Holy Terror in the Hebrides (12 page)

“I had no idea. Have you been doing this long?”

“Fifteen years.”

Then it was her choir I’d watched.

“I’ll bet you make a lot more money now than you did as a secretary.”

“I do all right. Mama still keeps at me about it, though. Says it ain’t steady, and I better keep practicin’ my typin’.” She chuckled. “I tell ’er ain’t nobody uses a typewriter no more, and I don’t know nothin’ about them computers, so I’ll just have to stick with what I’m doin’. Makes her mad, I hope to tell you!”

Hester came in just then with tea, and I jumped up. “Hattie Mae, I must go. I’m moving into my cottage. I want to hear you sing, sometime before you leave Iona!”

I intercepted Hester before she could leave the room. “Hester, I’m so sorry, but the key to my cottage arrived, and I’ll be leaving the hotel. I wish I’d known sooner, so I could give you some notice.”

“Don’t worry. The only thing is, I’ll have to charge you for dinner tonight, since we’ve begun cooking it. So you may as well stay and eat it, as you’re paying for it!”

I laughed with her. “I won’t stay, but I’ll come back. I want to get to the store before it closes. But if you can make out a bill for me, I’ll settle up later, and get my belongings out of your way. And, Hester—” I drew her aside and lowered my voice “—I’ve been talking to David MacPherson. He says another storm’s coming, a bad one, in a day or two. And either before it gets here or after it passes, the police are going to want to talk to everyone again about the—er—accident.”

Hester sighed. “Aye, we’ve heard the weather forecast. It’s not good. And the police—” She shook her head. “That creates a problem. Our duty is to our guests, and they’re planning to leave Friday. Mrs. Desmond told me their flight back to America leaves from Prestwick Saturday morning. So we daren’t delay them, but if the police don’t hurry . . .”

I saw what she meant. Prestwick is the airport that serves Glasgow. If the Chicago group were traveling by train they’d need to leave by the first ferry Friday morning in order to make the connections to get them back to Glasgow on time. It was now (I checked my watch) quarter to five, and this was Wednesday. Even if the waves calmed suddenly, the ferry wouldn’t operate today. If the storm came early tomorrow, my compatriots could kiss their plane good-bye. On the other hand, if good weather stuck around for a while, and for some reason the police didn’t make it, the Campbells were going to be in the position of requesting that their guests stay, when staying put their travel plans in jeopardy.

“Indeed,” I said thoughtfully. “Well, I must get to the grocery store. Let’s hope for the best, both from the weather and from the police. I’ll be back soon.”

“Would you like to borrow my trolley? I use it when I’ve a few supplies to get and Andrew has the car.”

I gratefully accepted the loan of her folding, wheeled shopping cart, and sped down the hill.

It took the best part of an hour to buy the items on my list (to which I added rolled oats to please the clerk, who was horrified at the idea of breakfast without porridge), cart them to the cottage and put the perishables away in the minute refrigerator, and speed back to the hotel by the footpath, Hester’s cart bumping along behind me.

There was no one in the hall but Stan, who smelled the salmon I had been carrying. He gave the cart a thorough, hopeful examination before looking at me and meowing his deep disappointment that nothing edible was left.

“You, my lad, are quite fat enough, you know,” I informed him. “However, if you come and see me tomorrow, I might have a snack for you anyway.”

He made no promises, but I reflected, as I went upstairs to pack, that I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him turn up. Stan rather liked me, and he was a shameless beggar.

I am continually amazed by how much clutter I can create in a room, even when I occupy it for only a few days. I was just rechecking all the drawers, and my favorite place for forgetting things, the back of the bathroom door (I’ve lost more bathrobes that way), when a knock on the door announced Andrew, ready to take my bags down.

“I’ll run you down in the car,” he said amiably, picking up most of the pile of assorted bags, cases, and boxes. “You’ll not be able to manage that lot by yourself.”

“You’re right about that, and I do appreciate the offer. You and your wife have certainly been nice to me; in a way I’ll miss the Iona.”

Then I was afraid he would misinterpret my careless remark, but he simply grinned and started down the hall.

