Sea mist from the harbor met them as they left Nev’s. The mist didn’t so much creep in on cat’s feet as twine around their ankles and brush past them. It followed Christine as she helped her parents into their ancient Vauxhall. She told Janet she would settle her mum and dad at home and then join the others in their late evening rescue of Maida. The mist swallowed Ranger the terrier up whole as he trotted ahead of Rab, but it couldn’t quite catch hold of Rab, who said he’d see the others soon. Summer gave her regrets, shrugging into the mist as though it were a blanket. She had to be in bed early, to get up and bake for the tearoom and feed the guests staying in the bed and breakfast. Janet and Tallie watched her go and then kicked home through the mist to change into clothes more suitable for the work ahead.
“How many words do we have now for mist or fog?” Janet asked as they walked up Fingal Street toward their granite cottage on Argyll Terrace.
“Murk’s one of my favorites,” Tallie said. “But we own a bookshop, so we can look it up. Don’t you love saying that? We own a bookshop.”
Janet linked her arm with Tallie’s. “This particular mist has more personality than some. A more interesting personality, anyway. It isn’t like a wall of fog.”
“A wall of fog is dense and thuggish. It only wants to blot things out.”
“That’s exactly how it is,” Janet said. “But look how this stuff gathers and pools and seems to be following us. It’s curious, wonders what we’re up to.”
“We’re shifting furniture,” Tallie said to the mist, “to save Maida’s bacon.”
Maida, in her excitement at being asked to let her house for more money than she would have dreamed (or dared to suggest), had neglected to give Gillian a piece of information. That wasn’t to say that the missing information would have immediately turned Gillian against renting the house, but it had created a situation of near panic for Maida. Or as near to panic as Maida Fairlie ever came. The once comfortable, though rather plain, semidetached house stood completely empty, and after months of no interest from prospective buyers, Maida had stopped dropping by to air it out or sweep.
When Maida had phoned Rab for help, she hadn’t told him the full extent of her emergency, either, so that what he passed along to Janet and the others was further watered down. When Janet and Tallie arrived in jeans and old shirts, ready to “shift a wee bit of furniture,” Maida was unlocking the front door.
She looked past them to the pavement and the street. “No one else with you?”
Janet turned to look at the street with her. “I thought Christine and Rab might be here by now, but they’ll be along soon. We came through the back garden.”
Maida looked at their shoes. “Mind and wipe your feet, then.” She opened the door and went in ahead of them, turning on lights.
“Wipe them on what?” Tallie asked.
“Oh, aye,” Maida said. “I’ll add a doormat to my list of things to bring along.”
“How long has it been empty?” Janet asked, trying to gauge the cobwebs, dust, and dead bluebottles.
“A wee bit of sweeping and dusting will set it right,” Maida said. “The broom and dust mop are in the cupboard, there. I’ll go watch for Rab.”
Janet and Tallie looked at each other, and Janet was about to mutter something when Maida came back. “Thank you for coming round,” she said, the full weight of her dour ancestors imprinted on each word.
“Well,” Janet said when Maida had gone again, “bare floors are easier to clean.”
Tallie went to the cupboard. “Choose your weapon, Merry Sunshine.”
Two of Maida’s teenaged nephews arrived with Rab and the first load of furnishings in a small utility van. Christine rolled to a stop in her parents’ car behind the van.
“Ranger not supervising tonight?” Christine asked Rab, as he watched the nephews maneuver a bedframe from the back of the van.
“He’s minding the van.”
They each took two straight-back chairs from the van and followed the nephews through the front gate and up the short path. Maida could be heard following the nephews with cautions to mind the woodwork, corners, floors, and walls. Bedframe safely landed, Maida sent the nephews and Rab out for the rest of the bed, then she greeted Christine with the same dour thank you she’d doled out to the others.
“This is very good of you, too, Maida, and on such short notice,” Christine said.
“I’ve always said I’m well-blessed.” Maida picked a cobweb from her sleeve. “The house has what you might call a few—” She hesitated before elaborating on what the house had a few of. “I dinnae like to call them problems, per se. Eccentricities, perhaps.”
That word again, Janet thought.
“So, what’s my tenant to be like, do you know?”
“We don’t know much beyond her professional reputation,” Janet said, feeling Tallie’s and Christine’s eyes on her. “She’s a wonderful writer.”
“Prolific,” Christine said, “and wide-ranging.”
