Murder in a Scottish Shire

by Traci Hall

  She slowed twice on the open rangeland for sheep ambling across the road.

  Billy had to know something about why Isla had returned to Nairn. If the detective was too busy making a name for himself to dig deeper, then it was up to Paislee to bring the truth to the detective.

  Flies and honey, she reminded herself as she made the right-hand turn into Lowe Farm. Don’t jump to conclusions.

  She followed the dirt road past the stream, until she reached the barn. Like yesterday, the shorn sheep herded together as if chilled without their coats, spindly legs and tummies bare, while the others waiting to be clipped meandered in the pens. Poor things—in one door heavy with ivory matted wool and out skinny and needing sweaters of their own.

  How many sheep did Farmer Lowe have? There must have been at least a thousand, if not more, of the blackface variety.

  She recalled from a school trip that each sheep, depending on size and breed, could produce two to thirty pounds of wool a year. Unlike the Scottish cashmere goats, famous for the softest cashmere that only molted in the spring, when the down from the underbelly could be combed or shorn. Sheep made more financial sense on a farm, though Paislee adored the sheer luxuriousness of cashmere.

  Paislee parked in the dirt driveway by the barn, next to a couple of pickups. Gerald had said that Billy had driven a beat-up old truck.

  She eyed them, hoping he was here and that she could catch him off guard. She noticed a very beat-up silver pickup with a rusting back end that hadn’t been there yesterday. She would have remembered seeing it because of the Belle and Sebastian sticker on the back window. They were one of her favorite bands.

  Tabitha must’ve warned Billy of her arrival yesterday, and it smacked of guilt to her. Otherwise, why hadn’t he called her back? Left just before she’d arrived?

  Farmer Lowe saw her and lifted his hand, then shouted into the barn, where he was overseeing the shearing process. She heard the sheep baaing over the whir of electric clippers.

  A few minutes later, a young man she assumed was Billy hoofed out, his expression somewhat menacing, and Paislee stepped back. His hair was shaggy blond and dirty, his physique lean and wiry. He was thin, yes, but strong. Sheering sheep was very physical labor.

  Could he have hurt Isla—maybe fired up at her about Tabitha and decided to . . . do what? Choke her? Hit her? Naw, Amelia said that Isla died of an overdose.

  A breeze reached Paislee from the stream, carrying with it the scent of shorn wool and farm muck—pungent, aye, but not as odorous as Billy. He charged to a stop an arm’s length from her and pulled a towel from his back denim pocket, wiping sheep oil from his hands. He didn’t offer to shake hers. “Who are you?”

  “Paislee Shaw.” She was more than a little glad to be meeting him where there were witnesses. She hadn’t expected to be afraid of him. “I was Isla’s boss.”

  “She talked about ye,” he said, somewhat begrudgingly.

  This was for Isla. “I’m sairy for your loss.”

  At that, he gave a surprised laugh, quickly glancing back to Farmer Lowe, who watched from the open door of the barn, his straw hat tipped forward.

  “Loss?” His tone suggested that she was way off the mark.

  “You loved her, at one point,” Paislee said. “Or at least, she loved you. She told me so.”

  Billy grimaced and stuffed the towel in his pocket. “Don’t matter. Why are ye here?”

  “I hope you have her mother’s phone number. The police are trying tae contact her about Isla.” But that wasn’t the whole truth—she wanted to know why he’d broken Isla’s heart.

  “I dinnae—talked tae the police already.” He peered back and then to her. “I gotta go. Can’t lose this job.”

  Paislee brought her hand to her thumping heart—this was so unfair. He had cheated and now acted like nothing was wrong.What if Isla had been so overwrought by his callousness that she’d actually taken those pills on her own? Paislee couldn’t accept that.

  “Don’t you care at all? Isla followed you here tae get a job and be with you.”

  Billy scrubbed his palm through his greasy hair. “You have it all wrong. Isla didnae love me; she didnae love anybody but herself.”

  Paislee wasn’t buying it. “Weren’t you messing around with Tabitha in Nairn?”

  His upper lip curled. “I was with Tabitha before Isla came along. Isla blinded me with her great legs, but Tabs is the real deal.”

