Murder in a Scottish Shire

by Traci Hall

  Her heart raced at the list before her—but she would get it done.

  As she drove, she wondered why Lydia couldn’t find a record of the sale of her building. And whether there was a penalty for Mr. Marcus breaking the lease.

  Today’s showing with Lydia had clarified for both of them what Paislee really wanted. She’d take cracks with character over trendy and new without a second thought.

  She rounded the curve and slowed for a sheep crossing the road, then continued on her way. She passed Lowe Farm on her left and made her way down the hill toward Nairn.

  With a glance in her rearview, she saw the glint of afternoon sunshine glow silver from a car behind her.

  An all-too-familiar niggle of apprehension tickled her nape, warning her to take care and mind the sharp cliff on the left. She lightly pressed on the accelerator even as she remained aware of possible sheep in the road.

  Paislee looked again and the car was right on her tail, and getting closer.

  She took the next curve a wee bit faster than she liked. Did the car not see her? Were they on the phone, or messing with the radio?

  Silver dazzled off the fancy sunshade of the car behind her.

  Heading out of the turn and down a steep hill, she suddenly jolted forward—out of control—as the car nudged her bumper.

  She tried to straighten the Juke, but the car behind her crashed into her bumper, harder this time.

  Paislee spun.

  The world whipped around her, her senses reeling as things moved fast yet in slow motion.

  Until the Juke smashed with a great crack into a guardrail.

  Moments later, she came to. Her head throbbed. Her muscles burned where she was secured to her seat by the seat belt’s straps; the deployed airbag pressed her firmly against the backrest.

  A feeling of immense gratitude washed over her that Brody had not been in the car. And peering out, at where her car had stopped, the guardrail bent and mangled, that she hadn’t gone over the cliff.

  Had it been Roderick Vierra or his brother behind her?

  Paislee roused next when medics were attending to her and loading her into the ambulance.

  “My phone,” she told a female medic with a broad face and freckles. “I have tae call my son’s school.”

  The woman retrieved Paislee’s bag and purse. “Here ye are, but settle down, now. They’ll understand.”

  She knew they wouldn’t, but didn’t have the energy to explain. Her head and neck twinged, but she dialed anyway, biting her lip as the school secretary answered.

  “Headmaster McCall, please.”

  “One moment.”

  Time ticked by like a leaded weight. Her body pulsed with waves of heat.

  The medic pulled down straps, securing her for the ride to the hospital. “You lost consciousness. We’re taking you to Town and County Hospital.”

  Paislee groaned.

  “Are ye in pain?” asked the medic.

  “Headmaster McCall,” the headmaster said on the phone.

  “This is Paislee Shaw. I just wanted tae let you know that Lydia Barron will come for Brody today.”

  “Ah. She’s on the form?”

  What was with this guy and his forms? “I’m not aware of any form.”

  Paislee winced as a stab of cold, a new pain from the heat, pierced her temple.

  “Is everything fine?”

  “There’s been a small accident,” she said.

  He sucked in a breath. “Are you all right?”

  “A car accident—I’m okay. Please don’t alarm Brody, but I wanted tae make sure that you understood if he was a bit late being picked up.”

  She could feel his emotions spill toward her over the phone. Embarrassment despite him believing himself in the right, and concern.

  “Do you need any assistance?”

  “That’s all. I have tae go.” She ended the call with her eyes closed. Cold had churned back to heat once more and her stomach twisted with nausea.

  “No more now,” the medic said. “I gave ye somethin’ for the pain.”

  “I have tae call Lydia, tae pick him up. I’ll be quick. I can’t be late.”

  “My two bairns are with me mum until they start primary,” the medic said. “I didnae realize schools were so strict.”

  “Fordythe. They like ye tae be on time.”

  Rather than call, she texted Lydia, asking her to pick up Brody. She gave a brief rundown of what had happened, and where she was going to be for the next few hours.

  Lydia immediately texted back that she would pick up Brody, was Paislee really all right, and what else could she do to help?

