by Kennedy Kerr
‘I suppose so.’ Temerity thought she should take the books back to the library; she wasn’t that comfortable hanging around Ben’s house. The villagers were suspiciously like a small mob that she could imagine turning nasty. She had made up her mind to go when the front door to Ben McKinley’s house opened and Inspector Hyland strode out, carrying a small plastic bag.
‘Ben McKinley. I am arresting you for the murder of Molly Bayliss on the twenty-first of February. Do you understand?’ he addressed McKinley, who seemed to crumple into the Inspector.
There was a loud gasp from the watching crowd.
‘No!’ McKinley started crying. ‘I didn’t do it! I swear! I loved her!’ he shouted. The Inspector nodded grimly and led him to the patrol car that was parked slightly up the street.
‘All right, fella.’ Temerity was close enough to hear the kindness in the Inspector’s voice as he guided McKinley away from the crowd.
Someone started shouting. Murderer! Murderer! The words rang against the stone walls. Angus came out of the house, carrying various pieces of investigation equipment, followed by Alf Hersey. Alf acted as coroner and forensic crime scene investigator in the village as well as doctor; Temerity knew from Tilda that he planned to be back in post as the village doctor in a couple of weeks.
Temerity realised, when he stepped out of the house, how much a part of everyone’s life Alf was: he’d been everyone’s doctor for as long as she could remember. Maybe his description of Dr Theakstone as drug-addled and irresponsible came more from jealousy that someone else was fulfilling that role for the villagers, even if just for a while? Temerity thought that if she was as important to the people of Lost Maidens Loch as Alf was, she probably wouldn’t like the feeling she’d been replaced, either.
‘What did ye find, Alf?’ someone shouted, but Alf shook his head. He wasn’t so unprofessional to stand there and give the crowd a blow-by-blow account of the search, but Temerity guessed that if Tilda called around later with a bottle of whisky, he’d be happy enough to talk.
‘Go home!’ Angus strode towards the crowd and they stepped back. The chanting stopped and Temerity watched as the patrol car drove off. She guessed that Ben would be held in the one police cell overnight and then taken to a larger facility until… what? A trial? Was that it? It seemed a sudden end to the case.
‘There’s nothing to see. Go home!’ Angus shouted again. Temerity turned away, towards the library. The crowd started to disperse, mostly walking back down towards the loch. Temerity thought that Muriel would be doing a fine bit of business pretty soon, as everyone would gather in The Singing Kettle for a good gossip.
‘Temerity. Wait!’
She looked back and saw Angus run after her. She waited up the street for him.
‘Hi, Angus. I wasn’t involved in that awful chanting – I didn’t even know anything was going on until I walked up here. I was taking books back to the library.’ She proffered the books in her hand as proof, realising too late that she didn’t want Angus to think that Tilda’s romance novels were hers. Tilda, despite her caustic shell, always chose books with titles like His Savage Secret and Love Me, Letitia, which made it all the sadder that Tilda had never had a romance of her own. People who read Love Me, Letitia believed in earth-shattering, tumultuous love that changed your life completely: Temerity knew Tilda secretly yearned for that kind of storybook love, but also knew that she was too afraid to look for it herself. When asked, Tilda would say that Lost Maidens Loch was tiny, full of all the same people she’d known her whole life and no one here would ever understand her, so it wasn’t even worth trying.
However, Angus barely glanced at them.
‘I know you weren’t.’ He looked uncomfortable.
‘So… what did you want to say?’
Angus looked at his feet.
‘Ummm… it’s… I, errr…’
Temerity frowned.
‘What’s up? Do you need me to look at something in McKinley’s house?’ she asked.
‘No. Nothing like that.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘It’s just that, now that the case is pretty much over, I was wondering whether you might… err, maybe, come out with me one evening?’ he asked, looking away.
‘What?’ It was so unexpected that Temerity couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘Oh! I see.’ But I didn’t think you liked me at all, she thought and then realised that she had forgotten to answer properly. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you to ask.’ She was flummoxed. ‘The thing is, I don’t usually… I mean, I don’t really date.’ She knew it was an awful answer, but she hadn’t really thought of Angus Harley in that way and she was generally unprepared for any indication that anyone might want to ask her out.
