by Connie Berry
“What would he have done if Elenor hadn’t been murdered?” Nancy asked. “Would he have gone through with the wedding?”
“Probably, “ I said. “And she would have held his forgery over his head forever. I almost feel sorry for him.”
“Do you think he would have paid Agnes all that money?” Becca said.
“No choice,” Tom said. “Guthrie told the deputies Agnes had written out a sort of confession. She called it her ‘insurance policy,’ in case Guthrie threatened her or refused to pay. The police found it in her desk and gave us a copy. Kate and I read it on the ride home.”
“So who had been threatening Elenor?” Becca asked. “Was it Penny?”
“Agnes,” I said, earning a few shocked looks. “She’d eavesdropped on a phone conversation between Elenor and her solicitor. If Elenor sold the hotel, Agnes faced a future with no home, no job, and no money. Knowing how superstitious Elenor was, Agnes hoped to frighten her into stopping the negotiations.”
“Agnes went to Elenor’s flat after the ball,” Tom said. “In the guise of helping her sleep, Agnes fed her a hot toddy laced with two sleeping tablets. Apparently Elenor got chatty when she was under the influence, and Agnes hoped to learn something she could use to her advantage. She didn’t know Elenor had already taken two of her own sleeping tablets.”
“But why did she follow Elenor?” Becca asked. “Was she trying to find the second diary?”
“She didn’t know about the diary,” Tom said. “When Agnes saw Elenor leave the house, she panicked. She knew the sedatives would be taking effect, and Elenor wouldn’t be safe out there in the storm. As angry as she was, she didn’t want Elenor to die. So she followed her to the Historical Society and watched through a window as Elenor met Hugh Guthrie. She was trying to hear what they were saying when she lost her balance and fell into a bush. Fearing she’d be discovered, she ran all the way back to the house.”
“That’s hard to picture,” Becca said. “No wonder she was limping the next day.”
“When the police arrived in the morning, the first thought that entered Agnes’s head was that she’d killed Elenor with the concoction of sedatives and alcohol. She assumed the police had come to arrest her.”
Nancy sighed. “How’s Margaret Guthrie taking it?”
“Stoically,” I said. “She’s disowned her son completely.”
“What will happen to Bo?” Nancy asked.
“All charges dropped,” Tom said. “He’ll be released tomorrow into Brenda’s care.”
“I’ve offered to pick them up at the clinic in the morning,” Frank said, speaking for the first time.
An uneasy silence fell on the room. We all had the same questions: could Bo ever recover from the trauma he’d experienced, and what would Brenda decide about his future?
Nancy whisked away my empty plate. “Time for you to get some sleep, lass. There’s a funeral tomorrow.”
DI Devlin came through the door from reception, carrying the casket. “I thought you might appreciate a final look, Mrs. Hamilton.” He placed the casket on the table and handed me the paper clip. “I’m sure we’d all like to see the secret compartment.”
Everyone watched as I released the spring lock and the drawer popped open. “This is where Flora Arnott concealed her second diary, proof of her husband’s guilt. He probably never knew it was there.”
As the others marveled, I laid my hand on the old wood and held my breath.
My fingertips tingled. My cheeks grew hot, and my heart thumped.
Was there something more, something yet to be discovered?
I watched as Frank slid the concealed drawer in and out. For the first time, I noticed that the hidden compartment didn’t span the full width of the casket.
I slid my hand, palm up, into the secret drawer, feeling my way along the underside of the main compartment. At the back, almost beyond the reach of my fingers, I felt some sort of pin. Without really knowing why, I pushed on it, and the drawer popped completely out.
“Hand me my handbag,” I told Tom. Grabbing my flashlight, I bent down and peered inside. “Something’s there. Help me tip it.”
In the end we had to shake the casket before it gave up its secret, a tiny papier-mâché snuff box, the lid painted with the image of Bonnie Prince Charlie.
“Jings,” Nancy said in a reverent voice.
I held my breath as I opened the hinged top.
