CHAPTER 15

When I arrived, Inspector Jamieson’s Honda CR-V was parked outside the Whistling Inn. Its horizontal yellow stripes framed by blue and black checkers were unmistakably his. After entering the inn, I exchanged small talk with Jeannie at the front desk and once again admired the inn’s festive decorations. Then she directed me to the breakfast room, where the inspector sat at a table with Janet and Florence Dougal. From the looks of things, they had just finished eating.

This was an amazing stroke of luck, considering that Bridie’s daughter-in-law had been in my thoughts on the drive over. I wouldn’t have to track down Florence now because she’d been delivered right into my lap.

As I joined them, I remembered that these two women had seemed to get along well at the tasting. I recalled my astonishment that evening when I noticed that Janet had managed to make a friend, considering her brash personality and how she had rubbed the other guests, including me, the wrong way. Right now, she was on her best behavior, sitting a bit too close to the inspector, invading his personal space, turned more than slightly his way, an intently concentrated expression on her face.

The inspector was visibly relieved to see me. He rose quickly, almost tipping the chair in his haste to offer me his seat. Accepting it, I suggested he bring over another. He muttered something about leaving soon anyway.

“The centerpiece is gorgeous,” I said, admiring the bouquet of holly, ivy, and mistletoe trussed up with ribbons, an arrangement worthy of Vicki.

“Holly is native tae Scotland,” Florence informed us. “Except for the most remote parts o’ the Highlands. And ivy is very common, o’ course.”

“I didn’t know that!” Janet said. “You are such a wealth of Scottish trivia.”

“It comes from a lifetime o’ living here.”

“I best be off,” the inspector said from behind me.

“Why the hurry?” Janet protested. “You should stay and grill us for more information. We’ve hardly begun.”

“I have a busy day before me.” Jamieson had caught on quickly to her scheme.

As if on cue, Janet rose. “I’ll show you out then,” she said.

He glanced at me and said, “We’ll be in communication a wee bit later. I’m off tae the hospital tae check in on Katie Taylor.”

“A sad affair,” Florence added. “It’s all about the village that some cad musta been passing through and seen an opportunity.”

“What a coincidence,” Janet exclaimed, catching a glimpse of herself in a decorative mirror on the wall and preening. “I was about to go to the hospital myself. I was shocked when I heard what happened to the poor girl and want to show my support. May I impose upon you for a ride, Inspector? My rental car is acting up.”

Jamieson grimaced when he realized his mistake. Amused, I waited to see how he might extricate himself from her clutches, but she had more experience in the fine art of web casting than he had in evading the net. Besides, I felt sure she could have countered any defenses he presented.

“All right then,” he told her. “Get yer coat. I’ll be waitin’ in my vehicle fer ye.”

Florence removed the napkin from her lap and placed it on the table, a sure sign that she expected to leave also.

“If you have a moment or two,” I said to her. “I’d like to speak with you.”

“That’s a good idea,” the inspector agreed, addressing Florence. “Ye should go over the facts as ye know them with Constable Elliott. She’s got a keen eye and will assist in speeding up the investigation once she is apprised of all the facts. Ye need tae fully cooperate with her.”

I shot him an expression of gratitude for having faith in me. Then I watched him sweep out of the room with Janet right behind him, her hustling form reminiscent of Sean’s dogged determination when chasing after the inspector.

Over tea, and while I nibbled at toast spread with marmalade, Florence calmly answered an assortment of personal history questions that I politely presented as social etiquette, carefully avoiding any tones associated with an interrogation.

She’d been married to Archie for thirty-one years, having met at a social function at the same Edinburgh business school that their son, Hewie, attended now. As soon as Archie graduated, they married. Hewie was an only child, and although they had hoped for more, it was not to be. Her husband had been intrigued by the family business from the time he could walk. He’d explored every corner of the distillery, and his aspirations to one day run the business were cemented early on.

“Although he’s had some conflicts with his mother,” she added. “If they don’t see eye to eye on the best course, Bridie overrules him every time.”

