Dressed to Kilt (16 page)

Janet Dougal didn't stand a snowball's chance of escaping once she opened the door to her room.

“Ye're tae come with us,” the inspector demanded by way of a greeting. “Constable Elliott will stay with ye while ye change intae something more appropriate. I'll be waiting in the breakfast room.”

The smile on her face faded. “Is something the matter?” she called after his retreating back. Then to me, “He isn't at his best in the morning, is he?”

An astute observation on her part. I've been on the receiving end of his snarly morning disposition several times, and it wasn't pleasant, even when he wasn't gunning for me as he was Janet.

“Let's not annoy him further,” I suggested, glad that she'd already applied her heavy-handed makeup beforehand. Otherwise we would have taken much longer than it ended up taking. And since the man she'd set her sights on was involved, she hurried without any prodding from me.

“What's the fuss about?” she asked as she changed.

The inspector hadn't taken time to fill me in either on the phone or a few minutes ago in the reception area downstairs, so I was almost as clueless as Janet. “He'll explain himself in due course,” I assured her.

We entered the breakfast room ten minutes later, the only ones there. Tea was already laid out for a party of three, with the inspector sitting quietly before one of the servings. Jeannie brought a basket of toast as we joined him.

I wasn't particularly hungry in a physical sense after the big bowl of porridge I'd eaten earlier. My craving was for an end to the suspense that had been building inside me ever since the inspector's summons. I still didn't know what was going on, although I had my suspicions.

Oblivious to the tension in the air, Janet dove for the basket of toast, withdrew several halves, buttered them lavishly, and was spreading them with marmalade when the inspector chose that moment to enlighten us.

“I'm aboot tae ask ye some hard questions,” he said to her. “And I expect nothing less than completely honest answers.”

“Of course,” Janet said, as though she wouldn't even think of any other option, her smile warm and reassuring.

“I believe ye had more than a few words with Henrietta McCloud.”

“I told both of ye about that incident,” she said, intent on preparing the toast.

“Aye, but ye failed tae mention a second encounter the very same afternoon that the victim was murdered.”

I hadn't seen that coming, mainly because Janet had insisted she'd been in her room during the time in question,
and I hadn't found anyone to say otherwise. Apparently, the inspector had. I wondered who had come forward with this revelation.

Janet glanced up, startled. “And who offered up that pile of rubbish?” she demanded.

“Let's just say I have a firsthand account. Ye were seen drivin' away from the inn in that car ye've been renting at approximately four o'clock that afternoon.”

“What if I did?” Janet gave him her most dazzling smile. “That's hardly proof of anything.”

“Except ye were also placed at Bridie Dougal's house shortly afterwards.”

Janet's smile slid sideways and the piece of toast fell from her fingers. “It's time to come clean, then.”

“It's past time,” I told her, growing more agitated, irritated that the woman had lied about her whereabouts from the beginning. More lies. A pile of lies, if I added hers to Florence's.

“Henrietta McCloud rang me up,” she explained nonchalantly, as though it hardly mattered. Although this time she remembered the dead woman's name.

“What time was this?” the inspector interrupted to ask.

“Roughly around three that afternoon, if I had to guess. She suggested that I come right over to have an early supper with Bridie before the tasting, that she was in fact looking forward to it, and that I couldn't possibly say no.
About time Bridie Dougal treated me properly
, is what I thought at the time. So I drove out there, expecting to be warmly welcomed.

“Instead, Henrietta answered the doorbell, opened the
door only partway, as though I was some sort of unwanted salesperson. She refused to let me in, claiming I hadn't been expected at all. Well, of course we had words
again
, I told her what I thought
again
, and I ended up driving back to the inn to wait for the appropriate time to go to the tasting. Actually thrown out, as it were. That woman was playing some sort of nasty game with me!”

“Ye killed her then before ye left?” The inspector's blue eyes were piercing like daggers.

“No! How could you possibly think that? Henrietta was very much alive. I'm the one who might have suffered a collapse of some sort after that shabby treatment. But you can see why I covered it up once the woman was found dead in a whisky barrel. I would have been the main suspect!”

