Murder in a Scottish Shire

by Traci Hall

  “Is this the best number to reach you at if any new information arises?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then have a nice day.” Click.

  They sat in silence for a moment. She had a bad feeling about Craigh. “It sounds like you’ve followed the right steps. Has Craigh ever been out of touch before?”

  Trembling, Grandpa shook his head. “Not like this. A weekend with a lass. I dinnae ken what tae do next.” His voice quavered. “He’s the only son I have left and I need tae find him.”

  Paislee understood his anguish. She couldn’t imagine her son disappearing.

  Speaking of sons, where was hers? Listening upstairs, she heard water running in the sink. “Brody—hurry up!” Her head pounded, but she gathered the empty bowls and piled them in the sink to wash quickly, her eye on the round clock.

  They left the house at quarter till nine. Grandpa drove the white rental to Fordythe as Paislee was still a mite sore around the shoulder.

  Headmaster McCall was watching for them and hurried over when he saw Brody exit the car. Paislee rolled down her window, and he leaned in.

  His gaze dropped to the padded brace around her throat. “How are you, Paislee?”

  “Just fine, thank you. Headmaster McCall, this is Angus Shaw, Brody’s great-grandfather.”

  She watched the headmaster assess Grandpa’s fitness level and realize that the older man was in better shape than Paislee to drive.

  “How’d ye do?” Grandpa asked.

  “Fine, thank you. Nice to meet you. I hope ye’ll get a chance to rest up over the weekend, Paislee?”

  “We’ll be at the street festival,” Brody informed him. “Giving away keychains. With flowers. You probably don’t want one.”

  Paislee scowled at her son, who stood behind the headmaster. “Bye, Brody. Grandpa or I will be here to pick you up.”

  The headmaster winced. “It has to be you, unless you put your grandfather on the pickup list.”

  Ach, his dratted rules. She clenched her teeth. Just when she was thinking he may not be so bad, he reminded her he really was a pain in the arse.

  “Fine. I’ll be here.” She faced her grandfather and rolled up the window on Headmaster McCall. “Can we go?”

  The old man chuckled. “Gets under yer skin, does he?”

  She refused to look at the headmaster. “Just drive.”

  “I think he likes ye,” Grandpa practically chortled.

  “I dinnae want tae hear your opinion. Keep it up and you really will be sleeping on the back porch.”

  Chapter 22

  Paislee had Grandpa Angus park in the alley behind Cashmere Crush and she slowly climbed the four stone steps to the rear entrance of her shop.

  She flipped on the switch. “It feels like I’ve been gone forever.” The first thing to catch her eye was the open box of bright yellow yarn that Flora had brought in the day before. Paislee picked up a skein and held it to the light. “This is one of her best colors yet. It’s like a bonny daffodil.”

  “Looks like yarn tae me.” Grandpa placed the keys to the rental on the shelf beneath the counter next to Paislee’s purse.

  “She uses all-natural extracts from flowers and even weeds.”

  Grandpa examined the yarn again, his glasses sliding a bit down his nose. “Why does it matter what makes the color?”

  “It matters tae customers. Do you remember Mary Beth, the lady who wanted the pink yarn for the christening blanket?”

  “She’s the size of our rental out back.”

  “Grandpa!”

  He shrugged. “She’s not petite, lass, and that’s no lie.”

  “Anyway, she only buys synthetic dyes. Says they’re better for the environment. We’ve had some pretty intense discussions about it.” Paislee smiled at the memories here. How could she leave?

  “What’s yer preference?”

  “I think there’s room for both natural and synthetic dyes, if done properly. Quality matters most. That’s why I use McFadden’s.”

  “I’ve known me share of ladies and they’re sure tae take a side. But yarn?” He sat on the stool by the register, nudging the box aside. “I dinnae see what the fuss is aboot.”

  His share of ladies, eh? “Everybody has a right tae believe what they want. My friend Amelia was swayed tae the synthetic side of the argument, because of the danger in natural ingredients for setting the color in the yarn.”

  He snorted. “Danger?”

