by Molly Macrae
“True.”
“Call it educated speculation and probing,” Christine said. “ESP. You go first, Tallie. Start with the text to Norman.”
“She texted Norman. She didn’t text him back when he blew her off. Then she called Mom.”
“Because he blew her off,” Janet said, “and she was frantic with worry. You didn’t hear her voice on the phone.”
“That’s the first you’ve described it, but she was upset when she got to our house,” Tallie said. “I have another swirly sort of thought. What if she put the typo in the text to Norman on purpose?”
“She couldn’t know he’d react the way he did,” Janet said. “You don’t think now you’re trying too hard to be suspicious?”
“I do. Let’s dial it back a bit from her thinking he was dead and from her killing him.”
“That actually feels better.” Janet patted her heart.
“What’s your alternative?” Christine asked. “Why did she think Norman and Reddick were there? What did she think they were going to tell her?”
“That they’d arrested Lachy,” Tallie said. “For something stolen.”
“The rammy report,” Christine said.
“It says something about her and him that she didn’t think that,” Janet said. “She didn’t offer that as a possibility last night. Didn’t mention an argument or fight at all. If that’s what it was.”
“Something stolen,” Christine said. “Maybe she worried he’d been caught by a householder and stopped. Permanently.”
“As a district nurse, he probably visited lots of houses,” Tallie said.
“He takes an interest in his patients,” Christine said. “Helps them out. Looks around. Sees things they might not need or miss. Things he and Lynsey can’t afford. Things he’d like to give her.”
“Maybe he goes back and takes them,” Tallie said.
“What does he do with them?” Janet asked. “They live in a semi-detached and don’t appear to live beyond their means. They only have the one car.”
“He might not be greedy,” Christine said. “Only takes one or two things from time to time. Or he banks the ill-got gains somewhere. Under the floorboards, for all we know. Maybe all this skullduggery doesn’t sit well with his conscience, though, and his father notices. Or his father finds out, or figures it out. He’s a philosophizing plumber. He visits lots of houses, too.”
“Maybe they’re in it together and have a falling out,” Tallie said. “Or someone else figures it out. One of his victims. Or a fence. Things go bad and bang. He’s dead.”
“Maybe Lynsey figured it out and she’s been begging him to stop,” Christine said. “Maybe she told his dad and asked him to get him to stop.”
“The open window,” Tallie said. “You wondered if Lachy or his dad had a gun. I wonder if Malcolm had one. Or Florence.”
“I’m not sure quiet mornings are at all good for us.” Janet got up from the stool. “Listen to what we’re saying. I feel like we’re assassinating the characters of two people we don’t know at all.”
“Three, if we include the person who shot Lachlann and if that person isn’t his father or his wife,” Christine said. “We can’t discount villainy just because people tell us how much they liked him. People liked Malcolm, too, but then listen to Florence.”
“Let’s dial it back again,” Tallie said. “Let’s consider Lynsey’s motive for surrounding herself with virtual strangers last night, instead of trying the logical route—another text to Norman.”
“Or a phone call,” Janet said. “It’s not because she’s phone-phobic. She called me.”
“She wouldn’t have known I was there or that Ian would drop by,” Christine said, “or that Tallie was there, for that matter.”
“I told her you were there.” Janet sat back down. “And the number of virtual strangers might not have mattered.”
“If some is good, more is better,” Tallie said.
“Mony a mickle maks a muckle,” Christine said. “It’s what you said, Tallie, but alliterative and local.”
“She’s the one who asked if she could come see us,” Janet reminded them. “But she wouldn’t have known ahead of time that she could reach me or that I’d say come on over.”
“She might have called other people first,” Tallie said. “We—you, Mom—might have been second or third choice. Let’s think of who else she could’ve called instead of us.”
“We know she talked to Lachy’s dad,” Janet said.
“We know she said she did,” said Christine.
“You’re right, you’re right,” Janet agreed. “She said she didn’t talk to Isla again, but we don’t know that’s true, either. Rhona? We don’t know how close they are. But we aren’t close, and she called us.”
“What about the person who picked her up last night after the police dropped her off?” Christine said. “Who was that and where were they when she needed someone to convince that she was worried?”
“But really, we might be blowing this out of all proportion,” Janet said. “She might truly have been out of her mind with worry. Norman said she has premonitions. If she does, she might believe them.”
“Her premonitions might well be real,” Christine said. “Who are we to say?”
“If they’re real, or only real to her, then that might be why she called us,” Janet said. “I think you’re right, Tallie, that she was afraid he wasn’t just missing. But you know, we don’t have to wonder about it. If she came to us because she was afraid of something, then we can ask her about that. We can ask her what was going on in her head last night, because she came to us for help.”
“And we are nothing if not helpful,” Christine said.
“But if we get the chance to talk to her, no one does it alone with her,” Tallie said. “And we should find out if Norman knows about the rammy.”
“If he doesn’t know, then I reckon he’d like to,” Christine said.
“Not just ‘he’d like to,’” Tallie said. “He should. We can’t hide information like that from him.”
