Read 08 - The Highland Fling Murders Online

Authors: Jessica Fletcher,Donald Bain

Tags: #Fiction, #Maine, #Mystery, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Murder, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Detectives, #Political, #Scotland, #Radio and Television Novels, #Artists, #Women Novelists, #Women Novelists; American, #Fletcher; Jessica (Fictitious Character)

08 - The Highland Fling Murders (19 page)

BOOK: 08 - The Highland Fling Murders

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“The guests haven’t seen her,” Malcolm told her.

“Like all the rest,” Mrs. Gower said, continuing to stir. “Can’t depend on any
younker
these days to show up for work.”

I assumed she meant youngster.

“Did anyone see her leave last night?” I asked.

“No,” Malcolm answered. “Forbes left early. And Mrs. Gower—”

The stout and stem lady stopped stirring, turned, and said, “You mind your own business, young man. Don’t be tellin’ anybody what I did or where I was.”

I motioned with my finger for Malcolm to follow me out of the kitchen. Once away from Sutherland Castle’s formidable cook, I asked him, “Do you know why Inspector Sutherland went into town this morning?”

“No. I saw him leave. He didn’t say anything.”

“All right. Now, back to Fiona. Can you think of anywhere in town, anyone in town who might have seen her last night?”

“She has friends.”

“And you know who they are?”

“Ay. Some of ’em.”

“And have you checked the castle thoroughly?”

“That’s not an easy thing to do, Mrs. Fletcher. It’s a real
beezer
.”

“Beezer?”

“It’s a big place, Mrs. Fletcher. Very big.”

He was right, of course. What concerned me most was that if Fiona was in some dark recess of Sutherland Castle, it couldn’t be for any good reason. I wrapped my arms about myself as a sudden chill stabbed me deep inside.

“Well, Malcolm, it may be big, but I’m going to start looking. I’ll get my friends to help. I suggest you go into town and contact Fiona’s friends.”

“Ay. I’ll do that straight away.”

The swinging kitchen doors swung open, and Mrs. Gower emerged. “Where’s the wood I told you to get?” she asked Malcolm.

“I was busy looking for Fiona, Mrs. Gower, and—”

“Look in the nearest pub is my suggestion. You forget about her and get to your chores.”

“Mrs. Gower,” I said, “I really think that Malcolm—all of us for that matter—should—”

“You may be a guest, Mrs. Fletcher,” she said. “You may be some high-and-mighty writer. You may be the apple a’ Mr. Sutherland’s eye. But I’ll thank you to leave the runnin’ a’ this house to me.” She stepped back into the kitchen, the doors closing behind her.

“Whew!” I said.

“Don’t pay her no mind, Mrs. Fletcher. She’s just a natural old grump. I’ll go to town while you look here for Fiona.”

I returned to the living room, where Ken and Charlene Sassi and Jim and Susan Shevlin were still congregated. I told them about Fiona, and suggested we split up to search for her at the castle. “Why don’t you check the grounds, Ken,” I said. “Jim and Susan can go upstairs. Charlene and I will take this floor.”

As Charlene and I moved out, we ran into Mort and Maureen Metzger.

“Where you going, Mrs. F.?” Mort asked.

I explained.

“I knew it,” Mort said.

“Knew what?” Charlene asked.

“Knew there’d be more trouble.”

“The important thing is to find Fiona,” I said. “Ken is looking outside. Why don’t you go help him?”

A half hour later, Charlene and I had come up empty. There was no sign of Fiona on the main floor. We’d checked every room and closet, beneath stairwells, every nook and cranny. Actually, I was relieved at our failure. I wasn’t anxious to be the one to stumble upon her body as I had with Daisy Wemyss.

I suggested we go outside to see how Mort, Maureen, and Ken were faring. As we stepped through the front door to the central courtyard, Mort’s voice came from afar. “Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”

He was behind a stable, one of a number of outbuildings on the grounds. We rounded the rear comer of the building just as Ken and Maureen came from the other side. Mort was bent over something beneath a shed roof attached to the stable’s back wall.

I grabbed Charlene’s arm to stop her from getting any closer. I was certain Mort had found Fiona’s body, and didn’t want to subject Charlene to the shock of it. No, not entirely truthful. I didn’t want to subject
myself
to it.