“She has something for every reader,” Tallie added.
“And a dog,” Maida said.
“Will that be a problem?” Janet asked.
“I have nothing against dogs, so long as they don’t yap or bite,” Maida said. “Or drool, or jump up, or lick. Or shed.”
“What about housetrained? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Christine asked.
“What’s the best way we can help you tonight, Maida?” Janet asked, after giving Christine a discreet poke in the ribs.
They moved aside as the nephews carried in a narrow end table on top of which they’d balanced a dish pan containing several pots and pans and a drainer stacked with dishes. Janet saw Maida bow her head and close her eyes. When the load came to rest with only a thump and no additional sounds of crashing or breaking, Maida’s eyes popped open and then fixed on the trail of mud from one of the nephews.
“I have two thoughts at this point,” Maida said. “First, I could use help organizing at the other end so that Rab and the lads know what to take and what not. Second, we’ll have to clean the floors again when we’re finished.”
“How will we know where you want things put on this end?” Christine asked.
“I reckon it’ll be obvious. If not,” Maida said with one of her rare smiles, “use your imagination.”
Tallie volunteered to go with Maida and the two drove off into the mist. Janet and Christine split up to clean kitchen and bath and start putting things away. Rab and the nephews brought in the last of the load from the van and went to pick up another. By the time the van had made half a dozen trips, stopping once to get more boxes from the bookshop, they’d brought a second bed, a dining table, a kitchen table, two more straight-back chairs, an overstuffed armchair, a toaster, an electric kettle, a teapot, flatware, a short sofa, a wardrobe, two bookcases, blankets, linens, and pillows. Janet wondered if Maida had anything left in her own house.
Maida and Tallie brought the last load, including teabags and milk, and two of Maida’s prayer plants, African violets for the kitchen window, and a purple passion plant.
“To make it more homelike,” Maida said.
“As opposed to the derelict pensioner’s flat it must have appeared when you got here,” Christine whispered to Janet, after Maida went into the kitchen and wondered aloud about bringing over cookbooks. “It’s no wonder it hasn’t sold. And Maida in the cleaning business. Tcha.”
“She might be like one of those barbers who stays so busy, because he’s the best, but then he never has time to get his own hair trimmed,” Janet said.
“You’re a kind soul, Janet.”
“Thank you.”
“If somewhat delusional.”
“Shall we give the floors a quick clean tonight and call it good enough?” Tallie asked.
“Surely tomorrow’s good enough for that and setting right anything we’ve put wrong,” Christine said. “We’re all exhausted and most of us have work or school tomorrow.”
“I’ll stay,” Rab said. “Finish it tonight.”
“I can get the worst of this out the front door right now,” one of the nephews said. He opened the front door and swept a few straggles of leaf and mud out. Then, not bothering to shut the door, which they’d been leaving open as they worked, anyway, he faced his brother and proved his strength by hefting the broom as though it were a set of barbells.
As the others discussed or avoided further cleaning, Janet went to close the door. It was then that she saw another vehicle appear out of the mist and roll to a stop in front of the house—a Land Rover of some sort, she thought. The driver got out, came around to the passenger door, opened it, and her traveling companion hopped out, too.
“I can’t ask any of you to stay longer,” Maida said above the others. “Mind, if you do, the windows need going over, too. The broom is not a caber!”
Janet watched as the travelers looked up and down the street, sniffed the air, and appeared to study Maida’s house.
“Not that cleaning the floors will make any difference,” Christine was saying, unaware of the travelers now coming through the front gate and up the short path to the door. “Not after the wretched dog tracks its muddy paws all over. What time are Daftie Daphne and the wretch due to arrive tomorrow? Do we know?”
Janet stepped out onto the stoop and held out her hand to the woman whose face she could now see clearly. “Hi, you must be Daphne Wood. I’m Janet Marsh. We’re very happy to have you here.”
“Yip,” said the dog.
The woman looked at Janet’s hand and stuck her own in her jeans pockets. Janet pulled her hand back. She turned to let the others know the author had arrived, and saw there was no need. They stood like an uncertain chorus behind her. Christine met her glance with one raised eyebrow.
“I haven’t introduced myself,” the woman said. “How do you know that I am this Daphne Wood?”
It was a fair enough question. Before anyone else answered, one of Maida’s nephews jumped in.