Curled inside was a lock of red hair. And a scrap of paper, on which was written in a slanted, flowing hand, Thank you & farewell. Charles Edward Stuart. 19th Sept 1746.
For a moment no one spoke.
Then I started to cry.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thursday, November 3
The morning of Elenor’s funeral, the Glenroth islanders awoke to a layer of frost on trees, hedges, and postboxes. Before dressing, I called my mother and filled her in, glossing over the part about Penny’s gun. I’m not sure she bought it, but she listened as usual without comment. Then, when I’d said all I intended to say, she spoke. “You always were a special child, Kate. So bright and curious, and such a compassionate heart. Remember all the stray animals you took in?”
“I remember the baby owl.” I laughed. “He started hooting, and Dad took him to that barn where he could have his fill of mice.”
“You were my treasure. You still are. I’m so grateful you’re safe.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. I love you, Mom.”
We disconnected. I took a forkful of scrambled eggs and watched Nancy bustle around Applegarth’s luxe little kitchen. She’d stayed the night to help me with the awkward tasks of dressing and undressing with one arm in a sling. She held two slices of bacon over the skillet. “A second helping?”
“I’m sure I’ll explode—so, yes, and maybe another bite of toast.”
Some people overeat to compensate for pain. I overeat to celebrate not being killed.
Tom arrived. Nancy set a place for him at the table and made a discreet exit.
“Devlin called.” Tom steadied my mug of coffee as I lifted it with my left hand. “Brenda’s with Bo at the Munroe. Getting him ready to go home.”
“Has he said anything about that night yet? Does he know what happened?”
“He’s still confused, but from what they’ve been able to piece together, he saw Elenor’s body near the road, but he couldn’t stop the snow plow in time. He didn’t hit her, but the snow spray smacked her hard, and when he realized she was dead, he assumed he’d killed her.”
“Didn’t he see the arrow?”
“If he did, it didn’t register. He was in full-blown panic mode by that time, and concealed her body with the snow he removed from the walkway. Then guilt set in. Apparently his father had drummed two things into his head—first, never hurt a woman, a good thing considering Bo’s size and strength, and second, don’t hide your mistakes.”
I sighed. “I’d feel better if I knew what will happen to him now.”
“Brenda will stay with him at the croft house for a few weeks. What happens ultimately is up to her.”
“And Penny?”
“She’ll face charges, but she’ll almost certainly be declared mentally incompetent and sent to an institution.”
“I can’t see Cilla living alone, but the marquetry casket rightfully belongs to the twins. If it’s sold, she’ll be able to live in sheltered comfort the rest of her life.” I downed the last of my coffee. “That leaves Hugh Guthrie.”
“I’m not a solicitor, but if Guthrie can return the money he took fraudulently, his publisher might agree not to prosecute.”
A sudden twist of emotion colored his face. “I really thought I might lose you, Kate. Do you know what that did to me? I care for you deeply.” He put up a hand. “No—don’t say a word. Life’s too short not to tell the truth. We both know that.”
I put my hand on his cheek. He took it and kissed my palm.
My insides went all wobbly. I swallowed, h
oping my voice wouldn’t let me down. “We’ll talk later. The funeral begins at eleven.”
Even a funeral couldn’t spoil my joy. Tom was innocent. He was a good man. Gratitude overwhelmed me. And something I’d thought I’d never feel again.
Perfect timing as usual. Tomorrow he was flying back to England.
* * *
About forty people attended Elenor’s funeral service. Most followed the procession from the church to the island cemetery. Since the Historical Society was a crime scene again, the funeral meal was moved to the church hall.
“Grand turnout.” Nancy handed me a fork and a gigantic slice of chocolate cake. “Every family still on the island is represented.”
“With two exceptions.” I cut off a wedge of cake. “This must be the first island gathering in more than two centuries with no Arnotts and no Guthries.”
