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

by Hannah Reed

  I tried not to blush and most likely failed. It had been obvious to me that they were trying to set us up, but if Leith figured it out, did everyone know?

  “I’ve noticed,” I admitted. “They are engaged to be married and still in that blissful state, and assuming I need the same thing. Two good-intentioned busybodies.”

  “And do ye?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Need the same thing?”

  Ah, that was the big question I’d been wrestling with. Did I need a man to feel complete? I’d had one in the past and look how that had turned out. Instead of the two of us becoming soulmates, I’d crawled away broken into pieces, my soul barely intact.

  “Are you looking for what Vicki and Sean have?” I dodged and countered.

  “We aren’t talkin’ about me, Eden Elliott.” He rose, hands on hips and smiled. “But never mind answering, if it doesn’t suit ye.”

  It didn’t suit me. This was too awkward. Leith has been my friend since the first day I arrived, but until now we’d only shared friendly, casual banter. Nothing more. Now, although he was smiling, I sensed a serious undertone.

  Lightening flashed close by, followed by a clap of thunder, giving me a few minutes to gather my thoughts. “The answer is no. I don’t need what they have, if it means settling. But someday I want it. And what about you?”

  Leith walked to the window and peered out. Then he answered slowly. “Ye know I had a bad experience with Fia’s mum, and after we split, I vowed tae myself tae leave romance alone and concentrate on raising my daughter.”

  I understood. He’d mentioned his commitment to his daughter before. At the time, it seemed noble. Now, I thought it restricted him to a very lonely life. Especially during those times when Fia was with her mother.

  He turned from the window. “My lifestyle isn’t suited fer a companion. I’m out tae sea more than on land and it isn’t fair tae have someone waiting at home and wondering if I’ll make it back.”

  I could have said that I wasn’t like most women, that I needed personal space, that while married to a controlling, demanding man, I’d nearly suffocated to death. Having a partner who would come and go and come back again would be as refreshing as a sea breeze.

  I gazed at the flames in the fire, thinking about Leith’s life and coming to the realization that the man really wasn’t lonely. He was a loner. He kept his circle small by choice, preferring spending time with his daughter when he could and out on the waves for the rest. Perhaps his ex-wife had needed more companionship and had been the lonely one in that relationship.

  “Let the tongues wag,” I told him. “I’m not concerned with gossip.”

  “If I stay any longer, they’ll be jabbering all over the village and we won’t have a moment’s peace. I’ll say my farewell. Rest well.”

  After Leith and Kelly left, I sat by the fire, wondering about my future, reminding myself to enjoy the present. In spite of murderous undertones in Glenkillen, my life was fulfilling and perfect as it was. For now, anyway.

  That night, with the storm raging, my faceless lover didn’t make the customary appearance in my dreams. I suspected that my subconscious knew my heart and was waiting for my conscious mind to catch up.

  Chapter 9

  “Did you have breakfast this morning?” I asked the inspector, who was scowling at us from his easy chair, first boring holes in me with his piercing eyes, then Sean, then repeating the snarly process. We’d arrived together and on time, and Jamieson’s unprovoked, uncalled for negative attitude wasn’t brightening this drizzly day.

  “Well, did you?” I stood before him, tote on my shoulder, hands on hips, determined not to back down.

  “What’s that got tae do with anything?”

  “He doesn’t take breakfast,” Sean answered for him.

  The inspector raised his hands in an expression of irritation. “And I thought I was in the room and well able tae answer fer myself.”

  “You weren’t going to answer,” I pointed out, heading for the kitchen.

  “And what do ye think yer doing?”

  “Making your breakfast,” I called over my shoulder. “And if you don’t eat it, I’m not driving you anywhere.”

  Silence ensued while I found a toaster and popped two slices of bread in, which I’d packed in the tote along with peanut butter and Dundee orange marmalade. While I waited for the bread to brown, I opened the refrigerator and several cupboards, taking an assessment, wondering how the man existed without pantry essentials and with a bare refrigerator. Once the bread was crisp and brown, I slathered on the spreads.

