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

by Hannah Reed

  Rhona Selkirk had been certain of Andy’s guilt. And he’d run away when confronted. I agreed with her accounting. Andy was our guy.

  We climbed the stairs. I pretended not to notice Jamieson’s grunts of discomfort. We entered room number seven.

  I didn’t locate anything of significance in dresser drawers or under the bed. Any cash that the women carried likely had disappeared into Andy’s pocket. The purses he would have disposed of.

  “Not so smart, after all,” the inspector announced while searching through a backpack tucked in the far corner of the closet. He produced a black ski mask, gloves, and a knife matching the description presented by the women.

  On the way out, Jamieson said to Jeannie, “Tell him tae turn himself in. He’s making his future worse by running.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said, glancing at the backpack.

  We returned to the pub where Morag and Rhona still sat at the bar, heads together, commiserating.

  “Did ye get him?” Rhona asked, this time addressing me.

  “Not yet,” I answered.

  “Shame, a young thing like ye are couldn’t o’ run him down.”

  What could I say?

  Later in the evening, after Sean returned from Edinburgh with solid alibis for Stuart McKay’s ex-wives and adult children, while sitting in Vicki’s kitchen with pints of ale in front of us, I wondered out loud what I would have done if I’d caught up with Andy and he’d continued to resist.

  After slurping a sip of his beer, Sean said, “I’d have clubbed him with me baton, zapped him with the stun gun, and handcuffed him tae the nearest lamppost.”

  Vicki chortled, since we both knew Sean better than that.

  In hindsight, I could have opened up with pepper spray, if I’d thought to bring it along. Instead, it had been on the seat of my Peugeot, doing no one any good. But it was a moot point. I hadn’t been in range to use it anyway.

  “Why would Bill’s nephew join our community and then rob our residents?” I asked.

  “It must be in his nature,” Vicki answered. “He had a record before he arrived, and that’ll go against him in court.” Then she smiled. “Leave it to Rhona to expose him. He messed with the wrong woman.”

  “She’s a fire cracker,” I agreed.

  A moment later, my cell phone rang. Jeannie Morris was on the other end. “Ye best come. Andy’s being held and he’s confessed.”

  “Held? By the inspector?”

  “Rhona Selkirk and Morag Lisle have him. They staked out the inn and waited fer him tae show up. Ye better get here before they do something awful tae him.”

  Sean and I got there as fast as we could and stormed up to room seven where the women had secured Andy to the bedframe with ropes of yarn in a fusion of lullaby hues; pink, baby blue, and soft yellow. A knitting bag lay open on the floor.

  “Help!” he shouted when we walked in. “I fear fer…fer my life.”

  I stifled a grin. Rhona and Morag were practically sitting on him. “Jeannie said you confessed.”

  “I did it,” he cried, and I thought he looked so young and helpless now. “I h…held up grannies in their cars and s…stole from them. But it’s not like I s..stole their cars, only a few dollars.”

  “Who are ye calling a grannie?” Morag snarled.

  “Ye took our phones, too,” Rhona said.

  “That was so ye couldn’t sq…squeal on me.”

  Sean attempted to unknot the yarn around Andy’s wrists. “We have yer phones,” he told the women. “And Andy is going tae make sure yer reimburse fer yer losses. And he’s going tae jail.”

  “I had tae ruin the yarn I was working into a blanket fer my new grandbaby.” Rhona dug in the knitting bag, found a pair of scissors, and began snipping through the yarn binding Andy. “Ye owe me fer my yarn, too.”

  “What about Stuart McKay?” Morag ask me. “This bloke might have murdered Stuart!”

  “Wha’? No, I d…didn’t do that. Am I being charged with that? I d…didn’t do anything. I didn’t even know the man.”

  Sean snapped handcuffs around his wrists. “Punks like yerself stick tae petty crimes, I’m betting. But yer on the short list as far as the boss is concerned, that’s fer sure.”

  “I’m filing charges against these two wo…women fer assault,” Andy said.

