A Spell of Murder

by Kennedy Kerr

  Good for you, Inspector Kim Hyland, Temerity cheered silently.

  McKinley looked away sulkily.

  ‘Well, whatever. We were friends. I wanted to be more.’

  ‘Aye. Tell me aboot her housemate, Beth.’ Temerity knew that Hyland was only changing the subject temporarily; he hadn’t finished asking Ben about his feelings for Molly, but he was going to let him think he had. Ben relaxed visibly. He sat back in his chair.

  ‘What about her? She was jealous of Molly.’

  ‘Seems a lot of people were. What’s this aboot Molly stealin’ Beth’s fiancé?’ Hyland asked.

  ‘I don’t know about that. She didn’t mention it to me.’ But Temerity couldn’t help noticing that Ben’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes had widened. Temerity realised that the brief minutes when McKinley had managed to project a disinterested, unemotional image must have been an effort for him: he was far too emotional a person to manage to appear cool for long.

  ‘Miss Bennett walked in and found them at it on the sofa, I’m told,’ Hyland continued. Temerity shook her head. There was no knowing whether it was true or not. However, she knew that Hyland wanted to push this man’s buttons and see what he did.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Ben hissed.

  ‘Miss Bennett says it happened. Would you say she – Miss Bennett – was a liar?’ Hyland enquired gently.

  ‘She must be! People lie all the time,’ McKinley spat. ‘Molly wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t do it to—’ He broke off. ‘She wouldn’t have done that to me. She knew I loved her. She loved me, too, I know she did.’ His voice broke and he leaned forward onto the table. ‘Oh God, I miss her! I loved her! Molly, please come back, please…’ He sobbed and pummelled his fists on the table like a child. Hyland exchanged a glance with the lawyer, who as yet had said nothing.

  ‘Ben, would ye like a minute to calm down?’ the Inspector asked with great civility, but McKinley sat up suddenly. ‘I didn’t kill her!’ he shouted.

  ‘All right, Ben. We’re just talking.’ Hyland placed both hands flat on the table.

  ‘Well, why else am I here? If that’s what you think, why don’t you just come out and say it?’ he shouted again. The lawyer murmured something to him, but he ignored her. ‘No! Come on! I’ve got an alibi, you know! I wasn’t even there. I was in the playground, all the kids saw me and the whole of the staff room know I wasn’t there. Why aren’t you asking them all these questions? They could have actually done it.’

  ‘We’re talking to lots of people.’ Hyland’s voice remained calm. ‘You were… close. It’s obvious we’d want to talk to you.’

  McKinley looked away, but said nothing. Hyland studied him for a moment.

  ‘Do you know how Molly died?’ he asked, his voice still gentle.

  ‘Course. Everyone knows,’ McKinley retorted.

  ‘Ben, I have to ask you. Have you ever bought or sourced the poison atropine?’ Hyland leaned back in his chair again, watching the teacher’s face.

  ‘What? No, of course not!’ McKinley looked appalled at the thought; she was viewing this all from behind the glass, but Temerity thought he was being genuine. ‘Why would I ever do that? I loved Molly. I… wanted her to love me.’

  ‘We’ll have to search your home, as a standard procedure. We’ve already searched the school; I hope you understand.’ Hyland made it sound as though it was just a formality, but she knew it definitely wasn’t.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’ McKinley looked sulky again. Hyland gave his hail-fellow-well-met grin, as if this was just between friends.

  ‘Well, ye could say no, of course, Ben. Absolutely. But then, the thing is…’ the Inspector puffed on his pipe, which Temerity was pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to smoke inside the police station ‘If ye refuse, it creates a ton of paperwork for me, aye and then we’d still have tae do it, just with more papers. I know ye don’t have anythin’ incriminatin’ at yer hoose, why would ye? But it’s just one of those things, aye.’ He blew out a plume of pipe smoke. ‘See what I’m sayin’?’

  ‘You’re saying I don’t have a choice,’ McKinley repeated dully.

  ‘I suppose I am, yes. Ye got anythin’ else ye want tae tell me, Ben?’ Hyland steepled his fingers together and watched as Ben picked up the mug, drank from it and put it back on the table.

