1 Off Kilter (11 page)

Monday morning arrived dark and dreary with thick fog. When I looked out the window, I couldn’t see the ridges or rolling hills that had been visible the day before. I couldn’t tell if the sheep were still grazing on them. Even Coco and Pepper didn’t want to venture out, preferring to curl up together and doze by a crackling fire Vicki had started in the fireplace.

“Typical Scottish weather,” Vicki remarked. “It’s a good day to stay in and read a book.”

That was a tempting suggestion, but my brain was functioning well enough to remind me that I needed to make more progress with my writing. Ami was bound to remind me that I should skip ahead and write a scorching love scene. I thought about pretending that I had, but what if she wanted me to send it to her? And why was I resisting anyway? Reading those scenes was one thing; writing one was going to be another. I had several paperbacks in my tote to reread—a few of Ami’s hottest romances, which I hoped would fire up that section of my reluctant brain.

Was my own past coming back to haunt me? What I’d thought was love had come and gone. And the sex hadn’t been what I’d expected and had tapered off over the years, the passion gone. If it had ever been there to begin with.

Was this something personal I had to work through?

“What are you thinking about?” Vicki asked, setting down a bowl of porridge for me. I was getting the distinct impression that every single Scot in the land was eating the exact same thing: porridge. The full Scottish breakfast must be reserved for tourists, which made sense, as a daily dose of eggs and several different meats would have killed off every one of the locals long ago. “You have an angry expression on your face.”

“Just sorting a few things out.”

“I’ll get you some toast to go with your porridge.”

Sex and love. What if I found that I couldn’t write about true love because I’d never experienced it? Same with passionate lovemaking. I’d had a few boyfriends before my husband, but none of them had been as thoughtful as I’d imagined they could be.

Wasn’t it time to have a little fun? What was I saving my passion for anyway? Did I even have a passionate side? If I did, it was buried deep. Maybe it was time to let loose a little. Ami would be thrilled for me.

“Did you take your medication yet?” Vicki asked.

“No. I will after breakfast.”

Did I have to have more than distant memories of sexual encounters to write that scorching scene? If so, I better get to it right after I finished eating, find someone to fill the bill, like . . .

Wait! What was I thinking? Apparently, my brain was seriously swollen and affecting the libido part of my noggin. The faster I could bring down the swelling, the sooner I’d get back to my normal self. Because this kind of illogical reasoning was definitely out of character for me. “I’d better take my meds now rather than later,” I said.

“They’re right here.” Vicki set the bottle down beside me. I swallowed one ASAP.

“The doctor said you might feel a little strange for a while,” Vicki reminded me.

I didn’t remember Vicki being there when the doctor came in to release me from the hospital and give me instructions regarding meds. “How do you know that?” I asked her. “You weren’t there.” Then: “Were you?”

“No. But Inspector Jamieson phoned earlier and mentioned it when he asked about you. Apparently the doctor told him to treat you gently for a while.”

Fifteen minutes later, after the pill had time to work its magic, I felt much better, physically and mentally. I showered, dressed, grabbed my rain jacket and laptop, and headed for the door.

“You could write here, you know,” Vicki suggested.

“Um . . . I’m not writing until later . . . but . . . uh . . . I like to have my notes with me in case inspiration strikes,” I said. This was awkward. If I told the truth, that she was too much of a chatterbox for me to accomplish anything, I’d hurt her feelings. Without thinking things completely through, I added, “I thought I’d drive over to Loch Ness and catch a glimpse of Nessie.”

And groaned mentally when I realized I should invite her along. “You’re welcome to join me,” I offered as cheerily as possible, considering my blunder.

“Next time, give me more notice and I’ll come along.” Vicki looked down at her nightgown and slippers, blonde hair jutting out in all directions. “Besides, this isn’t the best weather for sightseeing. I’d much rather stay by the fire with Pepper and Coco.”

I muttered an apology. Next time, we’d plan in advance. Later today, I could always say I’d had car problems and hadn’t made it to the lake. That was totally believable coming from me.

Before heading for the door, I decided to follow up on the investigation.

“Any news on the murder investigation?” I asked. “Did they charge that Kerr guy?”

Vicki’s face grew long. “It was a dead end. The bloke had an alibi—ironclad, the inspector told me. He couldn’t have been more disappointed.”