  My return earned me a scoff when I forced him to take the plate. “Eat,” I demanded.

  “Yer a hard woman.”

  “Consider this a health-related experiment.” One I hoped would work. Since yesterday, when I’d seen him revert back to a normal human being after a bowl of soup, I began to suspect that he had a low blood sugar problem. That would explain his early day grumpiness.

  Sean took the floor while the inspector grudgingly bit into the toast. The younger officer reiterated exactly what Jamieson had learned the day before, passing the test that the inspector had devised: a sister in Oban, three former wives, grown children, Stuart’s career as a history professor.

  Jamieson gaped at Sean.

  “Good work,” I exclaimed.

  “Aye,” the inspector stammered. “Wonders never cease.”

  “And I’m drivin’ tae Edinburgh after lunch tae check out the wifies’ alibis.” Sean looked sheepish. “I mean, if that’s what will progress the case and ye approve it.”

  Jamieson was trying to hold back a chuckle, confirming two facts for me. One: his upward mood reversal immediately after eating suggested I’d been right. Two: he was slowly and reluctantly beginning to trust in Sean’s abilities.

  “That’s exactly what I was about tae order ye tae do!” Jamieson said with a bit of wonder in his voice. “We’ll make a detective out o’ ye yet. Noo, what about any connection with the other club members? Anything from the victim’s past that intersects with any o’ them?”

  Sean shook his head. “I’ll keep digging. But I can’t get rid of the notion that this crime might o’ been random. I still think that our victim might have seen something that got him killed.”

  The inspector finished eating and shook his head. “And what was this something? Nobody has reported a crime in the area. I have footage fer the two o’ ye tae watch, if one o’ you will fetch my laptop.”

  I did the honors and soon we were looking at surveillance video footage. “On the street in front of the Findlays.” I recognized the setting.

  “Watch.”

  Stuart appeared in profile on the very perimeter of the video. He paused on the sidewalk and swung his head to the side as though he was aware of someone approaching. Then he stepped out of the frame into the shadows as though he’d been called over.

  “That’s all we have?” Sean said with disappointment.

  “He’s calm and relaxed,” I noted. “And appears to be joining someone. By his body language, I think he knew his killer.”

  “And that person had the smarts tae stay out of the camera’s range,” the inspector added. “Nothing random about this. Now let’s get tae work.”

  Sean drove off as Jamieson moved to his police car, more confident and balanced on the crutches. He ducked inside after I opened the door for him. “As I stated tae ye before, I’m not satisfied tae follow a theory that the murder was random or that the car thief was involved,” he said. “In that spirit, I asked myself who else might o’ known about the Scott Supper and that McKay would be in attendance.”

  I closed his door, went around, and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Don’t we have enough suspects already?”

  “Ye’d like it tae be that simple, and sure it might be. I questioned Brenda Findlay. She’s active on social media, addicted tae it, if ye ask me. She posted a photo of the last supper with names and the date o’ this o
ne fer the whole world tae know. Anyone with an axe tae grind with the professor would have known where tae find him.”

  “That’s a discouraging thought,” I said with dismay. The investigation was difficult enough with only a handful of suspects. I was overwhelmed by all the possibilities. “And of course, those in attendance probably shared their plans for the evening with others,” I added. “I know I did. We couldn’t possible track down everyone who knew about the supper.”

  We’d been sitting stationary while mulling over a list of suspects that covered the globe. “If Dr. Teague was the person in the shadows, wouldn’t Stuart have reacted strongly to his adversary’s presence in the dark?”

  “One would think.”

  “By the way, where are we heading?”

  “Let’s pay another call tae Teague, exert a wee bit o’ pressure.”

  *

  We found the doctor tending his plants in a walled garden behind the surgery. Bluebells and daffodils framed the gate as we stepped inside. Dr. Teague was picking stalks of rhubarb from a well-established, large-leaved plant. He straightened and removed the gardening gloves he wore.

