27
After thanking Ian and sending him home with his copy of Heather’s notes, Tallie gave one to each of the others. “Seemed like a good idea,” she said.
Summer and Christine had started to put on their coats, but set them aside. Janet made a pot of herbal tea. Tallie, who had already read the first page, watched as her mother did.
“A pen name. I knew it was a possibility,” Janet said, “but it’s rare for one to be such a well-kept secret. Calum Donnelly.”
“Shh,” Christine said. “We’re reading.”
Heather, writing under her brother’s name, had sold a handful of articles to crime-related magazines. Her notes—some handwritten, some typed, a few on scraps of paper—loosely outlined the research she’d been carrying out in Inversgail.
“The Murray case wasn’t a cover story,” Janet said.
“It was, though.” Summer separated the handwritten from the typed pages. “I mean—you’re right, she really was researching the Murray case, and probably hoped to get at least an article out of it. But these handwritten notes are a different line of research.”
“Calum Donnelly’s murder,” Tallie said.
“But where?” Christine flipped through the handwritten notes. “She substituted ‘xxx’ for any useful detail. There are no names but Calum’s.”
“No dates, no locations,” Janet said. “The closest she comes is when she wonders about the death of ‘xxx’s wife.’ That could be WC, but what was she wondering? If that was murder? That he killed her? That someone else did? That it was suicide? She says she’ll prove ‘xxx killed Calum,’ but you can’t tell if she knew who ‘xxx’ is.”
“Remember, these are notes,” Summer said. “Her real work is probably on the laptop.”
“But there are clues here,” Tallie said. “She mentions a change of career. That might eliminate Owen, but not our other suspects. WC quit his career, and you could argue that the writers are working at another career.”
“We’ve been using our own version of ‘xxx’ when we talk about WC,” Christine said. “And we know why she did it. She was smart and she was feart.”
“You’re right,” Janet said. “Her notes tell us a couple of other things, too. Listen between the lines, she says on this scrap. That’s what we’ll need to do, because this is where we need a plan to set things in motion. And I’ve got one.”
At Janet’s invitation, Agnes, Derek, and Sheila came to Yon Bonnie Books the next morning at ten. She’d told them about the new Inversgail Writers’ Inglenook and suggested they come for an inaugural inglenook tea. They’d been delighted, Derek saying he’d carve time out of his morning office hours to attend.
Summer brought a tray from the tearoom when they arrived. “Tea, scones, clotted cream, lemon curd, and strawberry jam,” she said. “I didn’t know which you’d prefer. While I’m here, may I tell you a couple of the questions I’ll ask for the local color piece? That way I won’t be putting you on the spot, and you can have time to think.”
The writers sat with pens poised.
“What kind of interesting backgrounds do you bring to your writing? Jobs, travels, that kind of thing. And, because you’re crime writers, do you have any personal connection or real-life experience with crime that informs your stories?”
“Skeletons in the closet?” Sheila asked.
“That would make it a cliché in the closet,” Derek said.
“I’ll stop back later to see if you need more tea,” Summer said.
Janet had called Hobbs the night before. He’d listened and agreed to pick up Heather’s notes at the shop at half-ten. He’d then tantalized her by saying he had information to share.
“But if I wait to tell you, it will have greater impact,” he said.
Christine found a reason to be behind the bookshop counter when Janet handed Hobbs the notes. “These are two sets of notes, actually,” Christine said. “Notes for her book on the Murray case and another set outlining her research into her brother’s death, which we’ve heard nothing about.”
“I have new information on that,” Hobbs said.
“Do you,” Janet said. She saw Tallie and Christine’s reactions and caught Hobbs’s sidelong look at the writers and a pleased constabulary smile.
“He drowned while swimming unaccompanied,” Hobbs said.
“Not murder?” Summer asked.
“There was some question over whether he made a habit of swimming alone, but an inquest returned a finding of accidental death.”
“I wish I’d known,” Janet said. “She loved him and that would be so hard to live with.”
“Where?” Christine asked.
“Western Isles,” Hobbs said. “Lewis. Thank you for the notes. If you hear anything more, let me know. And… I’m sorry about her brother.”
Janet nodded, then went into the office and closed the door.
“Give her a minute,” Christine said when Tallie turned with surprise to the door. “It’s not Calum’s death. It’s the accumulation of tragedies. They affect your mother’s heart. Me, I get angry.” Glowering, she went back to the tearoom.
Tallie waited five minutes, then knocked and opened the office door.
Janet sat at the computer, a wad of tissues next to the keyboard. “Sorry. I didn’t expect the waterworks,” she said.
“It’s okay. Can I do anything for you?”
“No. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Are you looking for the obit or the inquest?”
Janet blotted her eyes again. “Watching kitten videos.”
When Janet left the office, Summer was checking with the writers to see if they wanted another pot of tea. They thanked her, but said no. Not long after, they packed up for the day.
“We loved our tea and the idea of the Writers’ Inglenook,” Sheila said. “That’s twice you’ve treated us, but we won’t expect it every time. Cheers.”
