by Connie Berry
Dora MacDonald listed slowly in my direction, her chin coming to rest on her right bicep. “Twins’ll never stop talking about this. ’S been their life’s dream.”
I crossed my legs, smoothing the crisp taffeta skirt over my knees. As I did, I felt something in one of the pockets. Reaching in, I pulled out a scrap of paper on which someone had printed two words in large capital letters.
GO HOME.
Chapter Five
I stared at the words in disbelief.
Had someone slipped the note in my pocket without my noticing? Possibly. The gathering room had been jammed, and there’d been a crush funneling into the dining room. But why would someone want me to go home? I bit the corner of my lip. That didn’t make sense. More likely the note had been in the pocket of the dress all along—a joke, meant for Nancy’s daughter. I slipped it back in the pocket. I would show it to Elenor, though, just in case.
Penny Arnott concluded her speech, and the Highland Rovers launched into a Celtic folk tune. A number of couples stood up to dance, including Elenor and Jackie MacDonald, who turned out to be remarkably light on his feet. Was Dora the jealous type? If she was, it didn’t matter. She was snoring softly.
The twins were in their own world, whispering happily behind their napkins.
A waiter tried to set a dessert plate in front of Margaret Guthrie, but she pushed it away impatiently. “I didn’t ask for this.”
Too bad. She could use a little sweetening up.
Hugh Guthrie kept glancing toward the exit. I half expected him to slip under the table like my kids used to do when they wanted to escape boring adult conversation.
The band, who’d transitioned to contemporary classics, was sliding into Etta James’s At Last. Lights from the chandeliers twinkled overhead. Couples swirled on the dance floor. I experienced a pang of jealousy. Widowhood stinks.
“Care to dance?” Tom Mallory held out his hand.
My heart thumped alarmingly. The last time I’d danced with anyone other than Bill was—well, too long ago to remember. Taking his hand, I followed him onto the dance floor.
He slipped an arm around my waist. “That’s quite a dress.”
I felt myself blush. I’d never have worn a dress like that to the faculty club dances. But then the faculty club had been overstocked with Margaret Guthries.
“What do you think of Glenroth?” I asked a shade too brightly.
“Quiet. Just what the doctor ordered.”
“You should see it in summer. The beaches are packed. Some of the locals open their homes for bed and breakfast.”
“And Glenroth House?” He pulled me in for a turn, avoiding a couple whose dancing skills were more exuberant than skillful.
A bubble of pleasure caught in my throat. “The hotel attracts mostly English and Americans,” I said, trying not to sound breathless. “The upscale crowd—you know, showing off their designer sportswear and comparing investments over cocktails in the garden. Once a week everyone dresses up and pretends they’re lost in the Highlands, like in Brigadoon. Not that it doesn’t sound appealing. Lost in the Highlands, I mean.” I was chattering.
“At the moment I much prefer being here.”
Good-looking and smooth.
His hand was warm on my back. He smelled nice, a kind of masculine, woodsy scent that made me think of bonfires and starry nights. I closed my eyes and rested my cheek against his shoulder.
Someone tapped my arm. “Cutting in, dearie. Hope you don’t mind.” One of Tom’s lady admirers smirked wickedly. The lady’s partner, a man in a red tartan bow tie, held out his hand. “Shall we?”
“Do you mind if I take a rain check?” I hoped I wasn’t offending him, but my conscience had been bothering me. Agnes MacLeod and I weren’t exactly friends, but I knew she’d feel slighted if I didn’t make an effort to speak with her.
I located the staff table near the double doors to the kitchen. There were only six of them at the table, including Geoff, Becca’s guest. Less than half the number of staff members I remembered from the grand opening. As I threaded my way through the crowd, I saw Becca whisper something in Geoff’s ear. He threw back his head and laughed. A man in love, I thought with another pang of jealousy.
A striking woman with high cheekbones and smooth olive skin sat on Geoff’s left. A thick ebony braid fell halfway down her back. Gold hoops hung from her ears. Like the other staff women, she wore a red tartan kilt, but on her it looked almost exotic. I wondered if she was Romani, a gypsy.
