Chapter 34
Lydia drove to Town and County Hospital’s urgent care, nabbing a spot close to the door where she parked. The ambulances carrying Flora and Donnan Robertson unloaded on the other side; a police car had followed. What a nightmare.
Paislee’s shoulder throbbed with an inferno of pain.
“Hang on.” Lydia quickly ran around the car to open the door, as Paislee couldn’t manage the inside passenger handle.
Tears filled her eyes. “Thanks, Lyd.”
Lydia held her hands before her, not knowing where to touch Paislee. “Should I get a wheelchair?”
“No.” Her shoulder hurt. Her arm hurt. Even her neck. But blast it, she could walk on her own two feet. “I’m fine.”
She hobbled into Urgent Care, and Lydia signed her in, taking care of the paperwork. There were only two other patients waiting in the all-white lobby. Even the chairs were hard white plastic, with metal legs.
“Scots are stubborn,” Lydia remarked. “It takes something major tae admit tae pain or sickness. The detective might be new, but he was smart enough tae make sure I’d get ye here; otherwise ye’d have gone home and tried tae bandage yer own arm.”
“Ye don’t have tae twist the screws, Lydia. I’m here. I want that nice shot Dr. Raj gave me before.”
“Yer a junkie now?”
Paislee tried to laugh but couldn’t.
Nurse Scott, tall, thin, and memorable with his wild carrottop hair, entered the waiting room. “Paislee Shaw. Did ye miss me?”
She stiffly rose to her feet and Lydia assisted with a light touch near Paislee’s elbow. “I wish this was a friendly visit, but no, I have a wee cut.”
Lydia snorted.
“You’ve been having a run of bad luck.” Scott led them into a back room where he removed the gauze and inspected the wound. “Guid ye came tae see us. That looks deep.” He handed her a gown. “Want tae shimmy oot of that shirt?”
Her newest pair of jeans and turquoise shirt had been ruined by bloodstains.
“I think we need tae take ye shoppin’ when this is over,” Lydia said.
Scott excused himself to find the doctor.
“I need tae be able tae knit my sweaters, Lydia; that’s more important than clothes. Besides, I hate shopping.” She hated it because she was always on a budget and didn’t have the time to shop for sales.
Lydia helped her into the gown, tying the paper ties in the back. “Shopping. My treat. Which means I get tae pick out things that show your figure, Paislee Ann.”
“You cannae be mad at me. I’m wounded.” She sat back on the exam bed and checked out her shoulder.
“I dinnae think that I will be able to be friends with Flora after this,” Lydia declared. “She should be uninvited tae Knit and Sip nights.”
“She’ll be in jail for murder; that’s harsh enough.”
Lydia’s gray eyes turned wide with shock. “I guess I still cannae believe it. Flora Robertson. I fed her Gruyère.”
At that, Paislee chuckled.
A light knock sounded and then Scott and Dr. Raj entered.
“Paislee,” Dr. Raj greeted her with a clucking of his tongue as he saw her bloody shoulder.
She quickly gave him the watered-down version of what had happened.
“That’s quite a tale. What’s your pain level?”
She thought of saying five, but it had to be an eight, maybe nine. All she wanted to do was curl up and cry. “Six?”
“Liar,” Lydia said. “She wants the good stuff, Doc. She helped catch a murderer, and I’m driving her home. She should be feeling no pain at all.”
Scott hid a smile behind his clipboard.
Paislee heard what Lydia said. She’d helped catch Isla’s killer. Billy’s killer. A wave of pain traveled through her, and she swayed on the edge of the table.
Dr. Raj steadied her. “It’s all right, now. Let’s get you stitched up. You will have to take tomorrow off.”
Paislee felt so terrible that the idea of staying in bed all day sounded like heaven. “I will.”
“Now I know yer hurtin’.” Lydia got up and offered her hand for Paislee to squeeze. “I’m here. Where’s that shot, Doctor?”
* * *
By Tuesday evening, Paislee was well enough to get out of bed and eat dinner.
Lydia had hung up a sign on the door of Cashmere Crush saying that Paislee would return to work on Thursday, possibly Friday. They’d had a bit of an argument, but when Lydia brought her the fisherman’s sweater to work on at home Paislee let it go and decided she could rest for another day.
Detective Inspector Zeffer had dropped by, but she’d been upstairs sleeping, so he’d left a card wishing her well.
Flora’s arrest for Isla’s murder was all over the news—Donnan was in the hospital under a doctor’s care, and he was expected to slowly recover.
Mary Beth’s husband’s DUI was at the back of the paper, buried under the splash on Flora, Billy, and Isla. She’d received a flurry of texts she’d deal with later. Amelia’d sent a very long message, sharing that Norma had been meeting Isla for tea and conversation, without realizing that Isla was mining for blackmail tips. Detective Inspector Zeffer had put the poor woman on probation, but she was lucky to keep her job.
For now, Paislee, Brody, Grandpa, and Wallace sat around the kitchen table taking the final bites of their raspberry scones.
“Isla’s funeral is tomorrow,” Paislee said. “At seven. I think I’d like tae go.”
Brody’s protective instincts had been fired up over the stitches in Paislee’s shoulder and the brace she was wearing again for the next few days after wrenching her sore muscles in the tussle with Flora. He didn’t like for her to be out of his sight for too long.
“Why, Mum? She wasnae a nice person.” Brody snuck a piece of scone to Wallace.