  ‘No.’ McKinley thought he’d done the interview, that it was over, Temerity could tell from his expression. But she knew he remained the Inspector’s number one suspect. Hyland nodded and spoke the time into the recorder, then stood up to usher Ben McKinley and his lawyer out of the interview room.

  After five minutes or so, the door to the room Temerity was in opened and Hyland came in, carrying the white mug McKinley had drunk out of in one plastic-gloved hand. He placed it on the table in front of her.

  ‘See what you can do with it,’ he said, sighing as he sat down opposite. ‘Did ye see him lose his temper? Changeable fella. What Mrs Hyland calls “mercurial”, aye.’

  ‘The god Mercury, or Hermes, is the messenger. He’s quick-minded, persuasive and changeable. He’s also a great magician. The master of magic, in fact,’ Temerity mused as she picked up the mug. ‘I don’t think Ben McKinley’s a master of magic.’

  ‘Reckon I agree with ye there, lassie. He’s got some strange ideas about women.’

  Temerity raised an eyebrow.

  ‘He sounded like someone who watches those videos on the internet about how to pick up women in bars. You know, those guys –’ Temerity clicked her fingers – ‘what do they call themselves? Pick-up artists. It’s all based on these misogynist ideas about women being some kind of brainless prey motivated by displays of wealth that they can manipulate with neurolinguistic programming.’

  Hyland looked blank.

  ‘Neuro-what-now?’

  Temerity grinned.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I just mean, he seems like a bit of an idiot. Insecure, definitely.’

  ‘Agreed. Mrs Hyland would have his guts for garters if she heard what he said then.’ Hyland shook his head. ‘Doesnae necessarily make him a murderer, though.’

  ‘Hmmm. I might not get that much from the mug, you know, he only touched it briefly. It’s not something that’s really his,’ she warned. Hyland shrugged.

  ‘Just good tae get yer feeling on him,’ he admitted.

  Temerity took the plain white mug in her hands and closed her eyes. An object like this, which had been used by so many people (and went through the dishwasher every day) was a very different proposition to get information from than something which had been treated as sacred its entire life. But nonetheless, it had its own energy.

  What came to her first was a kind of greyish mesh of faces: it was the entirety of everyone who had used the mug; a quiet fog of remembrance. She took in a breath and named who she was looking for: Ben McKinley. She concentrated on her breathing, remaining centred. She saw his face in her mind and then Molly. She felt his emotion for Molly, suddenly: a craven, lustful wanting that obsessed him. The wanting Molly was so intense that Temerity had to draw in a deep breath. It was unsettling.

  Temerity tried to search Ben’s feelings for Molly through this small link with him, but all she could sense was that intense desire for Molly – a belief that she was his true love and that their futures were fated to be together. And then, in a flash of vision, Temerity saw Molly’s body on the floor of the staff room, the foam at the edges of her mouth, her stare rigid. She was seeing Molly through Ben’s eyes for an instant, but there was only horror in Ben’s heart; Temerity felt his shock and disbelief. She could hear him muttering, Oh no, no, no, Molly, no.

  She opened her eyes and let go of the mug.

  ‘It was a surprise to him that she died. He was horrified when it happened,’ she said, slowly. ‘I don’t know. It’s strange. All I’m getting from him is how much he wanted her. Like, insanely. He was obsessed with her. He believed very strongly they were going to spend the rest of their lives together.’

/>   ‘Odd. I got the sense he was hidin’ somethin’.’ The Inspector frowned.

  ‘I did, too. But all I can pick up from this are his recent feelings, I suppose.’ She picked up the mug again and closed her eyes. She imagined the scene in the staff room as vividly as she could: Molly’s body on the floor, her poisoned mug that had rolled away, Ben crying, his shock, the teachers standing around. She tried to sense anything else, anything new that she hadn’t picked up already. There was something, but it was faint. It was a sensation against her fingers; it wasn’t the ceramic cup. It reminded her of when she put her hands in her coat pockets and found an old receipt in there. She frowned.

  ‘Paper. He had paper in his pocket when she died. I don’t know what that means. No idea what type of paper. Just… he could feel it against the tips of his fingers when he stood there, looking at her body. Sorry, that’s all I have.’

  ‘No, lassie, that’s helpful. Ye never know when this will all come in useful,’ Hyland mused.