“Absolutely right,” Christine said. “He should know. You are indeed a valuable asset to the team, Tallie.”
“What team?”
“S.C.O.N.E.S. After being such an asset, don’t be dim. Remember how Norman claimed he didn’t want to spread gossip, when in fact he probably didn’t know the answers and just wished he did? There are probably other bits and bobs of information like that out there.”
“The rammy, and whatever the Road Policing Unit is looking for,” Janet suggested.
“Yes,” Christine said. “Do you think he’s open to a trade?”
“How do you see a trade working?” Janet asked.
“If we find out X first and tell him, he tells us Y,” Christine said. “We can fill in the details of what X and Y are as we go along.”
“And if he finds out first, and tells us, then why don’t we tell him we’ll give him the lovely little Kidnapped as a token of our esteem,” Janet said.
“A wonderful idea,” said Christine.
“A terrible idea,” Tallie said. “Look at me, you two.” She pulled her glasses down her nose. “I am looking at you severely. There will be no bribing the constable.”
“Well, we’ll at least think it over,” Christine said. “Here comes a whole family to your door. If the children appear to be house-trained, send them our way after they’ve spent money with you.”
The family bought a postcard each and asked if the shop had a public toilet. The woman cast longing looks toward the tearoom, but the children reminded their father he’d promised pizza for lunch and deep-fried Mars Bars after, and she followed them back out the door.
“Mind if I go in the office and try to capture our wide-ranging conversation for the cloud?” Tallie asked. “I’ll cast the part about bribing the constable in a good light. Or forget it altogether.”
“Forgetting is probably best, dear. When you’re finished, I might take a real walkabout a
nd go over to Basant’s.”
“Do you want to go now?”
“No, get the notes done while everything’s fresh in your head.”
A spate of customers saved Janet from dwelling on the swirl of questions in her own head, and in between sales she started a grocery list for her trip to Basant’s. After adding lentils, she looked up and was happy to see the mother of the deep-fried Mars Bar family return.
“I came back for a book and a cup of tea,” she said. “Their deep-fried stupor should hold them for an hour. Two, if I’m lucky. Do you have anything by Ian Atkinson? What a dish. His detective, too.”
Janet didn’t mind hearing customers gush over Ian in whatever way they wanted. She didn’t need to share their opinions. In fact, she and the cash register enjoyed indulging them. The woman bought Ian’s two most recent books and sighed her way toward tea, scones, and a helping of dishy crime fiction.
Tallie came back in time to say goodbye to one of the stuffed Highland cows a couple was buying for their newborn grandchild.
“Maybe we should keep it at our house, so he’ll have something when he comes to visit,” the new grandfather said as he gazed into the cow’s hairy face.
“You could buy two, so he’ll have one at each house,” Tallie said.
The man left the counter and came back with a Hamish under each arm. His wife patted each cow on the head. “Now you’ll have one at each house,” she said, patting her husband on the head, too.
“That didn’t take you long,” Janet said after the husband mooed and the couple laughed their way out the door.
“Dart points, mostly,” Tallie said, and then to Janet’s raised eyebrows, “Calling them bullet points sounds a little too close to home right now.” She picked a piece of paper up from the counter. “What’s this?”
“List for Basant’s.”
Tallie read the list aloud.
dish soap
tea
lentils
Lachlann’s death: suicide or murder
mushrooms
raisins
rammy: was there one? about what?
walnuts
who’s gun
where is Lynsey?
avoiding inquiries
helping with inquiries
hummus
who came to get her?
Who knows habits of Murray household?
Malcolm’s death: accident or intentional
ask Florence if anything is missing
marmalade
“Another good reason for the cloud,” Tallie said, “is so we don’t have to worry about customers wondering what kind of shop they’ve wandered into when they see a list like this lying on the counter.”
“I’d just tell them I’m working on a mystery and they’ll think I’m the next Ian Atkinson.”
“Unless the person who sees it is local. Then they’ll think you’re loco.”
Janet took the list from Tallie. “Sometimes I feel like you’re the parent and I’m the child. That’s an observation, not a complaint. I’ll put my questions in the cloud when I get back.”
She got her purse and sweater from the office. Tallie was with a customer in the travel section when she came back out, or she would have smiled to prove that her observation hadn’t made her cross.
The walk to Basant’s—formally named Paudel’s Newsagent, Post Office, and Convenience—made Janet feel almost completely virtuous. It gave her a boost of midday fresh air and exercise, and she liked shopping local and supporting the other small business owners in Inversgail. She enjoyed the chance to schmooze and exchange news. On a day like this, she hoped the fifteen- or twenty-minute round trip would cool her temper. Because I might have been observing, but I was most definitely complaining, too, and Tallie knew it.
Basant’s shop, not much bigger than the postage stamps he sold, squeezed itself onto a corner of the High Street. Basant claimed he stayed slim so that he had room to move around behind his crowded counter and could maneuver easily past customers in either of the narrow aisles. He’d emigrated from Nepal and bought the shop as a way to support his younger sisters as they furthered their educations. One sister was now a nurse in Glasgow and the other, reading history and languages at St. Andrews in Aberdeen, planned to teach.
