His Lass Wears Tartan (17 page)

Handing the clipboard to Putney, the young man turned back to Gillian, wiping his hands on his jeans before thrusting his right arm toward him. “A pleasure, Mr. Nation. Jack McVicker at your service. My boss, Bruce, owns the delivery service if ya be needing anything, sir.”

Gillian nodded his head, retrieving his hand from Jack’s grasp. “May I introduce my girls?” A clatter of motion echoed as the girls jumped from their chairs, squealing and shoving in their rush. “This tall, voluptuous one is Rafael, and the one closer to earth is the infamous T-Cup.” T dropped into a graceful curtsy. Each leaped to one side of Jack for an up-close review of the man, purring with delight as she lowered her false eyelashes.

Rogue buried her face in her hands.

“And I’m sure you’ve met our delightful niece, Rogue.” Gillian gave an innocent smile as he swept his arm like a model showcasing a new product. Jack looked confused at the girls and nodded at Rogue. “Uh, yes, we’ve met in these last few days.”

Putney cleared her throat as she shoved the signed papers into the lad’s hands and guided him to the door. “Gillian, you’ve bewitched the lad enough. Thank ya, Jack. The produce looks great, and we’ll be seeing you tomorrow if not Bruce himself, aye?”

He tipped his head at the cook before taking his cap from a back pocket and adjusting it on his head.

Rafael clapped her hands together, letting out a loud catcall. “What a delicious dreamboat, my girl. Does he own a kilt, too?”

 “I can’t believe you just tried to hit on that man. Not only that you frightened him. I’m here working myself into a dither over what might have happened to Bruce, and you jump on one of his employees.” Rogue’s face froze in a glare toward the three across the kitchen. “I have been waiting and so excited for you all to get here, and now I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.” Rogue pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me.” Her thin voice barely heard across the table. “I will see you all at dinner.”

• • •

Before the threesome reached the stable, Rogue spotted them strutting toward her while brushing Dougal in the foreyard. “Watch out for Diva,” she mumbled under her breath.

Diva galloped across the grass and dirt closing the space between the visitors in seconds. All three shrieked. Rogue knew it was more the visions of disastrously huge muddy paw prints that scared them more than the dog herself.

A shrill whistle and a shout of “Diva,” stopped the dog from leaping, but it didn’t stop her from wagging her entire body, so happy to see them again. “I’ve no guarantee she won’t smother you with kisses if ya don’t scratch that girl behind her ears. Canna see how she’s missed you? Be grateful someone has.”

Gillian stiffened and marched directly toward Rogue. “The gray overgrown pup has more of a fetish for T-Cup, so I’ll not be missed in their reunion.” Gingerly stepping into the stable, he said, “We have come to apologize for our horrid behavior earlier. I plead jet lag in the first degree, as all I could remember this morning of Baillie’s call was dead bodies and a delivery guy. Surely you’ll forgive a contemptible slip of the hormones by all three of us?”

Rogue ducked her head against the horse’s neck, her shoulders shaking. She heard Gillian shifting his feet and hushed movements behind her, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

 “She’s crying. Get over here and pacify her. I would, but this shirt is not made for tears and runny noses.”

Rafael’s bulging muscles strained under the tight neon-green t-shirt wrapped around her as Rogue turned into her arms, cradling her head on her shoulder.

“It’s all right, shh, we’ve come to help you. I’m sorry we were boorish earlier. We didn’t mean to hurt you.” Rogue nodded against her chest. “But could we go into the garden to talk. It’s all like broken and dusty around here, and I really don’t like the way your horse is looking down on me. I’m supposed to be the taller one, and I feel thoroughly minuscule next to him.”

Seated together in the middle of the garden, Gillian asked Rogue to spill her heart’s heaviness.

“Aw, uncles, Bruce MacKenzie is strong, kind, and with such a good heart.” She wiped her nose aggressively with T-Cup’s offered handkerchief. More upset with herself than sad that she looked like some simpering girl, Rogue took a deep breath. “You’re gonna love him. He has the look of the fabulous Chris Hemsworth about him, you know, all buffed and blond like the movie character Thor.” She grimaced as the girls squealed in delight. “I know he’s innocent no matter what Jonathan has accused him of. Bruce would never hurt anyone. And now I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”

“Thor?” Rafael swooned dramatically. “Then this morning’s delivery boy is potato chips next to our loaded baked potato. Pfft, no comparison.”

