Chapter 31
Monday morning, Paislee could move her right shoulder without it being sore.
“Up and at ’em!” she called to Brody, in a cheery mood after the first good night’s sleep she’d had in a week.
Brody groaned but Wallace woofed, so she knew dog and boy would soon be up for breakfast.
Paislee paired her newest jeans with a fitted turquoise flannel that showed she had a waist, something that Lydia constantly accused her of hiding, and flats, and added a turquoise tie to her braid.
Dare she apply shadow to her eyes?
With a light step, she skipped downstairs where Grandpa had tea ready. He whistled appreciatively.
“And good mornin’ tae ye,” he said.
She patted her warm cheeks. “Amazing what a full night’s rest can do for a lass. I didnae have a single bad dream.”
“Weel, Isla’s been settled, now.” Grandpa sat at the table.
“Almost. There’s still a killer on the loose.”
He arched a silver brow and didn’t argue. What could he say to that?
She took her mug of Brodies Scottish Breakfast to the table and sat, pouring Weetabix into a bowl and adding berries. “What’s your plan for the day, Grandpa?”
“Ye dinnae need me at the shop? Tae help drive?”
“Well, I’m fine for today.” She wasn’t used to having assistance. “But I’ll make sure tae add you tae the pickup list at Fordythe, in case of emergencies.”
“Ye should take advantage of me help while I’m here,” he said somewhat defensively. “Once we find Craigh . . .”
“I know. You’ll be gone.” Her shoulders hiked. What was his rush? Maybe he wanted more hours at the shop? “Come in at noon, if ye want.”
“I’m just tryin’ tae help.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
He glared at her, and she glared back. They each looked away when Brody joined them at the table.
“What?” Brody said, his gaze traveling from her to his great-grandfather.
“Nothing,” they said in unison.
Paislee offered Brody the cereal. “Let’s make sure we keep our good standing this week with the headmaster, aye?”
Wallace stayed home with Grandpa, and she and Brody made it out the front door at quarter till nine. They were at Fordythe with seven minutes to spare.
“Thanks, Mum!” Brody slid out of the car, his backpack over his shoulder, and ran inside the building with the wave of other schoolchildren. She recognized the blond shag of Edwyn as he greeted Brody and then the two disappeared.
No sign of Hamish McCall—not that she was looking.
She deep-sighed and headed toward work. Being early would allow her to get further on her fisherman’s sweater and have it in the mail by the end of next week.
Paislee, humming under her breath, parked the rental in the back of Cashmere Crush, and entered her cozy shop. The shop she loved. And had to leave. How had she forgotten that she was supposed to look at three new places this afternoon with Lydia?
Her good mood evaporated. She tucked her purse beneath the register and stocked the till with money from her safe. Then she logged onto her store laptop to check for orders. Two sweaters had come in! Two hundred pounds. She would gladly take it.
She turned the radio on for background noise and worked on the sweater for an hour. By eleven she was getting a crick in her neck, so she put the knitting down and stretched, discovering to her dismay that the yarn from Flora that Grandpa had priced hadn’t been stocked on the shelves.
This was the sage that she always sold out of, and she knew she could have sold it on Saturday in the shop.
The front door opened, and Mary Beth entered with her customary smile, her hand to her ample chest.
“How was the christening party?” Paislee asked.
“The blanket and booties were a hit. This little girl will be a princess.” Mary Beth sank down in one of the larger chairs, her blue eyes sparkling, her dark brown hair in waves around her face. “As she should be.”
In for a chat, then. Paislee placed the box of sage yarn out of sight to put on the shelf later.
“It was so kind of you and Arran tae help Flora and Donnan at the festival. Not that it’s any of my business, but I didnae realize you were such good friends.”
Mary Beth pulled a square of yellow she’d started from her bag at her feet. “We used tae have dinner together a few times a year. The girls love Flora—it’s a shame her and Donnan never had children.”
Paislee brought out the Oxford Blue yarn, so she could knit while they chatted. The sweater wouldn’t finish itself.
Mary Beth leaned close to Paislee. “Donnan never wanted them, and we both know he ruled their roost. My heart goes out tae Flora, shouldering everything now.”
“She said she wished she had some extra hands, and joked that she’d take Grandpa for me.”
“She did more than her share of the work before,” Mary Beth said ominously. “We both know it.”
That was as close as they would get to discussing how Donnan, after a few drinks, used to treat Flora.
“Aye.” Paislee finished a row.
“He and Arran would play eighteen holes of golf, and stay for the nineteenth until the bar closed.” Mary Beth looped yellow over her finger, her tone deepening. “I dinnae mind picking them up so they don’t drive, but men will be men, and think they can manage.” Her pretty brows furrowed and rosy color speckled her chest.
What was she saying?
Did this have anything to do with what she’d said Friday night about drinking and driving statistics being up in Nairn? And why she hadn’t been drinking that night?
Paislee’s first thought was that perhaps Mary Beth had gotten a DUI.
Not Mary Beth. She couldn’t see it—even when she did drink on Thursday nights it was only one or two.
Arran, then.
Paislee knit the next row of Oxford Blue, her mind searching for what her friend might mean. Finally, she just asked. “Mary Beth, what happened? You know you can tell me and I willnae say a word tae a soul.”
