Dougal Jamieson, Invertary’s unofficial mayor (unofficial because nobody had turned up to vote at the last eight elections) banged his gavel on the lectern for silence.
He didn’t get it. Which came as no surprise. Town meetings were raucous at the best of times, but this one had attracted more attention than most—because the one and only point on their agenda had been penciled in as Deal with the Betty situation.
“Settle down,” he boomed through the microphone, making his voice reverberate around the Presbyterian church hall.
Only half the people paid any attention to him. The rest were too busy gossiping about the subject of the meeting, who sat in the front row with a sly grin on her craggy old face. As usual, she’d dressed in a shapeless tartan dress and the smell of hot Scotch pies wafted from her black handbag. It was a relief to see that she’d stopped dyeing her head blue. Her head, not her hair because there wasn’t enough of that left to dye. And, miracle of miracles, she actually had her teeth in for a change.
“I need silence,” he bellowed and, at last, the noise petered out to nothing. “About time,” he snapped at his fellow townsfolk. “Thank you for coming out on this cold night to attend our meeting. We”—he pointed at the council who sat in a row behind him, facing the crowd—“expect you to conduct yourselves in a civilized manner. There will be time for questions and comments later. After we’ve presented the issue to all of you. In the meantime, I’ll introduce the council.”
He turned to the people behind him. “Caroline McInnes, of course, needs no introduction, but I’ll give her one anyway. She’s married to Josh, lives in the castle, and runs everything. And I mean everything! She’s been running this town for years. And recently, she’s gone into business with Mitch Harris and is now managing the careers of some very talented musicians.” He paused for effect. “And Josh.”
As the crowd laughed and Josh complained loudly from the front row, Dougal moved on. “As you may be aware, both the principal of the high school and the minister of this church have retired. So we had two vacancies on the council. Reverend David Carlyle kindly filled one of them.” When the younger man smiled at the crowd and a few cheeky women wolf-whistled, he just shook his head. The poor man had only been in Invertary a few weeks and was already being hounded by every available woman in the Highlands, all of them agreeing he was far too pretty to be living alone in the manse.
Clearing his throat, Dougal moved on to the additional two council members—because they’d had to expand to fill the town’s growing needs. “This is Fiona Hendry, some of you might know her if you have kids in school. She’s the new head teacher at the high school.” And too brand new to dodge taking on the old principal’s place on the council.
“And last but not least, you all know Lachlan McBride. We thought his engineering expertise might come in handy.”
“And Lachlan thought he was only here to offer advice; he didn’t realize he’d been conscripted onto the council,” Lachlan drawled, making his three brothers at the back of the room laugh loudly and point at him.
“Aye, well, thanks for being here.” Dougal moved swiftly on, turning back to the lectern. Placing his hands either side, he leaned into the mic. “As you know, the town is expanding.”
“Mainly with Americans,” Matt Donaldson, the town’s only cop, called out. “It’s an invasion.”
“Hey.” His American wife, Jena, smacked him on the chest. “Any more of that and I’ll go back to the States. Then what would you do? The house still needs work, and you’re garbage at DIY.”
“You know I don’t mean you, Princess,” Matt said. “I was talking about Josh. He can go back any time.” He grinned over at the singer, who flipped him off.
“None of that,” Dougal snapped. “There are children present.
“Some of them yours,” Caroline, Josh’s wife, pointed out from behind Dougal, as their toddler sat at his side.
“Sorry, baby.” Josh batted his eyelashes at her, making everyone laugh.
“Anyway, as I was saying.” Keeping the town meetings on track was a herculean task. “The town is growing. Not a lot, but enough to make us think about the future. If we’re going to keep the young people here and not lose their skills and enthusiasm to the big cities, then we need to generate more employment opportunities for them.”
“Aye, aye,” someone shouted.
“Couldn’t agree more,” someone added.
