Dressed to Kilt (18 page)

“Are you saying, Bridie,” Vicki said, “that all along you assumed Eden's father had gone back to the States and had left them sometime in the proceeding months?”

“Aye. Isn't that what happened?”

“And Eden, you assumed he stayed in the Highlands?”

“He did,” I said.

“But I woulda heard,” Bridie argued. “He went off, he did.”

“Then,” I said, suddenly caring very, very much, latching onto the fact that my father had told Bridie he was in a hurry to get home, “where the hell is he?”

My friend and occasional tormentor sat across my kitchen table. We were eating leftover stew. Vicki's Inky Pinky was just as good tonight as it had been the first time she'd served it.

Outside, the night was deeply dark without a single star showing through the cloud cover. Holiday lights twinkled from the brightly strung logs and boughs scattered around my tiny cottage. Snookie was sound asleep in her favorite chair beside the fire. Coco and Pepper were curled up together on the floor so tightly entwined that it was difficult to know which body parts belonged to which dog.

It might have been an idyllic setting. Instead of feeling in a holiday spirit, I'd had plenty of time to think of theories on the slow drive back to the farm through heavily falling snow as I followed Vicki's car taillights, since they were all I could see.

Where had he gone? Had Dennis Elliott vanished into thin air somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean? But if there
had been any plane crashes, my mother would have known; someone would have contacted us if the airplane he'd been on had gone down. Barring that tragic explanation (one easily dismissed), I was absolutely positive that my father had not returned to the States.

“I'll check every airline,” Vicki said, intuitive as ever. Sometimes I think she can read minds. “To make sure.”

“It might have been part of his plan,” I said. “To throw off anyone looking for him.”

“Right,” Vicki said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “A master plan to make those in Scotland think he was in the States and make you and your mother think he was in Scotland. And why would he go to all that trouble?”

I glanced at my friend. Her face was rather flushed, not at all her normal coloring. “He had another woman on the side,” I said, “and wanted to begin an entirely new life. His father would have disowned him for leaving us, you heard Bridie. She was clear on that point. My grandfather was a gentleman and expected the same from his son. So, he had to have a plan.”

Vicki was ready with a retort. “For one thing, his father had just died and wasn't around to judge him. For another, his name was blackened the minute he deserted you. So he had nothing to gain by disappearing after leaving the funeral.”

I hated her voice of reason. “He probably went to Paris or London with
her
.”

“Then we'll find his name on a passenger manifest from around that time period. I need you to confirm for me the exact date of your grandfather's funeral.”

“It must be somewhere in my mother's personal things in storage in the States.” I played with my food and
realized that Vicki was doing the same. Neither of us was particularly hungry after high tea at the Dougal estate.

“Bridie will remember the exact date. Your grandfather obviously meant a lot to her.”

“You never give up, do you? Besides, he's probably dead by now.”

Vicki rolled her eyes and said, “Ami says you've been spouting that for years. ‘He's dead, so why bother?' But he'd still be relatively young, in his sixties. And for your information, Ami and I are bothering”—Vicki's words were slow and precise—“so you can stop being bothered.”

“And how does that work exactly?”

“We find his trail, follow it to its conclusion, and then you can have some closure.”

“And you think this is how I want to spend my last days in Glenkillen?”

When Vicki didn't respond, I went on, “Don't you have anything better to do than hang out here harassing me?” I meant those words, too, however unkind they sounded. All I wanted was for Vicki to go back to the main house so I could enjoy some much-needed alone time. I was a firm believer in personal space and quiet time, and my friends had been suffocatingly close today.

I'd been all friended out.

And if I didn't hear from Ami again until I flew into Chicago, it would be perfectly fine with me. The more I thought about slinking off, the better it sounded.

Vicki studied me before saying, “I don't have anything better to do than talk some sense into you.”

I stared out the window at the falling snow. “Where's
Sean? Shouldn't you be cozying up to him? On a night like this you two should be together.”

