CHAPTER 19

Janet Dougal didn’t stand a snowball’s chance of escaping once she opened the door to her room.

“Ye’re tae come with us,” the inspector demanded by way of a greeting. “Constable Elliott will stay with ye while ye change intae something more appropriate. I’ll be waiting in the breakfast room.”

The smile on her face faded. “Is something the matter?” she called after his retreating back. Then to me, “He isn’t at his best in the morning, is he?”

An astute observation on her part. I’ve been on the receiving end of his snarly morning disposition several times, and it wasn’t pleasant, even when he wasn’t gunning for me as he was Janet.

“Let’s not annoy him further,” I suggested, glad that she’d already applied her heavy-handed makeup beforehand. Otherwise we would have taken much longer than it ended up taking. And since the man she’d set her sights on was involved, she hurried without any prodding from me.

“What’s the fuss about?” she asked as she changed.

The inspector hadn’t taken time to fill me in either on the phone or a few minutes ago in the reception area downstairs, so I was almost as clueless as Janet. “He’ll explain himself in due course,” I assured her.

We entered the breakfast room ten minutes later, the only ones there. Tea was already laid out for a party of three, with the inspector sitting quietly before one of the servings. Jeannie brought a basket of toast as we joined him.

I wasn’t particularly hungry in a physical sense after the big bowl of porridge I’d eaten earlier. My craving was for an end to the suspense that had been building inside me ever since the inspector’s summons. I still didn’t know what was going on, although I had my suspicions.

Oblivious to the tension in the air, Janet dove for the basket of toast, withdrew several halves, buttered them lavishly, and was spreading them with marmalade when the inspector chose that moment to enlighten us.

“I’m aboot tae ask ye some hard questions,” he said to her. “And I expect nothing less than completely honest answers.”

“Of course,” Janet said, as though she wouldn’t even think of any other option, her smile warm and reassuring.

“I believe ye had more than a few words with Henrietta McCloud.”

“I told both of ye about that incident,” she said, intent on preparing the toast.

“Aye, but ye failed tae mention a second encounter the very same afternoon that the victim was murdered.”

I hadn’t seen that coming, mainly because Janet had insisted she’d been in her room during the time in question, and I hadn’t found anyone to say otherwise. Apparently, the inspector had. I wondered who had come forward with this revelation.

Janet glanced up, startled. “And who offered up that pile of rubbish?” she demanded.

“Let’s just say I have a firsthand account. Ye were seen drivin’ away from the inn in that car ye’ve been renting at approximately four o’clock that afternoon.”

“What if I did?” Janet gave him her most dazzling smile. “That’s hardly proof of anything.”

“Except ye were also placed at Bridie Dougal’s house shortly afterwards.”

Janet’s smile slid sideways and the piece of toast fell from her fingers. “It’s time to come clean, then.”

“It’s past time,” I told her, growing more agitated, irritated that the woman had lied about her whereabouts from the beginning. More lies. A pile of lies, if I added hers to Florence’s.

“Henrietta McCloud rang me up,” she explained nonchalantly, as though it hardly mattered. Although this time she remembered the dead woman’s name.

“What time was this?” the inspector interrupted to ask.

“Roughly around three that afternoon, if I had to guess. She suggested that I come right over to have an early supper with Bridie before the tasting, that she was in fact looking forward to it, and that I couldn’t possibly say no. About time Bridie Dougal treated me properly, is what I thought at the time. So I drove out there, expecting to be warmly welcomed.

“Instead, Henrietta answered the doorbell, opened the door only partway, as though I was some sort of unwanted salesperson. She refused to let me in, claiming I hadn’t been expected at all. Well, of course we had words again, I told her what I thought again, and I ended up driving back to the inn to wait for the appropriate time to go to the tasting. Actually thrown out, as it were. That woman was playing some sort of nasty game with me!”

“Ye killed her then before ye left?” The inspector’s blue eyes were piercing like daggers.

“No! How could you possibly think that? Henrietta was very much alive. I’m the one who might have suffered a collapse of some sort after that shabby treatment. But you can see why I covered it up once the woman was found dead in a whisky barrel. I would have been the main suspect!”

I refrained from verbalizing the retort on my lips.

“I did a bit o’ research with the assistance o’ authorities in the States,” the inspector informed her, “using their database. Not only do ye have a working knowledge o’ distilleries, by yer own admission, havin’ made a hobby o’ touring them, and could have easily tapped the cask and emptied the contents intae the washback, but it appears that ye also have a criminal record.”

“The problem with the United States,” Janet said with a huff, after a brief moment to think about that, “is that old records aren’t purged after a certain amount of time, which would only be fair. A person does one little thing wrong, and it follows her for the rest of her life.”

What she claimed was true, a problem with the system, at least from an ordinary citizen’s point of view. I’ve witnessed plenty of situations where people were denied employment because of black marks in their distant pasts. But from law enforcement’s prospective, it was a huge benefit, as I was discovering now.

