1 Off Kilter (14 page)

Despite my attempts to talk to Vicki that night, I’d been unable to persuade her to unlock her bedroom door and let me in, and I’d eventually given up. The next morning, the sky was the darkest it had been since I’d arrived in Scotland. The only upside to the dismal weather was a temporary reprieve from my golf outing with Alec MacBride. He’d called the house early to express his disappointment. Somehow I was able to conceal the joy I was feeling. We rescheduled for the next day.

Vicki refused to get out of bed even as the morning slowly wore on. She pleaded illness when I tried to coax her to rise and face the day . . . and to answer a number of questions I was curious about, though I didn’t say that.

In Vicki’s absence, I turned my attention to the other house dwellers, Coco and Pepper. I let them outside to do their business and then back in, filled their bowls with fresh water, and served them breakfast.

Shortly afterward, Inspector Jamieson phoned and asked me to meet him at the beach near Gavin Mitchell’s cottage. I told him I’d need an hour to get ready. My mood threatened to become as dark as the day.

I showered, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, and told Vicki through her bedroom door that I was heading out despite the gloomy weather.

Driving today was yet another new adventure. I drove through and over the moors and hills, encountering fog patches that blinded me from the road ahead. Rocky slopes began at the side of the narrow road and were abruptly swallowed up in the murk. High beams, I found out quickly, made visibility even worse. I slowed way down and crept along, nervously navigating the roundabouts.

A few tiny rays of sunlight peeked out here and there, but did little to illuminate my other issue—the writer’s block I still suffered from. No way would I be able to write a single decent sentence until the Gavin Mitchell murder case was solved. Ami hadn’t known what she was wishing for when she suggested I immerse myself in Scottish culture!

Well, I certainly hadn’t stuck a hesitant toe in to test the water. I’d dived right in without even finding out how deep the water was. It’s not like I was going to make the brume dissipate until my head was clear and my mind focused. And how would that be possible with all the drama going on around me?

I resolved to assist the inspector in closing this case as quickly as possible so life could return to normal—not only mine, but Vicki’s and Inspector Jamieson’s, and the lives of everybody else caught up in this mess.

So when the inspector had called and requested my presence in Glenkillen, I’d been more than happy to accommodate him, even though he’d refused to divulge his reason for our meeting.

It didn’t take long to find out what he wanted.

“Please explain this system to me,” I said after I parked on the street next to the beach and joined him. By this time, the rain had begun to fall, our umbrellas only protecting us so much against the wind and mist sweeping across the sand from the far reaches of the ocean.

“CCTV,” he said, appearing more rumpled than usual, indicating he’d had a night as long as mine had been. “Closed-circuit television.”

“Ah.”

“We’ve been using it in the big cities fer years,” the inspector informed me. “Especially in areas that need monitoring, such as banks, airports, car parks. The use o’ them has increased over time due tae the fact that they decrease our crime significantly, sometimes cutting it clear in half, percentage-wise. These days, every city center in Scotland has a system in place, even the smaller villages like Glenkillen.”

The light mist turned to heavy rain pouring in streams off the edges of our umbrellas. I adjusted the angle of mine to find a little relief from the spray. “And those cameras are here at the beach?”

“Aye,” he answered, pointing at a light pole. As much as I tried, I couldn’t see anything other than the post and its light fixture. The surveillance camera must have been up inside the light housing. “This car park is monitored mainly against theft,” he continued. “We had a rash o’ auto break-ins at the beginning o’ the summer so we installed them here after that. We didn’t catch the thieves, but they stopped their handiwork. See the sign?”

Sure enough, at the entrance to the parking lot a big, bold sign warned of the use of television cameras.
Looking Out For You
it read. I hadn’t noticed it previously when Vicki and I had walked onto the beach, but it had been growing dark that night.

Big Brother and thoughtcrime. I couldn’t help thinking of poor, betrayed Winston Smith in
Nineteen Eighty-Four
. It seemed that America wasn’t the only place that was losing the battle for individual privacy. Would future generations even know enough to miss it? Almost certainly not. I shivered, whether from thoughts about the world we live in or the chilly dampness, I didn’t know. But I was grateful that the path Vicki and I had taken that night hadn’t crossed the parking lot. The thought of cameras following our every move was unnerving, even though we’d done nothing to be ashamed of or to have been concealed from prying eyes.

“Kirstine MacBride has some nerve,” I said, still upset over her unfounded accusation against my friend, “making an outrageous claim like that against Vicki. If she had known you could check on her, she might have held her tongue. And going so far as to involve Bill Morris in her scheme.”

There was a slight pause before Inspector Jamieson asked, “Ye and Vicki have become good friends, then?”

Something in his tone sent a warning to me to tread softly. “I haven’t known her long enough to categorize her as a
good
friend,” I answered, suddenly realizing I barely knew the woman.

“Are ye absolutely sure ye don’t have anything to add to the investigation? Anything at all?”

We locked gazes. And then I knew.

“You already viewed the recording from this camera, didn’t you?” I said. “And you
do
have Vicki on the video, don’t you? Kirstine was telling the truth. Bill did see her.”

