Diana went straight to the boxes stacked in the corner.
Once again, his mind wandered to a place it shouldn’t. Three times he’d been in a bedroom with Diana. Three times! And not one thing had happened between them—except a chaste, harmless kiss. Which was ridiculous, since he wanted more from her than that. He’d liked her being in his arms, even if it was fear that had propelled her there. Warm, soft, and smelling irresistible. He’d ruined his opportunity to give her a proper kiss, to disarm her the way she was disarming him with each and every glance in his direction. She was looking at him now, which made all his blood race southward like a horny teenage lad. Rory decided he’d better focus on something else—like the sleeping badger—to keep from embarrassing himself with Diana.
Seemingly oblivious to the heat he felt between them, she went back to looking in the boxes. Suddenly, she pulled out a feather boa, wrapped it around her neck, and turned to him with the most compelling smile. He couldn’t help but smile back.
“This will keep me warmer, don’t you think?” She picked up a box and walked over to him.
He wanted to wrap himself around her like the boa. Instead, he straightened. He was on duty. And he was a gentleman. He’d better start acting like it. But dammit, he was also a red-blooded Scot, through and through. “Here. Let me carry that box for ye.”
She handed it off. “Thanks. I brought a few boas for fun, but I also have fat quarters and book bling for everyone.”
“Fat quarters? Book bling?” He lifted the box up and down as if he was taking its weight.
“Just fun stuff for readers and quilters. I brought enough for the ladies of Gandiegow, too. As a thank you.”
He feigned weakness, like he could barely carry the box. “I think ye’ve packed more than a few stones in here as well.”
Her laughter filled the room. Then she did the damnedest thing. She squeezed his bicep.
“You should work out more,” she said, before sashaying from the room.
They started their walk back to Quilting Central in comfortable silence. But all the while his brain was running wild, imagining Diana in his arms again, and possibly horizontal beneath him. He hadn’t known many women like her. Hell, none at all. So many birds tried to get their hooks into him right away, but not Diana. Though there was clearly an attraction between them, she knew how to keep her mind on business …bicep squeezing aside. He smiled.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
“Just thinking.” No way would he let her know how much he liked her manhandling. And how he wanted more of it.
“You have a nice smile,” she commented matter-of-factly. She didn’t seem to have any notion of how much her approval pleased him. “You smile like a leather-jacket type of guy, but you act more like a business suit.”
“Are ye analyzing me, Ms. McKellan?”
The expression on her face said she was backpedaling. “Just an observation.” She turned her face forward and didn’t look at him again until they arrived at Quilting Central.
Adjusting the box, he reached for the doorknob just as she did, too. In the process, her left breast grazed his arm, making goosebumps break out on his triceps. Her hand landed over his and they stood frozen in time, gazing at each other, reading each other like a gripping novel they couldn’t put down.
He wanted to confess that he’d never known a woman like her. That he knew she was something special. But being an investigator didn’t allow for distractions. He looked away first, clearing his throat, as if that would help him reestablish a kind of distance from her.
She looked disappointed, then dipped her head, taking her blue eyes from him. Suddenly, he felt cold…which had nothing to do with the weather. They couldn’t stand out here forever. He anchored his foot inside the door, so she could cross the threshold first.
Deydie waved a gnarled finger in Diana’s direction and hollered, “Yere box will have to wait. We gave up on ye.”
Diana looked around, as if to see who Deydie was yelling at. The whole room was staring at them.
“What are ye wearing?” Deydie went on. “And what in damnation took ye so long?”
“A boa,” Diana said, at the same time Rory said, “A badger.”
Diana blushed and slipped off the purple boa and his jacket.
“There was a badger in Marta Dixon’s room at Thistle Glen Lodge.” Rory continued. “SPCA is on the way to humanely remove the animal.”
“A badger?” Deydie snorted disbelievingly.
“A badger!” Marta roared dramatically. She turned to Tilly and began issuing orders.
Rory felt sorry for Tilly, who was clearly going to have to clean up after the badger. At the same time, he kind of enjoyed riling Deydie. “I wish I’d thought to take a picture of the badger for ye.” For both of them. “Badgers aside, I need to speak with the rest of the quilters.” He set the box on the nearest table.
“Nay,” Deydie said. “We’re on our way to Pastas & Pastries for afternoon tea. Dominic and Claire have put together something special for the retreat.”
“I’m staying right here,” Marta announced with a broad smile. “I’ll be looking over my lesson plan so we can get right back to it. Enjoy your snack!”
McCartney approached Rory and solemnly handed him a report. “It’s preliminary.”
The coroner put Jacques’s death somewhere around five this morning. Rory’s blood ran cold. What if Diana had gone to Partridge House earlier? What if she’d encountered the killer? His eyes searched the room until he saw her. He relaxed, knowing she was safe.
