Be Still My Bleating Heart (A Scottish Highland Mystery Book 4)

by Hannah Reed

  “And after that?”

  “I came here. My flat is above the surgery. I prepared fer today by goin’ over my schedule and then went tae bed.”

  The inspector scowled. “Anyone tae vouch fer ye?”

  Dr. Teague shrugged. “I’m known by the pub owner, Dale. He was tending bar. After that…well…I live alone.” He stepped back. “Ye can step down, but easy. Take most o’ the weight on yer other foot.”

  While the inspector put on his sock and shoe, I continued with a few of my own questions. “You didn’t get along with the deceased. That was obvious.”

  “He needles me, seems tae want tae show me up as inferior tae him.” A look of sadness crossed his face. “Or rather, he needled me, past tense. I can’t get used tae the fact that he is gone. Stuart was a nasty bloke, but he didn’t deserve tae die like that. I’ve suspected he had a poor sense o’ self in spite of all his bluster.”

  An interesting observation by the doctor.

  “Ye need tae stay off that ankle,” he advised Jamieson. “Keep using the crutches and ye’ll heal faster. Ice it morning, night, and some in between, and let me know how yer doin’ in a few days.”

  Then he addressed both of us. “I came here from Glasgow after well over a decade as a highly skilled surgeon. The fast pace, the city life, it wears on a chap after a while. When this surgery came up fer sale, I jumped at the chance. Ye know why?”

  Jamieson waited silently. I shook my head.

  “I appreciated the ruralness of it and the idea of a general practice. And instead of doing the same thing day in and day out, my days are enormously varied. One day at the scene of a road accident. Another attending tae a home birth. I enjoy walking down the street and greeting patients. That never happened in Glasgow.”

  He smiled. “At the pub last night, someone told me how lucky Glenkillen is tae have a good doctor living in the village. That made me feel grand.”

  “I like it here, too,” I told him as we entered the waiting room. “Such a feeling of community.”

  “Now that we’ve established that the village is tae both o’ yer likings,” the inspector growled, “ye say ye were a skilled surgeon. Performing operations in hospital settings, I imagine.”

  “Aye.” The doctor looked nervous for the first time since we’d begun questioning him. “I can see where ye are going with this, with the two of us arguing only hours before and my background in surgery. But ye don’t need tae be an expert tae lop off a bloke’s head.”

  “What?” the inspector fairly roared. “Where did you hear that bit o’ poppycock?”

  “From one o’ my patients,” the doctor answered. “Seems cause of death is well known. Not a surprise, considering the size of Glenkillen.”

  “Stuart McKay wasn’t beheaded,” Jamieson corrected him. “He was stabbed in the heart.”

  “Directly in the heart,” I added.

  The doctor slowly sat down in one of the chairs. “It looks bad fer me then.”

  Neither Jamieson or I replied since the question was rhetorical in nature. The inspector pressed on, “I’d like tae know how ye felt during yer disagreement with McKay?”

  “You mean, did I think about killing him? Of course, not.”

  “But ye were angry?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t kill him.”

  “Then who at that table do ye think might have?”

  Dr. Teague’s brows knit. “Why are you assuming that Stuart’s murderer was at our supper?”

  “Tis as good a place as any tae start. Do you think one o’ the women did it? Eden here or Vicki? How about the village bookseller, or the reader who found out and joined at the last minute? Or the hosts?”

  That seemed to jog something in the doctor’s memory. “Ye might talk tae Derrick,” he said. “Not that he’d murder anybody. But ye might find that I wasn’t the only one who had an issue with Stuart. Derrick had warned him after the last meeting tae behave better or tae be forced out of the club. He’d had fair warning. I was more than a wee bit surprised that the pompous braggart didn’t follow Derrick’s advice. I’d hoped tae have a peaceful supper.”

  I remembered that Vicki had mentioned prior clashes between them. “The two of you have had words at other club events?”

  “Nothing more significant than the disagreeable chat over Scott and Burns. Always small stuff. I should have kept quiet, but the man irritated me and I joined right in.”