  Paislee gave her phone to the medic and politely passed out for the ten-minute drive to Town and County Hospital.

  Chapter 19

  Paislee stirred as they transferred her from the stretcher to a hospital bed. She hadn’t been in a hospital since Brody’s birth, and she didn’t care for the cold, antiseptic feel.

  A doctor read her chart at the foot of her bed. “ ‘Car accident. ’ ” He ran his finger down the page as he went. “Let’s just see what’s going on.” He set the chart down on the nightstand. “I’m Dr. Raj. Can you sit up for me?”

  She tried, gritting her teeth at the pull of sore muscle.

  “What hurts?”

  “My neck and head.”

  “Not your back?”

  She took stock. “No. My shoulders a little.”

  “The airbag deployed, which explains the bruise on your cheek, and your seat belt the soreness in your shoulder.” Dr. Raj pressed on her collarbone, and she squealed.

  He flashed a penlight in her eyes, then put the instrument back in the pocket of his white coat.

  “Can you turn your head?” Dr. Raj’s Indian accent was thick, making him hard to understand—or, she acknowledged, it could be the fact that her mind was foggy.

  She did—gingerly.

  He pressed gently along her neck and had her move her fingers and arms. “Good,” he said. “I do not think anything is broken, but let’s get you an MRI—just to be sure.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, not liking the sound of that. Anything needed by the doctor would be covered by National Health Insurance, so it wasn’t about the money but her own fear.

  “It’s better to be sure.” He tapped his lower lip and studied her. “Do you want to stay overnight?”

  “No! I have a son that needs me at home.” And a dog, and a grandfather . . .

  “Then let’s make a deal. You get the MRI, and if it is clear I will sign off on your release.”

  A doctor who liked to bargain. She really didn’t want to spend the night, so she accepted his deal with a painful nod.

  Dr. Raj flagged down a nurse from the hall. “MRI for Ms. Shaw please—let me know when they’re done?”

  The nurse was a tall man in his early twenties wearing dark green scrubs, his carrottop hair tied back in a tail.

  “I’m Scott. This willnae take but a minute. Ready?”

  “Aye.” There was no time for her to be anxious, and despite Scott’s optimism, it was more like an hour before she was in and out. She’d changed into a hospital gown in the adjoining dressing room, but the 3-D imaging machine hadn’t hurt after all.

  Paislee shuffled back into her room, boots loosely tied, to find Detective Inspector Zeffer waiting. He rose from the single armchair. She tried to finger-comb her bird’s nest hair. What was he doing there? All she could think of was that she was glad she’d changed back into her jeans and sweater. “Detective Inspector!”

  “Ms. Shaw.”

  “ ‘Paislee,’ please.”

  “Paislee. Are you all right? They said you needed an MRI.” He searched her face, and she touched the bruise on her cheek. She knew she must look something awful.

  “I’m fine, fine. My head aches, but that’s normal, right, Scott?”

  “Right-ee-oh.” The nurse told the detective, “The doctor just wants tae make sure nothing is broken.”
>
  DI Zeffer nodded, then asked Paislee, “What happened?”

  Scott took that as his cue and bustled out the door with a, “Be right back. Images should be ready shortly.”

  She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, and the detective reclaimed his chair. The clock hanging on the wall above him read five thirty. Brody would be out of school by now—where was her phone?

  She had to make sure that Lydia had Brody. Apprehension simmered in her belly as she scanned the room for her purse. Paislee slid stiffly off the thin mattress and searched the counter. Nothing. On the verge of a panic attack, she rummaged through papers on top of the bedside table.Where were her things from the ambulance?

  There—a plastic bag tagged with her name and room number had fallen to the floor. She lifted it and dumped the contents on the bed. “I have tae check on my son.”

  “You have someone tae help?”

  Her phone peeked from the side pocket of her hobo bag. “Aye.” She skimmed her messages with a sigh of relief. Lydia had sent a picture of her and Brody with sad faces wishing her well. “My best friend picked him up and took him home. There’s a key under the flowerpot.”