He held up his hands for silence. “With that in mind, a few of us have come up with some ideas for attracting business and investment to Invertary.” He glanced at Betty, who looked more evil with every word he said. “I want to buy the empty building and carpark next to the Scottie Dog and build a conference center, which should attract people to the area. Someone else wants to set up a summer camp for kids, but the facilities could be used year-round for retreats. Magenta plans to come back at some point and open a caving business to take tourists into the old mine. We need more accommodation for all the looky-loos that turn up hoping to get a glimpse of Josh’s ugly mug. We want to make the fishing competition and the lingerie fashion show regular events. Not to mention, expand our Christmas market. And there are a few other things in the works that we don’t have time to talk about here.”
He took a deep breath and eyed Betty. “I’m sure you’ll all agree that’s a lot of fine plans. Plans that will expand the town without ruining everything good about it. We just have one wee problem.”
The loud cackle from the front row set his teeth on edge.
“It would seem,” he said, “that a good portion of the properties we need to buy to make these business ideas a reality belong to Betty McLeod.”
Betty let out a whoop as a ripple of shock ran around the room. Dougal well understood the reaction. He’d been stunned too when his lawyers had finally managed to dig through all the paperwork hiding the ownership of the mysterious trust that owned half of Invertary.
“Quieten down,” he said into the microphone.
Margaret Campbell, owner of the local craft shop and leader of Knit or Die, shot to her feet. One look at her, and it was clear where her ex-model daughter, Kirsty, got her fine looks from. She was a gorgeous woman, and she was also enraged.
“How is this possible?” she said. “She ran a knicker emporium for about a million years. Where did she get the money to buy up Invertary? Are you sure this isn’t one of her sick pranks? That she didn’t just pay someone to fake ownership? Does she really own anything at all?”
“I’m sure,” Dougal said. “Because we double-checked everything.” He motioned to Lake, owner of Benson Security. “Your son-in-law investigated the whole thing for the council.”
Lake, who sat beside Betty, gave his mother-in-law a sympathetic nod. “It’s true. She really does own half the town.”
And Betty cackled some more. Having the time of her life, as usual. How Lake Benson and Jodie Miller-Harris could stand being around the woman for any length of time was a mystery to everyone who lived in Invertary. The only explanation anyone had come up with that made any sense was that they were both English and, therefore, didn’t know any better.
“How did you do it?” Margaret demanded of Betty. “Who did you steal from?”
“Nobody.” The old woman grinned. “I’m just smarter than everybody in this room, and more besides.” And then she was laughing again.
“As you can probably guess,” Dougal said as he glared at Betty. “The problem isn’t that Betty owns half of the town, it’s that she won’t sell to the rest of us.”
The outrage was loud, and Betty seemed to feed off it, preening as though she were center stage at the Oscars. As everyone watched, she launched herself off her chair and waddled to the podium.
“Out of my way,” she told Dougal with a shove.
Dougal stepped aside while he prayed for the strength not to murder the woman in front of him. She reached for the microphone and angled it down so she could speak into it.
“It’s true,” she said. “I own all the empty real estate in this town and some of the stuff you lot pay rent on.”
“Holy crap,” someone shouted. “I need to check my rental agreement. What’s the name of the trust that manages the properties for her?”
“Tartan Terror Inc.,” Betty announced.
A wail went up from another part of the room. “I’ve been paying my bakery’s rent to Satan,” Morag McKay cried.
At that, Betty laughed hard. “Aye, and it’s going to go up an’ all. You’re skimping on the meat in your pies, and I’ve had enough of it.”
More outraged shouting broke out around the room.
“How can she be wealthy and dress in tartan rubbish bags?” Jean demanded.
“Why has she waited this long to tell us she owns the place?” Shona shouted.
“Because,” Betty said through the sound system, “unlike the rest of you, I know how to play the long game. I knew that one day, you were going to wise up to the potential of our wee town, and I would be there to cash in on it. It’s amazing what selling knickers will net you. While you were buying fancy dresses to woo the likes of this idiot here”—she cocked a thumb at Dougal, who turned red at the memory of his short dalliance with Jean—“I was buying property when it was dirt cheap, because nobody else wanted it.” Her grin was pure evil. “Well, look who wants it now.” And then she started laughing again.