He could have nodded, but he didn’t have to. The answer was in those penetrating eyes.

I felt physically ill.
Vicki
had been the one who’d lied. She’d lied to me as well as to the inspector about never having met with the sheep shearer.

She’d meant to deceive us. Yes, she certainly had spoken to Gavin on the phone. The part she’d left out was that they had met right here on the beach, a short distance from his cottage right before he died.

“Why didn’t Bill come forward earlier with this information?” I asked.

“Bill never would have on his own. He’s usually drunk as a lord.”

“But he told Kirstine?”

The inspector nodded grimly. “She ran intae him on the street yesterday while doing a bit o’ shopping. And when she got back tae the farm and found out that Gavin had been murdered right on the MacBride farm, she couldn’t wait tae tell me what she knew.”

This wasn’t going well.

“That recording only proves that Vicky met with Gavin,” I reasoned, more to convince myself than the inspector. “Withholding pertinent facts doesn’t make her a killer. Meeting him in a parking lot is a long way from stabbing him to death in a barn. Besides, she has no motive.”

“A person’s motive fer murder isn’t always readily apparent,” the inspector said. “Rather, it seldom is.”

My thoughts went back to the night we’d found Gavin’s body, the box beside it, a telltale dustless square on a dusty old television. My belief that his cottage had been searched. “What was inside the box beside Gavin Mitchell’s body?” I asked.

“Important papers,” he said. “Deed tae the cottage, insurance policies, bank statements.”

“And he kept them in a box on top of the television?”

“Ye sound surprised. It’s not uncommon as all that. We’re a simple folk.”

Simple? That remained to be seen. I very much doubted that the inspector was uncomplicated. “Anything obviously missing?”

“Nothing out o’ the ordinary, no. His life was pretty much accounted fer.”

I stared out at the crashing waves of the firth.

“How did Gavin Mitchell find out that James MacBride had died?” I asked the inspector.

“MacBride slipped intae a coma at the end. His daughter, Kirstine, had just arrived and Gavin was at his bedside when he passed. Herself was in a very bad condition, and so Gavin offered tae call all the family members and tried tae reach the solicitor. When Paul Turner couldnae be found at home, Gavin began making arrangements. Luckily, Turner was notified and returned the next morning.”

This fit with what the solicitor had told us.

I wanted to ask if the inspector had confirmed Paul Turner’s whereabouts during that period of time, but I didn’t want to appear to be trying to cast suspicion away from Vicki without just cause. Besides, after Vicki’s deception, I had to face the facts: She could very well have murdered the man. At minimum, she wasn’t as innocent as she’d led us to believe.

Had she used me as a pawn in an evil game, actually leading me along to “discover” the murder scene with her? Inspector Jamieson had been onto her from the very beginning, asking all those questions. Me? I’d bristled at his implications and been blinded by her kindness just as surely as I’d been blinded by this morning’s fog.

“Vicki did it, didn’t she?” I asked, weakly.

“Best not tae be jumping tae conclusions,” the inspector advised as I jumped from one to another. “In an ugly business like this, we’ll come tae the best type o’ conclusion tae the case with facts we can substantiate. It looks bad fer her, though. That I will admit.”

“What are your personal thoughts?” I decided to ask him.

“My own,” he answered somewhat coolly.

Overnight, it felt, our relationship had changed. Until now, I’d shared a certain camaraderie with the inspector, which I have to admit I enjoyed. After this reserved comment, I sensed him taking a step back from me. I had been friendly with the suspect, taking her up on her offer of a roof over my head. With Vicki in his sights, Jamieson wasn’t going to trust me any more than he did the suspect.

“Ye aren’t planning on leaving Glenkillen anytime soon?” he asked, official and all business.

“No. I’m staying a little longer.” That had slipped out. I wasn’t even sure it was true or that I wanted to. But the expression on the inspector’s face was a warning.

“I’ll hold ye tae that,” he said. “When will ye be able to move back tae the inn?”

“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid. Jeannie Morris is convinced I started the fire.”

He seemed to think about that for a moment, but all he said was, “Keep a sharp eye out fer trouble and don’t go making any.”

I watched him walk away. Even with his back to me and his collar pulled up, his posture and the faded umbrella gave him an unmistakable aura of a man with a heavy burden to bear.

By the time I reached the Kilt & Thistle, the heavy rain and howling wind was making my umbrella more of a handicap than any actual protection from the elements. Sean Stevens and I banged into each other in our rush to escape the weather, our inverted umbrellas tangling, and by the time we made it through the doors of the pub, I was drenched. Somehow Sean made it inside in much better shape than I did.

“So sorry,” Sean repeated over and over. “Let me buy ye a pint for yer troubles.”

“You’re drinking? Does that mean you’re off duty?”

“I’m always on duty, but that doesn’t have anything tae do with a sip here and there.”

“I think I’ll stick to tea, thanks.”

“Suit yerself. Mind if I join ye at a table?”

“No, not at all.”

Most of the tables closest to the bar were taken. I spotted the drunken innkeeper at his favorite table, a pint in front of him. He tracked me with narrowed eyes. Vicki had believed Bill Morris was harmless, but he might very well be her downfall. The man was more alert than I’d given him credit for.

