Hooked on Ewe (10 page)

In the early evening, Vicki appeared at my cottage door with a covered dish in her hands.

“Barefoot broth,” she told me, setting it down on my small kitchen table. “It’s been such fun making some of the Scottish dishes that I remember from my childhood.”

The aroma was heavenly. Vicki was an excellent cook. “Barefoot broth?”

“Potatoes, barley, cabbage, turnips, whatever is on hand. As the days cool off, I’m thinking about inky-pinky and bubblyjock.”

She laughed at the expression on my face and went on to translate. “Inky-pinky is beef-and-carrot stew and bubblyjock is roast turkey. You’ll get a chance to try both before . . .”

The light in her eye turned sad. She didn’t finish her sentence.

We both knew what she meant. Before I had to leave Scotland.

Quickly changing the subject, she said, “I made a big batch and took some over to the Lindseys.”

“How are they doing?”

Vicki shrugged. “Bryan wasn’t available. Andrea seems to be screening his visitors, making sure he’s left in peace as much as possible. She thanked me, though.”

“You’re a good person, Vicki.”

“I do what I can.”

“Do you want to stay and chat?”

“No, I better dash,” she said.

“A hot date?”

“I’m expecting company is all,” she said vaguely.

“I was hoping you could make a few phone calls to the members you sent kits to,” I said, still bothered by my confrontation with Kirstine. “Make sure they arrived, let them know that we will have to pick them up. Let them know in a nice way, of course.”

“A few calls! I packaged twenty-two! I’ll contact them first thing tomorrow. Okay?”

What could I say? I couldn’t insist. The woman was expecting company. And I was pretty sure I knew who it was.

Speaking of company—I hadn’t been expecting any but soon after I’d finished the delicious barefoot broth and straightened up the kitchen, Leith Cameron and Kelly dropped by on their way home from the chartered ocean fishing excursion. It was still drizzling, fog patches had drifted lazily into our valley right before dark, and the air was heavy with the promise of more precipitation. In the
yellow glow from my table lamp, Leith was sun-nipped and wind tossed. He smelled of fresh sea breeze as he sank into my armchair in the humble little cottage I now called home (however temporarily) and accepted my offer of a hot cup of tea.

“A fine fishing day. We caught plenty o’ bass and a few flounder,” he reported, biting into a shortbread I offered, which I had recently purchased at Taste of Scotland, handmade by Ginny Davis. Leith went on, “And a conservation-minded bunch o’ blokes they were, practicing catch and release, since they were on a business trip with no way tae keep their catch anyway. And nary a single mate hanging over the rails.”

“No excessive drinking?” I asked, pleased when Kelly came and sat down next to me. Her eyes closed in contentment as I massaged one ear then the other.

“There was some, but this lot could hold their liquor.”

I smiled with pleasure at his enthusiasm for his work. What a life Leith led—raising barley for the production of whisky in fertile Highland soil, spending pleasurable days on the water of the North Sea or wading the River Spey, enjoying a local whisky or brew here and there. An active outdoorsman, rugged and capable. It gave me pause to consider what it would be like to travel in Leith’s world, glamorous as it seemed on the surface. But he’d been out all day in the rain. Spending the entire day outside, rain or shine, wasn’t my thing. Customers who might or might not behave themselves, rough seas, rain gear, dampness that penetrated and chilled the bones, gave me a better perspective.

I shook off my initial jealousy. My life was rich in color
as well, even though I chose to live inside my head as much as or more than I did outside of myself. I created action scenes. Leith lived them. The introverted me served tea, while the extroverted he related his adventures on the high seas. Although I hardly had anything to complain about, either. Here I was wishing for Leith’s life when probably many dreamed of having one like mine. I should be happy with what I had.

Actually, I realized with a sense of contentment, I was.

I had to admit that I’d been missing something in the past, but I’d found it the minute I stepped off the plane and walked into this new country. Back home, I’d lost my way, had barely existed. These days, though, I feel alive.

Besides, after the last few days, nobody could accuse me of retreating from life. Events had been far more exciting than I preferred.

Leith helped himself to another shortbread.

The romantic side of me had chosen to loosely base my hero Jack Ross in the first of the Scottish Highlands Desire stories on this man. If only Leith knew about that little fantasy and his role in it! What would he think? He would never find out unless I told him, and that would never happen.
But what if he read the book?
I hadn’t considered that until this moment. I could only hope he wouldn’t recognize himself within the pages if he did.

“What have ye been up tae since morning?” he asked.

“You won’t believe what I’m going to be doing,” I said, going on to tell him about my new appointment as special constable.

“You’ll be an asset tae the inspector, that’s fer sure,” he said when I finished describing the brief ceremony. “But
watch yerself out there. That line o’ work is as dangerous as bad weather is on the open sea. The difference being those o’ us who travel these waters usually are aware from certain signs if conditions are aboot tae turn on us. You might not have that same warning when it comes tae criminal types.”

“The inspector isn’t going to give me anything I can’t handle,” I assured him. “He’s so used to investigating solo and on his own terms, it’s going to be difficult for him to accept my help for anything other than the most mundane tasks.”

“What does Sean Stevens think o’ all this?”

“He’s looking forward to bossing me around once he gets his permanent badge.”

“Isn’t that just like him.”

We laughed together.

“I have a fishing charter later tomorrow morn,” Leith said. “But if ye don’t mind rising early, and if ye care tae meet me at the harbor fer a short ride, I would like tae show ye something.”

“What is it?” I had so much to do tomorrow as it was. None of it pleasurable, though. I’d love to chuck it all for the open sea.

“I’m hoping tae surprise ye.”

“I like surprises.” Oh my gosh. We were flirting. “But tomorrow is going to be busy, so I can’t afford to be away for long.”