  “Aye,” she said, crossing her arms. “A mordant is needed tae fix the color. Flora uses chrome tae keep her colors from fading, which is very toxic. Before I agreed tae carry her product, I had tae see her setup and make sure she was being safe in how she disposed of the hazardous waste.” Flora was very cautious and respectful of the environment, but not all dyers took such care.

  He scratched his beard, his tone doubtful. “Sounds like a dull subject. I imagined ye’d all get together and talk about women stuff.”

  Women stuff ? “And what would that be exactly?”

  “How would I know? I dinnae go to hen parties.” He winked at her. “But that Lydia sure is a looker. Think she’d be interested in an older man?”

  She smacked him on the arm with a yellow skein of yarn. “Don’t be daft.”

  Paislee pulled the label gun from a bottom drawer beneath the register. “Let me set this up for you, and then you can price each skein, and stack them.” She pointed to the shelves of a lighter yellow yarn, up on the third shelf. “Next tae those would be brilliant. I’ll get the ladder from the back.”

  “No, lass, I’ll get the ladder. You do the label thing.”

  Grandpa was back in two minutes and opening the metal ladder.

  She showed him how to price the yarn, noticing the tangled beginnings of the fisherman’s sweater lying on the shelf. “Two weeks tae knit the sweater.” She glanced at the box of crocheted flowers. “Those are the priority because I need them by tomorrow.” Paislee had learned to juggle things effectively by stomping out whatever fire needed attention first, but now that she was injured there seemed to be fires all around.

  “Did ye say something?”

  “No, talkin’ tae myself—usually there’s nobody here tae answer back.”

  He chuckled. “I’m happy to ignore ye.”

  She picked up the sage yarn, then put it back, remembering that the detective wanted to speak to her. “Do you mind manning the store while I go speak tae Detective Inspector Zeffer? He wanted tae finish taking my statement about the accident yesterday.”

  “So long as yer walkin’ slow, go right ahead.” Grandpa lifted the label gun and priced a yellow skein.

  “Ta.”

  She grabbed her phone and left out the front door. Her flower boxes were pretty with red geraniums and mustard-colored marigolds. The storefront had to look nice for tomorrow’s festival. She’d thought that she would be running back and forth between her booth and the register, but now with both Lydia and Grandpa she didn’t have to be in two places at once. Somehow things will work out, she told herself.

  As she took in a deep breath of fresh spring air, her gaze found the florist shop across the road. Ritchie dragged out buckets of fresh flowers, tempting folks in to buy. Must not be a wedding today, she thought.

  Ambling past the leather shop, she waved to James through the window as he oiled a strip of leather that appeared to be a belt. Next was the dry cleaner’s, and Ned, who chatted with someone on the phone and didn’t see her. The lab didn’t have an open window, like the office supply shop did—she lifted a hand to Lourdes—and as she passed the tea shop she promised herself a tea and a scone on the way back for her and Grandpa.

  Paislee crossed the street and turned right, walking the half block to the police station. She climbed the steps slowly, her neck brace reminding her of yesterday’s accident, and that someone wanted to hurt her.

  No, warn her.

  From what?

  Proving that Isla had been murdered?

&nb
sp; She entered the building, the glass door squeaking.

  Amelia sat at the front desk. Her big blue eyes in her pale face with her short brunette hair made her look like an elf. She came around to give Paislee a very gentle hug, her gaze pausing at her cheek. “Poor thing! Ach. I hope the DI finds oot who ran ye off the road.”

  “I’m sure he has other things tae do.” Like discover what had happened to Isla.

  As if he’d heard his name, Detective Inspector Zeffer barreled from his back office. In another blue suit, this one navy, the detective looked quite handsome with his freshly shaved face. His greeting stopped when he saw the brace at her neck.

  “Paislee! What’s the verdict?” He joined them in the foyer and eyed her closely.

  “Just whiplash, according tae the doctor. I’m fine, remember?”

  He chuckled ruefully at the reminder of their conversation at the hospital. She’d say she was fine even if she needed a full body cast.

  Amelia looked with interest between them.

  “Thank you for showing up this morning,” he said. “Why didnae ye take the day off?”

