Murder in a Scottish Shire

by Traci Hall

  “I can bring one tae Edwyn’s mum—if she’s at the booth.” He sat cross-legged on the floor by Wallace’s bed and opened the box.

  She gave him the crocheted flowers to attach to the silver key rings. “Brilliant.”

  Paislee gathered flyers and postcards with her business information on them. Each advertised a 25 percent discount off a special-order sweater on the website.

  “Looks guid, lass,” Grandpa said. “How can I help?”

  “Let’s get the canopy raised over the booth out front, and then we can bring out our goodies. The streets are blocked off for setup right now, but security will allow foot traffic starting at nine. The parade is at two, and the day is over at five.”

  “Ye sound like ye’ve done this a time or two,” he said with a laugh.

  “Eight years, since I first opened.” She rubbed her hands together. “One person needs tae always be at the booth, ready with a keychain or a flyer. Someone needs tae be inside manning the register. Lydia should be here any minute. Between all of us, we’ll have time for breaks and to walk the festival.”

  “Sweaters make the most money!” Brody said. This was not his first festival, either.

  She centered the bouquet of flowers from Fordythe Primary on the high-top table to be seen through her frosted picture window. She brought the red geranium out to decorate the table in front of the shop. Its bright petals tied in nicely with her pretty flower boxes.

  She scanned the blocked-off street where each participating business along the parade route had a booth and was now preparing for a busy, and hopefully lucrative, day. Paislee waved to Ritchie, all in black, from the flower shop, who waved back. There was no sign of Tabitha.

  To Paislee’s right, Flora was setting up her booth, too. Her white Volvo was parked in the dirt lot of the pub behind her table as she unloaded supplies. Donnan sat on a crate as Flora did all the heavy lifting.

  Paislee poked her head inside the shop to send assistance. “Brody, Grandpa?”

  But her two helpers were inundated already with affixing charms, and when she looked next, Mary Beth and her husband, Arran, were helping Flora with her boxes and canopy.

  Thank heavens for friends.

  Paislee arranged a fine-knit multicolored cloth over the table—it was her fourth year with this cloth, and it was still just as nice as when she’d made it. Quality wool lasted a lifetime. There were two folding chairs behind the table and two in front, facing Market Street.

  Folks began to trickle by the closer it got to nine.

  Mary Beth brought her twin girls and husband to Paislee’s table after they’d finishing helping Flora and Donnan. Arran was filled out around the middle, due in part to Mary Beth’s cooking, and her two daughters were plump-cheeked, blue-eyed cherubs. They each held a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie.

  “Morning!” Paislee gave her friend a hug. “You’re here early!”

  “Arran and I offered tae help Flora set up and take down. We’re going tae check in with Margot at the lab. I think Arran’s cold has turned into a sinus infection.”

  Paislee noticed his eyes were still red rimmed, his nose chapped—not looking much better than he had at the doctor.

  Arran nodded his greeting and then waved good-bye as Mary Beth tugged him by the hand. Paislee’d never seen him so complacent.

  “Margot will fix him up—why suffer? I say.” Mary Beth said in a lower voice to Paislee, “Doc Whyte can call something in, and he will be right as rain before the parade starts.”

  Mary Beth, holding tight to Arran’s hand, urged her daughters before her to the lab a few doors down. Paislee hoped so, for Arran’s sake. Bagpipes were no comfort for an aching head.

  Lydia burst out the front door of Cashmere Crush preceded by her expensive perfume. “Paislee, morning, lass—ach, you look a bit better today. How are ye feeling?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Lydia sat down next to Paislee at the long table and admired the array of keychains, flyers, and postcards displayed on the table. She caressed the petal of the red geranium. “I parked next tae ye in the back. It’s already crowded and just nine! Appears a beautiful day for a festival.”

  “I think so, too. I’m torn on what tae display—I willnae do Flora’s since she’s here selling her own. Look.” Paislee pointed to the right and down, to Flora’s booth, where she could see her greens and yellows. “You can see her yarn from here.”

