Competition Can Be Murder (9 page)

I pulled gently at the rotor brake and locked down my controls. Stepping out of the aircraft, I looked around at the rig. Everything appeared to be business as usual. No malevolent stares, no brandishing of weapons. None of the crew seemed to give us a second glance. So, was this a non-union rig or had these guys not yet received the word that they were at war with us?

Nevertheless, Drake and I took turns stepping inside for bathroom breaks while the other stayed outside, puttering around nonchalantly but keeping vigilant. Finally, our returnees were ready and we loaded up for the return trip. We had two more of these crew changes to do today, ferrying men from shore to the rigs and those coming off their shifts back home. A certain number of men rotated in and out each day, to keep continuity, but there were a couple of days of the week when the traffic was extra heavy and required both our aircraft.

Platform 11 proved equally unthreatening when we landed there in the early afternoon and Platform 6, for once, was quiet too. “Maybe all the troublemakers are on the same shift,” I said to Drake back at the airport after we’d made the last run about five o’clock. “Think they all managed the same days off this week?”

“Could be. It was peaceful today, anyway.” He supervised the placement of the portable tug under the skids on the Astar, and Fergus, the hangar attendant, slowly backed his machine through the huge doors, guiding the delicate aircraft to its bed for the night.

Inside the Air-Sea offices there was one message on the answering machine. Drake pressed the button to retrieve it. Static fuzzed through the little speaker for several seconds before anyone spoke.

“Give up,” a deep voice said. “Stay off the oil rigs.”

My thoughts went immediately to the stocky crew chief, whose deep gravelly voice had been one of his most noticeable features. “Say something more,” I whispered. Drake and I both bent closer to the machine, but the recording had clicked off.

“Well, I guess we know what that was about,” Drake said.

“I just wonder who made the call.”

“Voice makes me think of that guy today.”

“My thought exactly.” I twiddled a pencil between my fingers. “That guy didn’t really seem angry at us though. Did you think?”

“I don’t know.” He’d circled the room, checking the windows. “Never can tell.”

I peered out the front window, toward our car. It was alone and I didn’t see another person in the vicinity. We switched off the lights and locked the deadbolt.

“I’m gonna take one last look at the ships before we leave,” Drake said, heading toward the hangar.

I tagged along, really wanting nothing more than dinner at this point. When everything looked secure and Drake had verified that the hangar doors were indeed locked for the night, we finally got away. It was completely dark out now and my whole body was buzzing from a full day at the stick. Whatever we ate for dinner wasn’t terribly memorable—I think it was McDonald’s food—and I fell into bed with the ominous sound of that telephone threat nagging at me.

The phone rang about mid-morning, just as I was finishing up the dishes and tidying the cottage.

“Charlie, it’s Sarah. Sorry for such late notice. I wasn’t able to reach you all day yesterday.”

“Flying. Sorry, we were tied up until late.”

“Oh, that’s no problem, dear. We just wanted to see if you and Drake could make it for dinner tonight. I think it will just be the four of us. Richie and his friends have some sort of plans. Not that they’re ever very good company, anyway. That age, you know.”

I had to chuckle. “Oh, I know. I’m sure I wasn’t terribly sociable at that age either. Yes, we’d be delighted to come to dinner.”

“Seven, then?”

“Perfect.”

I’d hung up before I remembered that I should have offered to bring something. Then again, perhaps showing up for dinner at a castle with a little bowl of salad or dessert tucked under your arm just wasn’t the thing.

The clan book waited on the coffee table and I decided to finish making notes so I could return the book to Sarah that evening. I also placed a call to the Air-Sea Helicopters offices, leaving a message for Drake about the dinner so he wouldn’t dawdle too long in getting everything secured and coming home.

By three o’clock I’d taken pages of notes and my head felt fuzzy from too much reading. The pale blue sky beckoned and the grass around the cottage shone emerald green in the sunlight. A walk seemed to be in order. I stretched the kinks out of my legs and grabbed the front door key off the kitchen counter. Silly, probably, but years of life in a crime-ridden city had conditioned me to always lock up. I slipped the key into my jeans pocket after doing so.

The air held a strong trace of dampness after last evening’s rain, but the sun had come out this morning and the lawn was dry, the flowers in the cottage’s neat beds turning their heads toward the light. Maybe I would cut a small bouquet and take it with us to Dunworthy this evening.

I took a graveled path that circled behind the cottage and ran out of sight behind the orchard. Beyond that lay the burned out crofter’s hut. I’d be interested to see whether the debris had been cleaned up yet, or if this would be one of those ashes-to-ashes situations where they’d simply let the old structure turn into a quaint ruin with an interesting history over time.

Apples hung heavily from the trees as I passed along their rows. The other night I hadn’t realized how large the orchard was or how near to harvest time. I found a path of beaten earth down the middle of a central row and followed it to the clearing. Fifty feet away stood the blackened stone walls, all that remained of the small structure. I approached softly, mindful of the quiet of the place, with the chatter of birds in the surrounding trees the only sound. It was only when I came within five or six feet of the old walls that I heard the voices.

“. . .like that, man.”

Male laughter rose from the far side of the cottage. It grew more raucous. Someone added something in a heavy Scottish brogue that came out sounding like, “Ya dobbie kin wanna—whot.” More laughter, of the positively knee-slapping variety. “Aye, kinna scob not.”

I had no clue as to the words, much less where the hilarity was in them, but figured I had two choices. Either sneak away or make my presence known. Curiosity won out and I softly began humming a little tune. The laughter covered my frail efforts completely, so I finally resorted to a cough.

“Whas ’ere?” one of the voices whispered.

Richie’s face peered around the side of the hut. He went a shade whiter when he saw me. He dropped something small and white on the ground and covered it with his shoe.