“Lake,” Dougal called to one of the only people in the room who could corral Betty.
With a shake of his head, the Englishman dragged a chair over beside the lectern and put Betty on it. He stood beside her, his feet apart and his arms folded, while Dougal returned to the mic. It was unclear whether Lake’s stance was an attempt to protect Betty from the angry mob or to protect everyone else from Betty.
“Settle down,” Dougal called, but no one listened. He banged his gavel several times as he shouted, “I said, settle down!”
There was reluctant settling.
“Okay, so here’s the thing. Betty has said she’s open to negotiation over the properties in her portfolio.” And didn’t that sentence just stick in the throat? “Unfortunately, being Betty, she doesn’t only want to negotiate with the prospective buyers. She wants to negotiate with the whole town. Apparently, there are a few things she’d like to happen before she considers selling. Things she needs to…” He gave her a look of disgust before forming air quotes around what he had to say next, “put her in the mood.”
The loud groans were very much heartfelt by everyone in the room.
“I made a list,” Betty announced, before digging into her handbag.
She came out with a piece of paper covered in tomato sauce stains. At least, Dougal hoped they were sauce and not the blood of some other poor sucker she’d tortured to death with her sense of humor.
“Microphone,” she snapped at Dougal, as though he were her servant.
For a second, his head felt like it might explode, then he remembered she had him over a barrel if he wanted to build his conference center, and he was pretty sure steam came out of his ears.
Lake cocked an eyebrow at Dougal, took the mic, and gave it to Betty. “Don’t let her get to you,” he said. “She loves it.”
Betty ignored them both, too busy focusing on her list. “Number one,” she said, her voice reverberating around the room and making people cringe. “I want to be called Empress Betty by everyone in town.” There were loud groans. “I considered Queen Betty, but that sounds like a drag act, and England already has a Queen Betty.”
“This is hell,” Josh said to anyone who would listen.
He wasn’t wrong.
“Number two,” Betty carried on like she wasn’t aware of the chaos she was causing with every word out of her mouth. “I want free pies for life from Morag’s bakery.”
Morag shot to her feet, followed closely by her two cronies, who belonged to her morality society. “I am not giving you free anything.” As she spoke, she stretched out an arm and pointed at Betty. What that was supposed to achieve, Dougal didn’t know.
Betty’s answering smile was sly. “If you don’t, your rent might double, and there will be a lot of cheesed off people who can’t talk me into selling to them.”
“This is an outrage,” Morag shouted.
Again, someone who wasn’t wrong.
“I will never give you free pies,” Morag declared.
Caroline cleared her throat and, as if she’d waved a magic wand, there was instant silence. How did she do that?
“May I suggest that we take the cost of Betty’s ‘free’ pies from council funds? Seeing as everyone in town will benefit from this arrangement.”
There was a murmur of approval, and Morag nodded before sitting back down in a huff.
“Still free for me,” Betty taunted her nemesis.
Morag’s two friends placed restraining hands on her as Betty blithely carried on.
“Number Three. I want a job dyeing hair at the spa.”
That caused laughter. It was well known around town that she’d been angling for that job since Jodie opened the place. It was why she’d taken to dyeing her head blue. As a sort of audition for the role.
“Not going to happen,” Jodie said from where she sat next to her husband, Mitch, in the front row.
“Even if the town is goin’ tae suffer because you say no?”
Jodie pinned Betty with a stare. “Not. Going. To. Happen.”
The room held its collective breath as the two women stared each other down. Dougal’s money was on Jodie. She was the only person he’d ever met who’d made Betty back off. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it.
“Then I want to work reception and book in all the beauty appointments,” Betty said, making people gasp with the shock of seeing her cave.
“No,” Jodie said.
“Then I want to wax off Dougal’s beard.” Betty grinned at him as he gasped, his hands automatically going to his beard as if to protect it.
