No Stranger to Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 1 (10 page)

‘Aye, but according to the police I could have gone out again later when they were asleep. As if I’d leave them alone in the house.’ Tom laughed humourlessly. ‘That bloody woman. She made my life a misery when she was alive, and she hasn’t stopped now she’s dead.’ He took out another cigarette, studied it, then returned it to the pack.

‘You know she was trying to take the girls away from me?’ he asked.

‘From what I’ve heard she didn’t stand much of a chance.’

‘Maybe so, but that didn’t stop her from telling anyone who’d listen that it wasn’t natural for a man to be bringing up two girls on his own.’

Tom fell silent. It was not until he said, ‘Ugly isn’t it?’ that Zoe realised she was staring at his tattoo.

‘Does it signify something?’

‘Only that my mates got me drunk on my birthday one year and persuaded me to get it done. I’m going to have it lasered off.’

‘It’s not that bad.’

‘Jean hates it. We’ve decided to get married in the spring, so maybe I’ll have it done before then.’

‘I hadn’t heard that news. Congratulations.’

‘With this hanging over me, she may be having second thoughts. I’m glad we didn’t tell the girls. I’d hate them to be disappointed.’

‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’

‘Aye, well, we’ll see.’ Tom got up. ‘I think I’ll put the girls into Jean’s bed. Will you come and say goodnight to them before you go?’

Appeased by the novelty of going to bed without the usual conventions of a bath, teeth-brushing or even pyjamas, the girls allowed themselves to be led away by their father after Zoe promised to bring Mac to see them again soon. Once alone, she checked her watch. It was later than she expected; Jean had been gone a long time.

‘Thank you again for helping out,’ Tom said when he reappeared.

‘I’d have thought Jean would be back by now.’

‘She refuses to carry a mobile, so I can’t contact her.’

‘Shall I try to find out what’s happening?’

‘No, really, you’ve done enough. I know my Jeanie – she’ll be home as soon as she can.’

As if on cue, they heard the front door open. Tom went out into the hall. Zoe held back, but could still hear the anguish in Jean’s voice.

‘Oh Tom, thank goodness you’re here. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been. She’s dead, Tom. Mum’s dead.’

Jean wept noisily as Tom led her into the lounge and guided her onto the sofa. She acknowledged Zoe’s presence with a raised hand, unable to speak. A few minutes passed, during which Tom held Jean and looked grim, and Zoe stroked Mac to distract him from trying to comfort the young woman himself. Eventually, in between blowing her nose and further bouts of weeping, Jean managed to tell them what had happened.

After being dropped off at Borders General Hospital by Paul, she had accompanied her mother to the x-ray department, where it was confirmed Mrs Hensward’s right arm was broken in two places. Later that afternoon, exhausted by the ordeal and her pain subdued by medication, the old lady had dozed off, so Jean took the opportunity to get herself a cup of coffee.

At this stage in her narrative Jean once again burst into noisy sobs. She exclaimed, ‘I should never have left her!’ and buried her head in Tom’s chest. Feeling superfluous, Zoe got up and took Mac outside, while Tom tried to comfort his despairing fiancée.

After its unpromising start, the day had brightened into one of those sunny, cold ones the Borders does so well. It was dark now, so the temperature had plummeted still further, although the sky was clear and Zoe found it hard to believe the dire warnings of snow on the teatime news.

As she waited for Mac to complete his circuit of the garden, her thoughts turned inevitably to the day she was summoned to receive the news from a white-faced teacher that her own mother had been involved in a serious road accident. No one would say if she was dead or alive, but even at twelve Zoe had realised no news must be very bad news. However, unlike Jean, she had not shed a tear, even when her worst fears were confirmed. Gran and Grandpa, well-meaning but virtual strangers to her, had rationalised this as ‘being brave’, never giving Zoe the opportunity to explain it was not a matter of choice. Bawling her eyes out would have been preferable to the solid mass of grief which had lodged in her chest for many months.

Anxious to escape these memories, Zoe let herself back into the house and found Tom and Jean sitting silently, their arms wrapped around each other. It was as if they were waiting for her return, because Jean immediately continued with her story.