  Donnan had been tucked in the corner in the shade, made cozy on a wide camping chair with a cupholder. Flora had a yellow gerbera in her hair today and a floral tunic with short sleeves over yellow leggings.

  Lydia and Flora exchanged waves.

  Paislee’s bestie was dressed “casually” as in no business attire, but the cost of her designer jeans could keep Brody in cheese sandwiches for a month. Black boots and a lightweight black cashmere mock turtleneck Paislee had made for her, tucked in to show off her waist, with a black leather belt and silver buckle, made her look like a fashion model.

  “Thanks for spending your day off with me,” Paislee said.

  “My pleasure. I heard the two Shaw boys bickering over comics when I passed through the shop.”

  Paislee grinned. “Brody has a friend who has a dad with a comic booth this year—Grandpa is walking him down right on the dot, tae get a poster before they’re all gone.”

  Lydia fanned the postcards. “Did ye ever think tae have him in your life?”

  “No. I imagine Granny spitting nails. I don’t know why I didnae think of it, but he used tae live in my house. With Gran.”

  Lydia’s gray eyes widened. She hadn’t used so much black liner today, or smoky shadow, and the color of her eyes was like a river pebble.

  Paislee had more than a touch of envy—not for the difference in their looks, as that couldn’t be helped, but for Lydia’s ability with makeup. Lydia had tried time and again to show Paislee how to create contour and make her eyes pop—but when ye didn’t sleep more than six hours a night, calling attention to the circles under her light blue eyes wasn’t the best choice.

  Practical, that was her, she thought with a shrug. Let Lydia be the glamorous one.

  “I didnae ask details, but he says she was the love of his life. I think Gran couldnae forgive Craigh’s birth.”

  “Proof of infidelity.” Lydia shrugged. “I dinnae blame her. I didn’t stick around for it, either. I would rather be single and confident in myself than constantly wondering what’s happening behind my back.”

  “I’m glad you came home tae Nairn.”

  “Me too. Oh—who is that?” Lydia perked up as two muscular men in khakis and polos passed from the direction of Flora’s booth and the pub toward the water.

  The brown-haired man held a clipboard and Paislee made sure the number on her booth was visible. “He looks official.”

  “I like the blond. Do we have a problem they could solve?”

  Paislee shook her head, laughing. “You are incorrigible.”

  Lydia stood as the men passed by. The man with the clipboard did a double take. She fluttered her fingers, but he didn’t come back.

  Paislee tugged on Lydia’s elbow. “Will you handle the register while Grandpa and Brody go in search of his free poster?”

  “Sure thing. Any specials this year?”

  “Twenty percent off merchandise today only.” Her breath caught. “Oh, Lyd, what if this is the last time we get tae do this?”

  “Stop that. I have three properties I printed out and left in the car—I’ll get them. We’ll find ye something brilliant.”

  Lydia disappeared into Cashmere Crush and Brody, with Wallace on the leash, exited with Grandpa.

  Brody raced toward her. “Can we go now?”

  “Aye. Take your time and mind yer manners. Stay with Grandpa.”

  “I will.” He pulled the flower keychain and charm from his pocket. “I found a good one, Mum.”

  She shook her head and kissed his cheek, ruffling his hair, which he hated. �
��Good luck getting one ye like.”

  The pair strode off with Wallace’s short furry legs keeping pace, black tail sweeping down the crooked sidewalk.

  Gran had told her time and again not to fear change. But this had been her life as a business owner, these people on this row her friends and family.

  James had an array of leather goods on his table. She ambled over to give it a closer inspection. “What’s your giveaway this year?”

  “Money clip.” He showed her a handcrafted strip of leather the size of her finger that closed by using magnets. “Let me use up me scraps.”

  “Clever!” Inside the shop behind him, his fifty-year-old daughter stacked squares of leather. “Nora’s helping today?”

  “Aye. Promised her dinner out afterward.”

  “And not just the pub!” Nora shouted.

  Paislee studied the Lion’s Mane behind Flora’s booth. The single-story pub was made of dark gray stone, had a blue tin roof, and the owners made a decent shepherd’s pie.