  Jamieson tucked the crutches under his arms. I opened the door. “I’ll have more questions fer ye in the immediate future,” he warned. “Ye aren’t planning any getaways, are ye?”

  The doctor sighed in resignation. “No, my practice keeps me right here. And the implication isn’t going unnoticed.”

  “As intended,” the inspector said under his breath. “After this meeting o’ yers, stop at the station tae make yer statement.”

  Out on the street, the day had warmed. Jamieson struggled to get into the passenger seat of his vehicle, knocking the crutches about until finally managing to get them wedged between the seats, while I raised my face to the sun, tempted to run off.

  “Don’t chust stand there,” he ordered. “Get in.”

  I turned to him, having become increasingly annoyed with his attitude. “You need to treat me with more respect, if you want me to drive you.”

  “Blast it!” And he slammed the door.

  Chapter 6

  Street parking outside the Kilt & Thistle was limited. I dropped the inspector at the door and searched for a parking space. After finding one, I made my way to the pub and noticed a Vauxhall Corsa parked in front that matched the appearance of the one belonging to Morag Lisle. Before entering the pub, a piano riff text message came in from Ami, and I paused to read it.

  “Vicki sent a message claiming that the two of you were involved in a murder!!!” That was so like Ami to line up multiple exclamation points behind a sentence.

  Ever since Vicki and Ami became pen pals through messaging and emailing, my movements weren’t as private as they once had been. “Not exactly, as in suspects,” I replied, “but had been dining with the victim before his death. I’m assisting Jamieson with the investigation.”

  “Exactly how closely are you working with the inspector?” came back the question from the famous historical romance writer. The woman with a one-track mind. At least she wasn’t focusing on Leith at the moment. “I can imagine you with an older man. Yes, clearly, I can.”

  “Got to go interrogate a suspect,” I shot back.

  “Carry handcuffs and don’t be afraid to use them!!!”

  I tucked the phone into a pocket, with a smile at Ami’s reference to handcuffs, sexual as usual. Now that my friend had mentioned them, why hadn’t I been authorized for handcuffs? I’d bring it up at the proper time.

  Entering the pub, I found Jamieson drinking coffee at the bar’s counter. “I ordered two bowls o’ Scotch broth,” he told me. “Assumed you were hungry.”

  “Great.”

  Scotch broth is a filling soup much like the American version of beef and barley, although lamb is often used instead of beef. The Kilt & Thistle’s version was also rich with split peas and leeks.

  Before I seated myself on the chair next to him, I scanned the tables, wondering if I’d correctly identified the car outside as Morag’s.

  Bill Morris and Andy occupied Bill’s regular table. Both had coffee cups in front of them, but I would have bet Bill had flavored his with a nip of whisky. Bill saw me and gave me a nod, then scowled at the inspector’s back, indicating his disapproval, an ongoing wariness when it came to Jamieson, as I knew from past encounters between them.

  Morag did indeed occupy a table, and she wasn’t alone, either. In fact, I was acquainted with her fellow pub mates, as well.

  “Did you notice that back table?” I fairly hissed to Jamieson. But he didn’t reply since our soup was being delivered at the moment by Dale, the owner of the Kilt & Thistle.

  “What can I get fer ye tae
drink, Eden?” he asked.

  “Coffee, please.”

  I was as hot as the coffee Dale poured and placed in front of me before he went off to serve others.

  “Did you see who is over there?” I asked again.

  “Take up yer spoon and let’s eat in peace.”

  “They’re all from the Scott Supper! Dallas, Morag, Derrick, and Brenda!”

  “Aye, except fer Vicki, the doctor, and yerself. Weren’t ye invited?”

  “No, I wasn’t.” I took the seat beside him, sitting sideways, and shifting my eyes their way. “What are they doing? Comparing notes on the evening?”

  “Most likely. Eat yer soup.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “O’ course it’s legal. What do ye think I should do about it? Arrest them fer congregating?”

  “At the very least it should bother you as much as it does me.”

