Too Soon a Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 2 (13 page)

Despite being virtually empty, the backpack Kate’s children had given her for Christmas, the same as their mother’s pink one but in a more subdued blue, felt hot against her back. After two slightly cooler days, the summer heat had returned with a vengeance. Halfway to Westerlea, she leaned against a tree trunk in the shade for a rest. Why hadn’t she brought the car or at least come out earlier?

Reflecting the lifestyle of many of their customers, the shop’s new owners had left a bowl of water on the ground just outside the front door. Zoe tied Mac up next to it and went inside. The familiar clanging of the bell took her back to earlier visits, although the layout had completely changed. Many of the chiller cabinets had been replaced with rows of wicker baskets containing fresh fruit and vegetables, and the rear wall now held a display of greeting cards and gift wrap, reminding Zoe of Kate’s birthday next week.

The face behind the counter was new as well: a girl in her late teens with red hair and freckles. She smiled and nodded then returned to wielding her pricing gun. Zoe located the milk and biscuits for Mac without trouble, couldn’t choose between two birthday cards so took them both, and sighed with disappointment at not being able to find the food she used to treat herself to when she needed cheering up.

‘Can I help with anything?’ the girl asked. Zoe saw now she wore a badge bearing her name: Kirsty.

‘I don’t suppose you’ll be stocking taramasalata? I used to buy it here but I know you’ve changed things.’

Kirsty looked blank and shook her head. ‘Sorry. But I’ve got a notebook here I’m supposed to write in when people ask for something we haven’t got.’ She reached under the counter. ‘What was it again?’

Zoe spelled out the word and gave her name when asked for that too. Kirsty looked surprised. ‘Oh. You’re Doctor Moreland?’

‘Yes.’

‘Someone’s been in this morning asking where you live.’

Zoe froze. ‘Who?’ she asked, her voice sounding far higher than normal.

Kirsty shrugged. ‘Some bloke. I told him I didn’t know you so I couldn’t say.’

‘Was he young or old? What did he look like?’

‘Young, I think. He wore dark glasses and a hat.’ Seeing the look on Zoe’s face she tried to be more helpful, adding, ‘Bought a bar of Galaxy and a packet of cheese and onion crisps.’

‘But you didn’t tell him anything?’

‘Like I said, how could I? Anyway, an old lady was in here at the time and you know how they like to gossip. She told him.’

Zoe kept Mac on his lead as she strode home more quickly than she probably should have. Neither of the two cars which passed them on the road was a blue Fiesta but she still stared in at the drivers as they sped by, relieved to see long blonde hair on one and a short grey crop on the other. Like everyone these days, they wore sunglasses.

Her legs trembled as she unlocked the front door; after relocking it behind her she went around the house checking all the windows were secure as well. But instead of making her feel safer, completion of the task saw her anxiety ramp up further. Her heart began to pound uncontrollably and she felt dizzy. The next stage would be hyperventilation. She must avoid that or end up having a full-blown panic attack.

She forced herself to sit down, then concentrated on breathing steadily. Little by little, this worked; her heartbeat slowed and the room stopped tilting. Her mobile rang, still in the backpack where she’d thrown it down on the hall floor. She let the call go to voicemail.

Once it felt safe to do so, she slowly rose and went through to the kitchen for a cold drink, accompanied by a solicitous Mac. She leaned against the sink with her glass of water and tried to focus on what to eat. However, regaining control of her body had been simple compared with halting her anxiety about the situation she was in. Because, combined with being followed by the blue Fiesta and its furtive driver, only one conclusion could be drawn from what Kirsty had told her.

She was being stalked.

It was a measure of Zoe’s anxiety that she forgot to check her mobile until late Saturday evening as she sat on the sofa with Mac and tried to concentrate on the BBC’s latest Scandinavian crime drama. She live-paused the action to make sure she hadn’t misread her log of missed calls. No mistake. The number which had phoned her earlier had been blocked, just like all those others. Oddly, this didn’t unnerve her; if anything it was reassuring. If he was still phoning, maybe he wasn’t planning a visit.