I refrained from verbalizing the retort on my lips.

“I did a bit o' research with the assistance o' authorities in the States,” the inspector informed her, “using their database. Not only do ye have a working knowledge o' distilleries, by yer own admission, havin' made a hobby o' touring them, and could have easily tapped the cask and emptied the contents intae the washback, but it appears that ye also have a criminal record.”

“The problem with the United States,” Janet said with a huff, after a brief moment to think about that, “is that old records aren't purged after a certain amount of time, which would only be fair. A person does one little thing wrong, and it follows her for the rest of her life.”

What she claimed was true, a problem with the system, at least from an ordinary citizen's point of view. I've witnessed plenty of situations where people were denied employment
because of black marks in their distant pasts. But from law enforcement's prospective, it was a huge benefit, as I was discovering now.

Inspector Jamieson leaned in and lowered his voice even though the room was empty of any other diners. “Ye were charged with assault on two different occasions, both o' them occurring in the last year. I'd hardly call
that
a small spot on the linen that has followed ye fer years. Restrainin' orders were required tae protect yer victims.”

Janet snorted. “Victims? Hardly. That silly tramp didn't deserve him, but he was blind to that fact. And yes, they both requested restraining orders, but she put him up to it. I'm over that infatuation now and can hardly believe I had feelings for him.” Her voice softened as she went on, “He isn't like you, not nearly as intelligent and interesting.”

The inspector grimaced, and there were a few moments of awkward silence all around before he continued, “I'm afraid I have no choice but tae detain ye fer further questioning in the murder o' Henrietta McCloud. Ye have a history o' violence, the knowledge tae have arranged the crime scene as we found it, and a witness that places ye there during that time frame. Do ye have anything tae say in yer defense?”

“I can see why it doesn't look good from your point of view,” she admitted. “Especially when you lay it out like that, in such a cold fashion. I want an attorney, and that's all I have to say.”

Janet might be done, but I wasn't quite through.

“Not only are you facing murder charges, but you attacked me at the hospital last night,” I said, and it wasn't a question. I'd never have thought she had it in her. “And
before that you assaulted Katie Taylor. More charges will be pending, I assure you.”

“Katie who?”

“The caterer.”

“That's preposterous,” Janet said, still blustery, but there were cracks in her composure. “I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know this person and I haven't set foot in the local hospital. And when I left Henrietta McCloud, she was alive. Inspector, you aren't really arresting me, are you?”

“Ye need tae come along quietly,” he said.

“I won't!”

“Ye most certainly will,” I heard from the doorway, and glanced up to see Sean strutting our way, hitching up his trousers in a display of authority. “I can take on the responsibility o' this one, as I should, considerin' my newly appointed position.”

Jamieson was visibly relieved to pawn her off. “Take the suspect away, and I'll be along shortly.”

“I don't have a proper vehicle fer transportin' suspects,” Sean told him, producing a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “I'm still drivin' that ratty old Renault when I should be travelin' in a beat car o' me own.”

The inspector sighed. “Fer right now, ye'll drive what ye have.”

“You can't handcuff me,” Janet said, rising from the table, staring at the handcuffs, the seriousness of the matter finally dawning. “I'm an American citizen.”

“And a Dougal at that,” the inspector added.

“That's right! And I have immunity,” she insisted. “Based on my nationality.”

“Sean, see that herself's immunity remains intact and watch out, she's got a record o' aggression.”

After a few more verbal indignations from Janet, Sean managed to convince her that it was in her best interest to go along without creating a scene, and he escorted her from the room.

“Who finally decided to come forward with information?” I wanted to know the minute we were alone.

“The bit aboot seein' her drive off from the inn came from an anonymous tip-off, called in early this morning. The part about a witness tae her arrival at Bridie's house, well, that was a fabrication on my part.”

I feigned surprise at such underhanded tactics. I'd have done the same if I'd thought of it. “You trapped her!”

“Her confession was a surprise, I must admit. I'd already found out aboot her past assaults on that poor man in the States, before the call came in.”

“No idea who saw her driving away from the inn?”

