Competition Can Be Murder (4 page)

“There, this should hit the spot,” Sarah said, bustling back in with the tea.

As quickly as she’d reheated the pot, I had to assume that even ancient castles had microwave ovens in the modern age. She glanced up at the door.

“So, what was that you were saying about missing lambs?” she asked as Robert entered the room.

“Rrrr,” he growled. “Two more. From the same flock as before. Don’t get me started—I’m angry as hell about this.”

“Here, have your tea,” Sarah soothed, offering him a cup which she’d poured and laced with milk and sugar.

He took it and eased back into one of the overstuffed chairs.

“What do you think has happened to the missing lambs?” I asked, not catching Sarah’s warning glance in time.

“Same damn thing.” The growl was back in his voice. “Stolen.”

“Now, Robert, you don’t know that for a fact,” Sarah said quietly.

“I bloody well do!” He glanced at me. “Excuse my language.”

I waved it off.

“That young bloke . . . whatever his name is. You know bloody well that he’d love to increase his own flock. And he’s made no secret that he thinks I’m part of the problem with price controls on wool. I wasn’t one of the MSPs who voted that in, you know.”

Ian Brodie, I thought, remembering the snatch of conversation I’d overheard at the store this morning. I almost opened my mouth, but didn’t.

“Always griping about the cost of feed, cost of medicine for the sheep. Damned ingrate doesn’t even appreciate that I’m giving him the lowest lease rates around for pasture.”

“We’re not
the
lowest,” Sarah murmured, not very loudly. “And your position in Parliament certainly doesn’t make you anti-farmer. He’s just spouting off, I’m sure.”

“And that attitude of his, like we owe him something because we’ve got it all and he has nothing. Huh. Man has no idea what a struggle it is to keep a place like this afloat. Trade places with me, he wouldn’t last a month.” He paused to take a sip of his tea.

“Enough of this,” Sarah declared. “Let’s get to know Charlie. Robert, she’s the first female helicopter pilot I’ve ever met.”

“Is that so?” he replied. “Are you really? Guess I thought your husband was the pilot.”

“Well, he is. He taught me to fly and we share the duties.” I explained briefly that we’d come to help Brian Swinney while his mother was ill. “Drake has had some fascinating experiences during his career. I think you’d enjoy meeting him.”

“And is this what you do at home, too? New Mexico, did someone tell me?”

“Actually, back home I’m a partner in a private investigation firm. With my brother, Ron. I help Drake out in his own helicopter business there, but just on a limited basis.”

“Investigator, eh?” Robert picked up on that tidbit right away. “Well, maybe you can find these lambs for me.”

I chuckled at the thought. “Believe me, I wouldn’t know one lamb from another and watching me try to catch one would probably be a spectacle worth selling tickets to.”

“Ah, a little extra cash flow.” He laughed, a deep, rich sound.

I finished my tea and told them I better be on my way. Sarah reminded me to take the clan book with me, and Robert offered to walk me to the door.

“We’ll plan dinner sometime soon. You’ve been delightful company and I’d like to meet Drake.” He patted me on the shoulder and held the heavy wooden door open for me.

Dusk darkened the sky as I arrived back at the cottage. Red Fern. It was the only time I’d lived in a house with a name. For the first time I noticed that there were thick patches of ferns growing around the little garden wall. A mist had begun to rise over the open moorland to the north. Southward, the pine forest appeared dense and black, with tendrils of mist playing at the tops of the trees. I hurried into the cottage and fired up the electric logs again. Drake should be here within the hour.

After two cups of tea and two slices of cake, I wasn’t particularly hungry. But Drake would be, with all that sea air and adrenaline drawing at his reserves, so I decided soup would be a good choice for dinner. I opened a couple of the cans I’d bought this morning and added a few extra vegetables and a dash of wine to spark them up. Simmering gently on the stove, the scent filled the cozy rooms. I made a quick salad and put it into the fridge to stay chilled, then let the bottle of wine breathe on the counter.

