Dressed to Kilt (15 page)

“But they both involve research.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “and every story is a mystery, in a way.”

“Mysteries are what got me started. When I was researching my own family, then went on with some of the local families, I discovered that almost all the histories had gaps, unknowns, mysterious things that were never resolved. It fueled my imagination.”

“A vivid imagination is a great gift,” I said. “I'd like to talk more about your ideas, but right now you need to rest.”

“Perhaps sometime soon. You could give me yer opinion.”

“Maybe,” I said, knowing that most likely we wouldn't meet again in the short time I had left. Katie would return
to Tainwick to recuperate, and I'd continue to work the murder case with the inspector.

“I don't remember yer name,” Katie said. “I've been trying, but I just can't. Maybe it's because o' the blow tae my head.”

Thinking back to the tasting, I wasn't sure I'd thought to offer it. “Eden,” I said.

“I'm glad ye visited me, Eden.”

Settled on a comfortable sofa in the small waiting room right across the hall from the patient's room, fortified with a sweet roll and a cup of tea from the service counter, I thought about Katie's research and how this latest murder was one of those mysterious events that she might end up writing about, especially if we didn't solve the case—although I was confident that we would with Inspector Jamieson at the helm. Still, Henrietta McCloud could very likely make an appearance of some sort in the young woman's future work.

I was the only one in this particular waiting room. The inspector had arranged to keep other visitors away from Katie's area. I considered turning on the television for company. But someone from the staff offered me a pillow and blanket, which I gratefully accepted, and I promptly decided I was sleepy. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realized that it was only midafternoon, but in these winter months when dark descends as early as three thirty, nights are
extremely long. This one coming up might prove to be my longest ever.

I'd given up one of my precious last days for this. What I should have done was let Sean and Vicki suffer through another twenty-four hours without each other. In the morning Katie would leave. Sean and Vicki would have lots of tomorrows in their future together. The generosity I'd felt earlier drained away, leaving me annoyed.

And sleepy.

But what good is a security guard who isn't conscious? Which made me wonder how Sean did it, so I called him.

“And tae whom do I have the pleasure o' speakin'?” he asked.

“You didn't stay awake through the whole night, did you?” I said, without preamble. Sean knew exactly to whom he was speaking.

“Course not. I wouldn't be human if I had, would I?”

I wanted to point out that that was part of the job, staying alert for trouble. But how could one person accomplish that without backup relief?

Sean explained, “During the day when there's a lot o' activity, if ye need some shut-eye, ye tell the head nurse that ye are takin' a bit o' a snooze, and they aren't tae let anybody near the room who doesn't belong.”

“Shouldn't I move into her room in that case?”

“No, no, no, that would alert her tae the fact that the powers that be are worried about her safety.”

“Which we are.”

“Tae a small degree, is all. The patient needs tae stay calm. Havin' police protection in her room won't help that, now will it?” After a brief pause, he remembered the most
important part of the equation. “As tae the nighttime, I forgot tae inform ye earlier that her room is tricked.”

“Tricked?”

“Aye, once the door is closed.” He paused to ask, “Is it closed right noo?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then, if anybody were tae enter, it alerts the nurse desk and somebody will come runnin'. They can turn it off anytime they want tae check on her.”

“Thanks, that's helpful.”

I hung up, miffed with Sean. What if I'd peeked in? It would have triggered the alarm. Although I was relieved that the “trick” was in place. That meant I could get some decent rest without worrying.

This gig was turning out to be a gravy job. Or rather it would be if I were actually being paid like Sean was. I'd have to speak with the inspector about hazard pay. I grinned at that and was reminded that I hadn't phoned him about the switch with Sean. At the moment, it didn't seem as important as a few minutes to rest my eyes.

Arranging myself in a comfortable position, I felt myself starting to float in fluffy dreamy clouds, sinking into the pillow, my breathing evening out.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before I was startled awake. My eyes popped open. Someone had turned off the overhead lights in the waiting room and had closed the door partway. A beam of light shone on the floor from the hall lights. What time was it? How long had I been asleep?