Before leaving her mother’s bedside, she had asked a nurse to keep an eye on her. The nurse went to check on Mrs Hensward a few minutes later, and had noticed straight away that something was wrong. Jean had returned to find the hospital staff battling to save her mother’s life, but the heart attack had been too severe. Mrs Hensward was declared dead at around the time Zoe was sitting down with the twins to eat tea.

‘I didn’t know where you were, Tom,’ Jean said. ‘The nurses were ever so kind and they offered to call someone, but I thought you might still be with the police. I couldn’t tell them that, could I?’

Chapter 11

The next morning, Zoe bolted down her breakfast, eager to discover what had been accomplished since her builders’ return to work. She put on the thickest sweater she owned under her jacket. If the first snow of winter arrived while they were out, she was ready for it.

As she and Mac approached Larimer Lodge, she spotted someone walking ahead of them on the road. The slight figure was accompanied by a small white dog; both were moving very slowly. At that moment, a dark blue Volvo estate drove past. It was travelling at such a speed that Zoe tugged Mac up onto the grass verge beside her and shouted, ‘Slow down!’ after it. Her eyes were drawn to the car’s number plate: LTM had been her mother’s initials.

The Volvo braked sharply as it caught up with the second walker and his dog, and veered over to the other side of the road to avoid them, before disappearing round a corner.

‘Lucky we weren’t in a car coming the opposite way,’ Zoe told Mac, as they started walking up the Larimer Park drive.

She found plenty of evidence at the coach house that the builders had been there recently. Cigarette butts were strewn outside the front door and an assortment of equipment, including a cement mixer and an old vacuum cleaner, had been left under the arch.

Her irritation grew into indignation then anger as she went from room to room, trying to find evidence of any actual work having been done. She kicked the new staircase lying prone on the floor and grimaced with pain. It may be Saturday but she was going to phone Gerry Hall as soon as she got back to the cottage and tell him to take away his tools and send her a bill for the meagre amount of work accomplished so far.

Zoe’s imagined conversation with her builder was interrupted by a strange sound resembling a primitive wind instrument, accompanied by frantic barking. She raced outside and traced the noise to the far end of the building, where Mac had backed a male peacock against the wall. Both were engaged in noisy displays of fearlessness.

Unsure which creature she should be most concerned about, Zoe shouted Mac’s name. Momentarily distracted, he backed off slightly and the peacock took advantage of this to make its getaway, initially running along the ground then soaring into the air, still protesting loudly. Undeterred by the bird’s rapidly increasing altitude and ignoring Zoe’s calls, Mac ran off along the drive in pursuit.

Zoe followed him and stumbled over a pothole, only just managing not to end up sprawled on the ground. Then she realised she could no longer hear barking.

Running faster, she rounded a bend and saw a car parked awkwardly, the driver’s door open, its engine still running. Peter Pengelly was on his knees in front of the vehicle, leaning over a motionless Mac.

‘Oh my God!’ Zoe ran over and threw herself down next to the dog.

‘I only clipped him,’ Peter said. His hand shook as he pushed his hair off his face to look up at her.

‘There’s blood on your trousers. He’s bleeding.’

‘I always drive carefully along here. You never know when a rabbit or deer might run out. I’m sure I only clipped him.’

Zoe stroked her dog’s head. ‘Come on, Mac, wake up. Please.’

Mac opened his eyes and whined. Then he stood up and shook himself.

Zoe felt sick; her tea tasted metallic. Mac had had a lucky escape, his only injury a graze on one of his front legs. He had shown no sign of being in pain until Peter took a first-aid box from a cupboard and Zoe applied a dab of antiseptic to the leg, provoking a short yelp. His tail was soon wagging again as he gulped down every piece of ginger biscuit Peter offered him.

‘Do you want to ring the vet and arrange for him to be checked over?’ Peter asked. ‘I can drive you there if they’ll see him straightaway.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on him, but I don’t think there’s any need for a vet,’ Zoe said. ‘It would be good, though, if you could take us home when I’ve finished my tea.’

Bored now the supply of biscuits had dried up, Mac wandered over to Bert and Tom in their bed beside the Aga. When the cats stood up and spat at him, Peter and Zoe shared a smile, but Zoe could not think of anything to say. She was finding it difficult not to dwell on what might have happened had Peter not been driving so carefully. Less than a year ago she would have told anyone else in a similar situation, ‘It’s only a dog,’ but today’s mishap made her realise just how much Mac meant to her. She called him over and hugged him. He sat down, leaning against her leg.