  “I don’t have long,” he said, tossing the gloves on the path beside a small garden shed. “My first patient arrives in ten minutes. How’s yer ankle?”

  “Better. I’m tossing the crutches soon. They’re awkward tae use and slow me down.” Jamieson leaned against the shed. “But let’s not use up the few minutes ye have talking about me. It’s a fact among the club members that the animosity between McKay and yerself began before the night in question. Ye need tae do a more thorough job o’ explaining yer relationship with the victim then ye did yesterday.”

  The doc picked up a paring knife and began to trim the rhubarb stalks he’d cut. “There’s nothing more tae explain. I rubbed him the wrong way.”

  “You appeared to be giving as much as you got,” I interjected. “The situation escalated because you pushed his buttons.”

  The doctor paused in his task and glanced at me. “Perhaps I did contribute to the situation. The man was a pompous bore!”

  “Now that’s the honesty we need from ye,” Jamieson said. He’d been checking his cell phone and placed it on the shed’s window sill. “However, ye deal with difficult patients all the time and don’t jump intae going head tae head with them. Ye practice patience and hold yer tongue in the profession ye chose, isn’t that right?”

  “Stuart McKay wasn’t one of my patients.”

  “And why not?” the inspector asked. “Aren’t ye the only doctor in Glenkillen? Surely, he’s been in tae see ye?”

  “Like I said, he wasn’t a patient.” Teague glanced at his watch. “We’ll have to continue this conversation another time.”

  “We will indeed,” Jamieson replied.

  Back on the sidewalk in front of the surgery, we were about to leave when a middle-aged woman in a ratty bathrobe and fluffy slippers hurried our way and stopped a few yards away.

  “Psst,” she said to get our attention, although she already had mine. She motioned us toward her. “I don’t want tae be seen by the doctor. Is he in the window? Act like nothin’s amiss.”

  Jamieson swung toward her and I followed, passing in front of the surgery window.

  “Around the corner, if ye please,” the woman said, moving along ahead of us.

  Once she was satisfied with our distance from the surgery, she addressed me in a stage whisper, “I heard about the murder, and I have information ye might find useful, if ye know what I mean.”

  I glanced at the inspector, suppressing a show of excitement. Was this the break we needed?

  She continued talking to me as though the inspector didn’t exist. “I saw ye here before, and here ye are again today. It got me thinking that ye must have something on the doctor. Did he kill Stuart McKay?”

  “We’re still in the early stages of the investigation,” I said, careful not to rush her, but really wanting her to get to the point.

  “And we don’t discuss details during it,” Jamieson added. “What’s yer name and what’s this information ye want tae report?”

  The woman glanced at him, then up and down the street as though she were part of a clandestine operation. “Poppy Smith, I am, and I was in the surgery when Stuart came in and made a scene, late February or early March, I can’t be sure, but it was around that time.”

  “What kind of scene?” I asked.

  “The whole waiting room was full, everybody having bad colds from what was going around, including meself. He walked right in, waited fer the doctor tae call the next patient. When that came about, he insisted that he be taken intae the exam room next. The doc refused and Stuart McKay got riled and called him a quack and a fraud right tae his face. The doctor threatened tae call the police if he didn’t leave and so he did, lookin’ all satisfied with himself. And why would he say a thing like that? Dr. Teague is one o’ the best doctors tae hang a shingle in Glenkillen. Not that Doc Keen wasn’t good in his time, but he should o’ retired years ago.”

  The inspector asked her several more questions but uncovered nothing else worthwhile. We thanked her for stepping forward and watched her until she walked up onto a porch and into a house down the street.

  “I understand why the doctor might be reluctant to mention that particular incident,” I said. “Not only would it have been embarrassing to be called out like that in front of his patients, but it gives him another excellent reason for disliking Stuart. It would have been better to hear it from him rather than one of his patients.”