  “How many people know that? I suggest moving the key.”

  “You, Brody, Lydia, and Grandpa. Other than you, they need tae know where it is. Dinnae go burgling my house, now.”

  What she meant as humorous came out sharp.

  His pale green eyes narrowed below russet brows. Dressed in a blue suit, something he seemed to favor, he folded his arms before him, balancing his elbows on the armrests of the chair. “I can guarantee yer house is safe from me.”

  She rolled her eyes, but even that hurt, and she carefully perched back on the hospital bed. Her jeans and sweater were no match for the chill, so she tugged the top blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. Lydia would die of hypothermia before committing such a fashion faux pas.

  The detective offered to help, but she waved him off. “I’m fine.”

  “Why do I think you’d say that even in a body cast?”

  That made her laugh. “How’d ye know I was in hospital?”

  He leaned back comfortably. “I heard yer name on the police scanner. What were you doing away from yer shop?”

  “Visiting Bi—someone.” He’d warned Amelia against talking about Isla’s death, and she doubted he would appreciate Paislee searching for answers on her own.

  His stare had a demanding quality. Charismatic.

  She caved beneath the cool green gaze. “I went tae Lowe Farm tae see Billy.” No matter what, she couldn’t get Amelia into trouble by sharing she knew about the coroner’s report of suicide. She was glad that he hadn’t accepted the verdict and had ordered more tests. She wished she could ask why. What had he seen that made him think there was more to the story?

  “Oh?”

  She thought back—Lowe Farm. Billy. “To offer my condolences. Isla had told me that she and Billy might be married one day, so I was surprised tae find out they’d broken up.”

  Zeffer felt at his coat where he kept his notepad but didn’t pull it out. “Why didn’t ye just call him?”

  “Tabitha wouldnae give me his phone number when I asked her for it.” She watched his face to see if he already knew why not. “It seems Tabitha and Billy were messing around behind Isla’s back.”

  His expression remained as fixed as a champion poker player’s.

  “I cared for Isla. As a mum, I cannae imagine not knowing about my child’s death.” And if that child had been murdered? Her heart skipped. “Have you found Isla’s mother?”

  “Aye. Charla Campbell. She’ll be here in the morning.”

  Paislee relaxed, pushing her bangs back from her eyes. “Thank heaven.”

  “You can rest now,” the detective proclaimed somewhat sarcastically.

  She crossed her legs at the ankles and ignored his comment. “Billy confirmed what Gerald Sanford told me, about Isla blackmailing her ex-boss, Roderick Vierra.”

  “Blackmail?” His voice hitched as she finally got a rise out of him.

  Paislee quickly explained, ending with, “I wanted tae confront Roderick about it, so I went there this afternoon, after I talked tae Billy.”

  “Confront him about what?”

  “He and Isla were having an affair.”

  At this, the detective pulled out his black leather notebook. “Affair?”

  Feeling rather pleased with herself, Paislee said, “Roderick was cheating on his wife with Isla, who blackmailed Roderick tae keep quiet. Billy said he didnae get back together with Tabitha until after he discovered Isla with Roderick, but Roderick claims it was the other way round.”

  He wrote without looking up. “When did Gerald tell ye this?”

  “This morning.” It felt like days had passed since she and Lydia had gone to question Gerald. “According tae him, Billy often showed up at Isla’s flat and the two would argue loud enough tae shake his walls.”

  He briefly closed his eyes. “We are getting off track. Can you please relay tae me what happened on your way back from Vierra’s?”

  “The sun was shining bright behind me.”

  He clenched his jaw.

  “It matters,” Paislee said. “The sun made it hard tae see the driver behind me because of the silver sunshade in their car. Billy drives a beat-up pickup truck, so it wasnae him; this car seemed fancier. It might have been Roderick, or his brother, Roger—the accident happened right after I left there, and they were both upset with me.”

  “Did ye see the make or model of vehicle?”

  “It was silver, and not a truck, but that’s all I can tell you.”