Nancy Holden looked lovely, her hair tamed into a sleek twist. Her husband, Frank, ran a finger between his neck and the collar of his shirt. He leaned toward her and spoke something in her ear before leaving the table, his trophy in hand.
Agnes MacLeod had teased her hair into a frizzy gray nimbus that, together with her sharp nose and receding chin, gave her the unfortunate look of an elderly hedgehog.
I gave the group at the table a cheery wave.
Nancy welcomed me. “I believe you know everyone except Sofia.” She indicated the exotic-looking woman next to Geoff. “Sofia, this is Kate. She was married to Elenor’s brother.”
Sofia looked at me through her long, dark eyelashes and bestowed a smile worthy of a princess.
I gave Agnes a hug and took the seat next to her, the one vacated by Frank Holden. “How have you been?
“What?” She tipped one ear toward me.
“How are you?” I shouted over the band.
“Me? Oh, I’m dandy.” The sour expression on her face communicated the opposite. “No one told me you’d arrived.”
If Agnes had a fault, it was a tendency to assume she was being overlooked. “I saw Elenor, but only for a minute.” I had decided not to mention the argument I’d overheard, but it occurred to me that Elenor, who liked nothing better than rubbing things in, might mention it herself. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation about the champagne pourers. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
Agnes snorted. “Take the extra charge out of my paycheck? Ha-ha. What Elenor pays me wouldn’t keep a teenager in bubble gum.”
She was making a joke of it, but I could tell she was hurt.
The music ended. Couples stood on the dance floor waiting for the next song to begin when Elenor appeared at the microphone. “Please, everyone, return to your tables. I have something important to say.”
I stood to leave, but Agnes pulled me down. “No, stay.”
“Dear friends.” Elenor’s hair shone white-gold in the spotlight. “I have two announcements, both of which will come as a surprise. First, I have decided to sell the hotel.”
Silence descended, broken only by the sound of chairs scraping the floor as people turned toward the bandstand for a better view. Elenor smoothed her tartan sash. “On January first, this wonderful hotel will become part of Stately Homes & Castles, a chain of country house hotels based in Switzerland. I intend to stay on until spring to help with the transition.”
“Doing what?” Agnes muttered. “Getting your nails lacquered?”
Agnes always did have a wicked sense of humor. She made me laugh. But this bitterness was new. Agnes used to orbit around Elenor like a soft, adoring moon.
Heads turned toward a commotion at the head table. Dora MacDonald staggered to her feet and pointed a shaky finger at Elenor. “Swiss people? From Swi’zerland? What about Scottish Night at the hotel an’ all those kilts we sell?”
“Nothing to worry about, Dora.” Jackie tried to pull her back into her seat. “If we have to, we’ll just exchange those kilts for lederhosen.”
Dora shook him off. Outrage seemed to be sobering her up. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Elenor, the Tartan Gift Shop is how we make our living.”
Murmurs of agreement rose from the audience.
“See? I’m not the only one. But you don’t care, do you?” Pink splotches flared on Dora’s cheeks. “As long as you’re happy, everyone else can go and take a flying—”
Jackie stood
and clamped his massive hand over Dora’s mouth. “Time to go, I think.” He began marching her toward the exit.
Dora wasn’t finished. “We all depend on the hotel,” she howled over her shoulder. “Do you have any idea how much we’ve invested in tartan clothing and fabric and gifts and—” Her words faded as she and Jackie disappeared through the stone archways.
All eyes pivoted to Elenor. She cleared her throat. “There will be changes, naturally. The new owners will have their own ideas, their own people. But there’s nothing to worry about, I promise. The excellence of Glenroth House, its famous cuisine and outstanding reputation, will continue.”
“How very comforting,” Agnes said tartly.
“And now for my second announcement,” Elenor said, “which will explain why I have decided to sell the hotel.” She extended a slim arm toward Hugh Guthrie at the head table.
He joined her on the platform with the look of a prisoner awaiting sentencing.