The fellowship hall was crowded. Sofia looked almost happy in an exotic beaded blouse and long bottle-green velvet skirt. Becca seemed preoccupied with clearing plates and rearranging the buffet table.
The MacDonalds were chatting with Tom. I joined them. “Thank you for what you did, Jackie.”
“Nothing a’tall, dear lady.” Jackie saluted.
“One of his old rugby moves.” Dora beamed. “He used to mow ’em down like grass.”
A door opened. Frank entered from the parking lot, followed by—oh, my—Brenda and Bo Duff.
Men pumped Bo’s hand and clapped him on the back. Women hugged him.
Bo found me and broke into a big grin. “Hey, Mrs. Bill. I didn’t hurt her. I didn’t hurt her at all. Did you know that?”
“I did know that, Bo. I always knew that.” I stood on tiptoes to give him a one-armed hug and burst into tears. That was happening to me a lot lately.
Bo bent down to look at me. “What’s wrong? Are you sad?”
“No. I’m very, very happy.” And I cried again.
“Come on,” Tom said, leading Bo toward the buffet table. “Let’s get a piece of Nancy’s cake in you.”
I squeezed Brenda’s hand. “I know you’ll do the right thing. Just remember, Bo has a place on the island. He always will.”
“I’m beginning to realize that. It’s just that I promised my parents I’d protect him.”
“He might need more support one day, but wouldn’t it be better to let him have his freedom as long as possible?”
Frank and Nancy had joined us. “I could use some help at the hotel,” Frank said, “until the new owners take over. Lots of work for Bo. After that, we’ll see.”
Peace settled on Brenda’s face.
Tom caught my eye from across the room and shot me that charming half smile.
“A bonnie man,” Nancy said. “He’s taken with you, lass.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “What did Frank mean by ‘after that, we’ll see’?”
“We’ve decided to join our daughter in Dundee. Not immediately. We’ll wait until the new owners take over, but time is precious. We don’t want to miss watching our grandchild grow up.”
“And Becca?”
“I don’t know about the hotel, but she turned Geoff down.”
“Oh, Nancy. I hope she isn’t making a mistake. Real love doesn’t come along every day.”
“That it does not.” She held my gaze for a long moment.
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“Oh, aye?”
“Tom has a life in England. My life is in Ohio. It’s wrong.”
“What’s wrong is living in the past.” Nancy gave me another pointed look. “Don’t let your yesterdays define you, lass. Learn that lesson now before it’s too late.”
I was about to respond when my cell phone rang. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
Nancy started to move away.
“No, stay,” I caught her arm. “It’s my daughter.”
“Mom, are you okay?” Christine’s voice was so clear she might have been in the next room. “I called the antique shop and got Grandma. She told me about Elenor and all the other stuff. It must have been horrible.”
“I’m fine. Sore arm is all.”
“What are we going to do about the hotel?”
“Don’t worry. I’m signing the contract of sale on my way to the airport. Miss you, honey.”
“Same here.” Christine moved on. “Listen, Mom. I won’t be coming home after Michaelmas term. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Tris and I have been offered internships. Isn’t that amazing? He’s going to study medieval construction techniques at a guildhall. I’m going to one of the nearby estates to work in the family archives. Perfect, right?”
“In England? Where?”
“A village called Long Barston. We’ve got a place to stay and everything. It’s real cool—a converted stable. There’ll be other students from other universities. We’re all doing internships. We’ll be there for a month, from the beginning of December to the fifth of January. You can come for a couple of weeks, right?”
“Where is this Long Barston?”
“Northeast of London. Suffolk.”
“You’re spending December in Suffolk?”
Nancy just smiled.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
After the funeral, I changed into jeans and the Magdalen College sweatshirt. I’d taken off the sling. I really didn’t need it.
The noontime sun had melted the frost. I breathed in the clear, cold air.