Mort saw us holding back and said, “Come over here, Mrs. F. and tell me what you make of this.”

“Is she—?”

“Is she what?”

“Nothing,” I said, walking toward him.

He was looking at a dress we all remembered Fiona having worn the night before, a pretty white-and-yellow-flowered print. A vision of her curtsying in my room came and went.

“Look over there,” Ken Sassi said, pointing to a pair of shoes. No question about it. They were the shoes Fiona wore when she visited my room.

Before I could admonish them not to touch anything, Ken picked up one of the shoes. His fingers came away with a sticky substance on them. He showed them to us. Blood.

“But no sign of her,” Mort said.

“What do we do?” Charlene asked.

“Get back to the house and report this to Constable McKay,” I said. “Maybe I can find out where George went.”

“Should we take these things back with us?” Ken asked.

“No,” I said. “We’ve disturbed the scene enough. Let the police take care of it.”

“Absolutely right,” Mort said. “This here is a crime scene. I’ll rustle up some rope and cordon it off.”

“Good idea,” Ken Sassi said to our sheriff.

We returned to the castle, where I asked Forbes, who was dusting furniture in the living room, for McKay’s telephone number. He made it obvious he didn’t appreciate being interrupted, but left the room, returning a minute later with the number on a piece of paper. I took it from him and went to George’s office to call the constable.

“McKay here.”

“This is Jessica Fletcher. I was the one who—”

“I have a decent memory, Mrs. Fletcher.”

His snide comment took me aback. But I forged ahead. “Are you aware that Fiona, the young woman who works here at Sutherland Castle, is missing?”

“
Ay
. I’ve heard.”

“Well, we’ve just found her dress, and a bloody pair of her shoes, behind a stable on the castle’s grounds.”

“Have you, now?”

I kept my anger in check. “Yes, we have,” I said icily.

“Well, as soon as Bob gets back from cutting the cross out a’ the bridge railing, I’ll send him up to take a look.”

“That’s very kind of you. Do you know where Inspector Sutherland is?”

“Ay.”

I waited for him to elaborate. It didn’t come. “Where is he?” I asked.

“Should be back to the castle by now. Left here a half hour ago.”

“He was with you?”

“
Ay
.”

“Thank you.”

The minute I hung up, George came through the door.

“I was just trying to track you down,” I said.

“I was in town.”

“I know. I just got off the phone with Constable McKay.”

“I was with him.”

“So he said. You know about Fiona?”

“I certainly do. No one has seen her?”

“George, we found her dress and her shoes behind the stable. There was blood on her shoes.”

He winced. “Good Lord,” he said. “Another.”

“But we haven’t found
her.
That means there’s hope.”

He slumped in a chair across the desk from me, formed a tent with his hands, and lowered his chin to it. He was gray; fatigue and worry were etched on his handsome face.

“I’m selling Sutherland Castle,” he said, his voice so low I could barely make out his words.

“I thought—”

“I know. You suggested I wait until you and your friends had left. But the representatives from the London real estate consortium arrived in Wick last night. They’ve upped their offer. I met with them for breakfast this morning.”

“It’s definite?”

“Well, almost. I had reservations, and told them I needed another twenty-four hours to think it over. But then I bumped into McKay, who told me Fiona was missing. And now, you tell me you found her clothing, bloody at that. If anything has made up my mind, Jessica, it’s this. The proverbial straw to break this camel’s back. It’s best I
put the peter on it
.”

“Which means?”

“Put a stop to the madness.”

“It’s your decision, George. But I can’t help thinking mat—”

“Another murder, Jessica. Enough is enough.”

“We don’t know that Fiona has been murdered.”

“Do you doubt it?”

“All I’m saying is that you not do something you might live to regret until we find out for certain what’s happened to her.”

“I don’t know, Jessica. I just don’t know.”

“Constable McKay said he’d send his assistant here to look at the clothing—after he’s finished cutting the cross from the bridge. Why don’t we take a look?”

Mort had strung a rope around the area in which Fiona’s dress and shoes were discovered. He’d hung strips of white cloth to make sure it was noticed.

We ducked beneath the rope, and George knelt to more closely observe the clothing. “Found exactly this way?” he asked.