  I sipped some of the broth not really tasting it; upset to find club members banding together right after one of them had been murdered. And why hadn’t I been apprised of this get-together?

  I’d had my fair share of exclusions at different periods in my life and it always was emotionally painful. Unpleasant memories flooded back to me. Mean girls, traveling in packs and verbally stabbing those of us who were more introverted. Gym classes, teams picked, always one of the last selected. I shook the images away and began to eat my soup in earnest.

  The inspector turned and studied me; his spoon poised above his bowl. “A celebrated author ye were when first ye met them fer the supper,” he stated, kindly. “Now yer a cop tae be avoided.”

  “Vicki isn’t over there, either.”

  “Because she’s yer good friend. And she’s engaged tae a police officer. Therefore, chust as distrustful in their eyes.”

  I swiveled for another look. I caught Dallas’ eye, her expression nervous and embarrassed. She leaned forward and spoke to her comrades. Brenda swiveled her head my way. I gave a weak wave.

  “I really was excluded intentionally,” I muttered, perfectly capable of reading between the lines even without the inspector’s astute observations.

  “They’ve formed a connection over the murder,” he said gently. “Stronger than their bond through the reading club. It’s not an uncommon occurrence after something as traumatic as a murder.”

  With his hunger satisfied, Jamieson’s attitude had vastly improved. With a nourishing meal, Mr. Hyde had transformed into Dr. Jekyll.

  He even chuckled when he said, “You don’t want tae hang with that gossipy lot anyway.” Then his eyes slid to the door. “Well, look who else has arrived. If it isn’t the good doctor.”

  I spun to see which path Teague would take, curious to know whether he’d choose to join us at the bar or if he’d had a prior invitation to the table.

  The inspector spoke to the doctor, “So that group over there is the meeting ye said ye were tae attend.”

  While Dallas had appeared sheepish, Dr. Teague’s expression was defiant. “No law against having a quiet meal with friends.”

  “Yer right about that. Enjoy it.” The inspector turned back to me, the conversation at an end.

  The doctor joined the others, and we went on to finish our soup in silence, while I strained to hear fragments of their conversation. Nothing stood out clearly over the din of the pub.

  “We have their statements, other than the doctor’s, and that’s comin’ today,” Jamieson pointed out. “All o’ them were questioned separately before any o’ them showed up here. They aren’t plotting. They’re sharing in their grief and looking fer answers. Whatever they’re banging on about will come out, if it’s important tae the case.” The inspector glanced in the direction of the table then turned back to me. “In fact, I say, let them talk amongst themselves. Maybe one o’ them, if the killer is in their midst, will say too much.”

  His eyes went directly to the doctor, who was speaking earnestly to Dallas. Six months earlier, I would have wondered why the man wasn’t already in jail, considering what had transpired between him and the deceased, and Teague’s lack of an alibi. But I’m slightly more experienced these days. Arresting a suspect is easy, getting a conviction is not. This investigation would be a slow process, but the inspector was a patient man and would see it through.

  “Personally, I like the doctor,” I said.

  “Do ye think all criminals are nasty sorts on the surface? That they can’t put up a good front?”

  Before I could answer, Dale arrived with more fresh, hot coffee.

  “Was Dr. Teague in yer establishment last night?” The inspector asked him.

  “Aye, it was a busy night. It’s good tae have a tour bus stop fer the night, but I like tae see them go as well.”

  “What time was the doctor here?” I inserted myself.

  Dale frowned in thought. “It was right busy, uh, around eight, if I have tae guess. And I’m also guessing this is in regard tae Stuart McKay.”

  “Did ye notice when he left?”

  “He dinnae stay long; said it was a bit noisy fer him. Is the doc in trouble?”

  Jamieson shifted. “Chust confirming his whereaboots as we are with many others.”

  Soon after, Andy Morris edged in next to us. “Is it true that…that Stuart McKay was beheaded? That’s the scuttle around the village.” His voice carried like a foghorn. Conversations slowed, then ceased.

  Jamieson’s face turned to thunder. He rose and called out for the attention of those in the room. Andy stepped back and resumed his seat beside Bill, a confused expression on his face after unwittingly arousing the inspector’s ire.