Janet waited for the door to close behind them. “That might not have done anything,” she said then, “but it went well. Summer was great. Now let’s hope Norman can be as convincing with WC and Owen.”
“Christine was good, too,” Tallie said. “She didn’t lie and say we didn’t read the notes, but it sounded clear to me—we don’t have a clue.”
“Even so, if we’ve really set something in motion, we should fall back on our rule of traveling only in pairs.”
“I’ll let the others know,” Tallie said. “If we’re lucky, this was all for nothing, because Russell will make his arrest.”
That afternoon, as if in response to her words, Inspector Russell and D.C. Shaw marched into Yon Bonnie Books.
“Back for another celebratory tea?” Janet asked.
If Russell had been a real weasel, he would have taken the question by its neck and crunched its bones. “I am here to inform you,” he announced, “that although you’ve been cleared of planting evidence and meddling with a crime scene, it has come to my attention that you’ve been withholding evidence, and I will see you charged.”
“The case isn’t going well?” Tallie asked.
“Thanks to meddlers, eejits, and meddling, eejit constables.”
“It seems we cannae get oot o’ the bit,” Shaw said.
“Stop talking like your eejit granny,” Russell barked, and marched for the door.
“Your granny?” Janet asked Shaw.
“His, maybe,” Shaw said. “Mine’s a dear, wee thing. Suffice to say, not only are we not making progress, we seem to be going backward.”
“Shaw!” Russell barked.
For the rest of the afternoon, the women spent what time they could, between books and teapots, reading over Heather’s notes again. As they did, they added notes of their own, followed by their initials, to a new document in the cloud.
Does WC have an alibi for Fiona’s death? Heather’s? Calum’s? SJ
At the inquest, who said Calum never swam alone. Heather? JM
Where in Lewis did it happen? TM
She asked WC if he’d been to Stornoway, Suilven, or Dalbeg. Stornoway and Dalbeg are in Lewis. CR
What made her think it was murder? Maybe she was wrong. SJ
Then how to explain her death? TM
The threat of being torn apart in court, the press, on social media might = motive. JM
On that scrap, “listen between the lines.” What lines? JM
There are more holes in these notes than there are xxxs. CR
Hobbs knocked on the bookshop’s locked door as Janet and Tallie settled the register at closing that evening. Janet called to Christine and Summer. Tallie let Hobbs in.
“What is it, Norman?” Christine asked.
“Agnes Black confessed to Russell. He’s taken her into custody.”
“Let’s go sit down,” Janet said.
Hobbs followed the women to the inglenook, letting them take the chairs, until Christine objected. “You can’t stand at the fireplace like an Inversgailian Holmes,” she said.
Tallie gave him her chair and moved to the footstool.
“Why did Agnes do it?” Janet asked. “We had her on our list of suspects, but didn’t have a motive. So why?”
“I had this from Shaw. He stepped out of bounds in telling me. Agnes told them she knew Ms. Kilbride was going out to the Stuart Stones. She heard her say so here, in the bookshop. Agnes went there to confront her, away from prying eyes.”
“Agnes always gets a lift,” Janet said. “How did she get out there?”
“She owns a car,” said Hobbs. “She doesn’t like to waste petrol.”
“But she’ll kill?” Janet asked.
“Hush,” said Tallie. “Let him tell us.”
“She confronted Heather and asked her to stop digging into the Murray case—for the sake of everyone already hurt in that tragedy. Heather laughed at her. Called her a wee general, trying to order her around. She said she had proof that Malcolm was not the good man everyone thought, that he had blackness in his soul. Agnes said she saw blackness in Heather’s soul. Then she picked up a rock. When it was done, she threw the rock in the pool. She left the book as a red herring. She took the bike, but couldn’t remember where she left it, by then being in shock. Since that morning, she’s been listening to an inspirational podcast. Reading between the lines, she came to the realization she must confess.”
“That’s… plausible,” said Tallie.
“But it’s full of holes,” Summer said. “Shaw stepped out of bounds to tell you all this. Does that mean he questions the arrest?”
“He didn’t step that far. Russell expects to get more details over the next few days.”
“Like how she knew when Heather was going to the stones and how she got the book from William?” asked Janet.
“And how large the rock was and where exactly she hit her?” said Hobbs.
“In a rage, she might not know,” Summer said.
“What about Rab’s video?” Christine asked. “What was Agnes doing snooping around the church? Looking for higher inspiration up that scaffold? This is all very unsatisfactory.”
The rest agreed. Hobbs, having nothing more to add, said goodnight. The others agreed with that, too, and went home. Along the way, Janet and Tallie stopped at Basant’s.
“Good evening, Mrs. Janet. Tallie, so good to see you.” Basant marked his place in his book and set it aside. “How may I help?”
“Something easy for supper,” Janet said.
“Curried sweet potato pasties in whole meal short-crust,” Basant said. “Fresh in my case and to die for—do please forgive me. I see that was not an appropriate sentiment.”
“We’ve just had shocking news,” Janet said.