Heads turned our way and eyes followed our movements; one table of two patrons were whispering, one’s hand held up to another’s ear, cupped to muffle sound. Paranoia tried to run rampant, but I beat it back with threats to its life.

Let them talk. It didn’t affect me in the least.

Dale’s wife, Marg, came over once Sean and I sat down, and after exchanging complaints about the weather, Sean asked her, “Have you a good Cullen skink today?”

“Came in with this morning’s catch. Couldn’t be any fresher than that.”

Sometimes I forgot I was in an English-speaking country. “Cullen skink?” I asked.

“Smoked haddock in a rich stew,” Marg explained. “The recipe hails from Cullen, a town not too far away along the coast.”

“It comes with mashed potatoes,” Sean said.

“And a few secret ingredients tae call it the pub’s own,” Marg added.

For the first time, I realized how hungry I was, remembering that I’d fed the terriers this morning but hadn’t taken time to eat anything myself. “And two cups of tea,” I finished.

“What tea?” Sean said, glancing from me to Marg. “I don’t think so.”

“If you’re on duty, you shouldn’t be drinking alcohol,” I insisted, sounding more churlish than I wanted.

“That might be true where ye come from, but over here is a different matter,” he protested.

“Two cuppas, it is,” Marg said, hurrying away in spite of Sean’s continued protests.

“Yer awfully high and mighty today,” Sean said, annoyed. “A real do-gooder.”

“If you remember correctly, I saved you from redundancy. It’s time you got serious about your career.”

He bristled. “I take my job serious enough.”

I wasn’t about to forget my pact with Inspector Jamieson. I’d promised to help the volunteer. “Didn’t you receive training when you were first offered the position?”

“I was.”

“In the form of?”

“A training manual.”

“And did you read it?”

Sean looked at the ceiling and rolled his eyeballs around in his head, so I was pretty sure he hadn’t.

“I was aboot tae start it soon,” he murmured.

“Read the first twenty pages tonight, and we’ll discuss them tomorrow.”

Sean’s face was reddening with barely suppressed emotion. “Wha’ are you? My ma? I don’t take kindly tae your meddling in me affairs.”

I let silence hang between us. He began to squirm. The truth came out soon after.

“I’m dyslexic, if ye must know,” he told me. “Reading anything is hard fer me. Even so mooch as a scrap o’ paper takes me ferever. I couldnae read a whole training manual.”

Ah, that explained a few things. “Should I see if the inspector can round up a video instead?” I asked.

“Ye better not tell him aboot my problem. That would give him more reason tae make me redundant fer good.”

True. “Maybe we could just discuss some of those pesky law enforcement procedures,” I suggested. “Starting with no drinking on the job.”

Marg arrived with two steaming bowls of hearty haddock chowder, which turned out to be wonderfully flavorful and was even better when I followed Sean’s example and dipped crusty bread into the thick, rich broth.

Silence stretched as we enjoyed our meal. Sean, I noted, was serious about his food, focusing entirely on the meal before him.

“How’s the fire investigation going?” I asked when we were scraping the bottoms of our bowls.

“Nowhere.” Sean had downed his soup as though he’d been rescued from starvation, but now he paused to scowl at his glass of water before elaborating. “Security cameras in the street and lobby didn’t pick up any unusual activity,” he said. “That tells us the arsonist either knew where the cameras were placed and avoided them, or it was an inside job.”

His lack of prejudice against me made me like him a little better.

“What about the owners?” I suggested, leading the newbie along by his nose.

“Jeannie and old Bill?” At the mention of the innkeeper’s name, Sean glanced over at Bill’s table, although it was impossible for him to overhear Sean from that distance, especially with all the other conversations going on around us. “Why would himself do such a thing?”

“Maybe they’re tired of running it. Jeannie mentioned how much she’d like to see the world and get away from the village. And her father . . . well, he doesn’t seem fit to take over.”

“No reason fer them tae try tae burn up their own place, though.”

Did I have to spell out the entire thing for him? “Jeannie’s father told me the inn is insured. That’s a good financial reason if I ever heard one.”

Sean scoffed at that. “Leave it tae Bill tae make ye think he’s better than he is.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And the man is starting tae go dotty, with all the booze and old age.”

“What do you mean?”

“They dinnae have a bit o’ insurance.”

What? No insurance? But that was what I was basing all my accusations on. Owners trying to cash in—one in particular who wanted to escape this village. “That can’t be true,” I said, flabbergasted.

“’Tis. Old Bill let coverage lapse over a year ago.”

“Does his daughter know that?”

“Aye, she’s the one who told me. I confirmed it with the insurance company. They’re runnin’ bare as a newborn’s bottom.”

Sean had been more thorough in his investigation of the fire than I’d have ever given him credit for. Maybe he would make it as a cop after all.

But there went another one of my promising theories, flying out the window, cackling as it went. Surely Jeannie wouldn’t burn down an uninsured building. If she really wanted out, she would put the inn up for sale. If she and her father didn’t have a motive for starting a fire, then who did?