  “I cannae afford tae do that.”

  He shuffled uncomfortably. “Right.” The detective swept his hand toward his office. “This way, and we can finish your statement.”

  She finger-waved to Amelia, who returned to her desk to answer the phone by the second ring. “Nairn Police Station.”

  Paislee followed him into a spacious office.

  The window looked out on the green lawn of the park around the bandstand, between the road and the Moray Firth; a sturdy oak provided shade over a picnic table.

  Detective Inspector Zeffer’s shiny black shoes matched the shiny black of his new desk. A desktop computer was positioned to the right, and a black leather office chair waited invitingly. A brass nameplate read: Detective Inspector Mack Z effer.

  Old field maps remained on the turquoise-colored wall from when this had been Inspector Shinner’s office. A single wall had been primed in white.

  “Excuse the mess,” Zeffer said, gesturing for her to sit on a less inviting gray metal chair. “They keep asking me about paint, but I dinnae care. I’m fine with beige.”

  She perched on the hard chair. “You don’t like bright colors? I find them energizing.”

  He sank into his seat, the leather creaking, and surveyed the room with a shrug. “I dinnae want tae waste my time looking at paint samples. Inspector Shinner left some pretty big shoes tae fill here.”

  “And Isla’s death right off,” she said, hoping he would tell her more about it.

  He didn’t. “Let’s talk again aboot who might have run ye off the road?”

  “I told you what happened,” she said, touching her brace.

  He leaned forward and focused on her intently. “Tell me again. ”

  She gave him the rundown of confronting Roderick Vierra regarding his and Isla’s affair, and the blackmail.

  He listened to every word. “Why did you feel the need tae do that? Isla is dead, and it doesnae matter now.”

  “Isla was my protégé.” Paislee crossed her legs at the ankles and held his gaze—he had to understand that this “case” mattered to her on a personal level. “Not a stranger that I can dismiss. I discovered her.”

  He straightened and rubbed his jaw. “What did you see in the flat?”

  Could she finally tell him about Tabitha? And Gerald? “She had a mug of tea on the table. Her medicine bottle lay on its side.”

  “What else?”

  “Shortbread cookies—she had health issues as you know and it struck me as odd that she would have those in her flat. Made me think she had a guest, as did the rinsed mug in the sink.”

  He rubbed his upper lip. “It isnae against the law tae have a guest.”

  “It is for that guest to kill her,” Paislee snapped. “And I saw that same brand of shortbread when I went tae visit Tabitha at the florist. She was wearing the sage scarf that I had made for Isla, brazen as you please.”

  She took a deep breath to calm down.

  His mouth thinned and his sea-glass-green eyes flashed. “What makes you think she was killed?”

  Oh no. She couldn’t rat out Amelia. “What else am I tae think when ye willnae tell us how she died? If it was heart failure, you would have said so.”

  “It might be suicide,” he said. “She’d split with her boyfriend, and gotten fired after an affair.”

  “No.” Paislee straightened. “It could never be that. She was too much of a fighter tae kill herself. Besides, after talking tae Billy and Roderick, I know Isla wouldnae have let them close enough tae break her heart.” She didn’t share that Billy claimed Isla didn’t have one.

  “Is that what ye’ve been doing? Talking tae everyone?”

  “Talking isnae a crime. Was Isla killed?”

  He wiped his expression clear, literally scraping his palm across his face. “You were lucky that someone called in your accident so quickly on that quiet stretch of road.”

  She wished he would just answer her question! “I thought so, too.” Paislee brushed her bangs back. “Did you ask Gerald about where he was yesterday afternoon? Or Roderick?”

  He waved that aside. “How did you meet Isla Campbell?”

  Paislee recalled the day. “She burst into the shop, asking about sage-green yarn tae knit a cap. Well, crochet. She didnae like knitting. Her eyes were red, and when I asked her how she was her lip trembled, but she didnae cry. She was tough. She’d been dumped by her boyfriend, who went back tae Edinburgh without her.”

  He sat back and shook his head. “You were easy. A mark.”