  ‘Nothing I say is legally binding,’ Temerity reminded him. ‘You can’t prove any of this. It’s just impressions. But they’re always right.’

  ‘I know. It helps me, aye. In the same way as yer antiques. Ye find a way in with yer gift, then ye find the facts easier when ye know where tae look. Thank ye, as always.’

  ‘Did you mention to Constable Harley I was coming in today?’ Temerity enquired innocently, since Harley hadn’t appeared at all.

  ‘Ach, no. He’s away busy. Tracin’ Molly’s real parents, her bein’ adopted. Ye never know, some kinda clue there.’ Hyland got up and waited for Temerity to follow him out of the room into the corridor. The little station comprised Hyland’s office, overflowing with papers, files and which smelled permanently of pipe smoke; one holding cell, hardly used, and the two interrogation rooms. Harley used a desk in the small reception area.

  There was a part-time receptionist, Dora, a local mother who did a couple of hours a day. Dora didn’t bother to hide the fact that she spent most of her time gossiping, knitting or organising her children’s doctor, dentist and haircut appointments as well as their many after-school club activities.

  ‘Okay. Well, stay in touch.’ Temerity waved as she got to the door and pulled on her coat; Dora eyed her with a certain amount of suspicion. No doubt by the end of the day, everyone in Lost Maidens Loch would know she’d visited the station. Temerity didn’t really care. Do your worst, Dora, she thought. While you’re at it, book me in at the hairdresser’s. I’m overdue for a cut and blow-dry.

  She walked out into the crisp, frosty morning and plunged her hands into her coat pockets. Just like in her vision, crumpled paper brushed against her fingertips: she pulled the paper out, smoothing it. It was a sheet with a letterhead at the top: an ink drawing of Dalcairney Manor. Temerity’s first thought was that this illustration was the one that had been shoddily reproduced in The Mysteries of Lost Maidens Loch, by T.L. Hawtry: no doubt cut out and photocopied, which would account for its blurriness.

  The paper had been folded into a neat square, but Temerity’s fingers had fiddled with it without thinking. Oh, the cake recipe. Temerity remembered the housekeeper at Dalcairney Manor writing it out for her. She hadn’t had the heart to tell Liz that she’d never baked a cake in her life. Still, it had been delicious – she’d give the recipe to Tilda.

  Only, it wasn’t a recipe at all. It was a scrawled note which said:

  There are things you should know. Come to the house when you have time.

  – Liz.

  18

  ‘Pretty nice.’ Tilda parked the car and leaned forward, gazing up the long drive to Dalcairney Manor. ‘I’ve never been in.’

  ‘Well, nor had I until the other night,’ Temerity agreed as they drove up it slowly and parked at the wide front of the house. Spring was coming and today there was no mist over the loch; the sky was a bright blue and, as Temerity opened the car door, a fresh breeze blew pleasantly on her skin. She rang the doorbell and heard the sound echo inside the house. ‘Oh. There’s a really weird maid. The night of the rescue, she never said a word the whole time. Dressed all in black and glowering at me from the corner like the Bride of Dracula.’

  ‘Consider me warned,’ Tilda replied, getting out of the car and slamming the driver’s side door shut.

  Liz opened the door. She was once more dressed in a calf-length wool skirt and a buttoned-up cardigan over a fine knit sweater. Despite the coming of Spring, Lost Maidens Loch was still pretty chilly.

  ‘Ah. I thought you’d have called first.’ She looked temporarily discomfited, as if deciding what to do.

  ‘Sorry, I just thought… from your note… that you might not want to talk on the phone,’ Temerity whispered. She’d shown the note to Tilda when she’d got home yesterday, who had suggested they visit the house. Her actual words were, let’s beard the lion in his den. Tilda was prone to using archaic phrases because of all the old books she read.

  ‘No, no, it’s all right. Come in.’ Liz stood to one side to let them in.

  ‘This is my sister, Tilda,’ Temerity said.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Liz smiled tightly; clearly, she was uncomfortable with them being here. ‘Do come in. The Laird is in his study just now; Lady Dalcairney is in her garden, but she’ll be having her weekly hydrotherapy bath in a short while, so we can talk then. Let me show you to the kitchen.’ She hurried them down the hall and into a large, traditional kitchen and pulled out two chairs from the kitchen table for them to sit at. ‘I’m sorry, maybe I should have visited you. Will you bear with me for a short while? I need to accompany Lady Dalcairney when she’s up and about. She’s not too steady on her feet and she needs help going up and down steps, things like that.’