“Aye, an hour or so and I’ll return ye to chasin’ yer villains?”

I laughed.

Leith gave me a winning, lopsided grin. “How aboot seven?”

Inwardly I groaned. Outwardly, I smiled and said, “Seven is fine.”

“First light at sea is a priceless experience.”

“You just ruined the surprise.”

“Not a bit,” he said mysteriously. “Ye’ll see.”

A few minutes later, he stood. “I best be goin’ home tae give Kelly her supper.”

After they left, I’d barely cleared away the dishes when I thought to check my mobile phone. I’d turned off the ringer in the pub so I could focus on my work, and had forgotten to turn the volume back up. The phone rang in my hand.

A familiar voice on the other end said, “It’s aboot time ye answered. I was ready tae drive over and wait fer ye to show up.”

“Inspector. And hello to you.”

“Ye haven’t set up the voice messaging, forcing me tae call repeatedly.”

“I’ll take care of that,” I said reluctantly, with little enthusiasm to follow through. I was getting used to freedom from devices that tracked my every movement and from long lists of those excepting immediate responses to their voice messages. “And you shouldn’t have bothered. I can see the missed calls from you.”

“Is it too late fer me tae come by yer cottage? I’m still in the area.”

“Not at all. I’ll put on the tea.”

After hanging up, I wondered where he might have been when he’d made the call to me. That led to a moment of speculation over his solitary life and his home. I’d heard that he lived in a remote area well outside of Glenkillen
and inland from the sea. In a hunting lodge of some sort. Sean had told me that after his wife’s death, the inspector had sold their village home, preferring the woodland seclusion of a rustic cabin.

In contrast, Leith Cameron, like most gregarious individuals, never minded sharing his past, present, and future plans. We’d had long conversations about his family history, about his ancestors who worked the important small-scale food production land while sharing grazing on the poorer-quality hillsides. These early tenant farmers were called crofters, and Leith still lived in the traditional crofter farmhouse where he’d been born and raised.

Inspector Jamieson, on the other hand, rarely allowed a conversation to turn from professional to personal, and when it threatened to do just that, he rapidly brought it round to topics of a less private nature.

Ten minutes later, his knock resounded, and he swept into the room when I opened the door. “I thought we might begin by breaking down the list o’ those we need tae interview first thing,” he said after hanging his raincoat on a hook by the door to dry and we were situated at the table with yet another pot of tea and more shortbreads. I cradled my cup, enjoying the warmth, but had had more than enough of the beverage for one day if I expected to sleep later.

“Have you acquired any new information since we last spoke?” I asked.

“Follow-ups with the deceased’s family haven’t uncovered anything more as o’ yet. Nor has the van. I’ve been wading through more paperwork than I’d like and the feeling that I’m muckin’ aboot instead o’ solving this thing. I
have high hopes that morns mornin’ will bring better results.”

I must be getting used to Scottish vernaculars because I didn’t miss a beat with the meaning of morns mornin’, aka tomorrow morning. And a fresh start to the murder investigation.

“What would you like me to do?” I asked. “Sean told me about the seven kits that weren’t picked up. That means only six were.”

“If ye would be so kind as tae have words with those six as well as any who were present who ye know will cooperate with ye, I’ll start with the others.”

“So I shouldn’t have spoken with Kirstine Derry?”

There was a significant pause before the inspector said, “Probably not. I’m fully aware of the tension between Kirstine and yerself, and it would have been best to leave her fer me. But since ye did, what transpired?”

I went on to tell him of our conversation. “She’s hiding something,” I said at the end. “And it has to do with those kits she mailed.”

“Ye be thinking she didn’t post them?”

“Possibly. But it’s only a feeling, and might be tied more to our discord than any actual deception on her part. In any case, Vicki intends to call those members tomorrow and verify they were received. I thought I’d stop at the post office in the morning and confirm her story. I’ll be in Glenkillen anyway, since I want to question Senga.”

“Paul Denoon won’t release information to just anybody.”

“I’m no longer just anybody since my appointment,” I said. “Besides, he’s warming to me.”

“And how do ye know that?”

“I believe he actually tipped his head in a brief nod when we sat down at his table under the tent.”

I heard the amusement in his tone when he said, “Well that settles it, then. You take on the postmaster. But if ye learn anything of value, speak to me before ye take action.”

“Of course.” I had visions of search warrants for Kirstine’s home and vehicle dancing in my head.

What a team we were about to become. I would track down skeins distributed at the event, the inspector would continue to search for clues to more damaging evidence, Vicki and Sean would account for the twenty-two that had been mailed, and somewhere along the way, we’d figure out who the murderer was and bring justice to the dead woman.

“We need tae move quickly,” he said next. “Time is critical. Can ye put off yer writing temporarily? It’s fer a good cause.”

Well, when he asked like that, what could I possibly say but yes? Besides, I was here in the Highlands in pursuit of authenticity, for firsthand experiences rather than research from afar. I’d met some pretty unique characters in the three months I’d been in the Highlands. Some of them were bound to show up on the pages of my books, and I told myself that all of this would make great fodder for future scenes.

Jamieson drank his tea in silence, lost in thought. Then abruptly he set down his cup with a clatter and said, “Ye need to ask the following during yer interrogations of those at the farm Saturday afternoon: Did ye see anything suspicious? Did ye see Isla Lindsey? And if so, where was she
and what was she doing? If they spoke with her, get the entire conversation down in a notebook. Was she angry or upset, that sort o’ thing.”

“Like a detective on a crime show.”

“Aye, on the telly, if that’s what works fer ye. And don’t forget tae take their kits away with ye.”

I nodded, expecting that. “You know, they’re all going to worry that they’re suspects.”