“Oh, Richie!” I hoped I seemed appropriately startled at finding him and his friends smoking pot in their little hideout. “How are you?”

“Just fine, ma’am.” Some of his previous shyness faded with the addition of the drug, I noticed.

“And are your friends here, too?”

He nudged with his boot at something behind him. “Lew, Al, come say hello,” he said.

Alasdair and Lewis emerged, considerably subdued from the wildly laughing young men I’d heard moments earlier. “Ma’am.” Their upper-class upbringing hadn’t totally deserted them.

“Does your grandmother know you’ve chosen this as your hangout?” I asked Richie.

“Em . . . well, not exactly, ma’am.”

“We don’t have to go with the ma’am sh--stuff, Richie. I’m Charlie.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Well, we uh . . .”

I grinned at their discomfort.

“Hey, I’m just out for a walk,” I said. “Okay?”

All three boys relaxed considerably. “If ye could just . . . that is, maybe not . . . well, does Grandmother have to . . .”

I let Richie stammer through his attempt to beg for my silence. My eyes scanned the ground around the base of the rock walls, and I spotted the nub of another joint at the edge of the large, flat stone that served as a doorstep for the hut. I picked it up.

“Sit a minute, guys. I need to ask you something.”

They perched lightly on their haunches, and I did the same. I held up the roach I’d just found. “I guess you do this a lot, huh?”

Sullen faces, ready for a lecture on the evils of drug use, stared back at me. In America, I would have gotten a comment like, “we don’t need this shit,” and they’d have taken off. People raised in castles have a few more restraints placed on them, I guess.

“No lecture,” I said. “I just want to know about the other night. That fire—”

“No way,” Lewis piped up. “We had nothing to do with that.”

“It’s true!” It was the first time I’d heard Alasdair open his mouth and I was surprised by the maturity of the deep male voice that came out.

“They’re right, ma’am—uh, Charlie. We came out it was already going.” Richie’s back straightened as he took the lead. “We was, uh, we were planning to hang around out here. It’s a, you know, fun place just to . . .”

“But we came through the orchard there,” said Lewis, “and sudden-like, we could see the flames.”

“We didn’t know what to do,” Richie said. “I mean, it was already so big we couldna handle it ourselves. I ran back to the garage and got a fire extinguisher. That’s when Grandmother saw me and I told her what we’d found. She brought the others to help. But we—” He shrugged helplessly.

“It’s true. Really,” Lewis insisted.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” I said, kneading the roach between my fingers until it crumbled and fell away. “Did you see anyone else out here?”

“Well, the guys who came out to help,” Richie said. “You mean them?”

“No, I’m thinking about anyone who might have started the fire. Your grandfather said there was no lightning that evening. I’m just wondering how the fire started.”

All three boys seemed to give it fair consideration, but no one came up with any names. Which still left me with the question of why Ian Brodie had been lurking in the orchard as everyone else worked to put out the flames.

“Okay, then,” I finally said. “If any of you think of anything, let me know.”

“Are you investigating it, then?” Richie asked.

I must have given him a sharp look or something at the mention of an investigation.

“It’s just that Grandmother was telling us at dinner the other night that you’re a private investigator back in America.”

“Yes,” Lewis said, “she said you were looking into the disappearance of some lambs here on the farm.” His eyes glittered with enthusiasm.

“Well, I don’t remember actually agreeing to that,” I said.

Had Sarah really believed she’d put me on the case? And, in going to Ian Brodie’s lease and looking at the lambs there, had I tacitly agreed to investigate?

I stood and brushed leaves from my jeans. “Well, I’m not getting much walking done.”

The boys stood, out of habit, and shuffled their feet as I walked away. I wondered whether they’d light up again once I was out of sight.

I cut through the orchard, wanting more exercise before I headed home. At the end of a row I spotted a path leading away from the castle. I’d wanted to explore the forest a bit so I walked toward it. The wide trail led from the castle directly into the thick woods. In no time at all I stepped under the dark canopy of pines. Purple heather carpeted the ground, but the pathway was well maintained and the short, almost fluffy plants didn’t intrude.

Twenty yards or so into the forest, a small clearing had been made to house a tiny gazebo. The structure looked like something out of a sleeping-beauty tale, with turned wooden columns supporting an intricately latticed cupola, all painted white. It resembled a sugar confection created for the top of a wedding cake. Under its protection stood two white stone benches, the legs faintly green with the mossy residue that clung to everything here. I walked up the two steps at the entry, enchanted by the little enclave, so different from anything I’d be likely to run across in New Mexico.

Peering out through the lattice, I could tell that there were a couple of smaller pathways leading away from the small clearing, foot trails really. The main path directly to and from the castle was definitely the one everyone used. I stepped down and decided to go farther into the forest. The trail on the left looked like it led toward our cottage and might eventually come out there. The one on the right wound out of sight around a boulder.

“What the heck,” I said to the trees. “I can always trace it back if it dead-ends.”

Feeling somewhat like Hansel and Gretel, I started down the narrow trail. It was only about a foot wide in the best places and deteriorated to nothing more than a smashed-down spot in the fallen pine needles in others. But it wasn’t difficult to follow. I skirted boulders and worked my way over uneven ground. No wonder Sarah and Robert probably never went beyond the gazebo. In less than ten minutes I could see brighter light ahead, a clearing. I paused at the edge of it. Directly ahead of me was the back of Ian and Ramona’s barn.

A faint but distinct track through the grass told me that Ian regularly used this means of reaching the castle without having to take the road. The fact that this path came within a few yards of the orchard meant that he could have easily cut through there to the crofter’s hut with little chance of being seen, especially in darkness. My only question was whether he’d done it the other night before or after the place caught fire. I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew the answer.