Hooked on Ewe (13 page)

“Senga worked in this establishment fer my cousin.”

I hadn’t known that. Although there were probably a lot of things I didn’t know about the local residents. “Maybe I’ll tag along then, since we’re right here,” I said.

“As ye see fit, but let me do the talkin’ and ye the listenin’.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Talk about putting on airs.
“Exactly when are you leaving for police training?” I asked.

“Soon enough. We need tae crack this case fast. I cannae leave in the middle o’ an active investigation.”

What? No! Surely his training began at a certain time, and Sean would be on his way regardless of the status of this case. Wouldn’t he?

Sean continued, “I have plenty o’ advice fer ye.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, just because ye have police power in yer new position, it’s not smart tae flaunt it. Ye might be ordered tae follow up with crime incidents, but ye have tae be subtle about it, ye do. Ye’re a crime stopper now, and don’t ferget it.”

“Are you finished?”

“Fer the moment.”

“Then let’s go.”

A small sign hanging on the door told me that Taste of Scotland was scheduled to open in about fifteen minutes, at ten o’clock, but I could see Ginny Davis responding to Sean’s knock through the glass bakery displays in the window. She hustled through from the back kitchen, wearing an apron around her waist and a scarf tied behind her head.

Ginny had been one of the first local business owners to treat me with hospitality and warmth. I hadn’t forgotten her kindness and made a point of frequenting her shop. The fact that I loved sweets certainly didn’t hurt our casual and friendly relationship, either.

“What is that wonderful aroma?” I asked her right away.

“Scottish buns,” she told me. “They aren’t outta the oven, though, or I’d offer ye one.”

I inhaled with delight and said, “I smell cinnamon and almonds.”

Ginny grinned. “Ye have the nose o’ a hound, Eden
Elliott,” she said, then to Sean, “Also, I put in raisins, currants, and a wee bit o’ brandy.”

“Brandy, now that’s the secret tae the best kind o’ buns,” he said.

The bakery was a small slice of heaven, a welcome retreat from the harsh realities of the outside world. We made it our first order of business to sample the shortbread of the day. Sean and I agreed that the chocolate dip was delicious. Soon Sean was on his third piece and seemed to have forgotten the reason he’d come to Taste of Scotland.

But I remembered why we were here.

“We wanted to ask a few questions about one of your past employees,” I said. Sean, focused on devouring shortbread, still hadn’t jumped in. “Sean! You came here about . . .”

Only then did he snap to. “Oh, right then, cousin. I need information about Senga Hill.”

I watched Ginny’s expression go from sunny and clear to cloudy and overcast. “What about her?” she said.

“If I recall,” Sean went on, “she had a position with ye fer a short time in the spring o’ this year.”

“Aye, she did.”

“Didn’t Senga have her own bakery at one time?” I asked. “Not in Glenkillen, though, if I understood correctly.”

“She owned a bakery in Elgin, down the coast a ways from here,” Ginny said grudgingly. “Which she sold once she turned tae pension age. I thought she’d be an asset to the business when she came in and applied fer part-time employment, but it didn’t work out as I expected.”

“What happened?” I asked, watching Sean bite into yet
another chocolate-dipped shortbread. If he wasn’t paying attention, someone had to, so I pulled out the small notebook that Inspector Jamieson had given me. At least one of us would take notes.

“Shortly after she began,” Ginny said, “this was in the spring, April I believe, all of a sudden my gluten-sensitive customers started complaining about symptoms. Since Sean and I have a dear aunt who is a celiac, I know the signs—bad reflux, cramps, brain fog, digestive issues tae name the most common.”

“Who would that aunt be?” Sean asked her, back in the conversation now that the shortbread was gone.

“Aunt Hildy.”

“Oh right, her.”

“See, over here”—Ginny indicated a display with a large sign that read
Gluten Free
—“are the special bakery items I’ve added as more and more people are becoming intolerant tae gluten, so gluten-free it ’tis. Or is supposed tae be. Senga changed everything around, swapped a gluten-free batch for one with gluten! She made my customers sick, is what she did. I had no choice but tae let her go.”

“Surely it was a mistake on her part,” I said, but couldn’t help wondering about that sleeping-pill-laced cupcake and the connection between that and this. Though there was a vast difference between a mistake in placing the wrong products on a shelf and intentionally adding drugs to baked goods.

