My room at Duke’s was square and old-fashioned without being charming. The orangey-red curtains framing the sash windows were heavy and probably dusty, the matching bedspread was a slippery synthetic material. However, the decorator had gone for the homey touch, and there were several framed needlepoint samplers on the walls. They all were pithy sayings, picked out in red and green threads. “NICHT IS THE MITHER O’ THOUGHTS,” “TOILIN’S THE HARD BIT–DYIN’S EASY,” and my favourite, “YER ONLY HERE A WEE WHILE SO BE NICE.” I’d have to remember to say that to some of the brutal gang members I’d met. I shied away from composing a suitable aphorism to give to Sondra DeLuca’s family. “Do unto others as you would be done by,” was one I’d like to share with them. I paused, realizing that one good thing that had come out of the Joan fiasco was that she had temporarily driven out my obsessive thoughts about little Sunrise and her mother.
I pushed up one of the windows and leaned out. I was facing onto a harbour slip, but the retaining wall hid all but the top masts of the fishing boats. Across the slip was a rare stand of trees, and behind that the castellated turrets of a castle, at the moment looking suitably impressive against an overcast sky. Even though I was a terrible sailor and would have become seasick on a waterbed, I loved looking at boats and sea-related objects. I watched the gulls swooping and screaming their sea cries, ferocious and beautiful, then I kicked off my shoes, plonked down on top of the shiny coverlet, and closed my eyes.
About an hour later, I woke up. For a moment I was completely disorientated, and it took me a few moments to realize where I was and why. The place was all right — even the travelling salesman aura of the Duke — and I actually was loving Lewis. But the reason I was here was not all right, and I felt myself dropping into a familiar state of mind, vaguely anxious, mostly helplessly angry. Only action lifted that mood, and I jumped up and went into the shower. Half an hour later, scrubbed, powdered, and lotioned, I felt better. By the time Gillies knocked on the door, I almost felt like the proverbial new woman. His appreciative smile confirmed that I had indeed risen from the dead.
Because it was Sunday, only hotels served meals, so we had no choice but to eat in the Duke’s bar/restaurant, which was emphatically nautical in décor. Fishing nets studded with shells draped the walls, and there were at least two steering wheels and several brass-trimmed barometers. There was a similar plethora of framed needlepoint sayings. I liked the one hanging over the bar: “NAE WORDS, NAE QUARREL.” I had a vision of the bartenders pointing this out to obstreperous customers. Gillies was greeted by name by the waitress, who was about my age. I could tell by the way she eyed me up and down that she fancied him, but I could-n’t decide if the feeling was reciprocated. She showed us to a table by the window, handed over the menus, smiled brightly at Gillies, and withdrew to the bar to pick up an order. A man and a woman who was hugely pregnant were behind the counter, both polishing wine glasses. The man called out a greeting, Feashgar math, which sounded like, Fesh-ga-ma.
Gillies replied, “Good evening, Colin. Any day now, Mairi?”
“Last Saturday was the due date.” She patted her belly.
I opened up the menu, which had a photograph of a trawler on the front. “Are they the two who reported that Mrs. MacDonald and Joan were drinking heavily?”
“They are. Colin MacLeod is the manager. Mairi is Lisa MacKenzie’s sister.”
“I can’t keep track of all these ‘macs.’”
He laughed. “You’re going to meet dozens of MacKenzies if you stay around here. And MacAulays and MacLeods. The real problem is that, for a long time on the islands, children were traditionally named after the immediate grandparent and, as you can imagine, we ended up with many identical names. To distinguish one from another, we use what we call by-names, or I suppose you’d say nicknames. For instance, to distinguish one Ann MacDonald from another, she might be called ‘Anna Mhor,’ which means ‘Big Anna.’ We also use names from their occupation, like ‘Duncan Ciobair,’ which is ‘Duncan the Shepherd,’ the man we met this afternoon. Sometimes a lad might get a nickname such as ‘Shoes,’ because he liked shoes when he was four years old, and it sticks with him for the rest of his life, even though nobody remembers the origin of the nickname. There’s also patronymic and residential or local names. Shall I go on?”
“No, that’s fine. I get the picture.” I said trying not to do the “how quaint” thing, although I thought it was. “I guess you have to rely on people not changing that much. I mean, Big Anna had better not go to a Weight Watchers program or nobody will know who she is.”
He laughed. “In fact, the ‘big’ didn’t necessarily refer to her size but her place in the family.”
“Are Mairi and Lisa related to the man we met on the road, Duncan the Shepherd?”
“They’re his daughters. His wife, Anna, died about four years ago of cancer. Tragic really. Diagnosed in January and she was dead by April.”
We were both silent for a moment each touched briefly by the cold finger of mortality. Then he checked out his menu.
“They don’t have haggis, so you’re off the hook.”
He waved at the waitress, and she came over at once. She was wearing a plain white blouse and navy skirt, and there was a white sailor’s cap perched on her head, the band of which read, “HMS DUKE.” Her nameplate read, “CATRIONA.”
She and Gillies discussed the menu in Gaelic, and she managed to lean over and press her full bosom into his shoulder while she pointed out one of the choicer dishes.
