He didn’t give him a chance to say anything. “Is yere raingear hanging by the back door?”
“Why do ye want to know?”
“Just look and tell me.” Ham felt a little crazed.
There was shuffling on the other end. Finally, Gregor spoke. “Nay. Did ye put it somewhere?”
“No. Listen, the police are on their way to question you about where ye’ve been.”
“What? I’ve been in my easy chair, reading a book.” Gregor paused. “Hold on. Both police officers are here.”
“Be careful what ye say,” Ham warned.
“Gotta go.” Gregor hung up.
Ham thought about Diana, about how she seemed to be gathering evidence even before Rory was shot. He turned around and went out the door. He glanced in the direction of the boats, where he should secure everything for the night. But instead, he headed for Duncan's Den, where he’d left Diana. He wanted to tell her of this latest development. Maybe she could puzzle out why one of the fishermen was after Marta. With Rory gone, he figured she was the only objective one left in the village with a clue how to solve the mystery.
21
Rory came awake all at once. His eyes popped open; not at all like they showed on the telly, where the patient’s eyes fluttered first. He turned his head and focused on the man in the room—Doc MacGregor, who was reading a chart.
Mother duck! Rory’s head hurt. The light. The movement. His right arm hurt. But sheer terror had him sitting up. “Diana,” he croaked. “Is she safe?”
“Aye. I just spoke with Bethia. Diana is lying down, resting. Perfectly fine.” Doc set the chart back in the slot on the wall and pulled out his phone. “I’ll call and tell them that ye’re awake.”
“No! Don’t call. No one can know.”
“What? Why wouldn’t you want everyone to know ye’re all right?” Doc sounded like he might reach for his mobile to call the psych ward.
Rory put his hand up to stop him. “I know it’s not fair to those who might be worried.” Like Diana. “But I have to put the case first. Even if others are worried about me.”
“What’s the plan then?” Doc asked.
“I need to sneak back into Gandiegow to find the bastard who tried to shoot Diana.”
“Did ye see who it was?” Doc asked, hopefully.
“It’s fuzzy. Except for the gun barrel. That I can picture perfectly.” For a moment, Rory relived it—the fear of losing Diana. “But we must be getting close if the killer was stupid enough to fire a weapon in a small village. Not too many places to hide.” Though, up till now, he had eluded Rory.
He swung his legs over the bed, stifling a groan of pain. “Where’s my clothes?”
Doc dropped his phone on the bed and lunged to stop Rory from standing. “Whoa. Ye can’t get up.”
“The hell I can’t.” With his one good arm, Rory pushed him away and got to his feet like a newborn colt. He looked around the room. “Clothes. Now.”
“Ye can’t go,” Doc said.
Rory leveled his gaze at Doc. “Doesna matter what ye say. I’m going anyway.”
Doc sighed and went to the in-room closet, opening it. He pulled out a bag and laid it on the bed. “Here. Let me call a nurse to help ye dress.”
“I don’t need a damned nurse. I need out of here. Diana’s in danger.” Rory grabbed his pants and pulled them on, catching himself as he wobbled.
“Ye’re in no condition to drive,” Doc said. “You don’t have a vehicle here, ta boot.”
“Can I get a ride with ye to Gandiegow?” Rory asked.
Doc gave him a hard stare. “If I say no, will ye get back in bed to give yere body time to heal?”
Rory laughed, though it hurt to do so. “What do ye think?” He mentally scrolled through the officers he knew in Inverness. Assuming that’s where the ambulance had brought him!
Doc held out Rory’s shirt for him. “I’ll take ye. Let me fill out the paperwork first.”
“I’m indebted to ye.” Rory picked up his mobile and shoved it in his pocket. He’d check it in the car. He prayed Doc would drive like a speed demon, once they were on the road.
* * *
From a deep dark place, Diana stirred—only a very little—as something jostled her. Her brain felt rattled, as if filled with tumbling rocks.
“Wake up, ye ninny.” Deydie gave her another shake. “We’ve something to tell ye. Hamilton is here to see ye, too.”
“Give her a minute, dear heart.” Bethia’s voice was kind and sweet, where Deydie’s wasn’t.