“Not quite. Ken picked up a shoe. That’s when we realized there was blood on it”

George stood. “It doesn’t look good, does it?” he said sadly.

“We just don’t know. Finding her clothing, and finding her body are two different things. In fact, I can’t help but wonder why this clothing is here.”

“Meaning what?”

“It all seems—well, it seems a deliberate attempt to suggest the worst, without
showing
the worst.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“Why does anyone do anything, George? Like kill Daisy Wemyss.”

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, noticing the Band-Aid.

“Oh, nothing. A cat got into my room last night. When I touched him this morning, he scratched me.”

“What cat?”

“A big fat black one.”

“That’d be Walter. Lives in the barn with other cats. Forbes feeds them. Should have warned you about leaving the window open at night. Walter likes to visit guests who do.”

“It was nothing. Just a little scratch.”

We walked slowly back to the castle and into the living room, where Forbes was again polishing furniture.

“Where’s Malcolm?” George asked.

“I sent him to town to talk to Fiona’s friends,” I said.

“Good idea. Forbes, would you please fetch us tea?”

We said nothing as we sat in front of the fire and waited for Forbes to return. I broke the silence with, “Tell me more about these real estate people from London.”

“Not much to tell. Very rich, for sure. They’ve been buying up country properties, most of them here in Scotland. They buy them up, fix them up, and turn them into profitable resorts.”

“I can see why they’d want Sutherland Castle,” I said.

“I can, too. I don’t especially like the chaps they sent to Wick, but my personal feelings about them don’t matter. Constable McKay told me this morning he’s afraid the citizen group that’s been trying to force me to sell might decide to take matters into their own hands now that Fiona is the next victim. Try to take over the castle by force.”

“That’s absurd,” I said. “Surely, Constable McKay won’t allow that.”

“Not much he can do about it. Just him and Bob. I told him about my breakfast meeting, and that I was going to sell the castle. He was much relieved. Said it was the only way to avoid bloodshed.”

“I can’t believe in this day and age that citizens would be talking about storming a man’s castle. That’s—it’s medieval. Barbaric.”

The words of my British publisher, Archie Semple, came back to me:
“Still planning to venture to the land of the barbarians?”

“What are you thinking?” George asked.

“That I don’t want to lose the day we’ve planned together. I’d like to get away from here for a few hours. Go to that pub you love and have a quiet lunch.”

“And we’ll do it.”

Bob, Constable McKay’s deputy, arrived, accompanied by Constable McKay. After examining Fiona’s dress and shoes, and carefully collecting them in plastic bags, they settled in the living room with us.

“We’ll find her body soon, I fear,” McKay said.

“Why wasn’t her body with her clothes?” I said.

McKay and Bob looked at me. “What are you gettin’ at?” McKay asked.

“It just doesn’t make any sense, that’s all,” I said. “It’s as though someone wants us—wants
somebody
to believe Fiona has been murdered, like Daisy Wemyss was. But until her body is found, all we have is her clothing.”

“It’s enough for me,” McKay said. He looked at his deputy. “Enough for you, Robert?”

“Ay. Absolutely. Plenty for me.”

“You’ll be checking the blood on the shoes, I take it,” George said.

“What for?” McKay replied. “We don’t have her blood to compare it against.”

“But what if it’s not human blood?” I said, the possibility suddenly occurring to me.

McKay and Bob again looked at me as though I might be senile. “And what do you think red blood on a young woman’s shoes might come from, Mrs. Fletcher?” the constable said, a smirk on his face.

“I don’t know. An animal, perhaps. The point is that Inspector Sutherland is right. The blood should be checked.”

“I’ll be the judge a’ that,” McKay said.

“I’m sure you will,” I said, unable to disguise my disgust with his attitude.

Malcolm James arrived minutes after McKay and his deputy had left.

“Any luck?” I asked him.

“No, ma’am. It’s like Fiona just disappeared from the earth. Have you learned anything?”

George and I looked at each other. George said, “I’m afraid we’ve found Fiona’s dress and shoes out behind the stable.”

“Oh, no,” Malcolm said.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” I added. “And there was blood on her shoe.”

“Good
Guid
! Poor Fiona.”

“It doesn’t mean any harm has come to her, Malcolm,” I said.

BOOK: 08 - The Highland Fling Murders