“Catriona recommends the prawns,” said Gillies. “They were brought in a couple of hours ago.”
“They’re like shrimps, right?”
“From away are you?” interjected the waitress. “Canada.”
“I almost emigrated there when I was in my twenties. From what I hear, it’s a good thing I didn’t.”
I wondered what she was referring to, but decided against asking her. I put on a pleasant expression and said I’d take the prawns. Gillies did the same, and Catriona stuffed her notebook down the waistband of her tight skirt, gathered up the menus, and went to place the order.
“This is one of your regular haunts, I see.” By now I have to admit I really was curious about Gillies.
“It’s handy. I’m not a good cook and the food here is always fresh.”
The conversation led easily into “places of interest” on the island, and we talked about that for a while. Then I said, “By the way, when is the funeral for Mrs. MacDonald?”
“Wednesday, I believe. They’re waiting until her daughter gets here.”
“Do you think I would offend anybody if I went to it?”
“I don’t see why. Funerals are always well attended here. It would be appreciated.”
Catriona dropped off a basket of bread. “Won’t be long.”
She seemed friendlier to me now she’d heard where I was from. Pity, I suppose.
“What are you going to do about your conference?” Gillies asked.
“The last session was scheduled for tomorrow, then I was planning to just hang around Edinburgh and take in the sights. But it doesn’t make any sense to go back now, much as I’d like to. I guess this is going to be my holiday.”
“If you feel like it, I can show you around the island tomorrow. It’s not Edinburgh, but we’re proud of it.”
I must say I was pleased at the offer and said I did feel like it. See, I told you, Paula, I have a fantastic ability to concentrate.
All in all, in spite of the circumstances, it was a most pleasant evening. As promised, dinner was delicious. It might have been the sea air that was blowing in through the partly open window, but I was suddenly ravenous and, throwing delicacy aside, ate like a trucker. We got into a rather sober but sincere discussion of the difficulty of policing in the new age, and Gillies said again how glad he was that Lewis was maintaining its time warp and the crime rate was ridiculously low. I almost confided in him what had happened to me with the DeLucas, but it was still too raw a subject. Gillies appeared to be sincerely interested in my work, and I was happy to talk about it. He nursed a glass of wine through the meal, but it didn’t seem to be an effort. I’m always on the alert for signs of a new man’s drinking proclivities. I did my usual mineral water.
However, by ten o’clock, I pleaded to fatigue and the desire for an early night, and he escorted me to my door, shook hands — no kisses thank you — and left. I waited several minutes to give him time to leave the building, then I returned to the dining room. I felt a bit devious about this, because he had been such a great host, but I wanted to have a word with Mr. and Mrs. MacLeod, and I thought it would be better if I were on my own when I talked to them. Things had already got tense over at Tormod’s house about me acting as if a crime had been committed.
There was only one couple remaining in the restaurant, lingering over their meal, but Catriona, the waitress who had almost been my countrywoman, was nowhere in sight. Colin was tidying up the other tables ready for breakfast.
“Hallo again. Did you forget something?” His tone wasn’t particularly friendly.
“No, but I was wondering if I could have a word with you and Mairi.”
“What about? Oh cheerie-bye, Mr. Plotnik. Mrs. Plotnik.” He waved at the couple who had finally decided to leave. “I’ve got to set up for breakfast,” he said to me.
“I’ll help you. I waited tables when I was in university.”
“Suit yourself. You can freshen up the flowers. Toss out the ones that are wilted, but try to stretch it.”
He’d collected all the flower vases that were on the tables and put them on a tray. I took the seat at the table, while he began to put out cutlery. He was a stocky man, late thirties probably, with brown hair, short-cropped the way most Scottish men seemed to favour. I got the impression he’d be more at home on a fishing trawler than in a dining room talking nice to tourists. Maybe he’d been the influence behind all the sea treasures on the wall.
“I met your sister-in-law,” I said, thinking I’d warm up to the subject I wanted to get to.
“So I understand. She was by here earlier on and told us all about what happened. Puir Tormod. But it was probably a quick death.”
I didn’t know about that, but I wasn’t going into that now. I pulled some dead leaves from one of the white daisies. They’d last another day or two.
“She told you about me then?”
“Aye. She said you were a detective from Canada.” He whipped off a soiled tablecloth and shook out a fresh one. “She said you were interested in the car accident that killed Sarah MacDonald. The driver hasn’t been found. Is that what you want to talk to me about?”
I hoped Lisa hadn’t told him about my relationship to Joan, but he didn’t seem to know.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I have no official capacity, you understand, but the woman is... she is known to me, and I’m trying to find out exactly what happened.”
He was putting cereal bowls on the table now. “Carry on, then.”
“I understand you made a statement to the police that both women were drinking heavily on Friday night.”
“If by ‘a statement’ you mean I told Gill what I saw, yes. But I didn’t sign any paper or anything like that.”
Once again, his tone verged on surly, and I wondered what had irked him. He was moving quickly and efficiently about the room, straightening the little pots of jam that were in the middle of each table.
“How many drinks did you serve them?”
“Och, I don’t know. It was a busy night.”