“Hugh and I are to be married.” Elenor beamed. Guthrie studied the top of his left shoe. “In April, right here at Glenroth House.”
What? I realized my mouth had dropped open, and I snapped it shut.
“Hugh’s publisher has arranged a book-signing tour. It will be our honeymoon. When we return, we intend to make our home in Edinburgh, where Hugh will complete the manuscript for his new book. And …” Elenor drew the word out provocatively. “I promise you’re in for quite a surprise.”
Guthrie looked surprised himself.
“The only thing left is to make it official.” Elenor threaded her hand through his arm, possibly to prevent his escape.
Guthrie gawked at the audience. At last he reached into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and extracted a blue velvet ring box, which he surrendered into Elenor’s grasp. She opened the box, slid a ring on her left hand, and held it up for everyone to admire. An enormous diamond caught the lights over the bandstand, reflecting them around the room like a mini disco ball.
Someone began a slow clap.
I peered around heads to view the head table.
Cilla Arnott appeared to be sobbing into her napkin. Penny, red-faced, was patting her back. Margaret Guthrie sat as still as a wax figure, but the set of her shoulders radiated disapproval.
As if things weren’t bizarre enough, the band began to play “Going to the Chapel.”
Elenor held up both hands. “Before we celebrate, there’s someone Hugh and I wish to acknowledge.” She turned toward the head table. “Margaret, may I call you Mother now?”
Every head in the room swiveled toward Margaret Guthrie, sitting like a ramrod in her wheelchair. She looked as if she’d just taken a swig of sour milk.
“Even though Hugh and I will no longer be living on Glenroth,” Elenor said, her eyes glittering, “we will always have your welfare uppermost in our minds. Wherever you choose to live—now that Hugh will no longer be able to care for you himself—please remember that we will do everything in our power to make the days you have left happy ones.”
I heard a few audible gasps. Guthrie pulled a handkerchief from his inside pocket and mopped his face.
Margaret Guthrie reared up like a cobra in her wheelchair. “You are too hasty, my dear. I’m certain my son has agreed to no such plans.” She turned to Hugh. “Take me home now. I’m tired.”
The audience held its collective breath.
Hugh Guthrie stood motionless, a pile of metal shavings between two powerful magnets. He looked at Elenor, then at his mother, and seemed to quail. Releasing himself from Elenor’s grip, he stepped from the platform and hurried to Margaret’s side. The wheelchair squeaked through the stone archways toward the exit. Moments later we heard the thud of the heavy front door closing, followed shortly by the roar of an engine and the crunch of tires on gravel.
Elenor still held the microphone, her face frozen in a smile.
The band began to play “Some Enchanted Evening.” Clearly one of the musicians had a wicked sense of humor, too.
“I should go to her,” I whispered to Agnes.
By the time I made it to the head table, Elenor was already seated. With the MacDonalds and the Guthries gone, only the Arnott twins remained. Penny glared at Elenor—in furious disbelief, if I read her expression rightly. She threw her napkin on the table. “Party’s over, Cilla. We’re going home.”
I moved next to Elenor at the big, empty table, scrambling for words of comfort. As it turned out, I didn’t need them. Without a word, Elenor rose and walked from the room, her head held as high as Mary, Queen of Scots’ on her way to the scaffold.
I watched her go. Two things were clear: first, Elenor had just ticked off the entire island; and second, that talk we were supposed to have was not going to happen tonight.
* * *
It was after midnight when Nancy and I finally made our way from the hotel toward Applegarth Cottage. Snow was falling thickly now, ankle deep on the path. I carried my heels, thankful for the pair of molded rubber wellies Nancy had loaned me. “Once in a decade,” she said, shaking her head. “Must be that climate change they talk about.”
She took my arm. “Unusual evening.”
“Very,” I agreed, thinking a more accurate term would be bizarre. After Elenor’s departure, half the guests had followed suit, citing headaches, unreasonable childminders, and the impending storm. The other half, true Scots, stayed till the end, grimly determined to squeeze every penny’s worth out of the price of admission. I danced with the man in the red tartan bow tie and most of the remaining male guests as well. All but Tom Mallory. He’d escaped soon after Elenor, just my luck.