  Chapter 13

  “You need more excitement in your life,” Ami texted next morning while I was enjoying a cup of coffee with Snookie lounging on my lap.

  More excitement! She was kidding, right? But then I realized that my stateside friend didn’t know the latest turn of events.

  “Does tracking a murderer and apprehending a robber count as enough excitement?” I texted back.

  “Really? Wow! You should write a book! Oh, wait, you are writing one!”

  Not exactly, I might have said, but then I’d get the seat-in-the-chair and hands-on-the-keyboard lecture. Right now, romance and love scenes were on hold, replaced by murder and crime scenes.

  However, in my dreams…I’d had that same one again. The bed, the faceless lover, those hands, the rest. I so wanted to tell Ami about it, but sharing would only set her off again.

  “Gotta go,” I thumbed in after an incoming call was announced.

  “Inspector,” I said. “Good morning.”

  “Ye certainly were busy last night,” he said without preamble.

  “Is this a congratulatory call?”

  “If yer lookin’ fer a ‘well-done’, that honor is reserved fer Rhona and Morag.”

  “They restrained him with knitting yarn.” I grinned at the memory of Andy tied to the bed. “We’re making progress,” I said, turning serious. “One criminal down, one to go. Did you question Andy about the murder?”

  “Jeannie confirmed his whereabouts at the time.”

  I sighed. “Another family member vouching for a suspect.”

  “Andy wasn’t even bright enough tae hide his knife and mask well. Leaving them in his closet proves he isn’t a brain trust. The galoot doesn’t have it in him tae get away with murder.”

  “And the doctor?”

  “Teague hasn’t confessed, but the evidence against him is pretty solid. No prints on the knife, however. Anybody could o’ placed it in the shed. And not a single eyewitness tae the murder.”

  “What about the blood on the shed’s window sill?”

  “Pig’s blood. The supermarkets carry it fer making black pudding. As ye know, it’s easy tae come by.” I did know that, based on another killer’s ruse that I’d been involved with.

  “Blood might have been smeared there in hopes of drawing us into the shed and to the knife discovery,” I said.

  “Aye, It’s highly possible, but pure speculation at this stage.”

  “If so, someone is going to a lot of trouble to implicate the doctor.”

  “No fingerprints on the knife tae make our job easy, either. I’m going over tae speak with Derrick and Brenda Findlay again. They were the last tae see the victim alive. Officer Stevens will follow up with Dallas Irving and Morag Lisle. And I’m going tae have a chat with Andy Morris. Do ye want tae join me?”

  As much as I wanted to hear what Andy had to say, I’d chosen another mission for this morning. “I have a few ideas I’d like to chase down.”

  After that, I showered, dressed in jeans and pulled a fleece over my t-shirt, and headed out in the Peugeot, my thoughts whirling with all the possibilities, the vast array of outcomes. I found myself vacillating where the doctor was concerned, when at other times I’d seemed so sure.

  If Dr. Teague murdered Stuart McKay, he might have planted the knife himself to make it look like a setup to divert our attention elsewhere. A complex plan but the doctor was highly intelligent and capable of complexity.

  Or, as my initial instinct suggested, someone else murdered Stuart and was framing the doctor. If that was true, the killer wasn’t very adept at hiding his intention. Or else that person was blinded by anxiety and fear of exposur
e and making mistakes. That individual had been sitting at the Scott Supper that night. I was sure of it. If not the doctor, then one of the others.

  I parked in front of the doctor’s surgery and noted the closed sign in the window before letting myself through the gate leading to the garden and the shed beyond. Everything was as we’d left it yesterday. And in the light of day, I wasn’t nearly so sure of Teague innocence. He was the only one who had a motive. So far.

  When I returned to the sidewalk and opened the car door, Poppy, Teague’s neighbor, was hustling my way, robe flapping to reveal a yellow flowery nightgown. I closed the door, stepped back on the curb, and waited.

  Poppy ground to a halt and barraged me with questions, “Constable, what happened to the doctor? Did you arrest him? I saw him leave with you yesterday. Is he our murderer? What happens next? Can I help?”