“He's busy.”

Vicki didn't look particularly upset. Odd. Usually she whined when he was pulled away on duty in the evening. “What's he doing?”

“I can't say. I mean he can't say.”

I was doing a slow burn from annoyed to infuriated, and for more reasons than just one. The Elliott family and my father weren't exactly my favorite topics, and I'd been pressured by sheer force of numbers to deal with those unpleasant things. Then I'd been kicked off the case for no apparent reason, pushed out of a loop I'd become accustomed to being part of, and it didn't feel so good. In fact, it felt awful.

Vicki, even more flushed than earlier, leaned her elbow on the table and dropped her head to her hand.

“Are you okay?” I asked, concern washing away the hostility.

“A bit hot and dizzy,” she said. “I hope I'm not coming down with that nasty bug that Kirstine had.”

“Let me walk you home. It's been a long day.”

Vicki didn't protest, which caused more worry on my part. Usually she's a fiercely independent woman who takes care of herself and refuses any assistance of any kind, whether it's an offer to help at the shop or with something as simple as doing her dishes.

But tonight, after we bundled up against the howling wind, she hooked her arm in mine and we plowed through the gathering snow with the two Westies following in the
path we created. I made sure she was safely inside with plenty of lights shining and her feet up on the sofa before leaving her alone.

Outside, I glanced up the path toward my home. White lights sparkled in the windows, invitingly, with the promise of a warm fire and gentle feline company. The cottage beckoned to me, but instead of returning, I turned in the opposite direction and trudged along the lane leading to Sheepish Expressions. The chilliness of evening was actually a welcome relief. It felt good to inhale the fresh windswept air and enjoy the darkness and the silence all around me. Completely quiet except for my own breath and the swish of my boots through the new snow.

Even without stars to guide me, I could make out the lane. I remembered an observation I'd made to Vicki recently during the amber weather alert. It really was like living in a snow globe, flakes cascading all around me.

Reaching Sheepish Expressions, I was about to turn back when something caught my eye, a flash out of the darkness of the parking lot. Something that didn't belong in the white and black of tonight's world, not part of the grayness between them, either.

From where I stood, I thought I could make out a large object, tucked back in the lot. My heart began to pick up several extra beats per second.

I wasn't sure what to do.

Should I investigate? Or hurry home and lock my door?

The inspector might have revoked my law enforcement license, but he couldn't do anything about my need to explore and rule out trouble. I took a few cautious steps into the shadows, hoping I hadn't been exposed if someone
was out and about. But why would they be? The shop was closed. What reason would anyone have to be on the grounds?

Thoughts of robbery went through my head.

As I edged closer, I could see that the object of my attention was a vehicle covered in snow, and it looked abandoned for the night. I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps someone had visited the shop earlier in the day and had experienced car trouble. They probably had to leave it here until morning. That was a logical explanation.

Except, as I approached, I could see that the car's windshield wipers had been activated recently. The front windshield wasn't as thick with snow as the hood and roof were. There! Again! The wipers slowly arched across, the blades clearing the window.

Someone was inside the vehicle! But the interior was dark. I couldn't see inside.

I fumbled in the pocket of my coat, grateful when my gloved hand found the cylinder of pepper spray, the protection I'd refused to give up with my warrant card earlier in the day. That act of rebellion might turn out to be a stroke of extremely good fortune.

I'd have much preferred never needing to use it ever again.

Snow began falling faster, so heavy I could hardly see the vehicle from where I stood. My eyelashes were coated with the heavy stuff as I crept even closer, realizing there would be no chance of getting a plate number, or the make and model of the car. Not with all this snow.

I went over my options. This would be my last chance to take steps in reverse, hurry back up the lane, get inside, and call the police, let them come out and investigate.

I'd known from the start that I wouldn't do that, though.

So I removed my glove, flicked the spray nozzle on the pepper spray from the safety position to on, and continued moving forward, stopping only when I was close enough to the driver's side of the car that I could have reached out and touched it.

