by Traci Hall
He pouted at the ground. “Why bother talking aboot it then?”
“I’ll explain tae you why the answer will still be no.”
He kicked his heel against the chair leg. “I’d rather play video games.”
She smiled, accepting the victory. “Tomorrow is our Sunday Funday. We can go tae the beach in the afternoon, but I have a meeting with the other business owners that shouldnae take more than an hour.”
He started to complain, but Lydia shook a long finger at him. “Not a peep, laddie, I am taking you for an ice cream at Finn’s. You can have two scoops.”
Brody bolted from his chair and gave Lydia a kiss on the cheek. “Double chocolate!”
He brought Wallace inside Cashmere Crush to Grandpa, who had chosen to sit by the register and out of line of Paislee’s ire—the pair probably discussing a fishing knife.
Lydia rested her chin on her fist. “Brody’s a Romeo. And a prodigy. Heaven help us.”
“Be serious for a moment.” Paislee pulled the comic store business card from her pocket. “Bennett Maclean.”
“Bennett? That’s a nice name.” Lydia flicked the card with doubt. “But a comic book shop? I have a mental image of a geeky guy with a vintage toy collection.”
“You are so wrong. Have Brody take you over.”
“Brody might be a little too candid for this mission.” Lydia stood and smoothed her hands down the front of her designer jeans—as if anything would ever dare to be out of place.
“You won’t be disappointed.”
Lydia quickly applied a soft red lipstick to her mouth. “Intriguing.”
A young lady with spiky purple hair stopped at the table and held up a skein of blue yarn. Lydia left and Paislee talked to the young woman, who was interested in fingerless gloves.
Paislee was in her element, sharing her love for crafting with local yarn, and invited the young woman to next Thursday’s Knit and Sip. What would she do without such a convenient venue?
She sent the girl inside to buy three skeins of the blue she liked from Grandpa as Tabitha and Billy strolled by. They walked hand in hand and said nothing, Tabitha tossing the tasseled end of the scarf over her shoulder.
Paislee knew that Tabitha knew she’d made it for Isla. What was she trying to tell Paislee with that childish move?
Paislee wondered if the detective had questioned Tabitha about the scarf. Was this Tabitha’s way of tweaking Paislee’s nose?
Billy scowled at Paislee, his shaggy blond hair windblown around his face, his jaw bristly as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. Had he worked on the sheep farm this morning?
She had to trust that the detective had properly interviewed them both.
They crossed the street, stopping at Flora’s table. Donnan was awake and sitting in his chair, watching people pass by. Was he like Elspeth’s sister, Susan, content with her thoughts?
Tabitha sidled up to the table—shoulders back. She’d been shy and quiet when Paislee had met her before, but she’d changed.
Billy nodded to Donnan, who nodded back. Paislee could see Flora’s face flush red from across the street.
What was going on?
Tabitha whispered into Flora’s ear, and the woman pulled back as if physically struck.
What had she said?
Flora pointed for Tabitha to leave, saying something Paislee couldn’t hear.
Tabitha laughed at Flora, knocking skeins of yarn off the table as Billy pulled her away. The two scuffed off toward the pub, away from the festival, which was winding down.
Disturbed by the scene, Paislee checked the time. Only twenty minutes until the festival was over. Handing out the last flower keychain, she started to pack up so she could make sure Flora and Donnan were all right. Tabitha was a rotten girl.
Mary Beth and Arran hurried by—Arran less pinched around the sinuses, so Doc Whyte must have called something into the lab for the poor man—with their daughters trailing exhausted behind them in limp pink sundresses.
Mary Beth reached Flora, who had regained her composure. The little girls each gave Flora a hug. She hadn’t realized that Mary Beth and Flora knew each other so well, outside of her shop and their Knit and Sip nights.
Lydia returned, demanding her full attention. “Sign me up. I am officially interested in getting tae know Bennett Maclean. I know nothing about comics, so I’ll have tae borrow Brody.”
Unsettled by what she’d just witnessed, Paislee halfheartedly laughed.
“What?” Lydia searched her face.