“She looks like the picture on the back of her books,” he said. “We have them at school, and she had her hair wrapped round her head just like that. She can’t be anyone else, can she? But what kind of dog is that?”
Neither Daphne Wood nor the dog answered.
“Pekingese,” Rab said.
At that, Daphne Wood nodded.
“Looks like a wee lion,” the nephew said. “Did you cut its hair like that?”
“Pekes are lovely dogs,” Maida said. She gave the dog a dubious look as she pushed past Janet. “Hello, Ms. Wood. I’m Maida Fairlie. It’s my house you’ll be staying in.”
Daphne said nothing.
Maida renewed her efforts. “Welcome back to Inversgail. Welcome home—and to your home away from home. It seems like there should be an official welcoming committee, but I suppose we’ll have to do. You’re a wee bit early, aren’t you? Only you’ve caught us putting the finishing touches on the place. Rab, boys, why don’t you help Ms. Wood in with her luggage? I hope you had a good trip, Ms. Wood? Did you fly into Prestwick? That’s a long way to drive on such a night. How long did it take? No trouble finding us, I hope?”
Daphne Wood let Maida’s words wash her in through the front door, the dog following at her heels. She still hadn’t said anything beyond questioning Janet’s knowledge of her identity.
“Tallie, will you show Ms. Wood the bedrooms and bath?” Maida said. “And while Ms. Wood freshens up, Janet, why don’t we find the kettle and make tea? Then we can just run the dust mop round and make sure things are nice and tidy. All right? We’ll have tea shortly.”
“Janet,” Maida said when they were in the kitchen, “that’s a peculiar person out there. Are you sure it’s Daphne Wood? Maybe we should ask for identification.”
“I think peculiarity is her identification,” Janet said. “But, yes, I’m sure that’s Daphne. She does look just like the picture on her books. Besides, she has a maple leaf shoulder patch on her jacket.”
“I didn’t notice,” Maida said.
“You were probably looking at the dog,” said Christine. “You were probably wondering what a back-to-nature, living-in-the-wilds woman who wears buffalo plaid is doing with a Pekingese.”
“The dog looks as though it should appear at that poncy show in Birmingham,” Maida said, as she looked for the teabags. “Crufts, isn’t that what the show’s called? What do you think the dog is called?”
“Rachel Carson,” a voice said behind them.
Janet, Maida, and Christine flinched and turned to find Daphne Wood standing in the door. Rachel Carson stood beside her. Maida smiled and held up the box of tea she’d finally found. Janet flinched again. No one had warned Maida about Earl Grey.
Daphne held her phone up. “Low bat. I need to make a call.”
Her shortage of verbiage proved contagious. “Use mine,” Janet said. She pulled her phone from a pocket and handed it Daphne.
Daphne consulted a number written on the palm of her hand and keyed it in. While she waited for an answer, she and Rachel Carson stared at the wall. Janet realized that she, Maida, and Christine were staring at Daphne and Rachel Carson. She pulled Maida and Christine out of the room, but no farther than just around the corner.
“Peculiar with a capital P,” Maida whispered.
“Shh.” Janet put a finger to her lips. “I want to hear what she says.”
Maida gave Janet a scandalized look.
“Janet’s right, Maida,” Christine whispered. “This is a peculiar person come to stay in your house. Hearing what she has to say might give you peace of mind.”
Daphne had called Gillian and made no effort to keep her end of the conversation private. They might have stood in the back garden and heard her, Janet thought.
“Someone has risen to his or her level of incompetence,” she enunciated into the phone. “No, I do not know to whom I am referring. What I do know is that the house is not ready. You said it would be. . . . I am barely more than twelve hours ahead of my revised estimated time of arrival. Within the great scheme of things, I hardly call that a day early. There are people here who insist on yammering at me and giving me Earl Grey tea. I thought I made it clear. I loathe Earl Grey tea. . . . I see. . . . I don’t know their names, no. . . . That’s entirely up to you. Good night.”
Daphne stopped talking and they heard footsteps and the clickety-clickety-click of tiny dog toenails crossing the linoleum. Janet, uneasy now at their eavesdropping, looked at the others. Christine, head cocked for more sounds from the kitchen, wasn’t bothered in the least. Tallie had apparently joined Rab and the lads outside—a smart move, Janet thought. Maida had her phone out and appeared to be turning it off, possibly to avoid calls from Gillian. Also a smart move, if somewhat cowardly.