  “We have a rumor circulation about the recent murder in our village,” Jamieson said evenly, “and the manner o’ the man’s death. Ye can put away all yer thoughts o’ banished swords and decapitation. If ye must know, the victim was stabbed in the chest and a sgian-dubh he wore on his person is missing. Noo, I hope that clears up any misconceptions. And if any o’ ye saw anything out of the ordinary last night in the neighborhood o’ Crannog Lane, I’d appreciate a chat with ye.”

  He sat back down and as he did, the group of club’s members began to rise and shuffle toward the exit, probably highly stressed by our continued presence at the pub. We’d put a damper on the meeting. They hadn’t even ordered. Dallas, Derrick, and Dr. Teague mumbled farewells as they made their way past us. Morag and Brenda paused to speak with Bill and Andy. It appeared that Brenda was introducing them, because I caught the tail-end of her remark. “…and Bill owns the inn next door.”

  Soon after, Brenda hustled out of the pub without making eye contact. Morag stepped over though and addressed me, “Have you found my handbag yet? Have you caught that robber?”

  “We are following up and will have him in custody soon,” I assured her.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Yer hunt for a murderer is going to keep all of ye too busy to bother with smaller fry like a car thief. I’m afraid he’ll continue tae terrorize the community.”

  “Officer Stevens is devoting his time to solving the crime.”

  “Have ye considered that the two crimes could be related? But o’ course, ye have.”

  “We consider everything,” Jamieson replied.

  “I’m on holiday in Glenkillen,” Morag continued. “After hearing how quaint the village was, I booked long in advance. But let me tell you that I am not impressed with the latest crime sprees. Robbers, murderers running amok. I’m afraid tae leave my room!”

  The inspector interjected. “Until now the village has had very little crime. We’ll get tae the bottom o’ it and life in Glenkillen will return tae normal.”

  We watched her leave and the inspector said, “Fer such a fearful woman, she managed tae get herself down here fer a bit o’ muckraking.”

  “FOMO,” I said and seeing his questioning expression added, “Fear of missing out.”

  “So ye would have accepted their invitation.”

  “Without a second thought,” I told him.
Then, remembering Ami’s text, “By the way, I want handcuffs.”

  Jamieson appeared to be thinking it over. Finally, he said, “aye, with the scrapes ye get yerself into, ye might find them useful.”

  “Used to get myself into,” I corrected him. “Past tense.”

  The inspector raised an eyebrow in reply.

  Chapter 7

  The middle of the afternoon found us crowded at the kitchen table in my cottage, comparing notes with Vicki and Sean on the members in attendance at the fateful supper. I’d lived in Glenkillen less than a year, so the club members’ backgrounds weren’t familiar to me. I wasn’t sure that the locals in this room would bring much to the table, either, based on a few of my own observations.

  Sean was pretty much clueless about interpersonal relationships and showed little interest in small talk with villagers. He had enough trouble opening his ears and really listening when the situation involved a person-of-interest.

  The inspector didn’t go out of his way to socialize, and his choice to live remotely didn’t encourage neighborly meetings on the streets. Besides, he had neither the time nor the inclination to mingle.

  Vicki’s younger years were spent in the area, but she’d attained adulthood in the states, and had only returned recently. But she’d picked up enough information to get us started.

  “The Irving’s have been a fixture in Glenkillen for decades,” Vicki informed us while pouring coffee from a carafe she’d brought from the main house. “Dallas’ mother ran the bookshop until she retirement, turning it over to Dallas, who’d worked there since she was a kid. Then the mother moved to Inverness into a pensioner’s home. Dallas never married, although she’s had several long-term relationships, as the rumors go. These days, she shares the apartment above the shop with multiple cats.”

  My own feline housemate, Snookie, brushed up against my leg, purring. Jamieson peered at her, curiously, as though he’d never seen a cat before. “Stuart spent time at the bookshop,” I said. “How close were the two of them?”

  Vicki sat down. “I have no idea.”