As we drove to the cottage, the ineffable peace of Iona seemed a tangible thing. The clouds were beginning to gather, and they deepened the twilight, but there seemed no threat in them. Maybe the forecasters were wrong; maybe there would be no serious storm. The velvety quiet, the yellow lights shining from cottage windows, the silhouette of the Nunnery, timeless and serene against the fading light—I heaved a deep sigh. Why did people and their problems have to intrude on such perfect beauty?

Andrew offered to drive me back up to the hotel, but I shooed him away. I wanted to unpack and get settled, and it was less than a ten-minute walk. I needed all the walking I could get in, anyway, to offset the stiffness brought on by the morning’s unaccustomed exercise, not to mention the shortbread and tablet and scones and all the other goodies I’d been eating nonstop ever since I’d landed on Iona.

Ever since I’d landed. Good heavens, could it have been only two days ago? I felt I had lived through a hundred years since Monday. Soon, now, I’d be safely alone, and could sort out everything that had happened, and what little I had learned about the Chicagoans.

They weren’t actually as bad as I’d thought at first. Grace might have an unbreakable shell, and I’d had no chance to talk to Chris or Janet, but certainly Jake was a pleasant man, and had borne the tragedies in his life with great courage. Hattie Mae had her redeeming qualities, and even Teresa had been quite civil this morning.

I’d think about why later.

I puttered and fussed, taking longer than I should to unpack, put away the rest of the food, and settle myself in my domain. By the very last of the light I picked a few flowers from the back garden, those that hadn’t been flattened by the gale, and crammed them into a water glass. I was going to be late for dinner at the hotel if I didn’t hurry.

I had to find my flashlight. Iona has little outdoor lighting, and if there was such a thing as a moon, it was hidden by clouds that evening. I’d have to take the shortcut to make it on time, and those high hedges would cut off what little light there might be. Fortunately, I hadn’t had time yet to lose the blasted flashlight; I found it (amazingly) exactly where I had put it half an hour before, and set out.

The path had more twists and turns than I had remembered. Things always look different in the dark, and more than once I was convinced I was lost. It was impossible, of course; the path only led up to the road above, with no choices to make, no wrong turns to take. But with the only light the rather feeble cone cast by my small flashlight, I might as well have been in a maze. Twigs reached out and touched my sleeves; small insects blundered against my face. The hedges closed in and my claustrophobia gathered itself to pounce. I was nearly running, and panting like a warm dog, by the time the path opened out and I arrived in a little field, with only one gate between me and the road. Then scudding clouds receded for a moment, the moon shone benignly, and Iona was its peaceful self once more.

I wished I could embrace that peace.

I’
D HAD LITTLE
chance all day to call Alan, and now it would have to wait until after dinner. I was late as it was, and it would not only be much easier to make the call from the phone in the cottage, it would also be more private, in case—well, just in case.

When I got into the dining room, I saw that the groupings had changed. Jake was sitting at a small table with Chris, Teresa with Hattie Mae—the mind boggled—and Janet and Grace at a table for four. I could either join them and try to learn something, or eat alone.

“Do you mind?”

Janet looked as though she did, very much, but Grace lived up to her name and gestured to one of the empty chairs. “Please.”

As it turned out, I didn’t talk much to anyone, for the Campbells chose that night to serve haggis. I’d eaten it before, when some Scottish friends of Alan’s had invited us to dinner, and I didn’t mind it. It’s a concoction of ground meat (beef or mutton or other things; I’m told it’s best not to ask), onions, spices, and Scotland’s ubiquitous oats. The classic method of preparation is to stuff the mixture into a sheep’s stomach (duly cleaned, one assumes) and steam it. It comes out like a sort of hash, with the oats substituting for potatoes. It’s
the
traditional dish for Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve), and is served up with great ceremony, they say, brought in stomach and all, and slit open with a sword if one happens to be handy.

The staff had dished it up in the kitchen, so there was no stomach in evidence, but conversation in the room still came to a halt as the food was served. The aroma was savory, though the gray mess looked rather unappealing.

Grace poked fastidiously with her fork. “What is it?” she asked in her most patrician voice.

I explained, judiciously omitting some of the more colorful details. “It’s Scotland’s national dish, very special. We’re being honored.”

“I see.” She picked up a minute forkful and tasted it, and then without a word began to eat, applying herself diligently and drinking a lot of water.