Instantly my mind flashed to Katie, worried until I remembered about the tricked door and the alarm system at the nurses' desk. I sat up suddenly and sensed a rush of
motion over my left shoulder. Something slammed into the pillow where my head had been resting moments before.

It happened so fast, in such a whoosh of movement. From the corner of my eye, before I had time to turn and face my attacker, I sensed something descending again. I raised my arm to deflect any blows as I slid from the sofa to the floor. A rush of air told me I'd been quick enough, but barely.

I found my voice long enough to shout, “Get away from me!”

I screamed. Then tried to remember where I'd stashed the pepper spray. But my mind was blank.

Later I would chastise myself for reacting by squealing instead of swinging. But reflexes kicked in and my survival instincts were in high gear. So I went on screaming, keeping my arm raised, and swiveled on the floor to face my attacker. All I saw was a dark shadow moving away, caught a glimpse of white shoes and navy trousers before the person who had intended to harm me was out the door.

I rose to my feet and scrambled through a pocket for the pepper spray, intending to give chase. But by the time I reached the door and had protection in hand, the hallway was deserted, except for several nurses and aides I didn't recognize hurrying toward me.

The night shift had swung into action.

I turned my head in the opposite direction and caught the tail end of an exit door swinging shut. But by then, the help I'd shouted for was surrounding me, questioning my motives, wrestling the spray out of my hand, and standing firmly between me and the exit door. No one was sure if I was the source of the shouts for help or if I was the cause,
and they weren't about to let me go off without explaining myself.

By the time I managed to convince them that I was the victim of an assault, pursuit was too late. Which probably worked out for the best.

What had I planned on doing if I caught up? Pound the first person I encountered wearing a navy blue hospital uniform? And with what? With the baton I wasn't carrying? Or maybe I would have shot off a round of pepper spray only to discover I'd zapped the wrong person, and experience the wrath of Jamieson descending on me?

Once I convinced Katie's night nurse that I was on the same side, I opened Katie's door, hearing a buzzer sounding down the hall. The nurse gave me a scowl before heading toward the desk to turn it off.

“What's going on?” I heard Katie's sleepy voice. “Who's there?”

“Everything okay in here?” I affected a bit of a Scottish accent and kept hidden in the shadows, not wanting to alarm her.

“Aye, but, I thought I heard screaming.”

“A bad dream, probably. Do you need anything?”

“No.”

Katie was safe. That was the most important thing.

I would have phoned the inspector next, but hospital security had arrived, and I was informed that he was already on his way. He found me at a little after seven o'clock in the semidark of the waiting room with my eyes peeled on Katie's room and the canister of pepper spray in my hand.

“A bit o' excitement?” he said, taking a seat beside me, his eyes serious, concerned.

“My life flashed before my eyes.”

“A surgical hammer was found in the stairwell. Now, ye better start at the beginnin'.”

I told him what I knew.

“It was either a member of the hospital staff,” I said, finishing, “or someone dressed to play the part.”

“It wouldn't be difficult tae dress appropriately in navy tae pass yerself off as a member o' the medical community,” he agreed.

“I never expected it.”

“Ye can put away the pepper spray. Ye won't be needin' it. As soon as the call came in, I ordered hospital security tae check the premises; that's when they found the hammer but no sign of an intruder. It would take a halfwit to still be lurkin' aboot. I'm supposing we won't find prints on the weapon.”

“I think I remember a glimpse of a glove, so probably not, but I can't be sure. It happened so fast.”

“Ye're safe now.”

“Why attack me?” I said aloud, voicing the question that had plagued me since the encounter. “Why not go right into Katie's room? Whoever this was probably wasn't aware of the door alarm. Even if this individual did know, it would have been a simple matter to disable it disguised as one of the staff. Why go after me?”