“It’s nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Yesterday Paislee had insisted that Gerald was guilty—and she’d been wrong. She hesitated to toss an accusation at Tabitha or Billy without proof.
Normally, she was not one to judge another’s actions, considering her own path of single motherhood. Rather than spread tales that might not be true, Paislee poured her energy into cleaning up and taking down the canopy before going inside.
As she counted the money in the till, her shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t a million euro, but they’d had a very good day.
“Verra good,” she announced, zipping up the money bag to put in the shop safe.
“Good enough for Chinese?” Brody asked from behind her.
“Do we want something else?” There was Indian, or the new German restaurant downtown.
Brody shook his head. “Orange chicken, yum.” Grandpa nodded.
“Awright then—Lydia, are you up for it?”
Lydia agreed. “Spicy pork.”
Chinese food it was. Paislee could meet the co-pay for her Juke without making payments to the mechanic and that soothed her pride. She was grateful to get assistance when she needed it but hated to need it all the same.
They’d packed up and she’d signed off with the town official—the blond gent now had the clipboard. She made a last visual sweep of her space, checking that she hadn’t left anything behind.
Flora and Donnan were already gone and she hadn’t had a chance to say good-bye. Now that the festival was over, she had a clear view of the Lion’s Mane pub’s back entrance. Stone walls covered in tired old graffiti, a dirt parking lot with half a dozen vehicles that would fill up once the roads were open again and folks had access.
She recognized Billy’s beat-up old pickup.
Just then, Tabitha exited the back door of the Lion’s Mane, her arm wrapped around Billy’s waist. Billy bumped into the back end of a car and sprawled to the dirt as if completely smashed.
Tabitha leaned down and helped him up, then awkwardly managed to push him inside to the passenger seat of his truck. He had his hand to his head. According to Paislee’s watch, only thirty minutes had passed since they’d gone into the pub. Who could get wasted that fast?
She took a few steps toward the pair, calling out for Tabitha, but the girl jumped behind the wheel of the truck and peeled off.
Chapter 28
Paislee stared at the road for a moment after Billy’s pickup was gone. Had Tabitha even heard Paislee call out?
Lydia joined her on the sidewalk. “What do ye see?”
Paislee needed her bestie’s advice to stay grounded. “Remember Tabitha and Billy? Well, Billy just fell hard leaving the pub. Then Tabitha sped off, driving Billy’s truck.”
Lydia’s gray eyes focused on the street, which was now busy with cars. The festival was over and the roads open again. “And?”
“She made a scene earlier with Flora—Billy pulled her away. What if she’s gone mental?” She tapped her temple. “Or drugs?”
“This is Nairn, not Glasgow,” Lydia quipped.
She couldn’t shake the bad feeling. “Just listen. Tabitha was Isla’s old roommate. She would know that Isla took heart medicine, and that too much could kill her. She has Isla’s scarf. How did she get it? Isla wouldnae have given it tae her.”
Lydia nudged her elbow into Paislee’s side. “Yer starting tae sound like a TV drama.”
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�I’m not done. Billy told me that Isla wanted him tae help her track down people’s secrets; she would blackmail them and give him a percentage for doing the dirty work.”
Lydia tilted her head, the bob of her haircut brushing against her jaw. “And so what, he told this tae Tabitha?” Her gray eyes expressed doubt.
“What if Tabitha decided that Isla was causing problems in her relationship with Billy . . . so Tabitha killed Isla tae keep her out of their lives?” Following a killer’s logic, was that so unreasonable?
Lydia’s mouth dropped open. “Killed.”
The fact remained: Isla was dead and somebody had killed her.
Paislee bit her lower lip and looked from her shop toward the sea, then the police station farther down the road. “Detective Inspector Zeffer confirmed this morning that Isla”—this version of Isla nearly broke Paislee’s heart—“was blackmailing Gerald, as well as Roderick, her boss, who paid tae keep the affair from his wife.”
“You were right aboot that then,” Lydia said. “What did she have on Highland Hung?”