Prepared to defend myself if necessary, I rapped on the driver's window with my ungloved knuckles. Snow on the window had accumulated and was a good three inches thick. Because it was so wet and heavy it stuck where it landed. I could see the impression made by my knuckles.

As the window slid down under the weight of the snow, it fell away in sheets, giving me an opportunity to peer inside.

I recognized the occupant.

And almost fired a blast of pepper spray anyway.

It would have served him right.

“Would ye believe it if I told ye I was takin a wee nap?” Sean Stevens asked, looking totally busted.

“How could you do this to Vicki?” I shouted, my voice cutting sharply through the night silence. “Spying on her! What do you think? Some other guy is coming to visit her tonight? I wish that were true!”

I put the pepper spray back in my pocket where it wouldn't tempt me.

I bent down and packed snow between my hands.

Then I reached through the window and smashed it into Sean's sneaky little face.

“Are ye some kinda nutter?” Sean sputtered from the driver's seat, his face awash in melting snow.

I turned and stormed away. The weather had nothing on my thunderous mood. I was my own red weather alert, and Sean should be running for shelter. Wait until Vicki heard this.

Instead he chased after me, yelling. “Ye have it all wrong, ye do. Will ye stop fer a bloody minute?”

The going was tougher than coming. The path my boots had created coming down the lane had already disappeared as I went up. The effort gave me time to cool off a little, down to about a roiling boil.

I whirled. “What a creepy thing to do to Vicki. She deserves better.”

Sean's face was wet from the face wash, and the shoulders of his police jacket and the top of his cap were covered in snow. “I wasn't spyin' on Vicki.”

“Then what were you doing?” This should be good. Let's see him worm his way out of this one.

“I was watchin' yerself. If ye weren't such a hothead, you'd have considered that possibility instead o' goin' off like a rocket tae the moon.”

Oh. I hadn't thought about that. I'd just assumed the worst. Not that stalking me was any better. Was Sean telling the truth? If this was a lie to get out of a tough situation, Sean had concocted it in record time. He'd always been an open book in the past, wearing his thoughts and feelings on his sleeve for all to see.

Constable Steven might have often displayed signs of his own self-importance and could be a bit of a buffoon, but I'd never thought of him as deceptive or conniving, so there might be something legitimate about his claim.

“Me?” I squeaked. “You were watching me? Why?”

“Why don't ye come back tae my auto where it's warm and where we'll be out o' these forces o' nature. And we can talk.”

So we trudged back. I slipped into the passenger seat, feeling more like I was inside an igloo than a snow globe. Within several seconds the windows steamed over. Not that it mattered. The world was white outside.

“Well?” I said, waiting for an explanation.

Sean squirmed, fiddling with the defroster buttons, turning them on. “I want tae tell ye, I really do, but I'm in a precarious position, in trainin' fer a real position as a police officer, and I have certain orders. Telling ye things I'm not at liberty tae divulge will violate those orders and put me at risk o' termination.”

That was a distinct possibility. In the past, the inspector
had attempted to make the special constable redundant on at least one occasion that I was aware of. Though since Sean had gone for police training, Jamieson's threats had subsided, but they could easily be revisited with enough provocation.

“You've got me under surveillance,” I said. “The inspector suspects me of something?”

“Now why would ye think that?”

“Because I just caught you spying on me? Because he had you publicly relieve me from my position as the new special constable? Because I haven't heard one word from him since well before that happened?”

The windshield wipers slid slowly across the front windshield. But the snow on the glass was too heavy. Not much cleared away. The wipers groaned and Sean turned them off.

“I don't know what he thinks I did.” I paused to consider.

“No, no, no,” Sean said. “The inspector has been busy buildin' a case fer murder, and it has nothin' tae do with yerself. Ye know how he gets and ye also know he's prone tae go off and forget about us. And sometimes he remembers us but still keeps us in the dark.”

“That's true.”