The inspector frowned. “What are ye doin' here anyhoo? Ye should be snug in yer own cottage and Constable Stevens should be in this room.”

“I decided to spell Sean so he could be with Vicki.” A thought occurred to me. “Do you think those hammer blows were meant for him?”

“Anybody with eyes in their head could have told the difference between the two o' ye, able tae get a good look while lurkin' in the room while ye were sleepin'.”

A good point. And creepy to think about. If I hadn't awoken when I did, I could be dead.

“Noo I'd like to know,” he continued, sharper now. “Who approved this change o' orders? I must be goin' dotty, because I don't recall it coming from me.”

“I apologize,” I said, meaning it. If I'd kept my nose out of it, I wouldn't have been alone in the waiting room and none of this would have happened. “I wasn't thinking that it was a big deal.”

“And now 'tis a big deal.”

“But why would anyone go after me? Katie's supposed to be the one needing protection.”

“Have ye noticed anything unusual lately in yer goin' aboot?”

“Like someone watching me or following me? No.”

“Who knew ye were comin' here tae take over fer Sean?”

I thought about that. “No one, other than Vicki. I hinted at it this morning.”

“Someone found out. But ye haven't been on guard fer that sort o' thing, either, have ye?”

Why would I have? The inspector and Sean didn't go around looking over their shoulders, afraid that evil lurked in every shadow, waiting to pounce. I shuddered at the thought of someone preying on me. Biding their time. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“What have ye done, Eden Elliott,” he said, “tae cause someone tae take this kind o' risk tae take ye out o' the picture once and fer all? If that hammer had—”

He didn't have to finish; we both were aware of how close I'd come. All I could do was shake my head in utter confusion.

Henrietta McCloud was dead, Katie Taylor had been attacked, and now it had been my turn.

We were interrupted by the entrance of Sean. And he wasn't happy that his romantic interlude had been cut short. “Leave ye with a simple task,” he said to me, “and what comes o' it? More trouble, that's wha', and me havin' tae pick up the pieces.”

“Are ye aware o' what transpired here, Constable Stevens?” the inspector asked.

“Not yet, since ye didn't elaborate when ye ordered me tae appear. I imagine the special constable isn't likin' the duty and is requesting her leave.”

We filled him in. Sean grew noticeably quieter.

“Ye're officially relieved o' duty, Special Constable Elliott,” Sean said, showing a humbler side than usual. “Or maybe we've been standin' guard over the wrong woman!”

“I can finish out here tonight,” I said.

“Ye're finished,” Sean insisted. “I wouldn't leave ye alone. Vicki would have me head on a platter and serve me up!”

The inspector and I exchanged glances. He gave me a wink. In spite of my underlying fear, I found comfort in that simple show of support.

Morning's first light brought with it more new snow that had fallen during the night, a light dusting that left the scenery outside my window glistening as the sun rose over the hills. The fire had gone out sometime in the very early morning, and without that warmth to counter the chill in the air, I stayed in bed longer than usual, enjoying the warmth of my comforter and Snookie's body beside me.

The fact that I'd been able to sleep amazed me. But after going over the scene in the waiting room again and again, I wasn't any closer to understanding why it had happened, other than that it had to have something to do with the murder investigation.

And it had been more than a warning note written out. Much more. What had I learned to cause that violent reaction? Or was I on the verge of a discovery?

Eventually, I forced myself out of my cocoon, restarted the fire, put on coffee, fed Snookie, ate a hot bowl of porridge, and prepared for a new day. I refused to allow myself
to continue to dwell on yesterday evening's assault. Instead I concentrated on the murder case, rationalizing that only by solving the case would I find out why I'd been targeted at the hospital.

Sitting beside the fire with my cup of coffee, I phoned Bridie Dougal. When she answered, I identified myself and spent a few minutes talking of the weather forecast, which called for a cold front bringing more wintry conditions and more of those colorful warnings. Bridie seemed delighted with the possibility of going from the yellow of aware, through amber to prepare, and touching on red, which meant prepare for the worst. When she ran out of weather topics, I got around to the real reason for my call.