She grew weary and put her feet up, apologising to Mac as she coaxed him onto the floor, but ten minutes later she decided going to bed was preferable to waking on the sofa in a few hours’ time with a back that ached even more than usual. Her bedroom felt stuffy, its window having been completely shut. Mac slipped past her and jumped on the bed. She let him stay.

She slept sporadically, waking frequently bathed in sweat and needing the loo, her dreams populated by strangers and, bizarrely, various wild animals which followed her around a city she didn’t recognise. Giving in at five o’clock, she got up for a mug of tea and stood at the French windows smiling as she watched Mac sniff around the back garden until the kettle came to the boil. The next time she looked out, he was nowhere to be seen.

Her stomach lurched. She ran onto the patio, shouting his name. After a few seconds, Mac trotted back into view from behind a pile of earth, carrying something in his mouth. Even before he came close enough for her to prise the crisp packet from between his jaws, she knew its contents had been cheese and onion flavoured.

THIRTEEN

Zoe was no stranger to living through prolonged periods of anxiety, of continually having a tight feeling across her chest and waking up panic-stricken several times in the night. Knowing these physical symptoms were the result of her body releasing stress hormones—adrenaline and cortisol, she could even name them—was no consolation, because now she had someone else to consider. The child inside her not only fed off the nutrients her body provided but would be affected by her emotions. As a mother-to-be, she had a duty to stay calm, to fight off the fear which sometimes threatened to engulf her.

Knowing she would feel better in the company of someone else and taking exercise rather than lounging on the sofa, she suppressed an urge to call Patrick and cancel their outing. At eight-thirty on Sunday morning, she and Mac got into the Jeep. The crisp packet Mac had found, in all likelihood dropped by a workman, now lay in the kitchen bin beneath the piece of buttered toast she’d tried to eat for breakfast. Out of sight, if not out of mind.

As they approached Duns, passing several walkers—with and without dogs—and a young woman on an elegant grey horse, everything felt so normal, except for the heat, that Zoe started to relax and enjoy the drive. Eventually, she took the sharp left turn on the bend Patrick had told her to look out for and drove along a narrow lane for a mile until she came to a row of cottages. Number four was at the far end, its front garden laid entirely to sun-faded lawn, in contrast to the other three which were bright with well-watered flowers and vegetables.

Shrill barking announced her arrival. When the front door opened, Peggy bounded out wearing a fetching turquoise harness.

Patrick, one foot booted, the other only wearing a sock, said, ‘Come in, Zoe. We’re nearly ready.’ He led her through a narrow hall into a room on the left, every second footstep thumping on the bare floorboards, and indicated she should sit down on a faded two-seater sofa spread with a blue towel. As soon as she did so, Peggy jumped onto her lap, not in the least held back by a missing front leg. The dachshund looked and felt tiny compared with Mac, who was no colossus himself.

Having sat on a matching and similarly faded chair, Patrick concentrated on lacing up his boot while Zoe looked around the room. She saw no television, no ornaments, no pictures, but books lay on every surface, as well as filling floor-to-ceiling shelves across one wall. Three cardboard boxes stood in a corner and she wouldn’t have minded betting they contained books too.

‘I’m guessing you’re a keen reader,’ she said.

He looked up and grinned. ‘You could say that. When I moved here I swore I’d operate a one-in, one-out policy but as you can see, it hasn’t been a success.’

‘I started using an e-reader to kid myself I was keeping mine under control.’

‘Oh no, I could never do that. Love the feel of a book in my hands too much.’

‘What do you read?’

‘Practically anything, fiction and non-fiction, except for romance and religion.’

Zoe laughed. ‘Come to think of it, I’m the same. Though I’d add science fiction to my list of least favourite genres. All those robots.’

Patrick rose and walked to one of the boxes. After rummaging through its contents he pulled out a slim paperback. ‘Try this, it may change your mind. Not a single robot, I promise.’

Zoe had never heard of
I Am Legend
, and her face must have conveyed her doubt that she would enjoy a novel which sported a cover depicting soft-focus zombies. ‘I’ll tell you a bit about it as we walk,’ Patrick said. ‘If I can’t pique your curiosity, you don’t even have to take it home with you. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

As they left the room, Zoe paused to study two small photographs in pine frames standing on a cupboard. Both had a spaniel in the foreground, with the same overweight, middle-aged man slightly out of focus behind them. Judging by the facial resemblance, he had to be Patrick’s father.