“Senga admitted her error, said she needed new glasses, and apologized from the bottom o’ her heart,” Ginny said. “But tae my mind, the choice was either her staying on, or
my customers staying safe. I lost trust in her judgment and ability tae accomplish the most basic tasks, and found I couldn’t get it back. Which would ye have picked if ye had tae choose?”

I didn’t reply. I might have handled the situation exactly as Ginny had.

“Ach, employees! Ye haff tae watch them every second,” Sean said to his cousin as though he were an expert. “Nothin’ worse fer a business than bad employees, if ye ask me.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” Ginny agreed. “I always baked my own products in the past and wouldn’t change that, and after what happened I’m shelving them myself, too. A business owner has tae mind the shop.”

Which was exactly what Kirstine had said about Sheepish Expressions and keeping watch over the cash register. Being a small business owner had to be hard work. Even doing your absolute best wasn’t good enough if an employee messed it up for you. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about that in my line of work.

After leaving the shop, Sean asked if I needed directions to Senga’s home. I told him the address I had and he added, “She’s in the upper flat. Go in through the close. Ye want my assistance?”

Absolutely not
, I thought, but said, “I can handle this one.”

With that, he went his own way and I went mine. I’d pay a quick visit to Senga then head out to the farm for a showdown with the conniving Kirstine MacBride-Derry about the missing yarn kits.

In a small community, avoiding unpleasant people isn’t as easy as it was in the city. Or maybe in a village this size
it’s simply easier to peel away the layers of their public personas and expose them for what they really are.

However, so many of the other locals were kind and welcoming. Despite Ginny’s issues with the woman, Senga Hill struck me as one of the many who were fun to be around.

Senga lived on Oldcroft Street, which runs parallel to Castle Street two blocks north of the very center of the village. She rented a bedroom upper flat in a row of identical apartments. I stood on the sidewalk studying the building and seeing only one door, which led to the lower flat. And a walkway on the side of the building. The close? I followed the path, passing garbage receptacles, and found a gate in the back.

I opened it, walked into and through a lush communal flower garden, past a timber shed, and up a flight of stairs. Senga answered on the first buzz.

“Eden, what a lovely surprise,” she said, letting me into her kitchenette. “We’ll sit in the lounge. Would ye like some tea?”

Thinking of how massive amounts of caffeinated tea had been the primary reason for my sleepless night, I declined. I followed her into her living room, or the lounge as she’d called it, where she motioned me to a seat on one end of a floral sofa.

“I heard ye were helping solve the case,” she told me, sitting down on the other end of the sofa. “Are ye making headway on finding Isla’s killer?”

“We’re still early in the investigation,” I told her, which amounted to a negative. “Right now, we’re asking routine questions.”

“The inspector has been puttin’ inquiries tae me through a series o’ telephone calls.” Senga appeared fairly calm, but I noticed she was wringing her hands in her lap. “And he was asking about the cupcakes, and if Isla had bought any. Lots did, but not that one. A very strange question, if ye ask me. ’Twas yarn around the neck that killed her. What would my cupcakes have tae do with anything?”

A tricky question to answer without giving away too much.

It wasn’t my place to tell Senga what the coroner had discovered. She might suspect something odd, but she couldn’t know for sure why we were asking. Unless, that is, she turned out to be the one who murdered Isla.

“Well?” she said, still waiting for my response regarding her cupcakes and Inspector Jamieson’s suspicions. Thankfully, she went on, “What’s Inspector Jamieson up tae?”

“The inspector keeps his thoughts to himself most of the time,” I said, intentionally vague, but definitely true.

“Aye, he’s a hard one tae read.”

Tell me about it,
I almost said, catching myself in time. Then to change the topic I asked for her yarn kit, explaining that we were collecting all of them.

She immediately rose, went into her bedroom, and returned with it. Like several other members, Senga had started knitting—I recalled seeing her knitting alongside a few others at the trials. She didn’t complain, simply turned it over. “There ye be,” she said. “I have nothing tae hide.”

I placed the kit beside me on the sofa. One more, with yarn intact, accounted for.

“Did you see Isla during the day?” I asked.

“Aye, she came around with her money bag tae collect the mornin’s take.”

“How did she seem?” I asked, keeping to the script.