“There's been some mention of an unpleasant side to Henrietta,” I said. “And I'm hoping you can clear that up for me one way or the other.”

“People love tae cause mischief,” Bridie, a bit on the impish side herself, said. “Henrietta's old ways o' dealing with life, why that's fiddler's news.”

Another expression I was familiar with after almost half a year in the Highlands. Bridie was telling me that was old news.

“Go on,” I encouraged.

“Henrietta was a much different person when she came tae work fer me. Her father was a drunk, the mother a sad sack, beaten down from years o' abuse. A neighbor of hers appealed to me after learning that I was looking fer home help and asked me tae take her in, see if she might work out. That first year she needed tae heal from such a cruel home life.”

“That was kind of you.”

“It wasn't kind so much as selfish. I enjoyed her fussing over me. Henrietta seemed happy with her lot, and stayed, as ye know. She had a lot o' anger built up and it took time fer her tae let it go, but she managed eventually.”

“What about her sister?”

“Patricia was makin' her own life in Edinburgh. Henrietta said she'd rather be on the dole than takin' advantage of her sister and comin' between her and her husband by intruding. Especially with a new family started.”

I thought about that before saying, “Could something in Henrietta's past have anything to do with her murder?”

“Ye mean her past catchin' up tae her?” Bridie paused, then said, “That was a long time ago. Over thirty years at least. What sort o' person would wait that long tae exact revenge?”

A point I'd considered. “I was hoping you'd have some idea. Someone with incredible patience?”

“I can't help ye there, Eden. Henrietta ran away from a bad childhood, but she was never any trouble tae me, never had anybody unsavory coming around callin' on her, either. Why don't ye stop by fer tea,” she interjected. “It's about time we discussed yer Scottish family. I have lots o' history tae share with ye.”

“I'm afraid I won't have time for social calls until Henrietta's murder is solved and we have her killer in custody,” I said firmly.

“I can make up some lovely finger sandwiches. Ye still have tae eat, don't ye?”

“Soon, perhaps.” I wasn't about to get into a debate with the old girl, because I wouldn't win, so I wrapped up our conversation with, “If you think of anything that might
be helpful, please call me. And could I please have your son's private number? I'd like to touch base with him.”

Touch base. That had a nice personal ring to it. Bridie didn't hesitate to comply.

When Archie answered, I identified myself as Constable Elliott, and his attitude remained respectful and helpful. “What can I do fer you?”

“Were you aware of a threatening note that was received by Henrietta and assumed to be directed at your mother?” I asked.

“After the fact, I was. Was it intended fer Henrietta, the poor old girl? Did you get tae the bottom o' it?”

“Not yet, but we will,” I replied with more confidence than I felt. “Your mother's initial thought was that it might have something to do with her plan to sell the distillery and her announcement that she had something to discuss with the family members after the tasting.”

“She thought one o' us sent it?”

“Only at first. After Henrietta's murder, she changed her mind. Now she believes the warning was intended for her companion.”

“And since Henrietta died a violent death, that assumption is valid, wouldn't ye say?”

“Perhaps.” I remembered clearly my conversation with Florence. She hadn't thought Bridie was serious about selling out. Neither had her husband, Archie, according to his wife. They'd assumed that Bridie had been bluffing. “Did you believe your mother intended to sell the distillery?” I asked, following up on Florence's claims.

“We all presumed she meant it,” he said, surprising me.
“Mother can be impulsive, rashly deciding important issues without consulting her family. It's exactly something she might pull out o' her hat. I spend half my time keeping her in check.”

Which was exactly the opposite of what Florence had told me.

“And your son? Was Hewie worried?”

“He's away at university and doesn't get involved in family politics.”

I thanked him for his time and disconnected.

