CHAPTER 3

The estate had presence, but the individual who opened the door had character.

I expected a servant (manservant, wearing white gloves, carriage erect, formal air about him). Instead, the head of the household greeted me through the partially opened door. Or so I assumed. I’d been told that Bridie Dougal had turned ninety recently, and I didn’t need to be a detective to know this woman was advanced in years.

“You must be Eden. I’m Bridie,” she said with a strong and commanding voice that belied her size and age. She was small and delicate with a lived-in face, and she had trouble fully opening the massive door until I stepped up and gently assisted her.

Bridie Dougal wore a furry Cossack-style hat, better suited for outdoor activity, and a plum-colored dressing gown. She leaned heavily on a walking cane. Once she recovered from the ordeal of managing the door, she took a step back at the same time that I took one forward. As I entered the hallway, I saw an expression of wonder cross her face. She raised a liver-spotted, blue-veined hand and placed it over her heart.

“I would have recognized you anywhere!” she exclaimed.

Behind her, I heard thick-heeled footsteps approaching from down a long hallway.

“Ye’re impossible,” the arriving woman said. I guessed her to be around the same age as my mother would have been if she were still alive, midsixties. She was tall but very thin, with a raspy voice and coarse complexion. She wore a black housedress with a large white collar and a dour expression. I assumed she must be Henrietta McCloud, although she didn’t introduce herself. Ignoring me, she closed the door and took Bridie’s free arm without giving me so much as a sideways glance. “I coulda seen her in,” she said to her charge.

“I couldn’t wait,” Bridie replied. “But now that you have taken charge, Henrietta, perhaps you can assist us to the sitting room. This old coffin dodger could use a helping hand.” We walked slowly through the great hall with its elaborate stone fireplace, and past a well-stocked library into a brightly lit sitting room where tea service had already been prepared at a table set near a roaring fire. “I must say that it was great fun luring you away from your writing obligations and all the going-ons at the MacBride farm,” Bridie said to me. “I’ll sit nearest to the fire, Henrietta, if you don’t mind. I’m a bit chilled.”

“And right ye should be, opening the door, hardly dressed at all.” Henrietta scowled, then was seized with a cough attack. Once she recovered, she settled her ward into an upholstered chair and went about serving tea after I chose an embroidered chair directly across from my hostess.

My attention was drawn to the chair next to Bridie where a most unusual cat slept on its back. White, long hair, a round face, and ears creased and lying flat to its head, it looked like an owl.

“That’s Henrietta’s feline companion,” Bridie said, noticing my fascination. “Snookie is a Scottish Fold. Folds originally came from Perthshire and are quite affectionate creatures.”

“She’s beautiful,” I exclaimed.

Henrietta watched carefully as I complimented her cat. I had caught her studying me several times when she thought I wasn’t looking. She was especially intrigued after the cat roused, stretched, and sauntered over to my chair. Snookie leapt up onto my lap, arranged herself in a comfortable position, and began to clean herself.

“Well, I’ll be,” Henrietta said. “Snookie doesn’t take tae just anybody.”

I never considered myself a cat person, having been raised with the occasional rescued dog here and there. But I liked Jasper, enjoyed going out to the barn to spend time with him, even though I’d had to woo him shamelessly to gain his friendship. This one was warm and friendly.

When Henrietta finished pouring each of us a cup, Bridie said, “You may go now, Henrietta. We won’t need anything more at the moment.”

“I’d prefer to stay in case ye—”

“That will do fer now. Thank you.” Bridie’s voice had taken on a commanding tone. Then more softly she said, “Go on. Put yer feet up, take a rest.”

Henrietta shot a glance my way from the corner of her eye, picked up Snookie from my lap, and reluctantly left the room. I watched her go before turning my attention back to Bridie, who was now staring openly at me. I thought I detected something akin to awe in her gaze. But that was impossible.

If my name were Ami Pederson, I would be able to understand her fascination. Ami’s full-color photograph adorns the back cover of every one of her bestselling novels, and fans are always recognizing her and asking for autographs. But my first book hadn’t been published yet. And chances were that my picture would be in black and white and located on one of the back pages. If it was even there at all. So she couldn’t possibly be a fan of my work.

So why did she say she would recognize me anywhere? And why was she staring at me?

A random and uncomfortable thought crossed my mind, one I hoped wasn’t anything more than a figment of my imagination. I set my cup down. Bridie confirmed my growing suspicion by saying, “You’re the spitting image. Ye have his eyes.”

“What is this all about?” I demanded when I found my voice, already feeling my temper rising.