  Nobody cared about Isla. Maybe it was Tabitha who had shown up with shortbread cookies, tempting Isla with—what? How could Tabitha have forced Isla to swallow a dangerous amount of pills? Billy would know that Isla took heart medication, and Tabitha, her supposed best friend, would, too.

  Filled with righteous anger on Isla’s behalf, Paislee locked eyes with the young man. “Where were you the night she died?”

  He scoffed. “Getting drinks with a pub full of witnesses. Me and Tabs were together, and I can prove it a dozen times over.”

  She couldn’t let him just leave! Paislee needed answers. She pressed harder. “You cheated. Why? Did you do worse tae her?”

  “Our relationship was complicated, but I wouldnae hurt Isla, no matter how mad she made me. Now go, will ye?” Billy half-turned toward the barn.

  Paislee caught his arm. “One more thing, please. Did you know that she was blackmailing her ex-boss?”

  Billy scuffed the grass with his boot heel. “Not just her boss,” he admitted with a sly smile. “Isla wanted my help tae find the dirt on the locals in Nairn. Promised me a percentage of the blackmail money. Me doing the dirty work, but her keeping her nose clean. I’m not that daft,” Billy sneered.

  “Billy!” Farmer Lowe shouted. “I’ll dock yer pay!”

  “Isla was not who you thought she was!” Billy yelled over his shoulder as he ran back toward the barn to shear sheep. “Why don’t ye ask her boss?”

  Stunned, Paislee slowly climbed into her Juke, and stared at the dashboard.

  What did all this mean? How could she have been so deceived? She had to discover who was lying, and who was telling the truth.

  Detective Inspector Zeffer had talked to Gerald, and now Billy. Neither man was in jail for the crime. Was he flaunting his authority or proving his ineptness? Paislee didn’t know for sure.

  What about Tabitha? Why did Tabitha have Isla’s scarf, the one that Paislee had made?

  She thought about getting out of the car to ask—who else would help if she didn’t? But when she looked out, she saw Farmer Lowe in front of the barn, his arms crossed, scowling at her. There was no way that she could ask Billy any more questions today.

  As if her friend could read her mind, a text from Lydia dinged through saying that Billy Connal didn’t have a landline or a listed number and the last known address was in Edinburgh, when she knew for a fact that he’d been in Inverness. Farmer Lowe had said he was moving—but why was that?

  “Stuck,” she muttered aloud. Now what?

  If Billy wasn’t lying about his and Tabitha’s whereabouts the night Isla had died—who else could want Isla dead?

  Her mind twisted like knotted thread when she was in a rush. It required patience to tug each strand, one at a time, until the knot was free. She breathed in, then exhaled.

  Who?

  Maybe someone who didn’t want to pay Isla blackmail money anymore. Her pulse hummed.

  Someone with a guilty conscience and a bonny family waiting for him at home while he stepped out with a pretty girl.

  Paislee clapped her hands together. “Roderick Vierra.”

  Vierra’s Merino Wool Distributor was only five minutes away. Maybe she could ask Roderick point-blank about his being blackmailed by Isla regarding their affair. She’d probably be able to read the truth on his face. If she had to, she could insinuate going to his wife with the information.

  The idea made her feel dirty.

  But who else would get to the bottom of this? Regardless of who Isla truly was, no one had a right to kill
her.

  Chapter 18

  Paislee reluctantly left Lowe Farm, feeling as if she had unfinished business.

  It was half past one—she had two hours until Brody was out of school. She would not be late again if she had to sprout wings and fly. But why had Billy said for Paislee to ask Isla’s boss about the truth of who Isla had been?

  Just a quick drive then, to glean what she could from Roderick. Honey, rather than vinegar, as Lydia suggested.

  Six minutes later, she arrived at the fancy distribution center, painted white with black trim, large trees and warehouses in back. She’d been pleased for Isla to get a job at Vierra’s. Due to the reputation and size of the business, there would be room for Isla to move up if she worked hard. The samples of wool on Roderick’s desk had been a small selection of the quality they provided.

  If Isla had been desperate enough to blackmail Roderick, what else might she have done? Paislee couldn’t think of it without feeling sick.

