No Stranger to Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 1 (30 page)

Just after they crossed the Tweed via a narrow stone bridge, their arrival in England was announced by an inconspicuous sign. A minute or so later, they were in Norham. Zoe drove along a wide street lined with terraced houses, past a pub on one side, a gunsmith’s shop on the other, until Hazel guided her to a single-storey cottage with a brown front door and window frames painted to match.

A short, tubby man in his sixties appeared on the doorstep as Zoe got out of the car. He wore cream trousers, a checked shirt and a moss-green jacket. Some sort of military medal was pinned to his lapel.

‘Mrs Anderson, how nice to see you. And you’ve brought a friend.’ He held his hand out to Zoe.

‘Colonel Stevens, this is Doctor Moreland. She’s suffered a loss too.’

The Colonel withdrew his hand before Zoe could shake it. ‘What sort of doctor?’

‘I’m a GP.’

‘Her husband passed a few months ago.’ Hazel patted Zoe’s arm.

‘I see.’ The Colonel did not offer his hand again, instead he stared at Zoe as though trying to read her mind.

She forced a smile, despite the unease this scrutiny provoked. ‘Hazel suggested I come with her. She thought you could help me too.’

‘I doubt that. People in your profession have such closed minds. But you can sit and wait while I consult with Mrs Anderson.’

Once inside, Zoe sat down on a low, uncomfortable sofa the Colonel pointed to before he led Hazel away.

Chapter 38

Colonel Lucas C Stevens is a fully accredited psychic medium with many years experience. He brings comfort and reassurance to the bereaved by acting as a channel between them and the spirits of their loved ones. Money back guarantee if not completely satisfied
.

Zoe put down the flimsy leaflet with a grunt of disgust. No wonder Ray had tried to prevent Hazel from wasting her money on this charlatan. The military rank was probably invented too.

She sat for half an hour in the stuffy little room, flicking through a pile of magazines, none of them less than five years old, and checking her mobile for calls. At last the door opened and Hazel came in, followed by Colonel Stevens.

Hazel wore a hippyish smile. ‘Duncan’s at peace,’ she told Zoe. ‘He’s happy and he forgives his father for everything.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Zoe got out her car keys. ‘We’d better be going.’

‘But it’s your turn now. That’s why you came, isn’t it?’

Colonel Stevens stepped between them. ‘I don’t think she’s quite ready for my ministrations, are you Doctor?’

‘Oh dear,’ Hazel said, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘I forgot to tell her she’d need to bring something belonging to her loved one.’ She held up the plastic bag; a piece of tartan material hung out of the top of it. Duncan’s kilt, Zoe guessed.

Colonel Stevens peered up at Zoe. ‘Sometimes it’s possible to make contact unaided with those in the ongoing life, if the spirit is strong enough,’ he said. ‘Your late husband is most anxious to put things right between you, Doctor, before it’s too late.’

‘He’s dead. In my book that makes it too late for anything.’

Zoe grasped Hazel’s arm and steered her out through the front door. During their drive back to Westerlea, she hesitantly suggested they could meet the following day for a chat at the surgery, but the continuing euphoria from her session with Colonel Stevens made Hazel unresponsive to any conversation that did not centre around Duncan.

After dropping Hazel off at the pub, Zoe continued on to Keeper’s Cottage beset by worry that she should have done more. However elated that so called Colonel made Hazel feel now, the effects would wear off eventually. And when they did, Hazel was certain to plunge even deeper into depression.

Zoe felt like a teenager, trying – and, to her own ears, failing – to sound casual. ‘Hi, it’s me again. Call me when you can. Hope you’re okay.’

It was the third message she had left for Neil. Although only thirty-six hours had passed since he got out of her bed and went home, not hearing from him testified yet again to how little she knew about him.
Was he demonstrating a casual attitude towards relationships in general or did it mean he was having second thoughts about theirs in particular?

After Russell, she had doubted anyone could wound her again. Yet the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach and the voice in her head murmuring,
He’s lost interest now you’ve slept with him
, told a different story.