Rogue filled in as much information as she knew of the circumstances during the week and how Jonathan was held at the town’s hospital under guard for attempted rape. The gasps and screams during the dialogue hurt Diva’s ears, and she curled up at Rogue’s feet, whimpering.

“Some Hollywood has-been comes over here and thinks he can get away with molesting our niece? Too bad Lord Kai stopped the freaking horse from finishing him off.” T-Cup puffed up like an angry, multicolored rooster.

“How I’ve missed you, T.” Rogue leaned over, placing her head on her shoulder. “And you, Sir Gillian, and my Rafael.” She blew out a long breath. “My three glitter and glam musketeers.”

• • •

Settled in an overstuffed high-back chair in the library, Gillian crossed his legs, balancing a delicate cup and saucer in his hands. Baillie, dressed casually in slacks and sweater, sat to his left in a similar chair, with a teacart between them. He’d asked the girls to entertain Rogue while he picked Baillie’s brain for additional information.

“I’ve done a thorough check on our Mr. Jonathan Olson, and though he shows no criminal past, from articles I’ve read, he does come across as a frustrated, bitter shadow attached to Mr. Leatherton both financially and possibly more. The royalties on Jonathan’s literary work dried up long ago, and not a single agent has taken him on for anything new.”

Baillie looked up over her left shoulder and smiled. “Kai says the strangely dressed man was less than a shadow.”

“Interesting concept, Lord Kai.” Gillian nodded in the general direction behind Baillie. “Rumor has it that Olson actually has been writing under Leatherton’s name in a work-for-hire format, meaning he would get a pittance for doing the ghostwriting work while Leatherton reaped all the commercial benefits of having a best seller.” He put the empty cup and saucer back on the cart and reached for his notebook-sized computer.

Baillie almost choked on her tea. “I got the impression Jonathan loathed commercial books, like they were as entertaining as used bubble gum stuck under a chair.”

“Exactly, but if the rumors are true, this may have pushed our scummy masher over the edge of sanity. Obviously, he had pitiful delusions of wedding Rogue for her money. Why wouldn’t he also be capable of taking out Leatherton in a fit of rage? And we’re assuming the older woman died of natural causes, correct?”

“Not necessarily.” Baillie hesitated. “I did see an empty cup with the dregs of soup on her nightstand. And her roommate said Beatrice had stayed up long into the night talking with Mr. Leatherton.”

Raising her hand slightly at Gillian to stop, she listened to something he couldn’t hear. “Kai is berating himself for not keeping watch on Jonathan more thoroughly. But I can’t really blame him; the man is nauseating to be around. However, he did find needles and various bottles of medicine in Jonathan’s room.”

Gillian tapped his fingers together, looking at the monitor in his lap. “Hmm, well, research shows Leatherton was diabetic, so it does seem possible Jonathan would have kept track of or administered the doses of insulin for his boss, ensuring a healthy, continued payroll. I understand it’s not an easy disease to keep corralled, blood sugar levels and all.”

He swiped a finger across the screen a few times. “What was the name of the woman who died?”

“Beatrice Wallace. She was rooming with another woman, Marge, at the time. Marge woke up and found her passed away in her sleep.” Baillie listened, staring up for a moment. “Uh, Kai reminded me that I did see a cup of Mr. Leatherton’s soup on the nightstand. Didn’t I just bring that up? You don’t listen to me.”

“I beg your pardon, that was rather rude.” Gillian sniffed, his shoulders rigid. “Am I not sitting right here listening to every word you say?”

“Gillian, I didn’t mean you.” She slapped at the air behind her. “I meant Kai never listens.”

“And I’m sure at the time, the inspectors probably didn’t think much of it either. Do you know if they kept a sample during their investigation?”

“Not really. Again, the initial thoughts were the woman probably had a heart attack from traveling from the United States and the intense stress of Leatherton’s courses. Most of the writers complained about the hours and demands he put on them. She looked rather peaceful, just sleeping.”

“Yes, but insulin makes a great murder weapon.” Gillian snapped the notebook closed. “Enough for tonight; I’m still on West Coast time. Do you think I could make an appointment to talk with the inspectors tomorrow?”