  “Dr. Teague is cooperating with the investigation,” I repeated again. “No charges have been filed.” The closed sign in the window seemed so final to me. I glanced at Poppy. Did she ever get dressed? “You’re an observant woman,” I said. “Have you noticed anything unusual lately in regards to the doctor or his surgery?”

  “Unusual?” Her face furrowed as she considered. “Ye mean was the doc acting strange?”

  “That. Or anything else that you might think was off kilter.”

  “There was an incident last week,” She said hesitantly then waved her hand, dismissing it. “Tis nothing though.”

  “Anything, no matter how small, may be significant.”

  “Here is tis, then. It was dusk when I noticed someone peeking in the window, this one right before us with the closed sign.” Poppy pointed. “I could tell the doc wasn’t inside. No lights on and none above where he lives either. It might o’ been a patient hoping he was available tae take a peek at an injury. Or someone wanting tae chat him up.”

  “You say a week ago?”

  “About that.”

  That was before Stuart’s death, so Poppy hadn’t inadvertently witnessed the planting of the knife. If in fact, it had been planted. So many ifs.

  “What did this person look like?”

  “Couldn’t tell from the distance and it was getting dark. He was wearing a dark hoodie, but I did see a bit o’ blond hair sticking out, long like ruffians wear it. Now that I put my mind tae the memory, that person must o’ been one o’ them young trouble-makers, maybe a druggie hoping tae steal his next fix from the doctor’s cupboard. I ran tae get my binoculars, but when I came back, he had disappeared.”

  Poppy looked worried. “Should I have called the coppers?”

  “I don’t see what good it would have done. As you said, he’d disappeared. Are you certain that this person was male?”

  Poppy frowned in thought. “Not positive, no. But women don’t wear hoodies. No-good trouble-makers do. Gang members.” She paused and her eyes narrowed. “What’s all this got tae do with ye taking the doctor away? Do ye have a case against him?”

  “Keep an eye out,” I said, as if that wasn’t a given for this nosy neighbor. “And call the station if you see anything or remember anything else.”

  *

  While I considered whether or not to make a visit to Taste of Scotland to purchase a scone, weighing the pros and cons of all those extra calories, Morag Lisle drove up next to my car and rolled down her window. Rhona was in the passenger seat.

  “We had such good luck tracking the robber,” Rhona called out, animated, “that we decided tae help catch the Glenkillen murderer.”

  “Is that right,” I said, addressing the driver, realizing I sounded like the inspector when he confronted a troublesome do-gooder.

  Morag squirmed, but only a little. “It was Rhona’s idea. We thought we’d take a crack at it.”

  “You’d be interfering with an ongoing investigation,” I informed them, noting that Rhona deflated a bit at that.

  Morag studied me. “Rumor around the village is that Dr. Teague has been arrested for the murder.”

  “That’s all it is. A rumor.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I hope he didn’t do it,” I blurted, shocked at such a public display of my personal opinion when I should have been professional and neutral. Then I remembered that Morag had been at the pub gathering when I’d defended him and already knew how I felt. Jamieson kept his opinions to himself, just dealing with facts as they presented themselves, and he also didn’t allow himself to get close to people. But for me, the doctor had a human face; one I’d thought had been good for the village.

  “Hope won’t find yer killer,” Morag said, with a brittle tone.

  Rhona peeked up at me from her seat. “At least that clot-heid robber is off the street.”

  They drove off, the red-head and blue-haired duo. I left my car where it was and walked to the bookstore instead of the bakery. Dallas was unpacking a new shipment of books and arranging them in the window display. I glanced at a few titles – court room dramas, forensic thrillers, police procedurals, cozy mysteries.

  “Do you actually read all of these?” I asked.

  Dallas turning from her task and grinned. “As many as I can. I’m a big mystery buff, in every single sub-genre.”

  With all that crime fiction background, Dallas hardly would have messed up planting evidence.

  “I’d like your take on Stuart,” I asked her, recalling how she’d defended him after his bad behavior. “Your honest opinion.”