“What about your son? Does Hewie want to follow in his father’s footsteps?”

Florence continued with an affirmative. He shared those aspirations. Hewie had been disappointed that he couldn’t jump right in, but his parents had insisted that he get a proper education before taking over the reins one day.

While Florence spoke of her husband’s and son’s hopes and dreams, I studied her. She must have been pretty at one time, but weight gain and the creases of a perpetual frown had marred that beauty. I wondered if she’d had any dreams of her own, and if they had come true.

“You seem to have struck up a friendship with Janet,” I said at one point, which brought the conversation around to the present situation.

“We share a common bond. We married into a tight-knit family. Both of us will always be considered outsiders. Neither o’ us is exactly welcome as far as my mother-in-law is concerned. Bridie barely tolerates me. The least she could do is pretend.”

Bridie hadn’t given any clues as to her opinion of her daughter-in-law one way or another, so I had no basis to judge that—other than the terms of the will, giving Harriet a home for life in a house that some might think should have gone to Bridie’s son and wife. “I’m sure that’s not true,” I said anyway to comfort her.

“It’s spot on,” Florence insisted. “And she hasn’t gone out o’ her way to embrace her American relative, either. Janet traveled a long way to meet us. She deserves better treatment. And Bridie soured Henrietta against me from the beginning. And the way Bridie carries on! She causes as much trouble as she possibly can—sitting in that big house, plotting against us. Her latest little trick was tae make us think she was selling out. It was a ruse o’ course. It always is.”

“Are you saying that you didn’t believe her from the start?”

Florence shook her head. “Not fer a single moment. Archie neither. Bridie wants Archie tae be dependent on her, but he’s a strong man and won’t bend tae her will. But when I phoned Hewie as I do weekly and told him what she was considering, that upset him, it did.”

I ventured into the territory of Bridie’s undated will. “If Henrietta had survived Bridie, she would have been allowed to stay in the house.”

“Another way o’ sticking it tae me. Bridie knew I had my eye on being the mistress o’ the place. Tae leave it tae her housekeeper is a slap in the face.”

“She was providing for Henrietta, if anything should happen to her.” Not to mention that Bridie was ninety and that possibility existed. “Henrietta wasn’t actually inheriting the house.”

“She might as well’ve been.”

“Couldn’t you have moved in also? The house is large enough.”

“And subject myself tae her barbs on a daily basis without the ability tae let her go fer showing disrespect? I think not.”

I was surprised at Florence’s bitterness and went on to say, “Others I’ve spoken with describe Henrietta as unassuming, saying she tended to her own business, was rarely seen and then not often heard. Are you saying she could be petty and vindictive?”

“Ha. That woman was as spiteful as they come. Do more digging and the real Henrietta McCloud will float tae the surface like a rotten fish. She was skating on thin ice even with her own family toward the end.”

Skating on thin ice?

I felt a chill because the warning note discovered by Henrietta had used that same phrase. Something about skating on thin ice. That the plans for Saturday night needed to be canceled. A warning not to be taken lightly, according to the author who penned the note, or else.

“What did you just say?” I asked, watching her closely, my voice sounding colder than intended even to my ears.

Florence bit her lip. I took that to mean she’d let something slip and realized it. “What I meant,” she said, trying to explain herself, “is that Henrietta didn’t get on with anybody other than Bridie. She even argued with her own sister, who only wanted what was best fer her.”

“Are you aware that a threat was made prior to the tasting on Saturday night?”

“Tae whom?”

“That isn’t clear. Bridie assumed it was meant for her, but it may have been intended for Henrietta.”

“I don’t know anything about a threat tae anybody.”

“You just used the same phrase.”

Florence was beginning to look unsettled, her tone turning as frosty as mine. “And what phrase are ye referrin’ tae?”

“‘Skating on thin ice.’”

I went silent, waiting.

“It’s a common enough expression. And wha’ with the icy weather outside, it came tae mind. Ye aren’t accusing me o’ anything, are ye?”