“Somebody who shoulda come forward immediately, but better late than never. It was the catalyst that got me goin'.”

“Don't you need that witness?”

“Not with Janet Dougal admittin' she went out tae the house.”

“So you actually arrested Janet for Henrietta's murder.”

“She hasn't been charged yet, but it's appearin' likely that she will be.”

I shook my head in wonder. “I never gave her a second thought.”

“A number o' factors came intae play. It was a stroke o' luck.”

What could I add? Janet hadn't even been a consideration as far as I was concerned. I'd had a one-track mind. I'd been after Florence Dougal. It was hard to let go of her perfectly wonderful motive and instead accept that Henrietta had been killed by a kook simply because she had slighted her one too many times.

“And all along I thought you and Janet were an item,” I said with a grin.

“There's room in that jail cell fer one more,” the inspector warned.

I picked up a piece of cold, dry toast and nibbled on it.

The inspector rose and said, “I best be on my way.”

“To put the screws to her, I imagine,” I said, with a straight face.

The inspector didn't dignify my comment with an answer. He turned on his heels and disappeared after passing Patricia Martin with a terse greeting.

She entered the room and said, “I saw Janet Dougal being escorted away by that constable. What's goin' on?”

“I can't say yet.”

“The police have arrested her for my sister's murder, haven't they?”

And without waiting for a reply, she was gone, chasing after Jamieson.

I stepped out of the inn onto the sidewalk and raised the collar of my quilted coat against a gust of icy wind from the north. I didn't feel any particular sense of relief now that Janet was in police custody. Maybe it was too soon for my brain to process, the reality that this woman was capable of murder not having set in yet. Whatever the case, I should have been glad that Henrietta's murder was cleared up, and those of us involved could go back to living our lives. I'd been completely off the right track with Florence Dougal, but I told myself I wasn't exactly an expert in crime solving and should forgive myself if I chased after a red herring or two. No one had been hurt by my singular focus on the wrong suspect, and the inspector had done what he does best—solve crimes.

Still, I was more than a little embarrassed by my mistake. Maybe the fine art of crime fighting wasn't my forte. It had been an interesting side job, though, as rewarding as entertaining readers with romance and intrigue.

My role as special constable was more passive than active for the time being, so what should I do? This day and the next several could be rearranged to suit myself. I didn't feel like writing at the pub even though I knew I should. Yet the warmth of the fire at the Kilt & Thistle drew me in, and I took a table as close to the fireplace as possible after greeting several regulars. Dale was at his post behind the bar as usual. “I'll order something in a little while,” I told him as I slung off my coat and hung it on the back of a chair.

I still felt certain that more than one thing had been going on. Janet might have murdered Henrietta McCloud, but what about that threatening note? How did it fit with the American woman, and did it necessarily have to? I leaned back and stared into the fire. If (as I was starting to suspect) the warning found in the mail didn't involve the murder, the timing of its arrival couldn't have been worse. And so I'd allowed it to become the focus. It had overly influenced me. I had a lot to learn.

My cell phone rang.

“Herself is still proclaimin' her innocence,” Jamieson said from the other end of the line. “Nothin' surprisin' aboot that. I have enough tae hold her fer now, during which I'll clear up a few unresolved details tae make murder charges stick.”

“This feels anticlimactic, like there should be more.”

“I know just what ye mean. Real life isn't like one o' yer books, though, and I have tae remind myself o' that every time. There's always some unfinished business. It isn't all tidied up in the end with wrapping paper and a nice bow.”

“What if Janet was set up? Someone could have lured her out there intending to cast blame on her.”

“Every convicted felon says that from behind bars. I thought of it myself, and might have believed it as a possibility if not fer the rest. The restraining orders against her didn't help her case.”

“No, they wouldn't have.”

“The Martins are pleased as punch. Patricia Martin was like a bloodhound once she set eyes on the situation. I left her tae speculate, but she's a sharp one and has figured out what's on, and so that pressure is off.”

Of course, Patricia and her political husband had been vocal about wrapping up the case as soon as possible to deter more attention than necessary.

“The Edinburgh papers have been following the investigation?” I asked.