I was just trying to decide between switching on the TV set or pulling out the book I’d begun reading nearly a week ago on the airplane. For some reason, I just wasn’t getting into the story, but maybe that was because of the week’s distractions. Before I’d made a choice, I saw the headlights of Drake’s company van pull into the lane. At least this was a welcome distraction.

“Whew! It’s getting chilly out there,” he said as he breezed through the front door.

“Misty, huh? Dampness going to your bones?” Our high-desert climate at home in Albuquerque brings cooler temperatures with nightfall, too, but there’s rarely any dampness associated with it. We were learning to adjust and pull out the sweaters.

“How was your day?” Drake asked, planting a kiss on my mouth before pulling off his jacket that smelled of sea breezes and jet fuel.

“Very interesting. I’ll fill you in during dinner.”

“Something sure smells good. I’m starving.”

“Wine first? Or with dinner?” I headed toward the kitchen as I made the offer.

“Mind if I have a quick shower first? I think I smell.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything . . .”

He’d come up behind me and he grabbed a dish towel and gave me a quick pop on the butt with it.

“Hey!”

“Pour the wine,” he suggested. “I’ll step into the shower and, unless you join me in there, I’ll be ready to relax in about ten minutes.”

I thought he was going to give me another quick peck, but the kiss lingered then became one of those that sends tingles clear to the toes. Before I knew it, I was, indeed, in the shower with him and it was more like an hour later that we poured the wine.

“
Now
I’m relaxed,” he murmured, as I ladled soup into bowls and quickly set the table. He carried the glasses to the table and we opted to switch off the overhead light and burn a candle instead.

I filled Drake in on my day, including the bit of overheard conversation between Ian Brodie and the other man and Robert Dunbar’s suspicions about his lambs being stolen.

“I’m sure it was Ian he was talking about when he said the young farmer probably took the lambs. Unless, do you suppose they have a number of different men leasing grazing pasture?”

“Hard to say, hon,” Drake answered. “This place is huge. Didn’t they tell us the whole property was around 20,000 acres? Dunworthy runs a prize herd of Angus cattle, quite a number of sheep, and they’ve also got land planted in barley, which they sell to the distilleries. And that’s in addition to the parcels they lease out so others can farm them.”

“Really? Well, in that case maybe there are any number of suspects.” I caught myself. “Listen to me. I’m talking like this is a case I have to solve.”

“Well, watch out, or you will be solving it. You’re gonna be up to your neck in it, just like you usually are.”

I ignored his gentle jibe. It wasn’t meant to be critical, just a reminder that I do tend to get myself into things I don’t want to do, and I’ve found myself in life-threatening situations on more than one occasion because of it.

We finished off dinner with some fresh fruit and I noticed Drake’s eyelids drooping. “Why don’t you relax in front of the TV for awhile, or just go on to bed?” I suggested. “Isn’t tomorrow another early day?”

“Yeah, and I forgot to mention it’s an early one for you too,” he said. “We’re supposed to start service to a new platform and I want you to go along with me and learn where it is. You can get a little time in the Astar that way, too.”

It was only nine o’clock but the long day was suddenly catching up with both of us. I went around the small cottage, closing drapes, even though there was nothing out there but open moor on one side and forest on the other. Before bolting the front door I decided to step out and see whether the mist had cleared. If anything it was thicker. Tiny droplets of moisture beaded on my face and hair. Beside the cottage, the cars were barely visible beyond the garden wall. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled with a mournful sound. I shivered and rubbed my upper arms, giving myself a reassuring hug before turning to go inside.

It was still dark in the room when the alarm clock shrilled. Drake rolled over and silenced it and I rolled toward his back, wanting nothing more than to snuggle up to his warmth and stay there for another three hours. Five o’clock was no civilized hour to be up. I groaned as Drake sat up and stretched.

He headed for the bathroom and I walked to the sliding glass door that led out to our tiny balcony. I pulled the drape aside and squinted into the darkness. Last night’s mist looked thicker than ever.