Jodie stared at him, apparently considering the demand.
“Over my dead body,” he said.
“That would work for me,” Betty answered.
“Move on from the spa,” Jodie told her. “Nothing on your list that’s even vaguely related to my business is going to happen.”
People in the room looked like they might pass out at the shock of Jodie’s words. Getting Betty to sell would mean a lot of new opportunities for the folk in town. And watching them fall at the first hurdle was hard.
To everyone’s shock, Betty just shrugged. “It was worth a try. You make a fine apprentice, lassie.”
Jodie rolled her eyes. “Get on with it. Some of us have better things to do with our time than pander to your ego.”
“All of us,” Josh amended. “Not some. It’s definitely all of us.”
“Number Four,” Betty said loudly, but Lake was reading over her shoulder and put out a hand to stop her.
“Don’t even think about it. I will lock you up in chains before I give you a gun,” he said.
She frowned at him but moved on. “Number five.” Her smile put the fear of God into half the room. “I want to see Grunt’s willy piercing.”
When there was no outraged protest, it became clear that Grunt and his wife, Claire, were not at the meeting.
“Consider it done,” Dougal lied merrily. He’d deal with the fallout later, because there was no way the mountain-sized American would let Betty near his privates.
“I’m holding you to that.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Get on with it,” he told her. “How many more items are on your list?”
“Hold yer horses,” she said. “I’m getting there.” She took a slow, deep breath as her eyes glinted in his direction. “Number six,” she said at last. “I want the first of July to be a public holiday in my name—Betty Day.”
“We can’t declare a national holiday,” Dougal said as he felt a headache start.
“I can live with it just being in Invertary,” the evil woman said.
Dougal glanced at his fellow council members, who shrugged. It seemed nobody could see a catch in her demand, other than a day with her name on it.
“Done,” Dougal said.
“And I want a parade on Betty Day.”
Again, the council nodded. “Done.”
“And a float filled with Chippendale dancers.”
“She’s determined to make a mockery of this town,” Morag shouted.
Again. Not wrong.
“No Chippendales. No property sales,” Betty said, then grinned. “That rhymes.”
“Who are the Chippendales?” Caroline asked.
“Male strippers, baby,” Josh said, making his wife blush. “You don’t need to see that.”
“Scared of a little competition?” Betty said. “Worried your wife will see what a dud she married?”
Before Dougal or Josh could answer, Lake put a hand on Betty’s shoulder. “Enough,” was all he said.
Betty rolled her eyes at him. “If you weren’t the son of my heart, I’d seriously consider poisoning you. You get in the way of all my fun.” She turned back to Dougal. “Am I getting my Chippendales or no’?”
He heaved a sigh. “You can have your stripper float.”
Betty whooped. “Number seven,” she read from her paper. “I want each of the Domino Boys to take me out for a fancy dinner in Fort William. Not together. I want a date with each of them.”
“I’m married!” James shouted in protest.
“She can have you,” his wife shouted back.
“Who’s paying for these dinners?” Archie demanded. “I’m on a pension.”
Dougal felt his heartburn start again.
“The council can pay for that too,” Caroline said. “Any objections?”
“Aye,” Hamish called out. “I object to having dinner with Satan.”
“Overruled,” Dougal boomed. “You get your dinners,” he told Betty. “Now, are you done?”
“Nowhere near.” She grinned.
The room groaned as one.
“Number eight. I want the women of Knit or Die to make Betty banners to be hung all over town. They need to say nice things about me. And I want those crocheted flowers on all of them.”
The women slumped in their chairs but nodded at Dougal.
“Done,” he said wearily.
“Number nine. I want every baby born in the next year—”
“—to be sacrificed at her Satanic alter,” Josh interrupted.
Betty pointed a gnarled finger at Josh. “Wish I’d thought of that. No, I want them all to be named after me.”
“Even the boys?” Mitch asked.
“Aye.” Her eyes glinted with glee.