“As have all the other rag sheets, with a lot o' silly speculation.”

“Anything more I can do?” And how did I feel about that? Did I want to continue to work to put Janet behind bars?

But that wasn't in my future because the inspector said, “Nothing that our Sean can't handle. The weight o' proper evidence is my burden tae bear noo.”

I had complete faith in the inspector's abilities. And in spite of his comments about real life's untidy bows, by the time he was through, the ribbon would be tied perfectly.

The last thing he said before disconnecting was, “Why don't ye take some time tae enjoy yer last days in Glenkillen? Ye've been a big help. I couldn't have done it without ye.”

A big help? Yeah, right. The man was a solitary investigator. I might have been a big help if he'd kept me informed. As it was, I hadn't been even close to the truth. Maybe I should do as he suggested and just enjoy.

There's something soothing about a roaring fire. It's almost hypnotic and I found myself staring blindly into the flames, wondering what to do with the time I had left.

Ten short days. Seven hours of daylight each day times ten days equals seventy hours of light from the sun. Not much time in the scheme of things. What should I do with it? Chucking my writing was tempting. Or I could reverse my schedule and write in the evenings from my cottage. If I put my mind to it, I could still have that first draft of
Hooked on You
completed by the end of the year. Without any further duties as a special constable, I could also spend as much time as possible with the friends I'd made.

Like Dale and Marg, who had served me many times in this pub. And all the other shop owners I'd met around town—those from the bookstore, the inn, the whisky shop, the bakery—I wanted to visit all of them at least once more before leaving.

Then there were the most important people in my life these past six months. Vicki, who had been a wonderful and supportive ally since our meeting on that fateful inbound plane from London. And Charlotte and her many visits to the farm to care for the animals, always finding time in her busy schedule for a chat at the kitchen table. And what about Sean, blustering a bit and a tad self-important, but with a good heart and good intentions?

And the animals on the MacBride farm—Coco and Pepper, and Jasper the barn cat, and now Snookie.

And of course, Inspector Jamieson, appearing in my new life shortly after arrival, not always under the best circumstances, but his dry sense of humor and wit were calming forces in the darkest of times. And the inspector had been
the one who had introduced me to some of the Kilt & Thistle's more interesting culinary delicacies. I'd eaten haggis, thanks to his encouragement.

An image of Leith Cameron's handsome countenance appeared in the flames from the fire. He'd been the knight in shining armor who, along with Kelly, had rescued me from the side of the road all those months ago when the rental car I'd leased had broken down. I could still see the lazy grin and his easy self-confidence from that experience. It was hard to believe that he and I had attended the whisky tasting only this past Saturday. Three days ago. Finding Henrietta's dead body would stay fresh in my mind forever.

Then I realized that I hadn't heard from Leith, and I was used to some sort of contact almost daily. We'd gone together to the warehouse on Sunday to speak with Gordon, but yesterday had passed without a call from him or a surprise drop-in. Would I see him today? Should I call him? But what would I say? That I was free, maybe invite him to dinner? Actually cook him a meal in the cottage and afterward . . .

Afterward what?

I could hear Ami on the sidelines, cheerleading, encouraging me loud and clear, the same refrain she'd been singing since I arrived in the Scottish Highlands. Let yourself go. Experience life to the fullest. Ditch all those old-fashioned inhibitions. Quit “shoulding” yourself.

“‘Should' is officially banned from your vocabulary,” Ami had said that day in the Chicago airport. “So is ‘shouldn't.' Throw out those archaic words and begin anew. How many
of us have an opportunity for a fresh start like you're getting?”

I'd smiled, knowing what came next.

And it had. “Introduce a few new phrases into your vocabulary, like . . . ‘Yes, take me!'” she'd exclaimed with dramatic flair. “And . . . ‘More! More!'”

“Stop it,” I'd ordered her, laughing.

Much to Ami's chagrin, I hadn't followed what she referred to as her “sage advice.” But my characters had.

And she hadn't been completely wrong. I'd had a fresh start. After listing those I considered as friends, I realized my world had expanded by leaps and bounds, if not necessarily in the direction she'd envisioned.