‘Oh. Right.’ He actually stepped away from her and nodded. ‘Sure, of course.’
‘Please don’t be offended. It’s not you. It’s…’ She caught herself before she could say It’s not you, it’s me, although that really was the truth. ‘I’ll see you around, though. Okay?’
‘Sure.’ He gave her a little wave. ‘See you around.’
Oh gods, Temerity berated herself as Angus Harley’s tall frame walked away from her. Why am I such an idiot? Why couldn’t I just say yes?
She knew why: whenever a man had asked her out, it had always felt like she was betraying Patrick. For the first time, she wondered if it was time to move on. Patrick was gone and she was alive. Wasn’t she allowed to have love in her life? Or at least some kind of fun?
She shook her head as she turned away and walked up the hill to the library. This time, she imagined what Tilda would say if she’d witnessed that car crash of a conversation:
Tilda: Angus Harley just asked you out.
Temerity: I know.
Tilda: Is your brain actually connected to your mouth, or are there some loose sinews just flapping around in there?
Temerity: I was surprised. He surprised me.
Tilda: Gods help you if a child pops a balloon anywhere nearby. You might be rendered completely mute forever.
Temerity: [howls sadly]
In the library, she pushed the pile of novels towards Kerry Cohen, the librarian.
‘Any good?’ Kerry asked, turning the cover of the first novel towards Temerity with a raised eyebrow. The cover featured a painting of a steamy clinch between a woman in a low-necked dress and a man in a ripped shirt.
‘I wouldn’t know.’ Temerity sighed. ‘They’re Tilda’s.’
Kerry rolled her eyes.
‘Surprised your sister reads books like this. Isn’t she too busy boiling frogs or something?’
Temerity, still distracted, had temporarily forgotten that when she and Tilda were at school, Kerry had been on Tilda’s hockey team. They’d been friends until their late teens when Tilda started taking more of an interest in their parents’ books and began teaching herself herbalism and witchcraft. Kerry and the other girls had pulled away from Tilda then; they didn’t have the sports field to exhaust their energies on any more and they didn’t understand that Tilda was still Tilda, only she’d swapped a hockey stick for a broomstick. They had been cruel to Tilda, for a time, until Tilda hid away in the shop.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Kerry. That’s the kind of comment I’d expect from one of the old ladies in the café,’ Temerity snapped. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you gave it a rest? You and Tilda used to be friends.’
‘That was a long time ago. She went… weird,’ Kerry retorted.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Temerity rolled her eyes. ‘You’re a librarian and you still live in Lost Maidens Loch. Don’t act like you’re too good to go out for a drink with my sister. Who, by the way, is a rare books dealer, so you’d actually have quite a lot in common.’
Temerity swept out of the library as regally as she could, given that she was wearing her one pair of jeans, sourced from the charity shop tucked into green wellington boots, the leather deerstalker Tilda had given her (with her hair in one long black plait over her shoulder) and a bright
yellow wool coat belted over the top of everything. If she’d have known that she was going to have two uncomfortable interactions this morning, she might have paid more attention to her outfit.
23
Temerity settled herself into one of the wide leather booths that ran along the side wall of The Singing Kettle and opened her magazine. It was a week later and Tilda was away on one of her occasional book-buying trips and Temerity hated cooking, so she’d decided to treat herself to dinner at the café. She’d ordered as soon as she’d come in: haggis, neeps and tatties – a classic Scottish meal of sausage, turnips and mashed potatoes – and some of Muriel’s famous apple pie and cream for dessert.
She had the most recent Sotheby’s auction catalogue to flick through, which she considered light reading: she liked to keep up to date with the world of normal antiques, like lamps and china and paintings, even though she specialised in what Tilda called Strange Items Belonging to the Ancient Dead, Probably Cursed.
The Alaskan university had also got back in touch, asking how they could persuade her to do the keynote speech at the conference and it was playing on her mind. Maybe she should go. She’d only the week before been thinking that maybe it was time to have a break from the village.
‘Good evening.’