She typed a text to Kate, giving her a brief account of the trip to Norham, but a last-minute thought stopped her from pressing send. She had gone to see Hazel in her capacity as a doctor, so maybe that made the encounter she subsequently observed between Hazel and Colonel Stevens confidential. True, none of it had happened in her consulting room, but she heard again Paul quoting the GMC guidelines: ‘Confidentiality is central to the trust between doctors and patients.’

Zoe deleted the text.

Chapter 39

As Zoe and Kate strode up the path towards the open door of Westerlea’s church, Zoe said, ‘You’re looking suitably funereal. No pink today?’

Kate grinned and thrust a hand down behind her black skirt’s waistband. She brought it out holding the elasticated top of a pair of pink panties trimmed with cream lace.

Both women were still suppressing giggles as they entered the church. It was roomier than it appeared from the outside, yet most of the pews were full and Zoe was thankful Kate’s parents had saved them seats.

‘Whatever you do, try not to chat with Kate during the service,’ Etta said as Zoe sat down next to her. ‘She doesn’t whisper well.’

Coffins always look too small
. Zoe had wanted to stop her mother’s burial, to shout out there was no way such a vigorous woman would have allowed herself to be crammed into so tiny a box. More recently, she had been shocked by the ease with which Russell’s friends lifted his coffin on to their shoulders. And here she was again, this time with no emotional investment in the deceased but still startled by the inadequate-looking coffins which arrived in tandem.

Dragged from her reverie by the sound of singing, she flicked through the pages of her hymn book to catch up. Kate sat in silence, looking straight ahead. Despite being for two people, the service was brief, the young minister expressing regret that he had not tended this, his first flock, long enough to get to know either of the deceased. When it was over, the mourners trooped out and stood around in groups. Much handshaking ensued.

‘You’re the doctor lassie from England who found them, eh?’ Like nearly everyone Etta introduced her to, the elderly man with a walking frame knew exactly who Zoe was. She quickly learned all she had to do was smile; they had little interest in anything she had to say. The succession of strangers passed by in a blur of faces and names she would never remember.

She saw some familiar faces as well, although she was not surprised to observe that Neil and Peter were not among them. Sergeant Trent stood alone, half hidden behind a yew tree, and when his eyes met Zoe’s he nodded in acknowledgement. Then she spotted Gregor and Alice moving quickly through the throng, barely stopping to speak to anyone. He wore mismatched dark trousers and jacket, she had on an old-fashioned black coat that swamped her. They climbed into a maroon Jaguar which set off slowly behind the hearse carrying their parents’ coffins.

Tom and Jean appeared straight after, as if they had been waiting for his ex-wife to leave before venturing out, with Angie and Maddy in matching coats walking between them. They too bypassed several well-wishers, only pausing at the church gate for Jean to fasten the twins’ coats while Tom lit a cigarette. Then they crossed the road, Jean and the girls got into a silver Peugeot, and Tom inhaled deeply on his cigarette before throwing it into the verge and joining them.

Something niggled at Zoe about what she had just observed. It reminded her of the day Tom came round to sweep her chimney, but she could not figure out why. Before she could give the matter any more thought, her attention was caught by the sound of someone calling her name. She hardly recognised Paul, whose wardrobe she had imagined consisted solely of baggy chinos and tartan ties. Today, however, he looked dapper in a navy suit, and was accompanied by an equally stylish Margaret, whose black outfit was topped off with a matching pillbox hat. Zoe exchanged a few words with them, then joined Kate and her parents in the procession of mourners walking to the cemetery.

Traffic through Westerlea, including the postman in his van, was stopped for several minutes to allow the mourners to pass. Ranald Mackenzie had refused all offers of a lift and insisted on going by foot like everyone else, his only concession to ill-health being the use of a stick. Zoe, Kate and Etta moved at his pace, and as a result they were nearly the last to arrive.

Preparations were still taking place for the actual interments, so Zoe slipped away as Kate and her parents chatted with a woman who looked like an older version of Etta. Despite the buzz of human voices, the cemetery felt peaceful. Even the wind, which when they left the heat of the church had made Zoe long for her woolly hat, was not blowing here. She walked along a grass path between the serried rows of graves, stopping occasionally to read an inscription that grabbed her attention. The same names – Jardine, Dixon and, of course, Mackenzie – cropped up time and time again.