“She needs to get up and hear what has happened,” Deydie said loudly.
Diana’s eyelids felt glued shut. She’d never been this groggy in her life. “I’m trying.” Though she just wanted to sleep forever.
“Sit up. Now!” Deydie commanded. “Bethia has strong coffee for ye.”
Diana finally cracked her eyes open. “What time is it?” There was darkness behind the windowpanes, but the room was blaring with light. She squeezed her eyes shut again. “What’s going on?”
“It’s seven o’clock,” Bethia answered.
“Lass,” Hamilton said, urgently. “I need to speak with ye. I fear my brother’s in trouble.”
Diana opened her eyes again. “Gregor? What’s happened?” Things were coming back to her. Awful things. A gunshot. Rory falling. Rory unconscious and taken to the hospital! “How’s Rory? Can I go see him now?”
“Drink this,” Bethia said gently. “When I spoke with Doc a while ago, he said things were unchanged with the lad.”
Diana’s hopes plummeted. “I have to see him.” She tried to move but she felt paralyzed. More thoughts broke through the fog. Bethia making tea. Tilly carrying in the tray. Diana looked up at Bethia accusingly. “Did you drug me?”
Bethia’s hand shot to her chest. “Drugged? Lands, no! Herbal tea is all I made.”
Diana believed her. “Well, someone did.” And she’d have to find out why. But first, she’d have to literally gather her wits, because her brain felt scattered. She looked at the mug Bethia held out to her, hoping it wasn’t drugged, too. Diana took it and sniffed the rich deep aroma.
“Drink the damned thing,” Deydie said irritably.
“There’s nothing in there except good-tasting Glen Lyon coffee,” Bethia promised. “I brewed it meself.”
Diana took a sip.
“Drink up now,” Deydie urged, more kindly than before.
“Please hurry.” Ham’s words had Diana taking a long draw of the hot liquid.
Slowly, she swung her legs to the side of the bed, then gingerly used her toes to find the floor. “Okay.” She looked up at Ham. “Tell me what’s going on.”
For the next few minutes Ham told her about what he saw, how Gregor’s raingear was missing, and how MacTaggart was hellbent on solving the case for his injured boss.
At the mention of Rory, fear ripped through her, leaving jagged pain behind. He’s going to die. She clutched the quilt, trying in vain to get herself under control before she spoke. “Give me a second to splash water on my face and then we’ll head out to help Gregor.”
Deydie and Bethia each took an arm as Diana wobbled to her feet. She felt like she was the old woman and not them. Deydie shoved the coffee mug at her once more and she chugged the rest before tottering to the bathroom.
It only took a few minutes to get ready and leave with Ham. As they came outside, Diana glanced over at Partridge House, two doors over.
“Let me stop and make sure Marta is okay first.” She had so many questions for that woman. Not to mention it would give Diana a chance to ask Tilly who had had access to her tea mug. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Hamilton looked torn, then he said, “Okay,” and stopped at the end of the walkway to Partridge House. “You go inside and I’ll wait for ye here.”
“No,” Diana insisted. “You go on. I’ll be fine. I promise to text you for an escort when I’m done speaking with the Dixon sisters.”
“I
really do need to get to my brother,” Ham said with a grateful but anxious smile on his face. He pointed to the back of a cottage. “We live just down the way. Not that far. Let me know when ye’re ready.” His look pleaded for her not to be long.
“I will.”
Hamilton waited and watched as Diana made it safely to the porch. She waved to him before opening the door and going in.
The front entryway was surprisingly dark. Marta and Tilly must be upstairs, Diana thought, as she reached over for the switch.
When the room filled with light Diana found she wasn’t alone, but she had a hard time processing the scene before her.
Marta was on the wooden bench by the door, where everyone sat to put on or take off their shoes. A pair of black Wellies sat on the mud mat beside her on the floor; they felt oddly significant to Diana. Next, she scanned Marta, trying to sort out and categorize what she saw. Marta’s eyes were large and scared. She wore her dark gray puffy winter coat. Duct tape covered her mouth. Zip ties bound her hands in her lap.