“I’m simply stating a fact.” I wasn’t sure where to go from here. “The expression implies that a person is doing something dangerous to their health. Are you the one who sent that note?”

“I don’t know a thing about any note.”

“Florence, when was the last time you saw Henrietta McCloud alive?”

“I resent yer implication!”

She was on her feet, the chair she’d been sitting in shoved back, teetering on the edge of crashing to the floor, an expression of barely suppressed rage on her unfriendly face. Several diners on the opposite side of the breakfast room glanced our way.

“These are routine questions,” I told her, lowering my voice a few octaves. “Everyone at the tasting the night Henrietta was murdered has to answer that same question. So I’m asking you again. When was the last time you saw her alive?”

Instead of offering a response, as she should have, Florence Dougal whirled and stomped out of the room.

Well, that certainly didn’t go well. Florence had quite the temper.

As I stared at the festive table arrangement with the ivy, ribbons, and evergreen holly, a Scottish expression came to mind that I was almost positive would apply to Florence.

She never lies but when the holly’s green.

Nothing she’d said rang true.

I immediately phoned the inspector and told him what had transpired. When I stacked everything up, I felt more and more convinced that Florence was hiding something. I summed it up. “Florence had a lot to lose if Henrietta lived and a lot to gain with her out of the picture. And she hadn’t known about the cancer or that her problem would have gone away soon enough.”

“Ye sound a wee bit worked up,” the inspector said.

I carried on, without acknowledging his comment. “She’s an unpleasant woman who thinks everyone is against her, which they probably are, since she’s so disagreeable. She also claims she didn’t believe Bridie was going to sell out, but that is certainly arguable. She also mentioned her son, Hewie, and told me he was upset at the prospect of losing his future inheritance. And people become very protective when their children are concerned. And she used the exact same idiom the sender of that note used!”

“Ye think she sent the warning tae which one o’ the women exactly? Bridie or Henrietta?”

Good question. I was still working out the finer points. “That isn’t clear at the moment. Bridie probably. Or both of them. And she refused to answer when I questioned her about the last time she saw Henrietta alive.”

“Is that how ye broached it? Like that?”

“Yes. How else should I have worded the question?”

“And she got riled up, did she?” The inspector asked.

I paused to consider the approach I’d used with Florence. Okay, it could have been smoother. Bold and brash worked much better in the States. Here, I needed to learn to tiptoe.

Our conversation had gone along fine until she’d used the exact same expression as written in the warning. Then I’d lost my cool. And then she had.

Jamieson never allowed his emotions to get away from him. Sometimes I wondered if he had any. But of course he did. They were buried under perfectly proper professionalism. The exact opposite of my current demeanor. With discomfort, I realized that if he and I played bad cop, good cop, I’d be the bad cop!

“Still with Janet Dougal?” I asked, changing the topic while I considered how I might have done things differently so future interviews were less volatile.

“She’s in the waiting room. No one is allowed intae the girl’s room, and if I’d had my wits about me, I would have used doctor’s orders tae my advantage and wouldn’t be committed tae puttin’ that woman back in my vehicle. Right now, I’m in the hallway, waiting fer the doc tae finish up. As good a time tae rid myself o’ my passenger as any other.”

“I could have done a better job with Florence,” I admitted aloud.

“Sometimes a suspect overreacts with anger tae cover up,” the inspector said. “She had no business refusing tae cooperate with a member o’ my team. I intend tae back ye up.”

Which made me feel slightly better. “Florence was in and out of the tasting room throughout the day,” I said. “With plenty of opportunity. She could be our killer.”

“Aye,” he said, sounding tired. “Ye managed tae get some new information before ye had her flying out o’ the inn. The fact that her son was concerned about Bridie sellin’ the company is worth a follow-up. But,” he added quickly, “I’ll handle him. And as tae the information she refused tae supply ye with, she claimed yesterday that she never laid eyes on Henrietta that entire day. At the present time, we have no way o’ confirming the truth o’ that. I’d say she’s the one skatin’ on thin ice at present.”

“Very funny.”

As we disconnected, I thought I heard him chuckle.