Paislee paced before her flower boxes, feeling Lydia’s gaze. “A video of his extracurricular activities—”
“A gig vid?” Lydia giggled and started to sing, “He was just a gigolo—”
As beautiful and talented and smart as Paislee’s bestie was, she couldn’t sing a note, bless her for being human. “Stop!” Paislee laughingly covered her ears.
Lydia zipped her lips.
The somber mood had been broken, allowing Paislee to think again. “Let me place the Chinese food order, and Grandpa can drive Brody home. We’ll pick up dinner. Can you see on your superfancy search engine whether or not Tabitha still lives on Dartmouth Street?” Farmer Lowe told her that Billy had been moving. Probably in with Tabitha since he’d broken up with Isla.
“Aye, but what are you going tae do with that information?” Lydia tugged the collar of her cashmere mock turtleneck.
“I dinnae ken—yet. Billy fell in the dirt, stumbling out of the pub. He couldnae walk straight on his own, Lydia.” Tabitha’s arm around his waist had been the only thing keeping him upright, and even then, he’d taken a dive.
“It’s called too much tae drink,” Lydia said with a straight face. “Blitzed, sloshed, hammered, pished.”
“In half an hour?”
“Wrecked, minced, buckled, tanked up—”
Paislee held up her palm. Scots were known for their love of drinking and had almost as many terms for being drunk as they had sheep.
“It could be just that. It willnae hurt tae check, aye? The worst that can happen is Tabitha slamming the door in my face.”
“Why would Tabitha harm Billy?” Lydia brought her phone from her back pocket. “She’s always wanted him.”
“What if Billy and Isla were doing more than arguing over her wanting him tae dig up dirty secrets—what if they’d started shagging again?”
“A woman scorned I understand, but if Isla is out of the picture, Tabitha has what she wants. Billy.”
“You make an excellent point.” Blowing out a breath she said, “I’ll go give Grandpa the keys.” She darted inside her cozy shop. “Do ye mind driving Brody, Grandpa? Lydia and I will bring home the food.”
The two Shaws pulled apart from what they’d been whispering about—looking guilty.
“Aye,” Grandpa said.
Brody gathered Wallace’s bed and emptied the dog’s water dish before attaching the lead to Wallace’s collar.
She took the coward’s way out, and didn’t ask what they’d been plotting. She had her own plan to devise. “We’ll be home in thirty minutes.”
The two left, Brody, next to Grandpa, followed by the dog. That image swept away any feelings of wrongness about the change happening, and replaced it with something right.
Brody no longer only had her—he had his great-grandfather, too.
She pulled her phone from her pocket along with Detective Inspector Zeffer’s business card. The detective had said to call him if she had anything that might help. Billy being unable to walk from the bar counted as something of interest, right?
Lydia had closed the front door, giving it a jiggle to make sure it was locked, and then joined her at the register. She lifted her mobile. “What’s Tabitha’s last name?”
“Drake.”
Fingers flying, Lydia typed in the name to her database.
“The good thing about living in a small place—there are only two Tabitha Drakes, and one is out near Dairlee; the other lives in an apartment building, five minutes from here on Dartmouth.”
“The same place she used tae live,” Paislee said. “Let me call the detective and tell him about Billy.”
“That’s a better idea than going over tae Tabitha’s uninvited.”
To her surprise, the detective answered, and she put the call on speakerphone. “Detective Inspector Zeffer.”
“Hi! It’s Paislee . . . Shaw.”
“Yes?”
She could imagine his glare and cleared her throat. “You asked me tae call you if I had any information?”
“Something better than a cookie. Aye?”
“I saw Billy Connal leave the Lion’s Mane just now, completely wrecked after only being inside the pub for half an hour.”
“Was he driving?”
“Naw—his girlfriend, Tabitha, drove off. He didnae look at all well.”
“There is no law against consuming too much alcohol and being a passenger in a car. In fact, we recommend that.”
Sarcasm fried the phone line. Lydia’s brow winged up.