But in the past, he'd always kept me apprised, at least more so than he did Sean. We'd worked together well. Or so I'd thought.

I sat in silence, considering. “You can't tell me why you're out here without serious consequences,” I said, “so I'll have to guess.”

“Aye. Ye can do it,” Sean said with obvious relief.

Okay, then what was going on? Why was Sean sitting in a car out in a snowstorm, watching the lane leading to my cottage, if he didn't have me under surveillance?

“You were spying on me, but why, if not because the inspector suspects me of something?”

“We better turn up the heat, it's getting cold in here, if ye catch me drift.” Sean turned up the heat until it roared out of the vents.

Were we really going to play the childish game of Hide the Thimble? Hot, hot, cold.

“You weren't spying on me?”

“Cold, cold, cold.”

“You're protecting me?” I guessed next.

“Ye're gettin' hot.”

“What on earth are you protecting me from? Janet Dougal is in custody.” I glanced sharply over. “She
is
in custody, right?”

“Aye, she's not goin' anywhere just now.”

“Oh, geez, Sean, just tell me what's going on.”

“I can't. I'm awfully sorry.”

Again, I considered pepper-spraying him. Or at least threatening to. But I knew that his fear of Jamieson was greater than his fear of anything I could do to him.

“Ye're gettin' close.”

I scowled. Sean was protecting me. From what?

“Does it have to do with Henrietta McCloud's murder?” I asked.

Sean had drawn his mouth into a thin grim line.

“Hot?” I asked. “Cold? Lukewarm?”

“Smokin' hot.”

I thought back to the attack on me. Janet had a violent
past, so it had been easy to blame her for that, too, a reasonable assumption based on all the other facts. “Are you telling me that Janet wasn't the one who attacked me at the hospital?”

“It's gettin' scorchin' hot in here.”

As if on cue, the engine died.

“Wha'?” Sean exclaimed. He attempted to start it up again without success.

“You're out of gas, aren't you?” I said in disbelief.

“It appears that might be the case. We're out o' petrol.”

“We? This is hardly my problem.”

“This wouldn'ta happened, I might add, if I had a proper beat car.”

“All cars run out of gas if they aren't filled,” I pointed out.

“Aye, but the gauge on this old junker isn't workin' properly.”

If Jamieson found out about Sean's latest gaffe . . .

Suddenly I realized that I was in a position of power, and to my growing unease, I wasn't above using it.

“The inspector might be interested in knowing about this,” I said with some menace in my voice.

“Ye wouldn't.” His voice had a catch in it.

“What would he do if he found out that you ran out of gas while you were supposed to be ready for an attack on me? Or that I caught you out?”

“I don't want tae find out what he'd do.”

“Then you need to tell me everything. We are through playing games.”

“Ye aren't a very nice person.”

Which made me pause for about one split second. “What's going on? All of it!”

So that was how I found out. If Sean hadn't run out of gas at that particular moment, I would have remained clueless. Instead I learned that Janet Dougal was in custody, but not for long.

“She's been detained only,” Sean said with a tone of importance climbing into his voice. “Fer questioning. And the inspector has been authorized fer an extension from the regular twelve hours tae twenty-four. But time is running out, and he isn't one bit happy.”

I understood the situation. According to the training manual I'd studied to qualify as special constable, Jamieson had twenty-four hours to prove a case against Janet or he had to release her. So the inspector would have to make a decision soon. Charge Janet with the murder of Henrietta McCloud. Or let her go. If he released her, he could charge her at a later date, but he couldn't detain her again.

“He doesn't have enough,” I said.

“The inspector is all fer charging her fer the murder, and in my opinion he has enough tae do it. But he has somethin' he says he has tae follow up on first.”

And that something turned out to involve me.

Apparently, Janet Dougal had a witness to prove that she couldn't have been the one who attacked me. Janet had admitted to being at the Dougal house right before the murder, and she made a statement that she'd confronted Henrietta.