  “Think what you like. She might have been brash tae some, but she did fair work—I saw the frightened young girl beneath her exterior.” Isla had been aware that death hung over her like a cloud that could rain at any time, if her heart gave out. She’d decided to live to her fullest.

  Detective Inspector Zeffer’s russet brow arched. “Isla seemed tae have more enemies than friends. So far, you are her only one.”

  “What about her mother?”

  “When Isla left Edinburgh, she took her mother’s jewelry with her.”

  Paislee deflated. “Her mother didn’t treat her well.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I’d be interested in speaking with her,” Paislee said. “There are quite a few things I’d like tae know.”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Nairn is a small town, and that’s how ye show you care.” He should remember that if he wanted to fit in here.

  He smoothed the lapel of his stylish suit. “Ms. Campbell was supposed tae be here today, but she’s postponed her arrival until Sunday. She cannae miss work, she says. She’s asked about burying Isla here.”

  Poor Isla—Paislee would definitely speak to Father Dixon on the girl’s behalf. “I meant tae tell you that Billy told me Isla wanted him tae help her blackmail people for a percentage of the profit.”

  “Hmm.” He took his notebook from his interior pocket and read a page as if to double-check his facts. “After you mentioned blackmail at the hospital, I put a call in to Roderick Vierra. He claims tae have been at the Vierra warehouse with Roger all afternoon.”

  “I know they would lie for one another.”

  The detective continued, “Billy didnae share that Isla had wanted tae recruit him tae help her with a blackmail ring in his interview.”

  Why would he have? Billy was sly. “I didnae find Billy very likable, but he didnae run me off the road—it was a silver car, and he drives an old pickup.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  She resisted the urge to fill in the silence as she’d done before in their meetings. He had a way of dragging forth secrets, and while she only had the one, it was a biggie, and she could never give it up.

  Rather than look at the detective, she stared over his shoulder out the window to the tree behind him. Spring leaves added color to winter drab. How else could she help w
ith Isla?

  He set the notebook onto the blotter of the shiny black desk. “So, tell me, Paislee Shaw, where were you on Monday morning, around eight?”

  Stunned, Paislee spluttered in shock, “F-f-feeding Brody a hot breakfast. Why on earth do ye want tae know?”

  “I’ve read through Isla’s emails, and saw the one she sent tae you, alluding tae a side deal on yarn. Did ye take her up on it?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Paislee was so angry she literally saw stars before her eyes.

  His cool green gaze turned glacial. “Did you take her up on her offer tae buy discounted yarn?”

  “No.” Paislee got to her feet, her voice raised. “You are searching in the wrong place for Isla’s killer, Detective Inspector Zeffer, if ye think I did it. I didnae do it! You should look closer at Gerald Sanford. He was in Isla’s flat before we were—Isla had an aversion to dogs, so ask him the real reason why his pup Baxter was in Isla’s flat?”

  Her breaths came in hard flexes of her lungs, but she did her best to keep outwardly cool. Because Isla’s body had been so stiff, she’d assumed Isla had died at night, but no, in the morning—right before Isla was supposed to show up for her interview.

  Would she have been able to save Isla if she’d gone at nine thirty, when the girl didn’t show? She pressed her palm to her chest.

  “Let me get this straight.” He drummed his fingers along his desktop. “You think Gerald could be guilty because Baxter was in Isla’s apartment.”

  She lifted her chin, which hurt her neck. “He wasnae being honest.”

  “And ye want me to check on Tabitha because she stole Isla’s scarf and likes shortbread cookies?”

  Paislee didn’t care for his tone. “She was so upset the day I spoke to her that I saw her at Doc Whyte’s later with a migraine. Guilty conscience, I think.”

  “And Billy?” He massaged his temple as he watched her, banked amusement at her expense on his face.

  She bristled. “Maybe he got tired of Isla demanding things from him—maybe he did it for Tabitha. I don’t know.”

  “We can agree that you don’t know.”

  Ugly silence grew between them.

  “Can I leave now?” She spoke stiffly. He would have a very hard time in Nairn if he didn’t change his ways. Inspector Shinner had always been friendly and respectful—this detective acted entitled and was rude.