Peter had not volunteered any information as to his brother’s whereabouts, and Zoe was about to ask if he would be home soon when Neil sauntered in, his attention focused on pulling a packet of bacon out of the plastic shopping bag he carried. He looked up and saw Zoe, and his face broke into a broad smile.

‘This is a nice surprise. Come for breakfast, have you, Doctor?’ he said.

‘I’m not here by choice.’

‘I nearly ran the dog over,’ Peter said.

‘Shit. Come here, boy. Are you okay?’ Neil bent over Mac and ran a hand along his back.

‘I only clipped him,’ Peter said.

‘He was lucky – Mac, I mean,’ Zoe said. ‘Peter was driving slowly enough to be able to stop in time. He just grazed one of his legs.’

‘Chasing a rabbit, was he?’

‘No, a peacock, believe it or not.’

‘Mac, you silly bugger.’

‘I thought he was dead.’

‘Poor old you.’ Before she realised his intention, Neil pulled Zoe to her feet and put his arms around her. She stood immobile, feeling more comforted than she would have expected.

He released her and moved towards the Aga. ‘I prescribe a bacon butty for the shock.’

‘Thanks, but I had breakfast before I came out. I just need a lift back to the cottage.’

‘What do you make of this woman?’ Neil asked his brother in mock despair. ‘She’s always turning me down. I must be getting old. I never used to have this problem.’

Expressionless, Peter gathered up the mugs on the table and carried them over to the sink. His silence did not seem to bother Neil, who turned his attention back to Zoe.

‘I can see you’re upset, so I’ll take you home. But promise you’ll let me serve you up a bacon butty soon.’

Zoe did not answer. She was still trying to reconcile her indifference toward this annoying man with how happy that brief physical contact with him had made her feel.

As they bumped along the drive a few minutes later, she remembered leaving the coach house unsecured, so Neil stopped to let her lock up. On her way back to the Land Rover she glanced at the inert cement mixer.

‘What’s annoying you?’ Neil asked, as they pulled away.

‘How do you know I’m annoyed?’

‘You shake your head and your ponytail swishes like an angry cat’s tail. I’ve spotted it a few times now. You’d be rubbish at poker.’

‘Oh really? You’re obviously very good at it, seeing how observant you are.’

‘There’s no need to be touchy. I like looking at you, that’s all. Anyway, what’s the problem? I saw Gerry’s men here yesterday. Haven’t they done what they were supposed to?’

‘They haven’t done anything at all, except dump more of their crap. I’m seriously considering getting someone else to finish the conversion.’

‘Do you want me to have a word with Gerry?’

Zoe didn’t need help from anyone, and started to tell Neil so. He put up a hand to stop her.

‘I know you can fight your own battles, but I’ve worked with these guys. At least let me try.’

‘Oh, all right. What have I got to lose?’

‘Nothing, I promise.’

Wondering whether to invite him in for coffee when they reached Keeper’s Cottage, Zoe remembered she had used up the last of the milk at breakfast. ‘Can we take a detour to the shop?’

She had heard from many sources how Lisa and Brian Humphreys had rescued Westerlea’s general store and post office from almost certain closure when they took it over. Unable to compete on price with supermarkets in the surrounding towns, they gained the community’s support by working hard to offer more choice than was usually found locally. They even sold taramasalata, one of Zoe’s favourite foods.

Lisa was alone in the shop, saving Zoe from pretending not to notice Brian’s inability to keep his hands off his much younger wife, even while she served customers. The girl shared her husband’s slight build and pallid complexion; despite being surrounded by food all day they never looked well-fed. Today her skinny jeans and tight T-shirt made her seem positively malnourished.

Anxious not to keep Neil waiting, Zoe walked briskly past the delights of the deli counter to pick up a carton of milk and the local newspaper. She might come back later for a wedge of carrot cake. Lisa smiled shyly and took Zoe’s money without a word. The silence was broken when a woman Zoe remembered meeting on Bonfire Night hurried in.

‘You’ll never guess what’s happening,’ she said. ‘That’s the police over at the Bairds’ house again. Gregor came back last night. I expect they’re here to arrest him.’