shine a clear light on the sad events of this evening.”
My eyes narrowed. His dialect was almost lyrical, his words were lovely and I should’ve been charmed, but I had this twitchy feeling that it was all a bunch of smoke he was blowing up my kilt. Not that I was wearing a kilt, but really, wasn’t he just flattering me before his henchmen showed up and dragged me away in shackles?
“So… you want my help?” I ventured.
He smiled brightly. “Aye, now you’ve got the right of it.”
I took a deep breath and channeled my mother, trying for one of her cheery Sunny Bunny smiles. I would’ve succeeded were it not for the sudden nervous tic in my cheek. “Okay, sure. Of course I can help. What would you like to know?”
He asked questions and I answered, telling him everything that had taken place from the beginning of the tour until the police arrived on the scene. I tried to remember everyone’s comments, every room we walked into, Helen’s first screams, then mine, then me racing out of there and straight into Derek’s arms.
“You can imagine my shock,” I said, “when Derek Stone appeared out of the blue, just as the body was discovered.”
I hastened to add, “Not that I’m accusing him of murder or anything.”
He barked out a laugh. “Of course not.” He was remarkably boyish and cute when he smiled. Nevertheless, he didn’t take the bait and rush off to arrest Derek. Instead, he sat back in his chair, folded his hands together and asked, “What was your relationship with the deceased?”
“Kyle and I were old friends,” I said. “Good friends. Okay, we used to date. But it’s been almost four years since we broke up.”
“I see.”
“We stayed friends, though,” I said quickly. “I ran into him this afternoon and we had a beer together.”
“Where was this?” he asked as he wrote notes in a small tablet.
“The Ensign Ewart.”
He excused himself and left the room but was back a minute later. I assumed he must’ve sent someone to check out my Ensign Ewart story.
“What did the two of you talk about?” he asked.
“Books, of course,” I said. “And also, Kyle was in some trouble and asked me to help.”
MacLeod leaned forward. “Trouble? What sort of trouble?”
There was a knock on the door and MacLeod swore under his breath. He jumped up and opened it, listened to his man, then closed the door and returned to his chair behind the desk. He folded his hands together and stared at me through narrowed eyes.
“What?” I finally demanded.
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. We have a witness who saw you and the victim at the Ensign Ewart earlier today.”
“I just told you I was there,” I snapped, then exhaled heavily. “Sorry. I’m a little stressed out.”
“No harm done,” he said, and probably meant it. He seemed a cheerful sort. He checked his notepad, then said, “You were saying that Mr. McVee thought he was in some bit of trouble?”
I debated how much to tell him and decided on the whole truth, since he’d be checking up on everything I told him anyway. “Kyle said someone had tried to kill him. Tried to run him down with a car. It happened right outside the hotel.”
“Which hotel would that be?”
“Oh, sorry. The Royal Thistle, we’re all staying there for the book fair.”
He wrote it down in his notebook. “And ‘we’ would be the antiquarian book fair people.”
I nodded and he continued to write, then asked, “Did Mr. McVee tell you why he thought someone was trying to kill him?”
“Yes, he did.” And he’d been right. Someone had been after him and they’d succeeded. My mind flashed back to a picture of Kyle in the pub, laughing and teasing, then flipped to see him curled up on the hearth in that awful, dark room. My stomach clenched in pain and I shook my head to get rid of that dreadful image.
“And…?” MacLeod coaxed. “I know it’s difficult, but please go on.”
“Yes, it is difficult. Sorry.” I gulped in
My eyes narrowed. His dialect was almost lyrical, his words were lovely and I should’ve been charmed, but I had this twitchy feeling that it was all a bunch of smoke he was blowing up my kilt. Not that I was wearing a kilt, but really, wasn’t he just flattering me before his henchmen showed up and dragged me away in shackles?
“So… you want my help?” I ventured.
He smiled brightly. “Aye, now you’ve got the right of it.”
I took a deep breath and channeled my mother, trying for one of her cheery Sunny Bunny smiles. I would’ve succeeded were it not for the sudden nervous tic in my cheek. “Okay, sure. Of course I can help. What would you like to know?”
He asked questions and I answered, telling him everything that had taken place from the beginning of the tour until the police arrived on the scene. I tried to remember everyone’s comments, every room we walked into, Helen’s first screams, then mine, then me racing out of there and straight into Derek’s arms.
“You can imagine my shock,” I said, “when Derek Stone appeared out of the blue, just as the body was discovered.”
I hastened to add, “Not that I’m accusing him of murder or anything.”
He barked out a laugh. “Of course not.” He was remarkably boyish and cute when he smiled. Nevertheless, he didn’t take the bait and rush off to arrest Derek. Instead, he sat back in his chair, folded his hands together and asked, “What was your relationship with the deceased?”
“Kyle and I were old friends,” I said. “Good friends. Okay, we used to date. But it’s been almost four years since we broke up.”
“I see.”
“We stayed friends, though,” I said quickly. “I ran into him this afternoon and we had a beer together.”
“Where was this?” he asked as he wrote notes in a small tablet.
“The Ensign Ewart.”
He excused himself and left the room but was back a minute later. I assumed he must’ve sent someone to check out my Ensign Ewart story.
“What did the two of you talk about?” he asked.
“Books, of course,” I said. “And also, Kyle was in some trouble and asked me to help.”
MacLeod leaned forward. “Trouble? What sort of trouble?”
There was a knock on the door and MacLeod swore under his breath. He jumped up and opened it, listened to his man, then closed the door and returned to his chair behind the desk. He folded his hands together and stared at me through narrowed eyes.
“What?” I finally demanded.
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. We have a witness who saw you and the victim at the Ensign Ewart earlier today.”
“I just told you I was there,” I snapped, then exhaled heavily. “Sorry. I’m a little stressed out.”
“No harm done,” he said, and probably meant it. He seemed a cheerful sort. He checked his notepad, then said, “You were saying that Mr. McVee thought he was in some bit of trouble?”
I debated how much to tell him and decided on the whole truth, since he’d be checking up on everything I told him anyway. “Kyle said someone had tried to kill him. Tried to run him down with a car. It happened right outside the hotel.”
“Which hotel would that be?”
“Oh, sorry. The Royal Thistle, we’re all staying there for the book fair.”
He wrote it down in his notebook. “And ‘we’ would be the antiquarian book fair people.”
I nodded and he continued to write, then asked, “Did Mr. McVee tell you why he thought someone was trying to kill him?”
“Yes, he did.” And he’d been right. Someone had been after him and they’d succeeded. My mind flashed back to a picture of Kyle in the pub, laughing and teasing, then flipped to see him curled up on the hearth in that awful, dark room. My stomach clenched in pain and I shook my head to get rid of that dreadful image.
“And…?” MacLeod coaxed. “I know it’s difficult, but please go on.”
“Yes, it is difficult. Sorry.” I gulped in
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