I heard a crackle and a pop and a spark leapt from the fireplace, bringing me back to the present. The logs had been nearly consumed and most of the flames had died down to burning embers. Dale appeared at the hearth with an armload of firewood. He tossed a few logs on, poked them around, and watched as they caught fire. Then he turned to me, wiping his hands on an apron tied around his waist, and said, “It's all aboot the pub how the inspector has arrested that American woman fer murderin' Henrietta McCloud. Before the talk goes out on the street and burns up the town wires faster than these pieces o' wood, I thought I'd confirm the facts with ye.”

“She hasn't been charged with a crime,” I told him, carefully choosing my words. “The inspector is questioning her.”

“Well, that's hardly worth all the blarney going round. But we live in a wee village where nobody has a thing tae
do except spread rumors without much care whether they're true or not. They want this one tae be real, though, tae relieve them o' the idea that it was one o' our own who killed Henrietta.”

Which was understandable. It would be easier to accept a foreigner as a murderer over one of the locals. And one more reason to distrust outsiders.

“The other bit o' news is that ye aren't assistin' the inspector any longer, that ye are off as special volunteer.”

What? That was news to me. The inspector had suggested I take the next few days off, but he'd said nothing about relieving me of duty.

My mouth snapped open to refute that, but I quickly closed it and reconsidered.
It's just gossip
, I told myself.
It's not like this came directly from the inspector.
Still . . . I felt a twinge of disappointment that the community had already dismissed me even before my boss had.

“I'm looking forward to a few days to explore,” I told Dale, not confirming or denying what Jamieson would call local blather.

“Ye ready fer a cuppa, then, tae start ye off?”

“Yes, tea would be nice. And do you have any shortbread?”

“I'll see what I can do fer ye. I believe I can scrape up a biscuit or two.”

By the time the tea arrived with an assortment of oatcake crackers and shortbreads, Sean had slipped in and taken a seat beside me. “It's lookin' like we have our criminal,” he said, helping himself to a shortbread.

Sean glanced up as Dale placed a tea serving before me. “I'll have a pint,” he said.

“You're on duty,” I pointed out, not for the first time. “Nothing stronger than caffeine for you.”

“I don't know how I survived without yer interference,” he said, but nodded to Dale. Tea would have to do.

“The mystery o' the threatening note has been solved,” he told me.

“Oh?” Another piece of the puzzle connected without me.

“'Twas Archie and Florence's boy, Hewie, away at college. One o' his classmates egged him on tae throw a scare intae his grandmum tae get her tae back off on sellin' the family business.”

“It had nothing to do with Henrietta's murder.” As I'd come to suspect.

Sean shook his head. “Florence Dougal is in hot water with the inspector fer covering it up. She found out aboot it right after it was sent and kept it hidden.”

“Florence slipped up when she mentioned skating on thin ice,” I said.

“Not much in the woman's head, if ye ask me opinion, tae make a foolish mistake like that. Once ye told the inspector aboot what she'd said, he was on tae her but good.”

So it was finished. Hewie Dougal had pulled an ill-timed prank. Janet Dougal had tipped over the edge of reason and killed Henrietta. It was only a matter of time before we discovered why she'd attacked Katie and me. I couldn't fathom why. Unless she'd gone totally crazy and intended to murder everyone she thought had slighted her.

“Why are you here?” I asked next. “Vicki's at the farm.”

“Ye're not always spot on, ye know? Fer yer information, she's on her way tae this very pub. So is Leith Cameron.”

What a pleasant surprise
, was my first reaction. I'd kill some time at a cozy table filled with my very favorite people. My fireside wish was coming true. “What's the occasion?”

“That's fer me tae know, and fer ye tae find out.”

“Oh, good, I love intrigue.”

But several minutes later, I could have eaten those words.

Leith strolled in first. He didn't take a seat as I anticipated but instead came to stand behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. Before I could turn and peer up, ask him what was going on, sensing some drama about to take place, Vicki slid into the empty chair opposite Sean.

In my peripheral vision, I became aware that others at the pub had turned their attention our way.