  “It must o’ conveniently slipped his mind.” Jamieson began patting pockets the way we do when we are missing something on our person. “I must o’ left my mobile in the garden.”

  “You placed it on the window sill during the conversation. It must still be there. I’ll get it for you.”

  He waited beside the car while I followed the path back into the garden. His phone was where he’d left it on the window sill.

  I reached to pick it up and, as I did, my eye caught color on the sill to the left of the phone. Looking closely, I recognized the stain for what it surely must be.

  Blood.

  Chapter 10

  We entered the surgery and waited impatiently for Dr. Teague to finish up with his patient. As luck would have it, no one else was in the waiting room when the inspector asked for permission to search the premises.

  “Yer interest in me is bordering on harassment,” the doctor said, sounding annoyed. “Are ye searching the private homes of all the attendees from the Scott Supper?”

  “Is that an aye tae the search?”

  “Absolutely bloody not! And I’m asking ye tae leave right now!”

  After our ousting, Jamieson sat in his vehicle while making calls to arrange a warrant. My assigned task was to guard the garden in the off-chance that the doctor made an attempt to enter the garden and tamper with evidence.

  Sean called my cell while I waited.

  “I’ve been tasked with delivering the warrant as soon as it’s obtained,” he said importantly. “Are ye making sure the scene is secure?”

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” I countered. “Just get your own job done.”

  “Well aren’t we snippy.”

  I hung up rather abruptly and evaluated my current emotional state. Yes, snippy and jumpy. Anxious and worried. Dreading the possibility of a scene and preparing a response if the doctor appeared ahead of Jamieson and confronted me. My eyes darted to a rear window where the doctor could easily be watching.

  I peered through the shed window, as I’d done after finding the smudge of blood. At least there hadn’t been a dead body or injured person inside. That much I’d confirmed before reporting to the inspector. What then? Why the blood?

  The explanation might be as simple as a small cut to the doctor’s finger while trimming. Accidentally drawing blood while working in a garden wasn’t that unusual, considering the array of tools used and the sharpness of s
ome of them.

  The inspector was an opportunist by nature and career, and he’d pounced on this advantage like a tiger on its prey. Evidence had been stacking up against the doctor; the blood presented a perfect chance to search his property.

  It seemed like forever before Jamieson finally rounded the corner of the building, sans crutches but sporting a noticeable limp. Dr. Teague followed, and Sean had taken up the rear, with what I assumed was the warrant clutched in his hand.

  “This is an outrage,” the doctor sputtered. “Get yer business done and off my property! Ye have no cause and I can’t understand how ye even were able tae obtain a search warrant for my shed!”

  “We have tae follow up on every lead,” Sean told him. “Stand over there and keep yer thoughts tae yerself while we go about our business. I’ll be keeping ye company so don’t try any funny business.”

  Jamieson ignored the two men, handing me a pair of gloves, which I snapped on. Then he motioned me to open the shed door. He followed me inside. Defused light streaked through the window pane. The air smelled earthy. Garden tools hung neatly on hooks, pots were stacked below the window, and a hodgepodge of garden items decorated a worktable. Twine, hand tools, work gloves.

  This would be my first time searching a suspect’s property, and I planned to leave no stone unturned. We were looking for Stuart’s decorative knife—that was clearly presumed. Since the inspector wasn’t wearing gloves, it was also safe to assume I was the one who would be conducting the search. Under his watchful eye, of course.

  The worktable had three drawers down the left side, and I started by opening the top one. While the rest of the shed appeared tidy, the drawers were jammed with items. But the disorganization wasn’t a problem, because the focus of our search was right on top in the very first drawer. That was all it took. Less than a minute.

  “Well, what da ye know.” The inspector voice was clear and cold. “A sgian-dubh in the most unlikely o’ places.” He held open a clear bag. “Pick it up without maulin’ the thing, use the paper underneath it and remove both. That’s it. Now carefully drop them in this bag.”