Baillie stood up from her chair, stretching her legs. “I’m not sure they’d be happy to hear from anyone at this castle right now. We’ve caused quite a bit of commotion and paperwork in a very short time. And they’re not actively searching for Bruce. They’ve known the lad practically from birth and his father before he passed away. They’re a good family and community-minded people, and yes, it’s unusual for Bruce to take off, but I get remarks like ‘He’s young and flighty after being in the big city for a few years’ a lot.”

She turned her head around and stood quietly. Gillian stared at the area above her, but saw nothing, no movement of air. He could not see the ghost at all. So frustrating.

“Baillie, I’m calling in Lady Nell,” Gillian said. “Getting information and answers around dead people are more her style.”

The next morning, Rogue opened the front door and greeted a flamboyantly dressed woman in flowing robes and with yards of beads around her neck. “Come in, come in. You must be Lady Nell. I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to Baillie Castle.”

As the woman came through the door setting a unique, oversized carpet bag on the floor, Rogue spotted Baillie coming quickly down the hallway beaming and then throwing herself into the woman’s arms.

“My dear, so good to see you. And you, young thing, are quite striking, you must be Rogue. I was more than thrilled to hear from Gillian again.”

“Again?” Baillie raised her eyebrows as the women turned to look at the thin, blond Adonis casually standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Gillian lowered his eyelids to half-mast. “Someone had to keep the dear woman educated on you and Kai plus the extra characters around here. Poor thing goes out of her way, summoning your poltergeist for you way back when, and just because she gets called away to duty at another faire, you leave her hanging about your kilted ghost. We’re close besties now.”

Baillie’s lips stiffened. “That is so you, Gillian.”

“Naturally,” he purred.

“All right, both of you, enough. We’ve have a guest.” Sometimes they acted like children. Rogue shook her finger in Gillian’s direction. “Behave.”

The heavyset woman stepped around Baillie, gazing at the ceiling in a slow turn. “Incredible architecture,” she breathed. “More than I imagined; this is phenomenal.”

Baillie grinned following Lady Nell’s gaze up to the lighted wood. “Isn’t it fabulous? I just pinch myself sometimes.” Her eyes blinked wide. “Ouch.”

Rogue chuckled. “Uncle Kai, she did not mean that literally. Shame on you.”

Gillian stood at attention, staring at Baillie. “He’s here, isn’t he?” Gillian dipped his head. “Lord Kai, may I reintroduce you to our dear witch of the otherworld, Lady Nell.”

“Do you need to hold my hand, Nell?” Baillie reached out, then jerked her head over her shoulder. “I offered my hand to her, not you.”

Rogue spoke up, prancing on her toes from nervousness. “What does holding hands have to do with anything? Is this an American custom I’m not aware of?”

“The first time I met Lady Nell over in Washington, she took my hand and it made a connection, an archway, for her to hear Uncle Kai.”

Lady Nell closed her eyes, still as a statue, taking in a deep breath. She exhaled slowly. A moment passed, and the woman cleared her throat and opened her eyes.

“Thank you for the honor of visiting your home, Lord Kai. Though I wish my visit were under different circumstances.” Lady Nell dropped into a deep curtsy. “The power is strong without much effort.” The woman gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. “Happiness becomes you, sir.”

Gillian, Rogue, and Baillie exchanged looks and a shrug of the shoulders.

“It’s faint, but I’d know that brogue anywhere,” she smiled. She stepped over and gave Baillie a hug. “I am so thrilled for you. In all my work as a psychic, that day at the faire will forever be a favorite.” Gillian cleared his throat in the background. “Oh, and of course, meeting you as well, Gillian.”

Rogue watched her aunt and Lady Nell discuss the faire. The two were talking and interrupting each other worse than Rafael and T-Cup. She felt a little more relaxed at seeing her aunt’s happiness around this woman. When Gillian brought up the idea of a séance, she’d almost fainted. Dark magic here in the castle? She’d heard news stories of detectives using psychics to find lost people, so it wasn’t a totally crazy idea.

Lady Nell burst into a loud peal of giggles, her face turning a bright crimson.

Gillian stepped in between the older women. “I hate to break up this conversation I’m excluded from
once
again, but people have died here and we need more details. Let’s get our minds out of this Debbie Macomber romance and into a more John Grisham mode, if you please.” Gillian sniffed, straightening his perfect cuffs. “We need details, or we’ll never solve the mystery of the missing delivery guy, Bruno. The sooner we get the séance started, the better.”