“Back to square one, then?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

I wondered about Sean’s discovery in the barn. “What about the loft stairs? Had they been rigged to trigger a fall like Sean thought?”

“The inspector wouldn’t say, but he’s coming this way to discuss it with me. Go on now, and don’t you worry about the outcome just yet. I’ll keep you informed.”

“Oh? When is Inspector Jamieson going to be here?” I asked, realizing his visit was the perfect excuse to put off worrying about that pesky love scene. Procrastination has killed off more than one wannabe author, but a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

“He’ll be round soon enough.”

“I should hear what he has to say,” I reasoned. “After all, I’m the one who fell.”

Yes, a delay!

Not procrastination.

A delay.

That sounded so much better.

“Sean Stevens’s position is aboot tae become redundant!” Inspector Jamieson said as we stood in the barn.

“Redundant?” I asked.

“Terminated,” Vicki answered for him.

Oh.

“He’s outside sitting in his car,” I pointed out.

“He’s been following me like a lost puppy, waiting fer word tae come from headquarters,” the inspector said, tapping the cell phone in a case on his belt. “Any minute now, I’ll get the word, and then he’ll go back where he came from. And good riddance!”

I felt bad for Sean. He’d had the best intentions as he traipsed around unsettling everything and everyone. Or rather upsetting the only one who really mattered—his boss. It’s pretty bad when you get fired from a volunteer position, but Sean somehow had managed.

I’d found the concept of regular folks working as police officers strange in the first place. But ever since Sean had arrived on the scene, I’d been noticing advertisements in the newspaper calling for more just like him. Or rather, like him but with some degree of competence. I clearly was in a foreign country where different rules applied.

“With a little more training . . . ,” I started to suggest on Sean’s behalf, until the inspector turned his sharp eyes toward me and glared into mine. “Never mind,” I said.

“He’s a blockhead,” Inspector Jamieson muttered while studying the broken part of the stairs leading to the loft and comparing it to the piece of wood that Sean had bagged yesterday. “Nothin’ ye can do with the likes of him.”

I nodded to be on the safe side.

“Do ye remember anything unusual before or during yer fall?” he asked me. “Anything at all out o’ place?”

“Nothing,” I said, after considering for a moment. I looked up and spotted a furry head. Jasper was in the loft, lying between two hay bales, his eyes following us. “No,” I said, surer now. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“The step was sawed all right,” the inspector said. “Even a dolt like Stevens could see that. I doubt we’ll get any fingerprints, but I’ll have the team come out and give it a try.” He glanced outside at Sean’s car, then looked down at his silent cell phone. “Even if there were prints tae be found, our eager beaver would’ve destroyed them.”

I couldn’t help thinking that John Derry’s fingerprints would be all over the place anyway, since he worked in the barn.

“Are you most upset because Sean didn’t take precautions with evidence?” I asked.

“I have a long list o’ complaints against him. That bit o’ handiwork was only the last straw.”

“He means well,” Vicki added. I knew she was feeling sorry for Sean, too.

Inspector Jamieson shook his head in disgust, and said, “You know what they say about good intentions?”

“The road to hell is paved with them,” I recited. “An old proverb.”

“And true as they come. But right noo I’m most concerned about yer fall and the person behind it,” the inspector said. “I have trouble believing that John Derry woulda carried things this far. But I’ll have a word with him.”

“A word? That’s all?” I exclaimed. “I could have been killed!”

“It was attempted murder, if you ask me,” Vicki agreed.

The inspector looked over at Vicki. “Did ye ever think, Vicki MacBride, that the fall was intended fer ye?”

Vicki, a shade paler than usual, nodded. I decided it was time to tell her about the conversation between John and Kirstine MacBride inside the shop when they thought they were alone.

“There’s something else you should know,” I said, beginning my tale. The inspector also listened intently, although he’d already heard about it. Neither interrupted.

“John called us busybodies,” I said, wrapping up the story, “and said he was going to take care of us.” I gestured toward the steps. “And it appears that he’s already made an attempt.”

“John Derry was the only one who possibly could have done this,” Vicki said after a few moments of considering the new information. “As Eden and I told you, it was his idea that we cart the bales up to the loft.”

“Whoever it was,” said the inspector—noncommittal, which was frustrating—“would have had a very small window of opportunity, since ye’d been on those steps right before taking yer break.”