Tallie put her hand on Janet’s shoulder. “We can’t give details, beyond saying that Agnes Black confessed to killing Heather Kilbride, and she’s being charged.”
Janet put her hand on Tallie’s. “We’re finding it hard to believe.”
“I, too, find that hard to believe.” Basant stood still, silent, calm, waiting.
After a few moments, Janet thanked him. “You’re a good friend. We’ll take two of the pasties, please. They sound perfect.”
Basant put two of the hand-size pastries in a bag, then turned to the jars of old-fashioned sweets on the shelves behind him. He looked them over, finally taking one down. Without comment, he took a half a dozen of the candies and put them in another bag. He rang up their purchase and handed them the bags. “You two have good heads and good memories, so I know you will remember that the truths we tell ourselves are often not true, and the best lies come closest to the truth. As well, lies and truth often get into a right fankle.”
“Resolve,” Janet said. “That’s our watchword.”
“Then I’ve no doubt all will be well.”
“What did you put in our wee bag?” Tallie asked.
“One of my chocolate favorites. Chelsea Whoppers.”
Hobbs knocked on the bookshop door again the next morning.
“I’ll go.” Christine stalked to the door and unlocked it. Before moving aside to let him in, she demanded, “Well? What fresh misery have you brought us today?”
“An update. May I come in, Mrs. Robertson?”
Hobbs followed her to where the others stood in the doorway to the tearoom.
“Our morning meeting,” Janet said. “A good time for an update. What have you heard?”
“Her confession fell apart.”
“Because of the holes?” Tallie asked.
“One rather large hole. She has an alibi. Ian Atkinson saw her at the beach at Sgaildearg.”
“Ian?” Janet said. “That seems so unlikely. What was he doing there?”
“Went for a walk, he says. He found her car poorly parked in the layby. Being Ian, he took a photo. He also felt the bonnet, which was cold to the touch, and he took photos of her doing tai chi. The photos are time-stamped. He spent quite a bit of time there not actually walking.”
“So why did she confess?” Summer asked.
“That remains to be seen, but not by Russell. He’s being replaced.”
“Good Lord,” Janet said.
“Good riddance,” Christine said. “Why?”
“Shaw assumes mishandling of this case and possibly others.”
“What happens next?” Tallie asked.
“The new man will be in touch, perhaps as early as this afternoon.”
“I hope he’s an improvement over the weasel,” Christine said.
“Inspector Reddick will be glad to know your standards remain high, Mrs. Robertson.”
Early that afternoon, Rab paused in showing Janet and Tallie the photographs he’d matted for the Farquhar celebration. “Reddick’s just driven past,” he said, “Parking round the back, I should think. I’ll tell the others.”
Christine and Summer came from the tearoom as the door jingled and their favorite detective inspector walked in.
“Afternoon, all,” Reddick said. “I wish the circumstances were better, but it’s nice to see you, just the same. Quantum is well and wishes he were here sipping whisky with Ranger.”
Janet thought Quantum, Reddick’s high-achiever Collie, would look right at home in a smoking jacket. “It’s nice to see you, too, Inspector. You’re looking—”
“Tired,” Reddick cut in. “Never lie to a cop. I spent the night catching up on the case. Shaw’s been kind and let me catch naps in the car.”
“She was going to say you look like someone refreshingly competent,” Christine said. “But carry on. We’re clear of customers for the moment.”
“Thank you, on all counts. I won’t keep you long. Hobbs told me he brought you several updates. I have another. Mrs. Black explained her false confession. She says she was very fond of Fiona Clark, that she was shielding William Clark in Fiona’s memory. She says Clark killed Ms. Kilbride because she had proof he was responsible for the drowning death of her brother in Lewis. That he failed to render aid, standing by as her brother drowned. She says now that wickedness is too much to bear.”
“ ‘Failed to render aid’?” Summer asked.
“Her words.”
“This is more plausible than her first confession,” Tallie said.
“How is she?” Janet asked. “That was a lot to carry around for almost a week.”
“Shaken, but determined and convinced,” Reddick said. “And wrong. Calum Donnelly died in Lewis the day Clark attended his wife’s funeral here in Inversgail. An unassailable alibi. We are, however, taking Clark in for Ms. Kilbride’s death.”
“I hope you’ll pardon our wary looks,” Christine said. “The last twenty-four hours—less than twenty-four—have given us whiplash.”
“Understandable. I’m sure you know that I can’t go into details, but I don’t doubt that you’ll be learning more. I encourage your efforts, and I’ll see you again, rather soon, I hope.”
Christine motioned the other women closer after Reddick left. “Tell me if I’m wrong, but ‘taking him in’ isn’t the same as charging him, is it? Not for a carefully worded man like Reddick. And all of that ‘you’ll be learning more’ and ‘I encourage your efforts’ sound like we’re to carry on. The real villain is feeling safe and secure right about now. What do you say we pull the rug out from underneath?”
“One small problem,” Summer said. “Who is it?”
“If Christine’s right about feeling safe and secure,” Janet said, “we have time to do our jobs and catch a comfortable killer, too.”