  He scribbled something down. “Whoever it was, they didnae stop.”

  She recalled waking up in her Juke, afraid, and tightened the blanket around her shoulders. “I think they ran me off the road on purpose.”

  He glanced up from his notebook. “Why so?”

  “They nudged me once, and then bumped me again until I lost control.”

  He leaned forward with an incredulous expression. “Why would anybody do that?”

  “Like I ken?” Paislee splayed her hands. “Isnae that your job tae find out?”

  He rubbed his lower lip and hummed. “Could be somebody doesnae like you asking questions about Isla.”

  She chilled. “I never saw what Roderick drove, but Gerald has a silver BMW.”

  The detective made a note. “I remember.”

  Dr. Raj entered with Scott, who held the film images of her neck and shoulder. “We are here to go over the MRI,” Dr. Raj said. He gave a pointed look at the detective. “Are you her husband?”

  “No!” He shot up, tucking his notebook away into the pocket of his stylishly tailored suit.

  Paislee would have laughed if her head didn’t hurt so badly. She didn’t invite the detective to stay and review the MRI. A girl deserved a little privacy.

  Detective Inspector Zeffer made his way to the door. “See me tomorrow tae finish your statement, all right?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ye have a way tae get home?” He waited.

  “Aye. Lydia will pick me up.”

  He nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

  Paislee faced the doctor and nurse as Scott hung the MRI images on the wall. Dr. Raj rubbed his hands together.

  “Whiplash, but no breaks. You will be sore for a few days. You should take it easy. I can write you a note excusing you from work.”

  No work meant no pay. “I own my own company. I’ll take it easy, but I have tae be there.”

  “Rest all that you can.” Dr. Raj sat on his stool, the hem of his white coat almost brushing the floor. “I want you to take ibuprofen and limit your movements as much as possible. I’m going to prescribe a muscle relaxer, and suggest a neck brace as well.”

  She scrunched her nose at the idea. “For how long?”

  “At least forty-eight hours,” said the doctor. “If you’re still tender next week, come back
and see me—unless you have a family doctor?”

  “Dr. Whyte.”

  Dr. Raj’s face lit up. “I know him—make a well-check to see him soon, that’s all I ask.”

  She slipped off the end of the hospital bed. “Am I free tae go?”

  “Let me fill out the paperwork. I’ll try not to take your eagerness to leave personally.”

  Oh—was he serious?

  He winked, and Paislee relaxed. “Whatever you say, Doctor.”

  She texted Lydia while she was waiting to be released to let her know that she could go home.

  Grandpa! Ach. He must still be at the shop. Grandpa?

  Lydia texted that she and Brody had stopped at Cashmere Crush. Brody had shown them where she kept the emergency key. Lydia had just dropped them off at home and she was on her way. One bestie to the rescue.

  Chapter 20

  Paislee checked out of the hospital with a prescription for muscle relaxers and a soft brace around her neck. Her cheek hurt and shoulder ached. She wanted to go home and have a strong cup of tea and a whine.

  Lydia squealed when she saw her in the lobby. “Are ye sure you shouldnae stay overnight?”

  “Positive.”

  “If this is about money, I can give you some.” Lydia cautiously swept Paislee’s bangs from her brow.

  Her nose lifted with Scottish pride. “No, thank ye.”

  “Dinnae be dafty. Yer poor face!”

  “I havenae looked yet. Am I scary?” She felt at her hair, which had come out of its ponytail at some point during the afternoon and was now tangled around her shoulders. “I don’t want Brody tae worry.”

  “It was all I could do tae convince him tae stay at home with your grandpa. He wanted tae see you for himself. I have makeup in my bag tae tone down the red and blue, and it willnae be such a fright.”

  “Thanks.” Paislee led the way out of the hospital.

  “I’d offer tae stay the night, but I have another showing at seven o’clock for a house next tae Cawdor.”

  Big bucks, then, and explained her black pantsuit with a charcoal silk blouse. “You’ve done so much already.”