I stayed to help Nancy with the cleanup. Becca had been given the night off on the strength of Elenor’s earlier promise to chip in. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen, so I’d insisted. Cleanup went quickly. The caterers packed up and headed out while the ferry to the mainland was still in operation. Agnes stripped the table linens and helped Sofia sweep the oak floors and mop the puddles in reception. Nancy and I dealt with the mountain of dishes and silverware, stacking the commercial dishwashers three times. Frank, after delivering the last of the valets, doused the fires and secured the bar. Then he headed out to do some task Nancy seemed to consider unnecessary or unwise. “At this time of night?” I heard her ask him. I didn’t hear his reply, but I saw her lift her hands as if to say so be it.
Agnes and Sofia finished up around eleven fifteen. Sofia headed for the Lodge, the dormitory Elenor had built to accommodate the seasonal workers. Agnes went to her flat directly above Elenor’s on the first floor—what we Americans call the second story.
Nancy and I were the last to leave. As Nancy stopped to turn the heavy lock on the front door, we saw lights from Elenor’s flat spilling out on the snow below her windows.
“Poor thing must have fallen asleep with the lights on,” Nancy said. “Probably cried herself off.”
I doubted that. More likely Elenor was awake and plotting painful ways to murder Margaret Guthrie. Where the pathway split, Nancy and I parted company. She hugged me. “Thank you, Kate.” She looked exhausted.
Five minutes later I opened the door to Applegarth Cottage, flipped on the lights, and stood for a moment, unable to comprehend what I saw. My handbag, which I’d left on a kitchen chair, lay on the floor, the contents strewn everywhere. I ran into the bedroom. My carry-on, which I’d zipped and tucked under the bench at the foot of the bed, sat in the middle of the floor, the zipper open.
It took a moment for my brain to catch up. Then I got it.
Someone had searched my cottage.
Chapter Six
My first thought was for my wallet. I spotted it under the kitchen table.
My heart sank. There went my credit cards and the two hundred pounds I’d taken from the ATM at the Glasgow airport.
Wrong. Every card, every bill was still there.
What was the intruder after if not money?
My second thought was to run to the Holdens’ cottage
for help, but then I remembered that Frank might not have returned from wherever it was he’d gone, and what could Nancy do? Besides, the intruder might still be out there in the dark. The safest thing was to stay put and use the telephone. I raced around the cottage, making sure the doors and windows were locked and the curtains tightly drawn. Then I located the hotel directory. A section labeled SECURITY/EMERGENCIES listed three numbers—the emergency services on Skye, the police station on the mainland at Mallaig, and one of the hotel’s extensions with the words 24 HOURS in parentheses. I dialed the hotel and got a recording: “You’ve reached Glenroth House. Please leave a detailed—”
I hung up and dialed again. Someone had to be awake at the police station.
It took some minutes to get through to the constable in charge. When I explained what had happened, he told me the entire area was under an amber snow alert. Ferries had ceased operation at eleven and the causeway between Skye and the mainland had been shut down shortly after that. The Isle of Glenroth was cut off. Could I wait until morning? I said I could and accepted his offer to have the duty clerk call back at intervals to check on me. Then I climbed into bed and lay in the dark, listening to the rafters creak and the wind rattle the downspouts. The digital clock on the bedside table flicked from 12:44 to 12:45.
The air was cool, the duvet soft and warm. I’d thrown my clothes, the only ones I possessed at the moment, in the washer/dryer, and the soft thrump thrump should have lulled me to sleep instantly. Not a chance. Thoughts of the intruder circling the cottage alternated with images of Elenor’s face when the man who loved her had sided with his mother.
If Guthrie did love her, that is.
One of the dark thoughts plaguing my mind after Bill’s death was the idea that he’d abandoned me. I knew it wasn’t true—Bill hadn’t wanted to die—but the notion refused to budge, looping through my brain like one of those blasted earworms. I stretched out my arm, resenting the emptiness. Bill should be there beside me. He was the reason I’d come to Glenroth in the first place.