Inspector Jamieson leaned in and lowered his voice even though the room was empty of any other diners. “Ye were charged with assault on two different occasions, both o’ them occurring in the last year. I’d hardly call that a small spot on the linen that has followed ye fer years. Restrainin’ orders were required tae protect yer victims.”

Janet snorted. “Victims? Hardly. That silly tramp didn’t deserve him, but he was blind to that fact. And yes, they both requested restraining orders, but she put him up to it. I’m over that infatuation now and can hardly believe I had feelings for him.” Her voice softened as she went on, “He isn’t like you, not nearly as intelligent and interesting.”

The inspector grimaced, and there were a few moments of awkward silence all around before he continued, “I’m afraid I have no choice but tae detain ye fer further questioning in the murder o’ Henrietta McCloud. Ye have a history o’ violence, the knowledge tae have arranged the crime scene as we found it, and a witness that places ye there during that time frame. Do ye have anything tae say in yer defense?”

“I can see why it doesn’t look good from your point of view,” she admitted. “Especially when you lay it out like that, in such a cold fashion. I want an attorney, and that’s all I have to say.”

Janet might be done, but I wasn’t quite through.

“Not only are you facing murder charges, but you attacked me at the hospital last night,” I said, and it wasn’t a question. I’d never have thought she had it in her. “And before that you assaulted Katie Taylor. More charges will be pending, I assure you.”

“Katie who?”

“The caterer.”

“That’s preposterous,” Janet said, still blustery, but there were cracks in her composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know this person and I haven’t set foot in the local hospital. And when I left Henrietta McCloud, she was alive. Inspector, you aren’t really arresting me, are you?”

“Ye need tae come along quietly,” he said.

“I won’t!”

“Ye most certainly will,” I heard from the doorway, and glanced up to see Sean strutting our way, hitching up his trousers in a display of authority. “I can take on the responsibility o’ this one, as I should, considerin’ my newly appointed position.”

Jamieson was visibly relieved to pawn her off. “Take the suspect away, and I’ll be along shortly.”

“I don’t have a proper vehicle fer transportin’ suspects,” Sean told him, producing a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “I’m still drivin’ that ratty old Renault when I should be travelin’ in a beat car o’ me own.”

The inspector sighed. “Fer right now, ye’ll drive what ye have.”

“You can’t handcuff me,” Janet said, rising from the table, staring at the handcuffs, the seriousness of the matter finally dawning. “I’m an American citizen.”

“And a Dougal at that,” the inspector added.

“That’s right! And I have immunity,” she insisted. “Based on my nationality.”

“Sean, see that herself’s immunity remains intact and watch out, she’s got a record o’ aggression.”

After a few more verbal indignations from Janet, Sean managed to convince her that it was in her best interest to go along without creating a scene, and he escorted her from the room.

“Who finally decided to come forward with information?” I wanted to know the minute we were alone.

“The bit aboot seein’ her drive off from the inn came from an anonymous tip-off, called in early this morning. The part about a witness tae her arrival at Bridie’s house, well, that was a fabrication on my part.”

I feigned surprise at such underhanded tactics. I’d have done the same if I’d thought of it. “You trapped her!”

“Her confession was a surprise, I must admit. I’d already found out aboot her past assaults on that poor man in the States, before the call came in.”

“No idea who saw her driving away from the inn?”

“Somebody who shoulda come forward immediately, but better late than never. It was the catalyst that got me goin’.”

“Don’t you need that witness?”

“Not with Janet Dougal admittin’ she went out tae the house.”

“So you actually arrested Janet for Henrietta’s murder.”

“She hasn’t been charged yet, but it’s appearin’ likely that she will be.”

I shook my head in wonder. “I never gave her a second thought.”

“A number o’ factors came intae play. It was a stroke o’ luck.”

What could I add? Janet hadn’t even been a consideration as far as I was concerned. I’d had a one-track mind. I’d been after Florence Dougal. It was hard to let go of her perfectly wonderful motive and instead accept that Henrietta had been killed by a kook simply because she had slighted her one too many times.

“And all along I thought you and Janet were an item,” I said with a grin.

“There’s room in that jail cell fer one more,” the inspector warned.

I picked up a piece of cold, dry toast and nibbled on it.

The inspector rose and said, “I best be on my way.”

“To put the screws to her, I imagine,” I said, with a straight face.

The inspector didn’t dignify my comment with an answer. He turned on his heels and disappeared after passing Patricia Martin with a terse greeting.

She entered the room and said, “I saw Janet Dougal being escorted away by that constable. What’s goin’ on?”

“I can’t say yet.”

“The police have arrested her for my sister’s murder, haven’t they?”

And without waiting for a reply, she was gone, chasing after Jamieson.