  Dallas shrugged and went back to sorting and arranging. “He came to do readings. He drew in customers. I’m a businesswoman and that means dealing with all sorts of people.”

  “Implying…”

  “He wasn’t particularly likeable. I’ve had customers express the same sentiment. But many others came for his readings, and they bought books.”

  “He did know how to make an impression.”

  “A bad one, mostly.” Dallas sighed sadly. “When I began these suppers, I had such high hopes. Robert Burns is celebrated with special nights all across the land and I decided tae bring the same tradition and ceremony tae Sir Walter Scott. We’ve been meeting fer less than a year and what happens? Murder!”

  “You couldn’t have predicted. Personally, I love the idea and hope you will continue.”

  “It will be less contentious without Stuart, that’s fer sure, but we lost our Scott scholar.”

  “Morag Lisle could replace him, if she were more local. I understand she’s had some background.”

  “About as much as I have, I’m guessing.”

  “That’s quite a bit. Tell me about Morag again, and how she came to be at the supper.”

  “Ye realize I had a conversation with yer Officer Stevens a wee while ago and he asked the same questions.”

  “Humor me. Besides, repeating things might bring out a new detail or two.”

  Dallas paused in her work and sat down on the ledge. “Morag came the same way you did, through an invitation. Vicki and I were discussing the supper before the event and Morag was in the shop browsing. She perked right up, said she’d been an English major with a focus on Sir Walter Scott, and was there any possibility of joining. I phoned Brenda about adding another place setting and she was happy to oblige, saying that we had room for another visitor.”

  “Straight forward.” I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure why Dr. Teague became a member of the club, based on his obvious deep affection for Robert Burns.”

  “Burns and Scott are Scotland’s top storytellers, along with Robert Louis Stevenson. Have ye read Treasure Island?

  “Yes, of course. A wonderful classic.”

  “There’s room in our hearts fer all o’ them. Burns is best loved fer his poems and songs. Auld Lang Syne and A Red, Red Rose are remembered around the world. Scott excelled in novel writing although his were densely written, not easy reads. Rob Roy is a perfect example.

  “To answer yer question, if the village had a Burns Supper group, the doctor would be the first tae s
ign up. Sir Walter Scott Suppers were the next best thing fer him.”

  “I understand now.”

  “If ye don’t tell a soul, I’ll tell ye a secret.”

  I nodded.

  “Robert Burns is closest tae my heart, too. I love his quotes. Like this one.” Dallas cleared her throat before going on, “Some books are lies frae end to end, And some great lies were never penn’d.”

  I nodded. “You started this club. You’re the president. Why didn’t you organize a Burns club instead?”

  “Based on the feedback from some of my customers, they preferred Scott.”

  “You mean Stuart McKay did.”

  “Aye, tae tell ye the truth, he insisted.” Dallas shot me a conspiratorial glance. “Ye still think one of the members is trying tae cast suspicion on the doctor?”

  “It’s only a theory; one of many. Were you aware that Derrick had reprimanded Stuart for his behavior at past suppers?”

  “Aye, I knew.”

  “And that he asked Stuart to remain after this supper.”

  “Aye,” Dallas said with sadness. “I dislike conflict, couldn’t confront Stuart when I should have. It was fer the best that he be asked tae leave, if that was Derrick’s intent when he asked Stuart to stay after.”

  “Derrick said he didn’t do that. That he decided to wait until another time.”

  “I’m happy tae hear that. It wouldn’t have been right tae throw him out and have him killed in the next breath. Ye have us all looking at each other wondering if the other did it. Are ye any closer tae catching his murderer? Sean blustered a wee bit when I asked him the same question.”

  “We have a few leads.” What could I say? That the trail had dead-ended at the person of Dr. Teague?

  “And one o’ those leads is pointing tae the doctor?”

  I remained silent.

  “The doctor wouldn’t hurt a soul,” Dallas said. “Ye best look elsewhere.”

  And that was exactly why I was standing in the bookshop, questioning the bookseller.