And, of course, the hall erupted with shouts of outrage. If he didn’t get control of the situation fast, they’d soon have a riot on their hands. He paused, wondering who’d own the properties if Betty died in the ensuing chaos. No. He was a better man than that. It was his responsibility to keep order.
“Everybody calm down. She feeds off the anger,” he shouted, and a semblance of order returned. He turned back to Betty. “You can’t expect everyone to name their babies after you.”
“I can, and I do. You should too if you want to build that fancy conference center of yours.” She swung her short legs in glee.
“Wait.” Mitch stood. “Who’s due to give birth within the next year?”
“Claire,” her mother, Heather, said, giving Betty the evil eye.
“It would have to be Grunt’s wife,” Mitch muttered. He turned to Betty. “There’s no way he’s going to let you name any of his kids Betty. And there’s nobody in Invertary who can make him. You’re stuffed.”
“Fine.” She glared at everyone. “Then I want Lake and Kirsty to change their name to McLeod.”
“No!” Kirsty shot to her feet.
Lake just looked amused. He strode across the floor and whispered something in his wife’s ear before returning to Betty’s side. “Done,” he said.
A ripple of shock ran around the room.
“You’re changing your name to McLeod?” Betty said with suspicion.
“That’s what you want, right?”
“Aye.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Then done.”
Everyone looked at Kirsty to see if she agreed. She just sat there, glaring at Betty.
“Well, I guess that one’s taken care of, then,” Dougal said. “Is that the last of it?” Please God, let that be the last of it!
“Nearly,” Betty looked at her paper. “I want Reverend Morrison to be brought back from Spain, and I want him to stand in front of all of you and admit that we’ve had sex. Lots and lots of sex.”
“Betty!” Caroline snapped. “There are children here.”
“I know, and they all got here because their parents had sex.”
“What’s sex?” four-year-old Jessica asked her father, Josh.
“Uh.” Josh looked at Caroline, then back at his daughter. “That’s a question your mother can answer later.” He lowered his voice and muttered, “Like in about twenty years.”
“We can’t drag the Reverend back to Scotland just so he can humiliate himself for your benefit,” Dougal told the evil empress of Invertary.
“Then, I guess we’re at an impasse.” She dug into her bag and brought out a pie, then set about eating it, without a care in the world.
And why should she have a care? She had everyone in the room over a barrel.
“How about we get him to tell us by Skype?” Mitch suggested.
“I’ve seen that telly program,” Betty said around a mouthful of food. “I know those videos can be faked. He needs to be here in real life. In person.”
“Is this your last demand?” Dougal said. “If we get the Reverend here, will that be the end of it?”
She paused for a moment, clearly enjoying the tension. “If he tells the truth to everybody, aye.”
Dougal wasn’t convinced. “Then you’ll negotiate the sale of your properties?”
“Aye. But you’d better bring a big fat wallet. I’ll no’ be letting anything go for a song.”
“Mitch,” Dougal snapped. “Get the contract out. I want to make sure Betty can’t renege on our agreement.”
“Contract?” Betty spat some food with the word.
“Aye, we drew one up that says we’ve met your demands, that you won’t come up with any more or stall the process further, and when the last agreed upon demand is complete, you’ll seriously consider any offers made on your holdings.”
She looked up at Lake. “Did you know about this?”
“It was my idea,” Lake said, remaining stony-faced.
“You make me so proud,” Betty told him.
As Mitch led Satan over to the table in the corner, to sign their agreement, Dougal sidled up to Lake.
“Are you really going to change your name to McLeod?” he whispered.
“Absolutely.” Lake nodded, a sparkle in his eye.
“What are you up to?” Dougal asked.
“She didn’t say which name,” Lake said. “So, we’ll change our middle names. We can always change them back down the track. She isn’t going to live forever.”
Lake’s devious mind impressed Dougal, but he was a bit worried about his reasoning. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I think that witch might outlast us all.”
And with that, as though Betty could hear him from halfway across the room, she looked up, caught his eye and laughed.