Janet sat and glared alternately at her plate and at Grace.

“How can you eat that—garbage?” she finally said. I was quite sure another noun had been her first choice.

“It’s a sin to waste food,” Grace replied briefly, and went on with her meal.

“It’s actually pretty good, no matter how it looks,” I said placatingly. “Although mutton is something of an acquired taste, I suppose. You get a lot of it on this side of the Atlantic.”

“
You
may. I don’t.” Janet shoved back her chair, picked up her plate, and marched to the kitchen door. The young waiter was just coming out with a pitcher of water, and Janet caught him squarely in the stomach with her outstretched plate. Food and water exploded over both of them; the plate went crashing to the floor.

The boy, red-faced and appalled, tried to brush some of the mess off Janet with his towel. “I—I’m sorry, madam—let me—”

“You can keep your hands to yourself! And tell the cook to fix me a hamburger, if any of you nincompoops know how to cook decent food. You’ll get the bill for new clothes.”

She stalked out of the room, bits of meat and onion caught in her hair and clinging to her sweater. Utter silence remained in her wake, broken only by the sounds of the distraught waiter trying to clean up the mess.

Teresa was the first to speak. “That,” she said in a ringing voice, “was inexcusable.” She left her seat and went into the kitchen, returning with a damp cloth and a basin, and began to help. The waiter tried to stop her.

“No, madam, let me—you can’t—”

Teresa glared at him. “This wasn’t your fault. There’s no reason you should have to do all the work. You’d better change into a clean jacket. That one’s hopeless.” She knelt to her task, avoiding bits of broken crockery.

The rest of us were pushing food around on our plates and trying not to look at each other when Hester made her appearance. Her face was white, though whether with anger or apprehension, I couldn’t tell.

“I’m quite sorry dinner was not to your liking,” she said, her voice shaking a little. Anger, then, I thought. “Would anyone else like something special prepared?”

“No,” said Grace, quietly but firmly. “The haggis is delicious. We’re all enjoying it. Aren’t we?” She gave the rest of her group an imperious look, and there was a hurried murmur of agreement. I saw Hattie Mae and Jake each take a large mouthful; Chris shoved a little mound under a pile of carrots.

Grace went on. “I feel we should apologize for Miss Douglas’s behavior, Mrs. Campbell. I hope you understand that your waiter is in no way to blame. The incident was entirely Janet’s fault, although I’m sure she didn’t intend to be disruptive.”

That was a whole lot more than I was sure of, but presumably Grace knew Janet better than I did.

“Janet has not been herself this week. I believe she is dealing with a personal problem. I hope we can all forget this matter when she returns.”

Some hope! But it was a clear directive and the others, as usual when Grace laid down an edict, seemed prepared to submit. As for me, I was glad I was moving away from the contention, though it would make trying to find out anything about Bob’s death somewhat awkward. At least Janet’s behavior had given me a few things to think about. I huiried through the rest of my meal, wolfing down an apple dumpling without really tasting it, and left the dining room before Janet could get back from changing her clothes.

Hester was still busy in the kitchen, but Andrew had my bill ready. He handed it over with the twinkle very much evident in his eye.

“Still thinking you’re going to miss the Iona Hotel, are you?”

“There are aspects I won’t miss. After a scene like that, I admit I’m glad you haven’t told them yet about the storm coming, and the police, and all.”

Andrew looked me straight in the eye and lowered his voice. “Why, Mrs. Martin, I can’t imagine what storm you’re talking about. Thank you for staying with us, and I hope you’ll feel free to book dinner here so long as you’re on the island.” He shook my hand, smiled blandly, and excused himself.

So he’d told them the police were coming, but apparently didn’t intend to tell them about the weather. I wondered if that decision had been made before or after Janet’s little tantrum. Should I drop a hint in Jake’s ear, or Grace’s? They seemed the most sensible of the party, and might be able to keep the rest from exploding.

On the other hand, since I still had no idea who was on the side of the angels and who wasn’t, maybe the best idea was to mind my own business, at least until I could talk to Alan. I fished in my purse for my flashlight, slipped out the door without saying good-bye to anyone, and made my way home through the deep darkness.