Diana told herself to turn and make a run for it, but before she could move a muscle, the door shut behind her, and cold, hard steel poked her in the back.
Tilly’s laugh was low and unnerving. “’Tis nice, isn’t it? Having Marta gagged?”
Why is Tilly speaking with a Scottish accent? What in the world was going on?
Tilly nudged Diana toward Marta with what was inarguably the barrel of a gun. “I like me sister better this way…with her big trap shut, don’t ye? And I’m glad you stopped by. It will be more fun with ye along.”
As Diana took a step toward Marta, she looked behind her--and was shocked at the change. There was a crazed look on Tilly’s normally shy, awkward face, and her eyes were glazed. It was as if Tilly had transformed into a different person altogether. She was dressed in a black rain coat that hung loosely on her lean frame. To complete the bizarre scene, a shotgun was poking out of Tilly’s sleeve.
That solves the mystery of who stole the black rain gear.
“Ye’re in charge of me sister, do ye hear?” Tilly sounded as commanding as Deydie. “Make sure she keeps up.” Tilly poked Diana again with the barrel. “Help her stand now. We have somewhere to be.”
“Where are we going?” Diana asked, hoping to buy time. If she was gone long enough, surely Ham would come back to check on her.
But she also knew he might not. MacTaggart and McCartney were at the Duffy brothers’ cottage now, interrogating Gregor. Ham would’ve forgotten all about Diana texting him, his hands full trying to convince the police officers that Gregor hadn’t tried to kill Marta.
But it looks as if Tilly had.
“Stop shillyshallying,” Tilly’s Scottish burr was intensified, taking on more of Deydie’s tone and mannerisms. “Ye’ll know soon enough where we’re goin’, when we git there.”
Diana prayed someone would see them. Gandiegowans looked out for one another. Isn’t that what Deydie had said?
As Diana helped the frightened Marta to her feet, she kept one eye on Tilly, who was pulling her black hood over her head. Diana couldn’t help but think Tilly looked like the grim reaper in a rain suit.
“Now out,” Tilly the Grim growled.
Diana led Marta to the door and opened it. She glanced hopefully this way and that, but sadly, no one seemed to be outdoors. No one to shout to. No one to save them!
Diana heard her father’s calm voice in her head.
Don’t panic.
The ones who get out alive are the ones who keep their head.
Get Tilly talking and maybe she’ll come back to being herself.
Tilly pointed with her gun arm to the silhouette cast by Partridge House. “Keep to the shadows. Or else.” Her growl was feral and ominous.
Diana took a calming breath to counteract the apprehension trying to overtake her. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined her father standing beside her with his loving hand resting on her shoulder, steadying her.
And just like that, Diana became composed, knowing exactly what she should do. “I read the pages you gave me for book ten. They’re good. Really good.”
Tilly waved her off. “Ye’re just saying that because I’ve got a gun.”
“No, I’m not. I especially like how the Buttermilk Guild detained a suspect by pushing him into the carding machine.”
Tilly nodded. “Aye. Just as Tilly was pushed into the carding machine at the wool mill.”
Oh, no! Scottish-accented Tilly was talking as if regular Tilly was a separate person! She was off in her own little world, smiling. “One of my favorite things about writing mysteries is finding new and unusual ways for people to die.”
The admission made a chill run down Diana’s spine, but she tamped down her fear.
Tilly went on. “Ye never know when research might pay off: Art imitating life. It seemed such a happy accident when we were to go to the wool mill. I thought it was a good way to throw ye off Tilly’s scent. ’Tis a shame Marta couldn’t have been pushed into the machine, though. Carding machine accidents can be fatal, ye see.” She sighed, as if disappointed. “But alas, she lives.”
“It was a risky move, but ingenious,” Diana said with phony admiration. “What else have you learned from your research? How to properly cut the brachial artery?”
“Aye.”
“Is that the reason you carry a tourniquet?”
“In case someone tries to cut me own brachial artery. I’d be equipped, ye see,” Tilly said. “Of course, Rance wasn’t…prepared.”