Florence had lied about her family's reaction. She and her husband believed Bridie was capable of selling out; her son, who she said had been concerned, wasn't one bit, according to his dad; and Florence had uttered the same phrase used in the threatening note—“skating on thin ice.”

Interesting information, but confusing as well. If Florence had sent the note to Bridie, what in the world did that have to do with Henrietta's murder? Had the housekeeper figured out that Florence was involved in the threat and so been killed to keep her quiet? Was that what she'd wanted to tell me after the tasting? To report Florence for threatening Bridie? In my view, that wasn't much of a motive for murder. But getting rid of Henrietta before she could occupy the family home as grand dame was.

Florence's dream was being threatened by the housekeeper. And if Bridie followed through with her intention to sell the distillery, Florence's husband's livelihood and their son's future were at stake.

Granted, there would be cash from the sale, but that would be deposited in Bridie's bank account, and Florence's dreams would be shattered by her mother-in-law. Thus, the warning shot across the bow?

The issue of the distillery had been successfully resolved, whether a result of the note or a change of heart on Bridie's part. The only remaining roadblock to Florence's final destination had been Henrietta.

For good reason, Florence was at the very top of my suspect list. Had she been the one who had dressed in hospital garb and crept in to attack me? Had she figured out that I was on to her after my reaction to her comment about skating on thin ice? That certainly had been a major slip of the tongue on her part.

Florence Dougal was about to learn that I don't give up easily. If the old Eden's life had been threatened, she might have turned tail and headed for the hills. But the one who was awakening in the Scottish Highlands wasn't such a pushover. Was I a force to be reckoned with? I hoped so.

Still, while sitting before the fire with my coffee and Snookie, I couldn't help thinking that something about this case wasn't right. I sensed that important pieces were missing. And it started with last night's intruder. An attack on me wouldn't stop the investigation. Actually I was the weakest link. The inspector would get to the truth with or without me. And the assailant didn't have any guarantees that the inspector didn't know everything I'd learned. It was a risky move.

After careful consideration, I was confident that I hadn't been targeted for death because I was getting too close to pinpointing the killer. So . . . then . . . why?

Maybe more than one thing was going on here, and I was failing to recognize it.

I thought about that possibility in a personal context, harking back to my mother's illness and the effort it took to finally get a proper diagnosis.

Multiple sclerosis isn't easy to identify. There isn't one simple test. So before my mother's diagnosis, the doctors went about ruling out genetic disorders, brain tumors, infections, inflammatory diseases, and nutritional deficiencies. To make matters worse, she had an underlying condition that masked the real problem. Unbeknownst to all of us, she'd been suffering from depression. Once the depression was addressed, and those other possibilities ruled out, the MS was discovered.

More than one thing had been going on in her body, and for a long time we failed to recognize that fact.

Was the same thing happening here?

My eyes came to rest on Snookie's health records. Inside the notebook, folded neatly in half with “Princess Hen” written on it, was an aging sketch of the Elliott crest with the motto skillfully and beautifully penned beneath the crest.

Once this case was solved, I'd have to remember to give the drawing to Bridie, as I was certain it belonged to her.

My phone rang, startling me. It was the inspector.

“I'm on my way to question a certain American compatriot o' yers, and handcuffs are a distinct possibility,” he said.

“Janet Dougal?” Where had this come from?

“And I'd appreciate backup,” he continued.

“Why?” I asked, thrown off by the suddenness of his decision. Obviously he was arresting her. Why Janet?

“Why?” he roared, predictably as cranky as always first thing in the morning. “Because the woman is after me, that's why, and if I have tae deal with her on my own, she's goin' tae think she has a chance and won't take what I'm chargin' her with seriously. It's been bad enough up till
now, bein' stalked, I was, and I'll have tae use handcuffs if ye aren't there. Havin' ye at my side will hopefully keep her at the proper distance.”

“
What
is going on?”

“Just meet me at the Whistling Inn.”

And the line went dead.