“She seemed same as always. Her usual self.” I sensed something then, as though Senga had her own opinion about Isla Lindsey, but wasn’t going to share it on her own.

“That was the only time you saw her?”

“Aye.”

“Anything else that might help?” I prompted, not ready to end the interview yet. “Anything at all that struck you as unusual?”

“Nothing at the moment, but if I think o’ anything, I’ll be sure tae ring ye up.”

I thought of asking her for a list of those who had purchased cupcakes, but she’d sold hundreds; she couldn’t possibly list every person who’d bought them, let alone known who may have actually eaten one.

Before I could think of a last line of questioning, Senga said, “Dinnae take this the wrong way, Eden, but ye look exhausted. Ye should get some sleep. A nice nap would do ye wonders.”

“I
have
been having trouble sleeping,” I admitted. “The murder is preoccupying my thoughts, even at night when I should be asleep. Especially then, actually.”

“If Doc Keen sees ye, he’ll be on ye with a remedy. The doc’s been givin’ away samples o’ a new type o’ sleeping pill,” Senga told me.

“Really?” I kept my expression as neutral as possible, but my breath took a leap and my heart began to beat faster.

Senga went on, “Some salesperson left plenty o’ samples behind in Doc Keen’s office and he’s offering them tae some o’ his patients tae try.”

I hoped the doctor wasn’t distributing sleeping pills like candy, especially if it was the same kind that had been given to Isla. So much for the inspector’s “good lead” if he was. “Doc Keen has a lot of patients from the village, does he?”

“He’s the only private-practice doctor o’ medicine between the North Sea and Inverness that isn’t affiliated with the hospital and therefore not charging an arm and a leg fer his service as some o’ them do. Doc Keen takes care of us pensioners who don’t want some young pip-squeak barely out o’ nappies examining them.”

Senga continued, “I wish I’d kept the sample he gave me, so ye could give it a try, but I threw the package in the rubbish. I’m not a big believer in using drugs tae get by, but each tae his own. I made the mistake o’ mentioning tae Doc Keen that I’m up several times through the night and I couldn’t bring myself tae tell him I don’t believe in poppin’ pills. So I carried them along when I left with the full intention o’ throwin’ them away. Now I’m sorry I did. They woulda helped ye get some shut-eye, if ye aren’t against such a thing.”

“When did you toss your sample?” I asked.

“Just a few days ago, as a matter o’ fact. But ye can go by his office and make a request. Although he might have tae see ye first, make sure ye’re fit as a fiddle before given ye a sample tae try.”

“I passed a bin on the side of the walkway leading
round back to your door,” I said, suddenly excited that the conversation had made a turn from routine to right-on. “Is that where you discarded the sample?”

“That’s a funny question tae be askin’,” she said, eyeing me with concern. “Ye don’t plan on digging fer them, now do ye?”

“No, of course not.”

“Ye poor dear. See how exhausted ye are. I’d dig them out meself, but they’re buried but good by now. Should I phone the doctor fer ye?”

“No, no, that’s quite all right. I rarely take medications myself.” It was time to move away from this hot topic, so I went on, “Did you know Isla well? I get the feeling that you’re holding back.” There, I’d put it out there.

“Ye could tell that, could ye?”

“I had a feeling.”

“I knew her too well, if ye must know,” Senga said. “I learned tae steer clear o’ that one. She had a way o’ making a body feel small and worthless.”

“You sound like you had personal experience,” I prodded.

Senga nodded. “Aye, it’ll come out anyway, so I might as well be the one tae tell it. I worked fer a short time in the office o’ the hospice. I was helpin’ keep the books fer the charity events. Data entry, it was mostly, but a little bit o’ accounting as well. I had tae do all o’ that when I owned my own business, and I have a certain knack fer numbers.”

“Who hired you?”

“Harry Taggart himself. I’d already been making baked
goods fer some o’ the other charity events and he knew I’d been a business owner. He thought I’d be useful tae catch up on the books. But I was forced out early in the summer.”

“Forced out?”

“Aye. Isla took a dislike tae me. She challenged me every time I turned around. After only a few weeks, she claimed I’d made too many mistakes. She didn’t give up with complaints against me, and soon after Mr. Taggart told me my help was no longer needed. It was herself that was behind it, I’m sure o’ it. But I didn’t make any mistakes at all, in fact I found several errors. She had it in fer me fer some reason or another.”