With the mystery of the tourniquet solved, Diana needed to know more. “Why did Rance have to…?” She was trying to pick her words carefully.
“To die?” Tilly offered.
“Yes,” Diana said. “Why Rance?”
“For encouraging the end of the Quilt to Death series.”
There were thousands of irate readers who might agree with Tilly and not convict her for what she’d done.
Diana pressed on. “I thought it was clever to mirror what happened in the books. Vengeance for the Buttermilk Guild?”
“Aye,” Tilly said proudly.
Diana would have to tread lightly as she stroked Tilly’s ego. “But I am confused about a few things.”
“Like what?”
“Judy Keith. Why did she have to go?” Diana was playing a dangerous game, but it served two purposes. One: To keep Tilly talking. Two: Diana had to know how and why everything happened the way it had.
“Judy Keith? Who is that?” Tilly said, clearly confused.
“Book two. The one killed with the tape measure. With the Buttermilk Guild’s Sampler quilt wrapped around her?” Diana reminded her.
“Och, it couldn’t be helped.” Scottish Tilly seemed almost to regret this one. “I’m pretty sure she saw me as I was aboot to grab her quilt at the bookshop. I heard her explain to another woman that she’d be at the guild meeting the next night. I knew I couldn’t let her see me again. I figured she’d put two and two together and know I was the one who’d taken her quilt.”
“How did ye know where Judy lived?” Diana asked.
“I followed her home. She didn’t live that far. I got back in plenty of time to get Marta to the flat. It was easy. I gave my sister a sleeping pill and then I slipped out to take care of the quilter.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Diana said, though she was appalled at the nonchalance of Scottish Tilly’s confession. The good news was that Tilly wasn’t talking as if she were two separate people now. “And Jacques?”
“Ah, that one is yere fault.”
“My fault?” Diana felt sick.
“Aye. It was ye who told me to keep writing the tenth Quilt to Death novel.”
“I don’t understand,” Diana said honestly.
“Marta would never have allowed another Quilt to Death novel to be published. I decided Marta had to go if the Buttermilk Guild was to live.”
“And Jacques?” Diana guessed at the answer, but she wanted to hear
it from Tilly.
“He watched Marta like a hawk. There was no way I was getting to her with him around.”
“Did you have foxglove with you all along?” Diana asked, trying to keep her guilt at bay so as to get to the truth.
“Nay. I gathered some while we were at Spalding Farm.”
“But I didn’t talk to you about continuing the Quilt to Death series until we were leaving Colin’s farm.”
“I know. What a happy accident that I was prepared.”
Bile rose in Diana’s throat. She was complicit in Jacques’s death. If she hadn’t told Tilly to keep working on book ten, he might still be alive. Standing beside her now, Marta made a gagged protest from under her taped mouth, presumably because Diana was the one who encouraged Tilly to continue writing the Quilt to Death series.
Diana tried not to vomit. “And Leo?” Though that one was easier. She’d seen the disdain on Tilly’s face whenever Leo was around. “You framed him for the fire?”
“Actually, I’d hoped he would burn up with my sister, but the scoundrel slipped away unharmed.”
“But you got him in the end.”
“Aye,” Tilly bragged. “I got such delight in pushing him down the root cellar stairs and putting a knife through his bluidy heart.” Tilly raised a hand, as if stopping Diana from asking the obvious question. “I know, I know. It was a deviation from the books, but at least he had the Lover’s Knot quilt covering him.” She chuckled again. “Lover’s Knot is quite the pun, isn’t it, dear sister?”
Marta looked as sickened as Diana felt.
Diana switched subjects. “So, I have to know. Are you the one who drugged my tea?”
“Of course,” Scottish Tilly laughed. “’Twas so easy.”
“But why?”
Tilly waved the gun, shrugging. “Ye were getting too close. Ye and the copper that ye fancy.”
Diana could’ve corrected her, saying that she didn’t fancy Rory. That she felt so much more.
Yes, she’d been happy as a single woman, perfectly fine with her life. But being with Rory made her life richer. She wished with all her heart that he would live. So that she could tell him how she really felt. She whispered a prayer to God, though she feared it was too late:
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