  She recalled Isla’s hint in her email about getting quality wool at a discount. The skein that Detective Inspector Zeffer had brought in for Paislee to identify was fine enough to have come from Vierra’s.

  She parked and walked into the black and chrome lobby, as out of place as her grandpa the first day he’d been in Cashmere Crush. She still didn’t care for the sculptures.

  The receptionist, company headphones around her head as she waited to answer a call, greeted her with a smile. “Hello again.”

  “Hi. Is Roderick Vierra in?”

  “He just ducked out back toward the warehouse—if ye hurry, you can catch him.” She pointed down a long hall with metal double doors.

  “Thank you!” Paislee rushed down the black marble tile floor, her boots squeaking and her pulse speeding.What would she say when she confronted him?

  She pushed on the door and it opened onto a courtyard with shade trees and picnic benches for the employees to eat their lunch or take a break. Roderick was seated at one of the tables, in a cocoa suit jacket and slacks, scanning his phone, a mug of something at his elbow. Coffee? He glanced up when the door shut behind her.

  His smile wavered as he placed her. “Paislee Shaw?”

  “Hello,” she said, gesturing to the table. “May I join you?”

  His manners required that he say yes, so he did, adding, “My brother will be here in just a minute. What can I do for you?”

  She got right to the point. “I know that you were having an affair with Isla.”

  His dark brown brows rose and he glanced around guiltily. “Naw, I wasnae,” he said.

  She didn’t argue. “I also know you were paying her blackmail so that she wouldnae tell your wife.”

  “What?” He sounded incredulous, but he didn’t move. An innocent man would act differently. He smoothed his dark brown goatee.

  “I want tae know why you fired her. Was she really so depressed about Billy and Tabitha getting together again?” Depressed enough to kill herself . . .

  His jaw clenched. “I dinnae ken what yer talking aboot.” His eyes flicked over her shoulder. His brogue deepened. He must not want his brother to know about what he’d done.

  Paislee peered behind her toward the row of wool warehouses—she didn’t see a soul. “I need tae know if she was truly broken up by Billy, or was it you that broke her heart?”

  Roderick glanced around like a cornered animal, his knee bobbing nervously. “Now isnae a guid time tae talk. Roger—”

  “Hurry, then,” Paislee urged. “I dinnae care if anyone else knows, but I’m not leaving until you give me answers.” She wasn’t sure where her bravado was coming from, but she welcomed it.

  Roderick’s shoulders bowed in and he picked up his mug of black coffee.

  “Me brother discovered us together in the warehouse, in flagrante, so tae speak,” he said, his face flushed beneath his olive skin tone.

  Unfortunately, she could easily imagine that. “And?”

  “He’s the one who said I had tae fire her.” Shrugging with a half smile, he admitted, “This was not the first time it’s happened. I have a weakness for bonny women. . . .” He stared into his mug.

  He was a charming slug of a man. Paislee straightened, her bravado metamorphosing into real courage. He’d preyed upon Isla. Paislee had sent her protégé into the lion’s den. “How did Isla take her dismissal?”

  “Not well. Screaming, crying. Cursing.” Roderick shuddered as if appalled by her unseemly behavior.

  Paislee asked coldly, “How did the two of you happen?”

  “She’d discovered her ex, Billy, texting his girl in Nairn and was overcome with tears. I sought tae comfort her, that’s all, and one thing led tae another.” He waved his hand in the air.

  What a pig.

  “Does your wife know?”

  “God, no. She would divorce me”—he paused—“and take Vierra’s down.” His voice was disengaged, as if he weren’t actually part of the problem.

  She’d wanted answers from Roderick, and as hard as it was to hear them, she’d gotten them. Almost. She had to make sure that it wasn’t possible Isla had been so distraught that she’d taken her own life as the coroner had concluded.

  “Did Isla seem in low spirits?” Billy had claimed Isla hadn’t loved him, though she’d seen for herself that Isla had been swept up by the idea of romance. Which left the possibility of her loving Roderick. “After you fired her?”

  “She was furious,” he said, his brown eyes melding to almost black as he relived a memory she was grateful not to see. “Isla had such fire, such passion.”