She sat down on a wooden bench under the beech hedge, closed her eyes and was immediately transported back to Russell’s funeral. Even though surrounded by dozens of people, she had felt as alone then as she did now. The hot, humid day had brought out a profusion of insects, and she remembered standing at the graveside, trying to keep her composure by watching a butterfly feed on a wreath of purple and cream flowers. When she had eventually looked up, hardly any of the other mourners had met her gaze.

A soft voice brought her back to the present. ‘They say the first year’s the worst. Your first Christmas or anniversary without them, the day that would have been their birthday.’ Etta sat down beside her. ‘I can’t imagine how difficult coming here must be for you.’

‘It’s not easy,’ Zoe said.

‘You can never escape your memories. If it’s any consolation, eventually you won’t want to.’

That seemed unlikely, but Zoe agreed anyway. She pulled her coat around her, preparing to get up.

‘Don’t go, please,’ Etta said. ‘I need to talk to you about something that’s been worrying me dreadfully.’

Etta’s role within the Mackenzie family being counsellor-cum-peacemaker with a big helping of oracle thrown in, the problem had to be serious for her to confide in someone she had met only a few times. Zoe asked, ‘How can I help?’ but her question went unanswered. Following Etta’s gaze, she saw Kate approaching.

‘Dad sent me. They’re ready to bury them now. Are you two coming over?’

Zoe walked with Kate and her mother back to the Bairds’ burial site. Jimmy was first to be put into the ground, the cords lowering his coffin held by his son and five much older men, one of whom Zoe recognised from the pub as the first Mrs Baird’s brother. The task of lowering Chrissie’s remains – for the first time in days, the image of that blackened form stirred in Zoe’s mind – was undertaken by Gregor again, aided by the funeral director’s team.

When the time came for handfuls of earth to be scattered on Chrissie’s coffin, Tom stepped forward with one of his daughters, who picked up a few grains of dirt and flung them towards the open grave. Alice then attempted to follow suit with the other twin. This little girl hung back, started to cry, and ran to Jean. Her sister joined in with her own tears.

Alice turned to Tom and pointed a finger at him. ‘You told them to do this, didn’t you?’

Some of the mourners walked away in embarrassment, while others stood their ground, watching to see what would happen next.

‘I warned you they were too young,’ Tom said.

‘She was their granny. I want them to say goodbye to her.’

‘So do I, but we should have done what Jean suggested and brought them here another day.’

Alice strode over to Jean, who was holding a handkerchief while one of the twins blew her nose into it. ‘This is all your fault,’ she said. ‘You’re desperate to show off what a great mother you think you are to my kids.’

Jean said nothing but looked as though she wanted to start crying herself. Tom rushed to her side.

‘Leave her alone,’ he told Alice. ‘Why are you doing this? I’m giving you everything you want, aren’t I?’

‘Not got much choice, have you?’ His ex-wife turned away from him and linked arms with Gregor, who had come up behind her. The crowd of onlookers parted, allowing the pair to walk to where their car was waiting. Everyone watched silently as they got in and were driven away.

As soon as they had gone, people started talking again. Tom lifted one of the girls up on to his hip and laid his hand on the other’s head. Jean fiddled with the crucifix hanging round her neck.

‘That was unseemly,’ Kate said. ‘Fancy making a scene at your own mother’s funeral.’

‘Grief does strange things to people,’ Etta said.

‘I can’t believe you’re making excuses for her, Mum. You’d never tolerate any of us behaving that way in public. Or in private.’

‘All I’m saying is that Alice is obviously a very unhappy young woman.’

‘She chose to run off and leave Tom with the twins. Why is it only now she’s after getting them back?’

‘Perhaps she’s scared. Suddenly she has no other living relative.’ Etta put her arm round Kate’s shoulders. ‘Imagine how you’d feel if that happened to you. No brothers, no parents, your children being brought up by somebody else.’

Kate leaned into her mother and Zoe felt a pang of envy at the closeness the two women shared. She chased this away by puzzling over what Etta could possibly need her advice about.

Sherry, which Zoe detested, was being served half an hour later to the mourners who had chosen to go back to The Rocket for lunch. Hazel reacted to Zoe’s expression when offered a schooner of the stuff by saying, ‘There’s a bottle of whisky put aside for them that wants it. Or beer. Ray’s in charge of those.’