“Four? Five? What constitutes ‘heavily’?”
He returned to my table and put the tidied flower vases on a tray, still without looking at me. “Sarah MacDonald had the capacity of a sailor, that one. Just last Tuesday she came in and tossed back six shots of single malt in less than two hours. Said she was celebrating. I was afraid we’d have to put her up for the night, even though she lives two streets away. But no, she got off on her own steam.”
I heard the subtext. Not his fault if she left drunk.
“On Friday then, how many drinks did you serve her?” I repeated the question, because he’d avoided answering it.
He hesitated. “Myself, I wasn’t the one at the bar. We had some tourists in, and boy they kept me busy.” He waggled his hand to indicate that. Then he called out. “Hey, Mairi. Come over a sec.”
His wife had come into the room from the kitchen. She was wearing a denim jumpsuit that was holding her belly like a sling. She waddled over to us, and Colin pulled out an extra chair so she could sit down.
“Miss Morris is asking about Friday night when Sarah MacDonald came into the bar with that other lady.”
“Oh aye.”
“She wants to know exactly how many drinks they had.”
He underlined “exactly.”
“I’ll have to think about that. Two for certain up front when they came in. But you were serving them, weren’t you?”
“No. I had the Russkies from the cruise ship.”
“Are you sure?”
“’Course I am.”
“Oh.” They exchanged glances.
“Hold on,” I said. “You, Mairi, know definitely that you served two single malts, but you don’t know if they had more after that or not?”
“Of course they did,” interjected Colin. “I saw Sarah when she stood up. She staggered. She had to lean on the other woman. They were sloshed all right. “
“But Mairi, you don’t remember serving them more liquor?”
“It was crazy busy that night. I may have. I mean, I must have.”
I was pressing them and making them uncomfortable. At least, Mairi looked uncomfortable. Colin was getting angry.
“Did you see if both of them were drinking or just Sarah?”
Mairi shrugged. “I can’t say I was taking any notice. They were over there in that booth, by the door, all hugger-mugger. I thought Sarah was trying to close a real-estate deal. She’s been in here before doing that.”
She suddenly clasped her stomach. “Oops, the baby just turned and reminded me I have to use the loo.” She got to her feet. “I heard that the post mortem showed Sarah was over the legal limit anyway.”
“That’s true, but they might have gone and visited somebody after they left here.”
“Tormod MacAulay, according to what we heard,” said Colin.
You did, did you?
“Did you actually see the two women get into the car?”
“No, I told you. I had my hands full.”
“Mairi, did you see them?”
She grinned with a hint of triumph. “I did. I had to go out to the back and get some more bitters. That’s where the parking lot is. I saw them both get into the hired car.”
“Was Mrs. MacDonald driving?”
“No, the other woman was.”
“By the way, what did she look like this woman?”
Colin answered. “Blonde, bleached by the look of it, chubby. Older end of fifties. Shorter than me. She was wearing sunglasses the entire time. Either she has weak eyes or she thinks she’s Elizabeth Taylor.”
None of that description fitted Joan, but it was easy to dye your hair and put on weight. Dark glasses are surprisingly effective if you’re trying to avoid recognition.
Colin picked up the tray of flower vases. “We’ve got to close up now.”
I stood up. “Thank you for talking to me.”
Mairi hurried off while Colin walked with me to the door. He paused. He was peering into my face and making no bones about the fact he didn’t seem to like what he saw. Hey, he wasn’t so attractive to look at either. There were lines of discontent around his mouth and forehead. Perhaps in a happier mood he’d have boyish good looks, but not at the moment.
“Lisa said you had her go through the house to see if anything was missing. What was that all about?”
“It wasn’t to see if anything was missing exactly, just to see if anything was out of place. It’s a common procedure if there’s been a sudden death.”
“Is it now? Well, it upset her to have to do that. She was good chums with Tormod.”
I didn’t know what to say to him, as he was blaming me and perhaps rightly so.
“She hasn’t had an easy life,” he continued. “And seeing as she’s family, I’m protective of her interests.”
“Naturally, you would be.”
“Tongues wagged when she moved in with Tormod, but she wasn’t involved with him except as a friend and employer.”
He hovered for a moment, considering whether or not he would go any further. I waited.
“Tormod valued her. She told me he left her a bequest in his will. She didn’t want him to, but he insisted.” He started to fiddle with the small silver earring in his left ear. “When that is known, it’ll be sure to start more gossip. And Miss hyphenated Coral-Lyn Pitchers isn’t going to be too happy. But I know Lisa worked hard for the old man, and if he wanted to help her out, that’s up to him, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is.”
Suddenly he looked up at the big ship’s clock over the bar.
“I’d better lock up. It’s way past ten. Breakfast’s from 7:30 to 9:00. And I should warn you, we’re prompt on the islands. Both ends — starting and finishing.”
I honestly couldn’t tell if his barely contained animosity was directed at me or was his general attitude to life.
He ushered me out, obviously not about to say anything else. I went up to my room and sat at the window for a while, watching the masts bob on the water. There was still light enough to read by, but the street was quiet. The Sabbath was being observed. I was definitely in another world.