  Paislee got to her feet, grabbed his coffee cup, and dumped the contents in Roderick’s lap. “How dare you take advantage of someone like that!”

  He jumped up and brushed at the front of his expensive slacks, the damp spreading over his lap like a urine stain. She shook with adrenaline. He’d used Isla and tossed her aside. For a moment, Paislee was glad that Isla had taken money from him.

  “What’s going on here?” a male voice shouted from behind her.

  She whirled to see a man very similar in appearance to Roderick with dark hair and eyes but without the slick charm or goatee.

  Paislee let Roger have it. “Isla Campbell is dead, in case you haven’t heard. Next time your brother ‘misbehaves’ maybe you should fire him, instead of the victim.”

  Roger reared back. “Isla was no victim. We’re missing forty cases of our finest merino wool. Roderick, should I phone the police?”

  Roderick glared at her with malice in his eyes. “Naw. Ms. Shaw was just leaving.” His jaw tightened. “Dinnae come back.”

  “Gladly.” Paislee held her head high as she left the Vierra brothers in the courtyard. Her spine tingled. Their joint fury followed her to the door. She left in fear that they might harm her.

  Had they hurt Isla? Roderick certainly had reason to want to keep Isla quiet. And now her.

  She rushed past the reception desk, the woman oblivious as she spoke on the phone, and jumped into her Juke, locking the door once inside. Her fingers trembled as she started the engine. Good heavens, but now that the confrontation was over, she couldn’t stop shaking.

  Isla had not been depressed—she’d been a fighter, turning the tables on the man who had used her so poorly and demanding her due. Was it the “right” thing to do? Probably not, but Paislee couldn’t blame her.

  Looking back at the now ominous white walls of Vierra’s, she had a sinking feeling. Had Roderick, or Roger, or both, killed Isla?

  One thing was certain—Isla would not have overdosed on purpose. Paislee knew that now with every fiber of her being, and she would prove it to the detective and the coroner or whoever would listen. She couldn’t change the outcome for Isla, but she could provide the truth.

  Paislee checked the time. Oh no. How had it gotten to be quarter till three already?

  With one wary eye on the front door of the distribution center, she called Grandpa at the shop.

  “Hello,” he
said.

  “Grandpa—if you answer the phone you have tae say, ‘Cashmere Crush.’ ”

  He hung up.

  Paislee shook the phone and dialed again.

  “Cashmere Crush,” he answered.

  “Grandpa!”

  He waited a beat. “How may I help ye?”

  “I’m running behind—I know I said I wouldnae be gone long, but I need tae pick up Brody before I take you home. I cannae be late tae school.”

  “Aye, I know it. And I need a raise.”

  “What?”

  “Flora Robertson delivered a box of yellow yarn about an hour ago, but I dinnae know how tae pay her, or put the things away, so you’ll have tae do it yerself.”

  “Fine—I’ll see her tonight.” She swallowed and her nerves calmed. Nobody exited Vierra’s. “Is it pretty?”

  “It’s yellow.”

  She sighed.

  “She also brought more of the light green ye like so much. I’m not pricing things for ye unless you give me a raise. I’ve had three phone calls from ladies about tonight’s event, and two customers walkin’ in, as well as a yarn delivery. This was not the light work ye implied.”

  Paislee braced her shoulders. “Can’t do it?” She made a deliberate poke at his pride. “Or is it too much for ye?”

  He roared back, “I can handle it just fine. Take yer time!”

  “Thank ye, I will.”

  “I want a ten pence an hour raise.”

  She scoffed. “Deal. I would have given ye fifty.”

  “Wait a minute now, lass—”

  “See you in an hour.” Ha! She ended the call, very pleased with getting the last word. Time to leave the parking lot and never return to Vierra’s.

  Whingeing aside, Paislee admitted that Grandpa’d been more help than hindrance. She said a prayer to her gran for guidance on what to do about the business. Her small but steady income would be stretched with another mouth to feed.

  Paislee knew only knitting and yarn. She took a right to the main road toward Fordythe.

  If needed, she’d sell yarn by the skein at the Saturday festival to help fill the coffers. She’d concentrate on finishing the specialty fisherman’s sweater, put together four hundred signature flower keychains, and help her grandfather find Craigh.