Paislee knew, though she wasn’t supposed to know, that the coroner thought Isla had overdosed on her digoxin. What if Tabitha had somehow taken Isla’s medication to poison Billy with? The bottle had been on its side, empty. “What if Tabitha put something in his drink?”
“Why would she roofie her own boyfriend?” The detective’s tone grew chillier. “I have tae go and follow actual leads.” He hung up abruptly.
Lydia said, “I hate tae say it, but I agree with that rude man.”
Paislee held her friend’s gaze. “You werenae there when I found Isla, Lydia. Somebody did that tae her. Billy fell on his face in the parking lot when there’s no way he could be that drunk. It isnae right.”
Sighing, Lydia said, “Fine. We do a drive-by. If his truck is there, we can stop. Dinnae forget tae call in the dinner order.”
Five minutes later, they passed a four-story building of flats, and Billy’s pickup was parked out front. “This is it.”
“Now what?” Lydia asked. She’d parked three spaces over from the truck, the red Mercedes a beacon in the less affluent neighborhood. Isla had been making enough money from her blackmail to afford a much nicer flat. It had all added up, the detective told Paislee.
Paislee stared at the familiar door, and number 204. “I cannae very well just ask her if she killed Isla, now, can I?”
“I wouldnae suggest it,” Lydia said. “What if she really is guilty and decides tae push ye over the railing? For the record, the only reason I am okay with this is because I dinnae believe Tabitha is a murderer.”
The reason she was here, searching for answers, was for Isla. “I know she was trying tae tell me something earlier when she flicked Isla’s scarf at me.”
“Aye—tae piss off,” Lydia teased.
Her bestie was a freaking riot today. “I’ll just ask how Billy is feeling.”
“It’s a stretch. Maybe you can pretend tae sell magazine subscriptions?”
Paislee blew her bangs back.
“Religion?” Lydia laughed, hitting her stride. “Flat recommendations?”
“You arenae helping.”
“I love you like a sister, Paislee, but you have no reason tae knock on that door, except for being nosy.” Lydia tapped her perfect nose.
“What if Billy is in danger?”
“And what if he just drank too much?”
Paislee considered this from the safety of L
ydia’s passenger seat. “I’m going tae knock on the door, and ask how they’re doing, just being neighborly.”
“You dinnae live in this neighborhood.”
“I want tae know how she got Isla’s scarf. Stay here. I’ll wing it.”
“I feel like the driver in a getaway car,” Lydia said, revving the gas.
Paislee exited the car and climbed the center stairs to the second-floor landing with no idea what she was going to say. What had Tabitha said to Flora to make the poor woman upset? What had happened to Billy in the short time they were in the pub? She didn’t believe he could drink so much to be ill, unless he’d slammed back twenty shots of whisky.
What if Tabitha was the killer and Paislee was just bold as brass knocking on the door? Number 204. The nameplate beneath read: Tabitha Drake, and “Isla Campbell” had been blacked out, below that “Billy Connal” written in.
Swallowing past the large lump lodged in her throat, she rapped on the door. The material was so thin, the sound echoed.
Her heart hammered.
She glanced behind her to make sure that Lydia’s red car was still in the parking lot.
Lydia waved her fingers.
Nobody came to answer.
She knocked again.
Nothing.
This was eerily reminiscent of when she’d discovered Isla. She discreetly shook the knob, but it didn’t budge, as she checked to see if the door was open, like Isla’s had been. What if it was Billy inside on the floor this time, instead of Isla?
The doorknob rattled and was slowly pulled inward. Billy’s bleary, bloodshot eyes peeked through the crack. He had a gash on his forehead from when he’d fallen. “Tabs?”
“Naw. It’s me, Paislee.”
“Whatchya want?”
“I saw ye leaving the pub and ye didn’t look good. Can I help?”
“Tabs will be back innaminute,” he slurred. “Ate bad cod at the pub.”
Paislee immediately felt ashamed of herself.
She’d imagined the worst, except for food poisoning.... “I’m sairy.” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about the scarf, but it really wasn’t the right time. “I willnae keep you.” Maybe if she hurried she could be gone before Tabitha returned.