Temerity looked up to find Angus Harley standing awkwardly next to the table. He wasn’t dressed in uniform for once and looked really quite nice in jeans, hiking boots, a plain sweater and a rainproof jacket.
‘Oh. Hello.’ Temerity immediately regretted not having put any make-up on; she had her hair in two plaits, pinned around her head, and she wore wellingtons over her red capri pants. She had, at least, thought to put a clean baby pink long-sleeved cardigan on before she left the shop.
‘Lovely evening…’ he continued awkwardly. Temerity looked out of the café window where rain was battering the street outside.
‘Very fresh,’ she agreed. This was awkward.
‘Here for dinner?’ he asked as Muriel placed a steaming plate of haggis in front of Temerity along with a tall glass of cherry cola.
‘Remarkably, yes.’ Temerity looked at her dinner and back again at Harley. She hadn’t meant it to come out so sarcastically.
‘Ah.’ He nodded and looked out of the window. ‘I come a couple of nights a week. I’m not much of a cook.’
‘Tilda usually cooks dinner, but she’s out,’ Temerity replied.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Temerity wondered if he’d already eaten and was on his way out, or whether she should ask him to sit down. She hoped he was just going. She hadn’t seen him since his awkward asking her out a few days ago and she didn’t know whether to bring it up or not. Remember when you asked me out for a drink and I flatly refused? Fun times.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked. ‘I’m not the greatest fan of eating alone. I mean, if you’d rather read your magazine, that’s fine, of course…’ he trailed off.
Temerity felt herself blushing and was immediately mortified. It was just Angus Harley, the most socially awkward man in Lost Maidens Loch, after all, possibly the child of an unusual family of redheaded, pale-complexioned Romany pedlars who had lost their child one lonely Transylvanian night. Yes, he was good-looking and yes, they had recently had an unfortunate and deeply embarrassing encounter that would haunt her forever, but they could be grown-ups.
Muriel reappeared and gave Angus a menu.
‘Specials are trout, cod or haggis, pet,’ she said, assuming he was sitting at Temerity’s table and surreptitiously nudging him so that he sat down.
Thanks, Muriel, you nosy old harridan, Temerity thought, trying to transmit the thought to Muriel through the ether.
‘Ah – I’ll have the same as Temerity. Thanks.’ Angus gave Muriel the menu back; Muriel beamed at them both and sauntered back behind the counter, singing something under her breath. ‘Sorry… I think Muriel decided that for us.’ He grinned ruefully. Angus smiled so little that Temerity was surprised at what a difference it made. He was like another person.
‘I don’t mind,’ she found herself saying. What? I do mind, actually. What am I saying?
‘Okay.’ He was still awkward. ‘What’re you reading?’
‘Auction catalogue. Like to keep up with the industry,’ she explained.
‘Ah.’
There was another silence. Great decision. Loving this so far, she thought, cynically.
‘Also, I was just… oh, you don’t want to hear about it,’ she mumbled. Gods, why am I acting like such an idiot? She was annoyed at herself.
‘Hear about what?’
‘Oh, it’s just that university. The keynote speech. I’m still umming and ahhing over it.’
‘You should do it. Share that expertise of yours far and wide.’
‘Hmmm.’ She folded one page of the auction catalogue in half and then straightened it out again. ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘What’s stopping you?’ he asked. ‘It’s just a conference.’
‘I know.’
She remembered what she had wanted to ask him and snapped her fingers.
‘That was it. What did you find at Ben McKinley’s house? The other day?’ You know, before you asked me out and I said no, remember?
Angus frowned.
‘I’m not sure I should tell you. You’re not a police officer.’
‘Oh, come on. I know everything else. I was just curious.’ Temerity smiled her most charming smile; usually she thought smiling made her look horsey.
Angus sighed.
‘Fine, fine. It was a powder in a small bag. We’ve sent it off for analysis, but we think it’s the poison. Powdered form to add to drinks easily.’
‘I see,’ Temerity mused.
‘Here ye are, darlin’.’ Muriel came back with a plate identical to Temerity’s and set it in front of Angus. ‘Enjoy, young lovers!’