  He scowled. “Nothing wrong with the pub. But it’ll be packed because of the festival. I heard on the news that this will be the biggest turnout yet.”

  She glanced back at her table. “I only made four hundred keychains.”

  “You better get to making more then,” James teased. “They find who ran ye off the road?”

  “Not yet.” She gave a half shrug. The reminder that Isla’s killer was still out on the loose cast a pall over the blue-skied morning. “Detective Inspector Zeffer promised he would.”

  She wasn’t sure if she believed him.

  Chapter 26

  By eleven that morning, Paislee had given away fifty crocheted-flower keychains. She stood beneath the canopy of her booth with a basket as folks passed by, making sure to smile and greet as many as would meet her eye. She passed out Cashmere Crush postcards as well, which directed people to her website and the festival special.Was it time to go back to a website-based business?

  The idea made her feel lonely.

  Change is opportunity, and only a fool fears it! Gran’s voice shouted in her head.

  “Go to Cashmere Crush online for an extra discount,” she told a mum of three, handing each of the woman’s children a keychain.

  “Thank ye,” the woman said before being tugged ahead. “I love your shop.”

  “Check out our Thursday night Knit and Sip event!” she called to the lady’s back. Three bairns? How did she do it and stay sane?

  Paislee’s eyes lifted. Was that Detective Inspector Zeffer striding toward her? It was. The throng of festivalgoers instinctually parted to make way. Maybe it had something to do with his tailored blue suit. It was too fashionable for a detective and more like he was playing a part in a drama.

  She thought of Amelia’s observation that she’d seen sparks and her cheeks warmed before he arrived at the table. Sparks of anger, aye, when she did her best to control her temper. She didn’t care for his rude dismissal of her observations. But his wanting “facts” made her realize that she had no way of knowing for sure if Gerald had actually been on a “date.”

  What if his boss was covering for him and had lied to Lydia?

  “Morning,” she said once Zeffer reached her table, offering him a keychain with a flower from her basket.

  The detective started to take it out of reflex but then held his palms up and shook his head. “No, thanks.”

  “I’m assuming you’re here for a reason. Did you find out who sent me into the rail?”

  “I’m down to a hundred silver vehicles unaccounted for.”

  She stifled a laugh. He’d warned her not to presume that the killer and the person who’d caused her accident were the same.Yet she wondered if he knew otherwise or was just doing due diligence. “That’s what you wanted tae tell me?”

  “No.” His voice lowered. “Gerald’s ‘dancing’ alibi checked out and I thought tae put your mind at ease.”

  “My mind will be at ease once Isla’s killer is caught.” She stepped out of the flow of foot traffic and sat down behind her table, inviting him to do the same. She took the opportunity to refill her basket with more keychains from the box by her feet.

  Lydia’s source had been correct. “Did you discover if Isla was blackmailing him, too? There had tae be a reason he was in her flat.”

  He leaned forward with his forearms on the table, scooting aside a skein of red yarn on display. “Aye. Seems Isla had video footage of his . . . activities . . . and was tightening the screws for a hundred pounds a month.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment in Isla’s behavior weighed on her. “That doesnae seem like much—what was the point?”

  “It added up. We’re going through her bank records.”

  She remembered Granny saying, “Many a mickle makes a muckle”; every penny counted. Paislee sighed. “Will that help you find who did this tae her?”

  “I’m getting closer.” Today his blue suit was cobalt, with darker blue pinstriping, and dark blue leather shoes. His eye for fashion seemed at odds with his no-nonsense demeanor. She’d never met a man who dressed so well.

  “Good.” Paislee chided herself for noticing and spoke sharper than she intended. “It’s coming on a week.”

  “Monday morning,” he said, a muscle by his eye twitching. “I’m well aware of the time.”

  Paislee didn’t envy him the pressure of an unsolved homicide. “I should’ve realized she’d died in the morning. She was careful with caffeine as well as sweets, and only had one cup a day. She wouldnae have had regular Lipton at night.”

  He tugged his lapel. “You have a good eye. Is there anything else ye can think of that might make her seek out Dr. Whyte? She’d made an appointment for Tuesday but was dead by then.”