“But she didn't try tae wallop ye with a surgical hammer,” Sean said.

I turned this new information over in my mind. It wasn't likely that there were two violent individuals running around loose—one who drowned Henrietta and one who
struck women in the head with hard objects. If I were in the inspector's shoes, I'd be hesitating, too.

“Who's her alibi?” I asked.

“Jeannie Morris from the inn. Seems that later in the afternoon the day o' the incident, Her Highness had decided she wanted tae upgrade her room. Sayin' it wasn't her fault she had tae remain in the village and that she needed some o' the comforts o' home. She threatened tae go public with information that would deter guests from checkin' in if she didn't get the biggest suite.”

“How was she going to do that?”

“She was goin' tae go tae the pub at a busy hour and say the inn had bedbugs.”

What a piece of work. I wouldn't be sorry to see her led away in chains.

“So Jeannie had tae help her move tae a different room, and even served her an early supper in her room tae shut her trap. And all that while yerself . . .”

“. . . While I was fending off a surgical hammer.”

“Aye. The inspector was fully ready tae go ahead with charges against Janet until that came tae light. As a precaution, he ordered me tae keep an eye on ye while he goes about firmin' up evidence against Janet and tryin' tae figure out this new twist in the plot.” He glanced at me. “As ye writers like tae say.”

Jamieson had been known to send Sean on wild-goose chases before, simply to keep him at a distance. But it wasn't like him to stick the trainee out in the middle of nowhere in a snowstorm. Besides, without this assignment, Sean would have been at Vicki's house, as far from the inspector as he was at the moment.

Therefore, after careful analysis, I decided that Sean's assignment to protect me had a ring of truth to it.

The inspector should have confided in me. I could do a much better job of protecting me than Sean could. The stalled-out vehicle and the constable without adequate transportation was a perfect example. If someone had turned in from the main road intent on harming me, what could Sean have done about it? Not much. He'd have been too busy trying not to freeze to death.

“That's why the inspector terminated my position,” I muttered to myself, seeing clearly now; understanding dawned and relief washed over me. “He wanted it done where everybody in town would know about it immediately. Because whoever attacked me is still out there! It was all for show, intended for the attacker, to send a message that I wasn't a threat any longer.”

“Ye're spot on. He musta disliked doin' it tae ye, but it was fer yer own good. And I'm here noo out in a blizzard just in case the message sent wasn't received.”

“I still don't know why somebody came after me.”

“Ye aren't the only one who's confused. Even the inspector doesn't have any idea.”

“He's going to let Janet go today, isn't he?” I said. The inspector didn't rely on guesswork and intuition. He was thorough, and this one anomaly had him stumped. I could see why.

“Aye,” Sean said. “Ye threw a wrench in the works, ye did.”

The case was still wide open. I felt adrenaline pumping and a growing desire to get back on the case, one way or
another. Good-bye Elliott family genealogy. Hello Henrietta McCloud murder investigation.

It wasn't until this moment that I realized how desperately I still wanted to stay away from my father's past. With Janet released, I could shelve my personal issues once again. Forget about my clan affiliation.

“Vicki knows all this, doesn't she?”

Sean nodded. “Aye. She's helpin' watch over ye by stayin' close by. So she understands why I can't be with her tonight.”

I opened the car door and said, “Come on. There are gas cans in the barn and I'm pretty sure we'll find a full one.”

“Nobody needs tae know, then?”

“What happened tonight is between the two of us. Just you and me. But I have one more condition you have to agree to if you want my continuing silence.”

“Ye're a mean one.” Sean grimaced. “I hate tae ask, but what is that condition?”

“It's easy. Tell Vicki to back off with the Elliott family quest. She's been putting me under a lot of pressure. The saga of my father can wait.”

He'd been out of my life for over thirty years. He could stay that way.

As we trudged up the lane headed for the barn, Sean said, “I'll see what I can do, but Vicki is stubborn.”

“She'll listen to you.”