As I passed Glenroth House with its turrets and crenellated battlements, I couldn’t help feeling that, this time, I never would return to the island. Bill was gone. Elenor was gone. So was Agnes. Soon the Holdens would be off to Dundee, and even though Becca had turned Geoff down, I couldn’t imagine her remaining on the island alone. Besides, she might change her mind and marry him after all. What would happen with Bo, I couldn’t say, but he would need more care one day soon, and Brenda was ready to provide it.
Within the space of a week, everything had changed. I had changed.
Time like an ever-rolling stream …
An unknown future lay ahead of me, but that didn’t matter because one thing was clear: the past was gone.
I might not be able to envision the future, but I had one. I did.
Another thought dampened my euphoria. I also had a present, a here-and-now. And with that came responsibilities. I had a business to run, people who depended on me.
On that note, I headed for Tartan Cottage.
Tom’s clothes were laid out on his bed next to a backpack and a small wheeled suitcase. He’d changed into jeans, too, with a shirt in blues and browns.
“Want to take a walk?” I asked. “There’s supposed to be a graveyard behind the house. I’d like to see if I can find it before I leave the island.”
“And so you shall.” He smiled and shrugged into his waxed cotton jacket.
Tom ducked his head as we passed through a wrought-iron arbor leading to the garden. “Do you think the second diary will ever be published?”
“With the tale of literary fraud, double murder, and a lock of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s hair? You’re kidding, right? It would be an international best seller.” I flashed him a smile. “Of course, getting Penny and Cilla’s permission to publish might prove tricky.”
The foundations of the old kirk began in the formal gardens. Beyond that, in a grove of poplars, concealed by brush and tall grass, were the remains of a ruined graveyard. Small blocks of dark stone, perhaps ten or twelve, lay broken and mostly sunken into the soil.
“These stones are older than the upright tablets in the old graveyard.” With my good arm, I tried to wiggle a dark stone jutting at an angle. Even with Tom’s help, the stone wouldn’t budge.
Tom tried several others before finding one that could be freed.
I brushed off the surface, hoping to read the inscription. “Ironic,” I said, sifting through a mass of stone flakes. “They chose sandstone—easily carved but prone to weathering. No one will ever know for sure who lies here.” I
examined a few flakes, looking for carved letters but finding nothing.
Tom had moved a few yards away. He crouched near the base of a magnificent oak. “Kate, come have a look.” He was clearing moss and lichens from a small rectangular block of the local gray limestone, the same stone used to build Glenroth House. An inscription emerged, cut by an inexpert hand but as sharp as the day the stone was laid:
Here lies Joseph
Born 1791? Died 3rd Mar 1810
John 15:13
I reached for Tom’s arm. “I know that verse. Greater love hath no man than this; that he lay down his life for his friends.” I pointed to the date. “Look. March third. That’s the day Flora and Gowyn tried to escape. Joseph was going to create a diversion.”
Tom blew out a breath. “Seems there were four murders that day, and Arnott never faced justice for any of them.”
“We don’t know that. I’ve wondered if James Arnott’s death was really suicide, or if someone—Mr. Fraser, for example—decided he’d done enough harm? Regardless, he faced a greater justice.”
Tom pulled me to my feet and gathered me in his arms. We stood without speaking. Then he took my hand, and we walked back toward the house.
Before reaching the arbor, Tom stopped and turned to face me. “Come to England with me, Kate. I want to spend time with you, know you better. I want you to meet my family. I want you in my life.” He pulled me close and kissed me with such passion I nearly swooned.
Always wanted to use that word.
I caught my breath. “You said we should tell the truth, so here goes. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.” I looked at the hand that used to hold my wedding ring. “Not even Bill. I loved him dearly, Tom, but I’ve never met anyone like you.”
That was true. Bill had been kind, predictable, safe. With Tom, there was an intensity that both intrigued and disturbed me.
Tom traced the line of my lip with his finger. “Go on.”
“But I can’t simply walk out on my responsibilities—to my children, my mother, my work.” The look on his face nearly broke my heart, but I had to finish. “Your life is in England. Mine isn’t. We’re separated by a great big ocean.”