Mary Beth burst into tears and dropped the yellow square. “I know yer going tae hear aboot it—Arran’s arrest will be in the paper. It’s awful—I’m so embarrassed. He might lose his job.”
“Oh no! I’m so sairy.” She laid the partially completed sweater aside and knelt down beside Mary Beth to give her a hug.
“That’s not all.”
Paislee settled back on her heels. What could be worse? She briefly closed her eyes as she realized that Arran might have been one of the “fish” Isla’d had on the line. Arran made an excellent living, and he would be keen to protect his reputation at the law firm. An arrest for driving intoxicated would cost him his position in the community.
A perfect mark for a girl digging up secrets in Nairn. “Blackmail?”
Mary Beth’s expression darkened with disgust. “Isla contacted me. . . . I couldnae believe her nerve—you see, Arran was trying tae hide it from me. It happened last week, and he paid off someone tae keep it quiet, but somehow Isla found out.” She shook her head and met Paislee’s gaze.
The heartache in her blue eyes hurt Paislee to see.
“I didnae know. Me own husband! I thought he’d bought me the new van because he was being generous, not because he was covering for totaling his car.”
“Totaled?”
Mary Beth sniffed. “Aye.”
Paislee patted Mary Beth’s arm, feeling sick. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“No, thank God in heaven,” Mary Beth prayed fervently.
Paislee got to her feet. “When did Isla call you?”
“Not a phone call,” Mary Beth corrected. “She sent a letter saying she wanted five thousand pounds or she would release the news that this wasn’t Arran’s first DUI.” Mary Beth leaned forward, gripping her knees hard, her breaths quick in succession. “Somehow she found out about one from college, and she wrote that if I didnae pay, she would send the information tae his partners at the firm.”
Oh. How awful.
Paislee darted a look at Mary Beth’s bag. Mary Beth always had shortbread cookies—she claimed they were her weakness. And she loved her tea as well as the next Scotswoman. Her stomach clenched. Five thousand pounds? That was a lot more than a hundred pounds. “Och, Mary Beth, what did you do?”
“I collected the money tae pay her. I told Arran, and we agreed it needed tae be kept quiet. But she died before I heard from her again,” Mary Beth wailed, tears falling on the backs of her hands. “Do ye think I should tell the detective?”
Detective Inspector Zeffer was desperate to find Isla’s killer. How could she send her friend to the wolf? Isla’s cause of death wasn’t public knowledge. “You swear you didnae contact her?”
“I was going tae pay. I have the money in me bag.” She glanced down at her purse.
Paislee straightened. “Aye, I think you should tell him that Isla was trying tae blackmail you. Make it clear that you were planning tae pay her.”
“What if he thinks I had something tae do with her death?” Mary Beth cried harder. “Or Arran? I didnae see her once she moved away.”
“Do you want me tae go tae the station with you?”
Mary Beth sniffed and swiped her cheeks with her palms. “Naw. I’ll do it. I have the letter she sent with me, too.”
“He has Isla’s laptop, so if there’s anything that might incriminate Arran or you, you should be forthright.”
“We are just trying tae protect Arran’s job.” Mary Beth’s tears slowed to a trickle. “This has been a nightmare. Isla was bold as brass in her demand. She dropped the letter in the mailbox tae hide her tracks—no stamp. She was working with someone in Nairn, she had tae be, tae find out these things.”
Billy had said that Isla wanted him to dig up secrets, but he wasn’t going to do it. What if he’d lied to Paislee and he was mining for dirt on the folks in Nairn? The detective had also mentioned a leak.
“Are you sure you dinnae want me tae go with you? Do you have an alibi for Monday morning?”
“Alibi?” Mary Beth’s voice rose and her brow crinkled. “We had breakfast together with the girls, and then I dropped them at school. Arran was with me because he didnae have a car. Tae be sure, we exchanged pleasantries with the headmaster.”
“Maybe start with that.”
Mary Beth stood, her chin quivering. “I’m so sairy tae dump all of this on you.”
“That’s what friends are for.” She gave her one last hug and then helped stuff her yarn back in her knitting bag.
Mary Beth not drinking Friday night made more sense now. Also, she had a new minivan . . . in silver. It made Paislee feel terrible, but she forced herself to think back to what the van had looked like behind her that day in the car queue at Fordythe.
The van would have been taller than she remembered the vehicle behind her being. Och, this was Mary Beth!
“Thanks again, Paislee.” Mary Beth left, ambling down the cracked sidewalk to the police station as if hobbling to the hangman.
Paislee paced the front of her shop and phoned the detective. The call went to voicemail, so she left a message for him to call her back.
Next, she called Amelia.
“Nairn Police Station,” Amelia said.
“It’s Paislee—is the detective in? I’d like tae talk tae him.”
“Paislee—no, he’s at a crime scene on Dartmouth. Billy Connal, Isla’s ex?” Amelia’s voice lowered. “Dead.”
Paislee gasped and clutched her stomach. She’d known it— hadn’t she? That something was wrong. “What about Tabitha Drake?”
“She’s in custody,” Amelia said.
“Thank heaven. Please have the detective call me right away, Amelia.”
“I will. Oh, Mary Beth’s here.”
“She needs a friend,” Paislee said, and ended the call.