  ‘Of course, don’t mind us.’ Temerity nodded. ‘We’ll make ourselves at home.’

  ‘Right, okay then. Sally will be back in a minute; if you want anything, ask her, but she’s almost at the end of her shift,’ Liz mumbled and went to the door at the far end of the kitchen, pulling it closed behind her.

  ‘Something’s definitely up,’ Tilda said in a low voice after Liz had gone. ‘She’s as skittery as a mouse.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Temerity frowned.

  Tilda got up and started looking through the cupboards.

  ‘Tils! Stop it,’ Temerity hissed.

  ‘She said make ourselves at home. I’m looking for coffee. I bet they’ve got some good stuff,’ Tilda protested. ‘There. See? Coffee.’ She waved a bag of ground coffee at her sister. ‘Now, I need a cafétière or something.’ Tilda pottered around the kitchen until she found an Italian-style stove top coffee jug and started spooning the ground coffee into it.

  ‘What do you think she wants to tell us?’ Temerity picked a tangerine from a fruit bowl in the middle of the kitchen table and rolled it between her hands.

  ‘How should I know?’ Tilda was frowning at the coffee pot. ‘But the Dalcairneys must have secrets. A family this old, there’s bound to have been lots of strange stuff over the years. Maybe something connected to the search the other day. That’s when she met you, so it makes sense.’

  ‘What would that be, though? We found the men; they were all right. What else is there to know?’ Temerity started peeling the orange without thinking; something wasn’t right here.

  Suddenly, the door from the hall opened and the Laird appeared. He looked startled to find Tilda and Temerity in the kitchen.

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry, I heard voices and I thought it was Liz with my mother. I needed to remind her about something.’ He frowned. ‘You’re friends of hers?’

  Temerity stood up and held out her hand.

  ‘Temerity Love. We met a couple of nights ago. I was here with the rescue operation? I own the antique shop in the village.’

  ‘Ah, of course, Miss Love. I’m so sorry, it was all rather dramatic that night, wasn’t it? And this is…?’ He looked enquiringly at Tilda.

  ‘This is my sister, Tilda. She lives with me and specialises in the
rare books part of the business,’ Temerity explained. Tilda set the coffee pot down and came to shake the Laird’s hand.

  ‘Sorry. Liz said to make ourselves at home. I was putting some coffee on. D’you want one?’

  The Laird looked slightly thrown off balance but smiled.

  ‘Actually, I would. Thank you.’ He sat down at the table and Tilda returned to the stove.

  The door opened again and Sally appeared in the kitchen, then stopped as if startled when she saw the Laird and the two sisters. She was dressed exactly as before, all in black. Temerity wondered if it was a uniform or if she just chose to appear that way. Her complexion was pale and spotty; she was quite young, Temerity reckoned, probably only twenty or twenty-one.

  ‘We’re fine, thank you, Sally,’ the Laird snapped; Sally retreated back through the kitchen door without a word. Temerity exchanged a glance with Tilda as if to say, See what I mean?

  ‘So… of course, I visited your shop once or twice. I was quite friendly with your parents for a time. A long time ago now.’ The Laird continued as if Sally had never entered; he faced Temerity and took an orange from the bowl. He looked tired and pale.

  ‘You bought antiques from them?’ Temerity finished peeling her orange and broke it into its segments, deliberately appearing casual about it.

  ‘One or two. But it was rather more of a…. personal reason for visiting. I take it that you both know what your parents’ interests were?’ he replied. Temerity wondered why, if the Laird had known her parents, he hadn’t mentioned it on the night of the accident.

  ‘They were occultists.’ Temerity ate her tangerine and Tilda brought three cups of steaming black coffee to the table, taking a seat opposite the Laird.

  ‘Temerity’s psychic, did you know that? She specialises in psychometry. I’m a herbalist,’ Tilda said, sipping the coffee. ‘We inherited more from them than a shop full of Louis Quinze furniture.’