‘Muriel! We are not lovers!’ Temerity protested. ‘We hardly know each other!’
‘Ach, now, come on, I’m only messin’ with ye. Fine couple ye’d make, though,’ she mused. ‘Maybe I’ll get some ae that lovers’ potion from the big hoose and slip it in ye food next time.’ She smiled benevolently at them as if she were a mother duck. ‘Might speed things up, ye never know.’
‘Sorry?’ Temerity chewed her haggis and frowned. ‘Love potions?’
‘Ach, aye. Many years, she’s been makin’ them for the villagers. Many a weddin’ and a bairn has come of those wee sachets, I can tell ye.’ Muriel looked sharply at Temerity. ‘No’ getting any younger, ma darlin’. That’s all I’m sayin.’
‘No, I mean, who’s making love potions?’ Temerity repeated. The only herbalist she knew was Tilda and she was pretty sure that wasn’t who Muriel was talking about.
Angus frowned and leaned forward.
‘Sachets?’ he repeated.
‘Ach, dear, I assumed ye knew. Lady Dalcairney, of course. Mind ye, nowadays she’s that frail, she doesnae make many. Time was she’s be over every week, droppin’ wee sachets and bottles of this and that off with me to pass on to all and sundry.’ Muriel wiped the table with a cloth as she spoke.
Temerity exchanged a look with Angus. She’d told the Inspector all about her and Tilda’s visit to the Manor house: the strange meeting with the elderly Lady Dalcairney, about Liz and the Laird’s story about a curse. She assumed the Inspector had passed it on to Angus.
‘Lady Dalcairney… makes love potions?’
‘Aye, yes. Skilled herbalist in her day. Lots of other ones, too, she used to make. Healing, protection, that type of thing.’
Temerity frowned.
‘And you distribute them?’
‘If she asks me to, aye.’ Muriel looked suddenly defensive. ‘What? It isnae wrong. I havenae done anything’ wrong. It’s all herbs, all natural, no harm done.’
‘Has anyone collected a… potion from you recently?’ Angus put his knife down on his plate. Temerity could see what he was thinking: the small bag of powder recovere
d from McKinley’s house could have been such a thing.
‘Ah, well, I don’t really like to say.’ Muriel looked uncomfortable, clearly regretting saying anything.
‘Muriel, I’m off duty, but I can come down tomorrow morning when I’m on duty and you can tell me then,’ Angus warned. ‘Who came and got a potion from here recently?’
‘Ach, hell mend ye, Angus Harley,’ the cook muttered. Harley took out his police notebook from his overcoat jacket and looked at her enquiringly.
‘Last chance, Muriel. Or I can come back with my badge.’
‘Ach, fine. But I didnae want tae tell ye, okay? He’s in enough trouble.’
‘Who was it, Muriel?’ Temerity prompted her.
‘Ben McKinley. All right? Are ye happy now? She left him a love potion. No doubt tae get that Molly tae love him. Stuck on her, he was.’ Muriel shook her head. ‘Such a shame he never had the chance tae use it. Think what might have been.’
Angus exchanged a glance with Temerity.
‘We’ll see. Thanks, Muriel,’ he said. ‘You don’t happen to know what was in these potions, do you?’
‘Ach, no. I’m just the pick-up point,’ the woman replied. ‘I shouldnae have said anything.’
‘No, you absolutely should have.’ Temerity reached out and touched her arm. ‘If it’s innocent, then Ben hasn’t got anything to worry about from you telling us. As you say, a love potion isn’t illegal in itself.’
The door opened and a group of tourists looking for their dinner after a day out on the loch came in; Muriel moved away reluctantly to serve them.
‘Well, what d’you think of that?’ Temerity asked.
‘I think we need to go up to the Manor and ask Lady Dalcairney exactly what she put in that love potion.’ Angus raised his eyebrow as he ate. It irritated Temerity that he was even good-looking shovelling mashed potato into his mouth.
‘But why would she put poison in it?’ Temerity had a small word with herself and made herself look at her own food. ‘It doesn’t make sense that she would. I mean, did she know Molly? How could she? She never leaves the house.’