“Simple, ye see. I wanted tae meet ye,” Bridie said, leaning forward. “So I had Henrietta arrange for ye tae come tae the tasting. This private tête-à-tête is an unexpected gift ye dropped intae my lap without realizin’ it. When ye phoned, I chose tae seize the opportunity. Don’t look so perplexed, my dear. Like I chust said, it’s simple. I had tae meet Eden Elliott, Dennis Elliott’s visitin’ daughter, while I had the chance.”

It was a good thing I wasn’t holding my teacup, or I might have dropped it. “I wouldn’t have come,” I said, manners forgotten, “if I’d known that.”

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t tell ye.” Bridie carefully lifted her teacup to her lips, managing to look innocent.

“You concocted this charade?”

Bridie slowly returned her cup to the table. “I see this foolish old woman has shocked ye,” she said. “That wasn’t my intention. Rumors have been circulating since yer arrival in Glenkillen. They say Dennis abandoned yer mum and yerself when ye were just a bairn. I couldn’t believe that possible. Is it true? I can see from yer expression that it is.”

Speechless, I listened as she continued.

“I wasn’t sure if ye’d accept my invitation or turn it down, but I didn’t want tae take the chance. I knew ye’d come if Leith Cameron invited ye. And the only way I’d get that rascal interested in a little hobnobbing is with an invitation from yerself. It almost worked, didn’t it? Until the two o’ ye compared notes. Am I right? Ye caught on tae my scheme?”

She didn’t wait for a response. I caught the twinkle in her eye. Merriment at my expense? A little fun in an isolated life that must be dreadfully routine? I could just imagine her plotting. All good fun.

Except I wasn’t having a good time. I felt manipulated and decided to extricate myself from this awkward encounter as quickly as possible.

“Thank goodness fer all the typical village gossip,” she went on. “Or I wouldn’t have known about yer friendship with Leith. Or is it more? Ah, humor an old woman. Do ye fancy the lad?”

“I’m not interested in discussing my personal life with you,” I blurted, “or hearing about my father. Or learning of your connection with him.”

“Why, dear girl, I don’t know where he is or what he’s been up tae since his father died all those years ago. Shamed by his actions, I suspect. It’s yer grandfather who I cared very deeply about, taken too soon from this life. He would have been immensely disappointed in his only child.” She shook her head in wonder. “Ye resemble him so much. Roderick Elliott, or Roddy as I called him. We were lifelong friends, and seeing ye sitting here in front of me is like having a few more precious moments with him.”

Tears welled in her eyes. Great. She was going to cry.

Please don’t cry! It was going to be difficult to remain angry and indignant if this little old lady started to sob.

I sprang to my feet.

“Please,” she sniffed. “Don’t go! I’m sorry if I offended ye. But I have a much more pressing reason fer wanting ye tae attend the tasting tonight. Ye see, I’ve been following news of ye ever since I discovered yer connection to Roddy. I’m fully aware of yer value tae Inspector Jamieson as his assistant. That ye’ve solved several crimes since yer arrival in Glenkillen . . .”

“I haven’t been responsible for closing those cases,” I insisted, shaken that this woman knew so much about me. “I only assisted in small ways.”

Bridie smiled. “Ye also have yer grandfather’s humility and grace.”

I started for the door. I’d heard enough about the wonders of my grandfather. He was buried and gone. And in my opinion, so was his son. My so-called father might really be dead. If not, he was dead figuratively, at least to me. I was bitter and planned on staying that way. And some conniving dinosaur of a family acquaintance wasn’t going to change that.

“Please. Ye can’t walk out on me,” she pleaded, and I heard desperation in her voice.

Just watch me, I thought.

She raised her voice. “I asked ye here because of a serious threat tae my person.”

I could tell she was good at getting her way. Very good. Well, at ninety years old she’d had a lot of practice.

I paused and considered. It was one thing for me to take offense over a personal matter that wasn’t any of her business. It was quite another to ignore a plea for police protection, having taken a pledge to uphold the peace. Although I was pretty sure she wasn’t above conveniently embellishing her situation, judging by her recent deception.

But when I turned around, she was holding out a piece of paper; her hand that had been so steady only a few moments ago was shaking. I took it from her and read the crudely fashioned block letters. You are skating on thin ice. Cancel plan for Saturday night. You only get one warning.

“I never ice-skated a day in my life,” she said, as I sat back down. “But o’ course that isn’t what the person who wrote this meant. Henrietta found it several days ago, mixed in with the regular mail. So ye see, Constable Elliott, someone really is threatening my life.”