“I don’t think we can fly in this stuff,” I called to him.

“Still socked in?”

“Big time. It’s not fit out for man nor beast, as they say, so my suggestion would be to crawl right back under those covers while they’re still warm.” I aimed myself toward the bed with just that intention.

“Not so quick,” Drake cautioned, grabbing my arm just as I was about to dive. “The forecast is for sunshine today, so the mist will burn off pretty early.”

I groaned again.

“It won’t be so bad once we’re out,” he tried to assure me. “Get dressed and I’ll get the coffee started.”

I took a deep breath and headed for the bathroom. Splashing water on my face helped a little, as did brushing my teeth and finding my clothes. I felt a pull of longing as I smoothed the sheets and made the bed, but by the time I reached the foot of the stairs I’d adjusted. There’s that point of no return when it’s simply easier to start the day than to go back to bed and find that cozy dream-state again. Drake was clearly already there.

Coffee scent filled the kitchen and he’d already poured bowls of cereal for both of us.

“Here, this’ll help,” he said, handing me a mug of steaming coffee.

I took careful sips of it, staring out the windows for some hint of daylight beyond. There was none.

“Okay, breakfast’s ready,” he announced, carrying the two cereal bowls to the table. “Cheer up, things could be worse.”

“Five o’clock’s pretty bad.”

“It could be pouring rain and we’d still have to go.”

“Oh.” I accepted the other half of the banana he’d sliced over his flakes and added it to mine. “Well, in that case . . .” I forced a fakey grin, just to show that I’d be a good sport about it.

Twenty minutes later we’d finished our breakfast, put the dishes into the dishwasher, and poured more coffee into thermal mugs for the road. We bundled into layers of shirts and jackets and headed for the company van. By the time we reached the airport, the dark mist had turned pale gray, although I couldn’t tell that it had thinned at all.

The two helicopters stood on the tarmac, cushioned in the mist like delicate ornaments packed in soft cotton after Christmas. We headed toward the Eurocopter, a seven-seater, painted in Air-Sea Helicopter’s trademark red and white.

“Are we waiting for passengers today?” I asked.

“Not this morning. We’ve got some gear to take out. It’s loaded in the cargo compartment already. We may be bringing people back—I’m not sure.”

We circled the aircraft, Drake briefing me on the preflight checklist. There were a few items unique to this craft, things I didn’t have to do on the JetRanger, but overall it was much the same. He showed me what to check, I did the actual procedure, then he checked it off on the list. When everything was done, we took our seats, Drake at the controls, me beside him in the front seat.

The mist had thinned considerably and I noticed a patch of pure, pale blue overhead. It would probably be completely clear within thirty minutes. Just to be sure, Drake called out to the rig to verify their weather conditions.

“Same as here,” he reported. “It should be clear by the time we get there.” He started the engine and the turbine whined its way to life. The triple rotors slowly spun up.

“I’ll probably have you fly it on the way back,” he said. “Get you a little practice.”

I nodded and adjusted my headset.

We got radio clearance from the tower and gently lifted off, clearing the small metal building that housed Air-Sea’s offices and setting a course away from the airport’s normal traffic.

“Did you file a flight plan with the airport, or did Meggie know our schedule?” I asked, once we’d cleared the area.

“She knows the general route,” he said. “We’re going to platform twelve first, then on to number six. I left her a note last night before I came home. And we’ve got the guys on the rig watching for us.”

I was curious to see what the reaction would be from the guys on rig six, after the hostility I’d felt yesterday, but I didn’t say anything to Drake. He hadn’t seemed too concerned when I’d mentioned it before.

We climbed through the thinning white vapor until we saw blue sky above us and good visibility all around. He’d been right, the mist was rapidly burning off and we would have clear skies well before we needed to land. The water today looked nearly glassy as we flew over it, taking on a blue-gray cast as the sun came through. In about fifty minutes I spotted the new rig in the distance, its pointy cranes and struts sticking out at awkward angles.