“Would ye like to come with us, lad?” Bethia asked kindly. Her offer said a lot about her generous nature, since he hadn’t made her favorite list when he didn’t let her warn Deydie about being a murder suspect.
Food sounded good, but Rory couldn’t. “Thank you, but no. However, it would be great, if you brought something—anything—back for me.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her cash. “I’m going to stay here and work.” To keep an eye on Marta.
Bethia took the twenty. “Very well.”
As Deydie passed by, he said, “Can ye spare a minute, before ye head to the restaurant?” Now that he knew the time of death, he needed to speak with her.
Deydie frowned at him. “I haven’t the time.”
“Ye might as well get it over with,” he said.
Bethia nodded to Deydie. “Sinnie, Sadie, and I can handle the quilters.”
“I won’t keep her long,” Rory promised, before the women trailed out.
“Come sit at my desk.” Deydie pointed to a rolltop covered with stacks of fabric. “I need to pull together the pieces for the next block.” She gestured toward the front of the room, where a quilt block was stuck to the wall. “That’s called a design wall, if ye were wondering.”
“My gran would’ve loved this building. She was an avid quilter.” It often helped to act chummy with a suspect, but Rory didn’t normally speak about his family in interrogations! What was it about this old woman that brought out the chat in him?
Deydie turned her rheumy gaze on him, studying him as if her vision were as clear as if she were twenty again. “What about yere mum? Does she sew, too?”
“Gran raised us after our mum died—me and my brother, Kin.” Rory’s throat tightened. “Kin is a police officer, too.”
Deydie gave a firm nod of approval. He got the feeling she could see right through him…that he hadn’t had an easy time of it.
“Bethia said ye seem like a fine lad. Tell yere gran she’s welcome here any time.”
“I can’t. Gran is gone, too.” It still hurt to say the words. “She died a long time ago. . .” on Guy Fawkes Night.
“It’s all right, lad.” Deydie laid one of her arthritic hands on his shoulder and squeezed. She was surprisingly strong for one so old. “I, too, have had me share of losses. Now, I don’t offer this to everyone, but since yere womenfolk are gone, whenever ye’re in need of the company of old women, come see me and Bethia and the other quilters of Gandiegow. We’ll share a tea biscuit and a cuppa with ye. And teach ye how to stitch, if ye like.”
“Thank you,” Rory said. He was shocked at how moved he felt. “I might just do that.”
Deydie glanced at the man’s watch pulled tight around her thick wrist. Then she picked up a stack of fabric from the desktop and held it to her chest, as if preparing to make a getaway. “Get on with yere questions now. I’ve a lot to do.”
“Where were ye early this morning?” Rory expected Deydie to say she was in bed.
Deydie shook her head as if she was tired of his questions, but to his surprise she didn’t argue with him. “I was up at the Big House by 4:30. Couldn’t sleep, ye see.”
“The Big House?”
“Where Caitie lives.”
“Can anyone corroborate yere story?”
Deydie chuckled. “Oh, aye, Dingus can. I took him out for a shite by the cemetery.” She gave Rory a toothy grin. “’Tis Grah
am’s dog,” she added unnecessarily.
Rory smiled back at her sauciness. On paper, she might look good for at least two of the three murders but his gut was certain she didn’t do any of them.
Deydie stood. “Anything else ye want to know?”
“Not right now.”
“Good. After I set these up, I’m going to get me my treat at the restaurant. Do ye want to come with me?” She gave him a stern look. “A man has to eat.”
“Another time.”
“Suit yereself.” Deydie waddled away to one of the front tables.
Rory scanned the room, cataloging those who’d stayed behind—Leo, Marta, Tilly, and Parker, all of whom he had already interviewed. Parker of course was alibied by Ewan. Leo claimed he’d been asleep in the room over the pub, but there was no way of verifying his story.
Diana was still there, too, working with Parker on the computer with the video camera between them. He was glad she hadn’t left. He liked keeping an eye on her…keeping her close.
Marta marched up to the design wall and added a new quilt block beside the other one. “Stop hovering, Leo. I told you to go to the restaurant without me.”
“What about you, darling? Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
“No,” Marta said, “and anyway they have enough carbs sitting over there on the counter to put a horse into a sugar coma. I refuse to go to a restaurant to be force-fed more.” She ran a hand down her thin hips. “That’s the last thing I need.”
Leo opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it. Rory wondered if Marta and Leo were having a tiff, even though Diana had said the two had been getting along.
Tilly handed another block to Marta, who positioned it by the other one.
“Tilly?” Leo cooed. “How would you like to go with me to the restaurant?”
If he was trying to make Marta jealous, it didn’t seem to be working, as Marta was clearly ignoring him.
Tilly seemed genuinely surprised by Leo’s offer, but then answered no with the shake of her head.
“Fine. I’ll go alone.” Leo stomped to the door, flung it open, and slammed it behind him.
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