She’d thought long and hard about this, wrestling with this issue within herself. “Isla didnae have anybody in her corner, Brody. She’d had a bad hand dealt to her, but she also made poor choices. I dinnae condone her actions. Blackmailing people for money was wrong.”
“I know!” Brody kicked his heel back against the chair leg once, then twice.
“Stop it,” she said. “Otherwise, you’ll be polishing the furniture.”
Grandpa Angus chuckled. “Yer sounding more like your gran every day.”
She met his gaze. “I asked myself what Gran would do in this situation. She was always compassionate toward her fellow man.”
“Except fer me.” Her grandpa scraped a wrinkled hand through his silver hair.
Someday Paislee would discover the truth behind their story, but for now she kept the topic on Isla, and right versus wrong.
“Granny said it was for God tae judge, not her. She taught me tae think the same, and that is why I am going tae be at Isla’s funeral.” She’d thought she’d seen herself in Isla, but in reality, she’d seen her worst fears personified.
“If she hadn’t died, would you still be her friend?” Brody’s quick glance made her realize that there was something else going on in her son’s head.
“You mean, is it right tae be someone’s friend even if you know they are doing something wrong?”
Brody’s face paled beneath the freckles he’d gotten on Sunday.
Her grandfather scratched his silver beard, looking from her to Brody. “Hmm. Is it illegal, lad?”
Paislee shot her grandpa a look. “He’s only ten!”
“Stealing,” Brody said. “Crisps from the lunchroom.”
“Ach.” Grandpa Angus waved his hand dismissively. “That’s—Ouch!”
Paislee kicked him again for good measure even though it pained her.
“That’s wrong, no matter what,” Grandpa amended.
“We don’t steal.” Paislee made sure that Brody was looking her in the eye when she said this.
“I dinnae do it,” Brody said. “But I ken someone . . .” He hesitated. “If I say somethin’, then they willnae be my friend anymore.”
Paislee considered his dilemma. How best to answer so that it was helpful and he wouldn’t be ostracized at school? She took a sip of tea and thought back honestly to what she would have done about Isla.
“If I had known that Isla was blackmailing people, I would not have hired her tae work for me at Cashmere Crush.”
Brody scooted his chair back and helped Wallace onto his lap. The dog bared his belly for a good scratch, and Brody obliged.
Sensing that he needed a bit more explanation, she added, “I would have been forced tae see that she was not the person that I thought she was—and couldnae be a true friend tae me.”
He rubbed Wallace’s belly and the dog’s tail wagged like crazy. Brody giggled but then exhaled as he looked up at her with understanding. “I dinnae want tae steal crisps in order tae be his friend. But I don’t want to be a clipe, either. That’s lame.”
“Ye can’t grass up on yer mates,” Grandpa said.
“I agree,” Paislee said. Brody’d been mature enough in bringing the problem to her—she wouldn’t make him regret it. “How about I drop a word in with the headmaster?”
His face turned red and Wallace hopped down with a bark of alarm. “Ye can’t do that, Mum!”
“Awright.” She took another sip of tea. “What about an anonymous message?”
“What does that mean?”
“A note with no signature, dropped on the receptionist’s desk.”
“Why can’t we ignore it?” He crossed his arms.
“Because it’s wrong tae steal.” Which he knew already, and why they were having this discussion in the first place.
“Can I tell them not tae do it anymore, and then we don’t have to get them into trouble?” He pushed his empty dessert plate toward the center of the round table.
“First off, ‘we’ are not getting anybody into trouble. They are the ones doing the thieving.” She was careful not to sound too harsh.
“I wish I didnae know about it.”
“But you do. And because you do, ye cannae ignore it.”
He stared gloomily at the tabletop for a few seconds. “I’ll tell them not tae do it anymore or else I dinnae want tae be their friend.”
It was her injured shoulder closest to him, so when she reached to ruffle his hair, she winced. He got off his chair and gave her a careful hug.
“I love you more than life itself, Brody.” She looked into his eyes until he nodded. “You can always come tae me, and we’ll figure things out.” His announcement would, she hoped, stop the thievery, but she’d be sure to check back later. Good enough for now.
Brody’s mood flashed bright again. “Can I be excused?”
“Aye.”
He raced into the living room and turned on the telly.
She drank the last of her tea. “He’s growing up so fast.”
Her grandfather put the electric kettle on for more hot water. “Ye’re doing just fine, lass. Just fine. I know your gran would be proud.”
Paislee could feel Granny’s warmth in this room around them. “I know she would be. I miss her, so much. And I think she would be okay that you’re here now, too.”
“Just until Craigh—”
“I know, I know. Just until we find out what happened tae your son. I promised tae help you, and I will.”
The doorbell rang and Brody raced to answer it.
“Ask who it is first!” she yelled, following him down the hall from the kitchen. “Ye want someone tae nab you?”
Brody flung open the door, just missing her nose. “Sorry, Mum.”
“I have half a mind, Brody, to—” She looked up into Hamish McCall’s clean-shaven face and dark brown eyes.
“Is now a bad time?” he asked, looking at her brace and the bandage on her shoulder visible beneath her shirt. “I heard that you were involved in another accident, and I was just driving by, and . . .”
Driving by, was he?
Paislee waited at the door, very conscious of her neck brace and her mum jeans—but she’d ruined her best pair.
Brody held up his hands in surrender. “I swear I didnae steal the crisps.”
Paislee opened the door wider, smiling at the confusion on the poor man’s face. “You’d better come in. It’s a long story. Can I get you a cup of tea?”