  Such a cold relaying of facts. Paislee knew he was sharing with her because he was desperate to get this case closed.

  “I dinnae ken. His nurse is Sandy; maybe she remembers something?”

  He shrugged. Had he already talked to Dr. Whyte and Sandy? Why wouldn’t he tell her so? Frustrated, she reluctantly said, “Tabitha eats the same brand shortbread cookie as what was on Isla’s table—but that’s the most popular brand. I buy it myself.”

  Zeffer sat back and rubbed his smooth jaw. His sea-glass-green eyes bore into her. “A cookie.”

  Just then Elspeth and her sister dropped by the booth; Elspeth had her arm linked with Susan’s, and Susan had a white cane in her other hand, tapping the asphalt before her.

  “Oh—is this a bad time?” Elspeth asked, seeing Paislee with the detective.

  “Of course not.” Paislee made the introductions. She could kiss her for interrupting the conversation.

  “If ye think of anything that’s actually helpful, call me.” Detective Inspector Zeffer stood, nodded to the ladies, and quickly departed.

  “Any news?” Elspeth asked, guiding Susan to a chair on the street side of the table.

  “Nothing yet.” Paislee clasped her hands together so she didn’t toss her precious yarn at the detective’s retreating back. “Hello, Susan.”

  “Paislee—Elspeth told me about yer accident. I’m so sairy. That’s one thing I dinnae miss aboot my blindness, driving.”

  Lydia darted out of the shop to the sidewalk, waving to Elspeth. “Was that Detective Inspector Zeffer, the man with the spark?”

  “Stop it!” Paislee kept her back turned to her bestie. As soon as this situation with Isla was resolved she would never speak to Zeffer again.

  Elspeth laughed. “He was very attractive. A wee bit tense.”

  Susan shifted toward Paislee, lifting her barely lined face. She too had gorgeous iron-gray hair, though hers was cut short. “You have a new man in yer life?”

  “Naw. I do not want a man in my life. Especially that man. Me and Brody are just fine.”

  Elspeth wisely changed the subject to the lovely day for the festival, joining Lydia at the doorway to Cashmere Crush.

  Susan didn’t care for knitting or crocheting, cal
ling it a waste of her time, but she could sit for hours, she said, and listen to life bustle around her.

  Elspeth and Lydia went inside the shop, leaving her and Susan to converse in between Paislee handing out keychains and postcards.

  Headmaster McCall strode toward the booth, wearing uncharacteristically casual beige khakis and a navy-blue polo shirt. His blackish-brown hair had been styled back from his face. He removed black sunglasses to reveal dark brown eyes and thick black lashes.

  His shoulders were quite broad in the polo. Did he work off the pressure of managing Fordythe Primary at the gym?

  “Hello, Headmaster.”

  He smiled. “ ‘Hamish,’ please, when away from the school.” He held out his hand to shake, his gaze falling on Susan, and then the flowers visible through Paislee’s front shop window. His smile widened.

  “Please thank Fordythe for the flowers,” she said, her tongue awkward in her mouth. Was her grandfather right—did he fancy her? “Hamish, this is Susan Booth.”

  The two exchanged greetings. Paislee offered him a keychain, making sure he had a silver charm, which he accepted.

  “You made this?” He held the keychain in his palm to admire.

  “Four hundred of them.”

  He studied her yarn on the table, then chose an ivory skein, rubbing his thumb over the silky strands. “When you were in the other day, you mentioned that your shop was a specialty sweater shop. What makes it special?”

  “I use locally sourced wool and local dyers. That’s merino wool.”

  He exchanged the ivory for a lavender cashmere skein. “Oh, this is great, and much softer.”

  “That’s real cashmere.” She smiled as she explained, “It’s made from the underbelly of a goat. This”—she tapped the ivory—“is shorn from a sheep.Are ye interested in some yarn?”

  “Not for me, thanks,” he quickly said. “My sister knits. She lives in London.What would be a guid gift tae send her?”

  “What’s her favorite color?”

  “Orange, I think.”