I agreed. “John must have snuck back in and rigged the steps before I came back out from the house.”

“He intended for me to be the one to fall,” Vicki said. “If I’d been killed, they wouldn’t have to worry about their precious inheritance.”

“It certainly looks that way to me,” I said. John couldn’t have known about Vicki’s bad back and might have assumed it was her turn to pitch in. Had he been watching us the whole time? Had he been surprised when I went back to the barn instead of Vicki?

It was obvious that the inspector wasn’t going to discuss my fall any longer, so I changed the subject. “Vicki said your suspect in the murder case didn’t work out,” I said. “That’s too bad. He seemed like the perfect suspect.”

“Samuel Kerr was in toon all right, but turns out he’d come tae apologize. He’s a changed man, he says. He’d threatened Gavin in court, but while he was in prison he found his way intae a group o’ recovering alcoholics and he was following the steps. He came tae apologize for his bad behavior.”

“And did he?” I asked.

“Aye.” The inspector nodded. “The week before Gavin was murdered. And he had witnesses outside the pub tae vouch fer him, and an airtight alibi fer the period of time surrounding the death.”

“And what’s his airtight alibi?” I asked.

“Kerr picked up a bit o’ work as a deckhand on a prawn boat. They went tae sea on Sunday and didn’t return until the day before last. The skipper confirmed his story.”

“You must be following other leads, right?” Vicki asked. “Please don’t tell us you’re at a dead end.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get tae the bottom of this before long,” the inspector told us. “But ye two need tae practice patience while I sort each o’ these puzzles out one by one.”

Moments after that reassurance, his cell phone rang. He answered it, moving off to where we couldn’t overhear the conversation. While he was busy presumably getting permission to terminate the excitable volunteer policeman, along with Sean’s dreams of a real position with the Highlands police, I wandered over to Sean’s car, grateful that the rain and mist had finally taken a blessed break. His window was down.

“I’m trying tae keep my chin up,” Sean said, sadly. “But it doesn’t look good fer me.”

What could I say? Nothing cheerful, that was for sure.

Then he brightened, and said, “I was right, though, aye? If it weren’t fer me, they’d have assumed it was an accident and never caught on.”

Which might actually have been true. If he hadn’t been such a bungler, the inspector wouldn’t have sent him off on a wild-goose chase that wasn’t really as wild as he’d thought, and Sean wouldn’t have found the golden egg (in this case, an incriminating sawed-through piece of wooden step). Sean may even have inadvertently saved our lives; thanks to him, we’d be much more cautious from here on in.

Vicki came over, and I left her with Sean while I hustled over to the inspector, who was wrapping up his phone conversation and looking pleased with himself. “Redundant?” I asked.

He nodded and turned toward Sean’s car.

I grabbed his arm, which startled him. It startled me, too. I had no idea I could be so forceful. And with a police officer besides.

“I’d like to plead his case,” I said. “Please bear with me for a moment.”

Inspector Jamieson sighed. “As though I have a choice.”

I began by highlighting Sean’s commitment and enthusiasm, followed by his sense of justice, honesty, and his real concern for others. The inspector looked bored, but too polite to give me the brush-off. So I went on, stating Sean’s role in finding out that I hadn’t taken an accidental fall. “Sean’s investigative methods are amateurish,” I said, “but those skills can be learned. The rest—integrity and passion—are innate. You have them or you don’t. And Sean has an extra dose.”

“Ye make a good case,” Jamieson finally said.

“Besides, you’ll only be assigned another volunteer, right?”

The answer was apparent by his involuntary grimace.

“The next one might not have any more thorough training than Sean, but might be sullen and refuse to take orders.”

“I hadn’t thought o’ that,” the inspector said. “Nor do I care tae think o’ it.”

“I tell you what—I’ll take Sean under my wing, find some online reference sites, and work with him to make sure he retains what he learns.”

“Ye don’t know a thing about our law enforcement.”

“It’s very much like in the States,” I gambled. “Please give me a chance. And if he doesn’t improve in a week, you can let him go. How does that sound? You don’t have anything to lose. But Sean has so much.”

The inspector looked resigned and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Despite that small victory, though, the inspector’s final words on the subject were anything but positive.

“Like the blind leading the blind,” he said.