They heard the refrigerator open. It stayed open longer than seemed necessary, considering all it contained was a pint of milk. The refrigerator door closed. More clickety-clicks followed, and then Daphne and Rachel Carson were standing in the kitchen doorway again. She held Janet’s phone out. Janet waited to see if Daphne would come hand it to her. She didn’t.
“Gillian says hello,” Daphne said.
“Oh? That’s kind of her.” Janet took her phone and smiled. Her smile wasn’t properly returned, either.
“Now I am tired and want to go to bed,” Daphne said. “It was a pleasure meeting all of you. Perhaps I’ll see you again someday. I will unpack myself in the morning. Please take everyone with you when you go. Good night.”
“Maida didn’t leave the loathed Earl Grey back there, did she?” Tallie asked.
“No, she took it with her,” Janet said.
“A missed opportunity,” said Christine. “If she’d followed her own advice about using some imagination in where to put things, then she might have shoved it—”
“Thank you, Christine,” Janet said on top of her.
After being dismissed by Daphne, they’d gathered their things quickly, and left even faster. Maida, who had always reminded Janet of a mouse, reinforced the image by scurrying off with her nephews. Before Rab drove away in the van, Janet saw Ranger staring out the passenger window at Maida’s house. He hadn’t barked when Rachel Carson arrived on the scene, but it was difficult to tell what he thought of the situation. Janet and Tallie rode with Christine back around to their house and asked her in for a nightcap.
“As long as it’s a proper nightcap,” Christine said, “and doesn’t involve the loathed Earl Grey.”
Janet’s house, up the hill and a century older than the one they’d just abandoned to the unusual visiting author, was a traditional detached stone cottage, with four rooms down and two up. Janet had worried, on making the move to Inversgail, that bitterness toward her ex-husband would color her feelings toward the house. They’d spent happy summers there with the children, and planned for longer stays in retirement. It would have been such a shame if she’d only wanted to stare coldly at the house and wish it grief, and then a pox and a painful death. The granite cottage proved sturdier than her resentment for her husband, though, and Janet had caught herself patting one of its blocks as she went in the door, as though patting a dear old shoulder to lean on. She patted one now, damp with the mist, and the three went through to the snug family room—the lounge, as Christine called it—where Tallie got out the sherry.
“I’ve never heard Maida talk so much as she did when that woman arrived,” Christine said. “No doubt she’ll have to sleep in to get over it.”
“Daphne might improve with a good night’s sleep, too,” Janet said.
“Speaking of delusional,” Christine said, looking at her sherry against the light and then fixing her eye on Janet, “do you think Gillian should have asked for a certificate of mental health before engaging Daphne?”
“I want to know how she knew to go to Maida’s,” Tallie said. “No one knew that until this evening.”
“Gillian was going to text her,” Janet said. “She would’ve given Daphne the address when she did.”
“And Daphne didn’t bother to mention she was already in the country, on the ground, and arriving any second.” Christine sipped her sherry, marveled, and then pronounced, “Daphne is definitely a daftie.”
“She was probably exhausted after the trip,” Janet said, “and driving in the fog on top of it.”
“Exhausted or not, the woman could have shown some common courtesy.”
“You’re right,” Janet agreed. “But let’s see how she is in a day or two. It can’t have helped that she heard you call her Daftie Daphne.”
“Don’t go blaming any of this on me,” Christine said. “She’s spent too much time alone in the woods, pure and simple.”
“She couldn’t have expected to get in the house tonight,” Tallie said. “She didn’t have a key.”
“She was doing a drive-by,” Christine said. “Casing the joint. I propose a toast to poor Gillian. She’s going to have her hands full.”
“Should we call Gillian?” Tallie asked. “What time is it?”
“Going on midnight,” said Janet. “Good Lord. Much too late. We’ll all turn into mist or murk if we’re up much longer.”
Christine’s phone trilled.
“Danny’s brain must be murk to call so late,” Christine said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just take it over here.” She wiggled her eyebrows at the Marsh women and took her phone to the window that looked out on the back garden.
“Mom?” Tallie got up and nodded toward the kitchen. “We have no reason at all to overhear this phone call.”
“But I think we do.” Janet rose and started toward her old friend.
Christine had turned from the window, her face slack with shock. “It’s no bother,” she said into the phone. “You’re no bother, Danny. I’ll call round tomorrow.” She shut the phone off. “A man’s been killed. At Nev’s. At Danny’s.”