‘I know it’s weird to fill your house with photos of dead pets,’ Patrick said. ‘But those were two of the best dogs anyone could have had. As you can see, I’ve not always lived with a dachshund.’

‘That’s you?’ Zoe asked, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

‘I don’t just keep those to commemorate Jack and Ziggy. They remind me of what I used to be too.’ Not waiting for a response, he touched her elbow to propel her out of the room.

She had expected they would all pile into the Jeep and drive somewhere but this was evidently not what Patrick had in mind. ‘You can let Mac out now,’ he said. ‘Although I recommend keeping him on his lead while we’re on the road.’

‘Where are we going?’

He pointed towards a clump of trees in the distance. ‘Over there. We’ll go at a steady pace but promise me you’ll say if it starts to get too much.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ Zoe said, opening the car door and releasing Mac from his harness. He ran around the lawn with Peggy then they both submitted to being put on their leads.

‘I’m glad his eye’s improved,’ Patrick said.

They set off down the road, and just when Zoe was beginning to wonder if they would find anything to talk about other than how amusing their dogs were, Patrick began to tell her about the area’s history. She was captivated by his description of how the Borders became a frontier land during the struggles between Scotland and England in the sixteenth century, as he pointed out the ruins of a fortified house in the distance which he’d take her to one day. He also drew her attention to wildlife she would probably have missed had she been alone, the most thrilling of which was a buzzard swooping down on its prey, although after the dogs were let off their leads such sightings vanished and she had to make do with an occasional fleeing hare.

‘Do you plan to stay in Scotland, Zoe?’

‘I can’t think of a better place to bring up a child, can you?’

‘I was brought here at the age of ten and it feels like home to me.’ Patrick pointed at the ground ahead of them. ‘Careful.’

Zoe sidestepped the entrance to a burrow, nearly hidden in the parched grass. ‘I thought from your accent that you’d been born here.’

‘No, I’m a Polish Irishman. Doesn’t sound like it but Dunin’s a Polish name, dates back to the twelfth century. You try to fit in when you’re ten, so I quickly started to sound like my new friends.’

‘Did you move here from Ireland or Poland?’

‘Ireland. My parents met and married there. I can’t remember being told we were coming to Scotland, just getting excited about travelling on a ferry for the first time. But what about you, Zoe? Why did you decide to relocate to the Borders? I think someone said you’d lived in Nottingham before.’

While Zoe had grown tired of this question last year, no one had asked it of her for several months. Despite this, her stock response came out as easily now as it used to. ‘I lost my husband and needed a change of scene.’

Although usually enough to move the conversation along, this didn’t work with Patrick. ‘But why here?’

‘Why not here?’ Zoe replied, adding, ‘Oh dear, I can’t see the dogs.’

Stopping in his tracks, Patrick said, ‘You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?’

‘You’re not the first to accuse me of that. Mac, where are you?’

Patrick opened his mouth to speak but Zoe never got to hear what he planned to say. At the first ring of his mobile, he pulled it from his pocket, checked who the caller was and said, ‘Sorry, I need to take this.’

He moved a little way off and Zoe concentrated on scanning the terrain ahead, eventually spotting Mac running back in their direction, followed by Peggy. She looked at Patrick. If his face and the gestures he was making with his free hand were anything to go by, he was losing patience with whoever had called him. She caught his eye; he mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ and turned away.

She crouched down to give the dogs a biscuit each and persuade them to drink from Mac’s portable bowl, not realising Patrick had returned until he cast a shadow over the ground in front of her. His expression told her their trip was coming to a premature end.

‘I’m sorry, Zoe, I have to go back.’

‘Of course. Are you on duty?’ She knew he wasn’t. That call had been personal.

‘A friend needs help.’

‘Oh dear.’ She waited for him to say more but all he did was whistle for Peggy and put her on the lead. ‘If you’re in a hurry, why don’t I stroll back with the dogs and you can go on ahead at your own speed?’

Patrick chewed his lip, obviously torn between wanting to leave and feeling obliged to stay with her. ‘You’re sure you’ll be okay?’