Basant, always reading, looked up from his book when Janet entered the shop. “Mrs. Janet, a pleasure to see you, and because you always ask.” He held up the book so she could see the title—Shadowed Lives by Annie S. Swan.
“Any good?”
“That’s what I asked the librarian. She said young women at the turn of the last century could not get enough of Mrs. Swan’s romantic stories. I’ve only just started and already I’m hooked. I found it on the Bring One, Take One shelf, and very glad I did.”
“Then don’t let me drag you away.”
“Please let me know if you need assistance.”
Janet took a basket from the stack by the door and quickly found what she needed. Now for the fun part of a visit to Basant’s and the reason she could never feel completely virtuous—taking home something she didn’t need. She went to the counter and set her basket down.
“The mushrooms look particularly good this week,” Basant said as his fingers danced over the cash register keys. “Now, what else can I get you? Or shall I surprise you?”
“Surprise me, and also tell me what you’ve heard about Dr. Murray’s death.”
“About that, I have heard two things that surprised me. First, there are plenty who still believe he went off the road on his own in a tragic accident.”
“Really?” Janet took a string bag from her purse and loaded the groceries into it.
“They believe it, or they wish it, yes.”
“What else surprises you?”
“Not everyone has heard the news, and I wonder how that is possible in a village. My experience in my village in Nepal would have me believe otherwise. Or perhaps I am thinking of some of the mysteries I watch on TV, where village life is full of mishaps.”
“Mishaps and murderers,” Janet said.
“Every week, like enjoyable clockwork.”
“The other day, Christine reminded me that just because we live in a village, we’re not all idiots.”
“Mrs. Christine is wise.”
“My addition to her wisdom is that we don’t all live with one ear to the ground.”
“But those of us who do live with an ear to the ground perform a vital service,” Basant said. “So tell me, what have you heard about Dr. Murray and what do you know of him?”
“I never met him. I found him, but that’s—”
“I did not know you found him. I am sorry.”
“Thank you, Basant. I can’t say, from only seeing him like that, if he was a good man or not, but he looked oddly comfortable.”
“Forgive me, but you do not sound comfortable saying that.”
“It just seemed . . . it wasn’t as upsetting as it might have been. But it was sad.”
“Of course.”
While they talked, Basant turned sideways to her—still obviously listening, but also looking over the shelves of glass jars on the wall behind the counter. The jars held a wide assortment of old-fashioned sweets.
“Anyway,” Janet said, “what we keep hearing is that most people loved and respected him. That he did a lot of good for the community. But we’ve also heard a few negatives. Did you know him at all?”
“I knew him by that good reputation and by sight only, but to me he looked the same coming and going.” He took down two jars—one labeled “Rhubarb Creams,” the other “Dolly Mixture.” “You and I—and of course your colleagues in the bookshop and tearoom—as business people, we have the opportunity to see and reflect on quite a wide range of human nature.”
“Summer describes some of them as the rude, the mad, and the spiritually ugly.”
“Tell me about it. I agree with her one-hundred percent. And that is sad, is it not? So often people make the mistake of
seeing another person as only this one thing or only that.”
While he talked, he scooped some of the rhubarb creams—football-shaped, rosy red on one side and the rich color of pouring custard on the other—into a small white bag.
“But you, your colleagues, and I are lucky enough to know better. We—and I take the very great liberty of speaking for all people because I am that magnanimous—we are rarely just one thing.”
He unscrewed the lid from the dolly mixture—an assortment of multicolored fondant cylinders and cubes and sugar-coated jellies—and scooped a small amount into another bag. He twisted both bags closed, put them on his scale, and added the price to her total.
“Because although I am magnanimous, I also must make a living. And one more surprise, but not on your bill. A gooseberry hand pie.” He took a crescent-shaped pastry from the case at the end of the counter, wrapped it in grease-proof paper, and slipped it into the string bag. He added a folded piece of paper.
“I’m no good at waiting for surprises.” Janet took the paper out and read it. Once a bossy law professor, always a bossy law professor, but still capable of being an eejit. Gooseberry pie from a silly goose. I’m sorry. “I just left the shop and this is Tallie’s handwriting.”
“She wrote the note, scanned it, and sent it to me. I printed it and put the pie on her tab. Magic.”
Janet took the bag and he picked up his book again. “One more thing, Basant.”
He put the book down. She told him about the box of books on the doorstep and asked if he had any thoughts about where they’d come from. “It’s a long shot, I know.”
“As much as I enjoy reading, books are your area of expertise. Groceries and deliveries in boxes are mine.”
Janet described the Dalwhinnie box, the glued flaps, and the note.
“This sounds like a careful person. Also a person who does not shy away from whimsy. Yet, leaving the box on the doorstep? Above all, this sounds like one of our people who is not just one thing. I have not heard anything to solve this mystery for you, but I will keep an ear to the ground.”
Janet trusted Basant’s ear as much as she trusted him to choose the right sweeties. So she found it interesting that his ear apparently hadn’t heard anything about Lachlann Mòr.