Mairi shrugged. “I can’t say I was taking any notice. They were over there in that booth, by the door, all hugger-mugger. I thought Sarah was trying to close a real-estate deal. She’s been in here before doing that.”
She suddenly clasped her stomach. “Oops, the baby just turned and reminded me I have to use the loo.” She got to her feet. “I heard that the post mortem showed Sarah was over the legal limit anyway.”
“That’s true, but they might have gone and visited somebody after they left here.”
“Tormod MacAulay, according to what we heard,” said Colin.
You did, did you?
“Did you actually see the two women get into the car?”
“No, I told you. I had my hands full.”
“Mairi, did you see them?”
She grinned with a hint of triumph. “I did. I had to go out to the back and get some more bitters. That’s where the parking lot is. I saw them both get into the hired car.”
“Was Mrs. MacDonald driving?”
“No, the other woman was.”
“By the way, what did she look like this woman?”
Colin answered. “Blonde, bleached by the look of it, chubby. Older end of fifties. Shorter than me. She was wearing sunglasses the entire time. Either she has weak eyes or she thinks she’s Elizabeth Taylor.”
None of that description fitted Joan, but it was easy to dye your hair and put on weight. Dark glasses are surprisingly effective if you’re trying to avoid recognition.
Colin picked up the tray of flower vases. “We’ve got to close up now.”
I stood up. “Thank you for talking to me.”
Mairi hurried off while Colin walked with me to the door. He paused. He was peering into my face and making no bones about the fact he didn’t seem to like what he saw. Hey, he wasn’t so attractive to look at either. There were lines of discontent around his mouth and forehead. Perhaps in a happier mood he’d have boyish good looks, but not at the moment.
“Lisa said you had her go through the house to see if anything was missing. What was that all about?”
“It wasn’t to see if anything was missing exactly, just to see if anything was out of place. It’s a common procedure if there’s been a sudden death.”
“Is it now? Well, it upset her to have to do that. She was good chums with Tormod.”
I didn’t know what to say to him, as he was blaming me and perhaps rightly so.
“She hasn’t had an easy life,” he continued. “And seeing as she’s family, I’m protective of her interests.”
“Naturally, you would be.”
“Tongues wagged when she moved in with Tormod, but she wasn’t involved with him except as a friend and employer.”
He hovered for a moment, considering whether or not he would go any further. I waited.
“Tormod valued her. She told me he left her a bequest in his will. She didn’t want him to, but he insisted.” He started to fiddle with the small silver earring in his left ear. “When that is known, it’ll be sure to start more gossip. And Miss hyphenated Coral-Lyn Pitchers isn’t going to be too happy. But I know Lisa worked hard for the old man, and if he wanted to help her out, that’s up to him, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is.”
Suddenly he looked up at the big ship’s clock over the bar.
“I’d better lock up. It’s way past ten. Breakfast’s from 7:30 to 9:00. And I should warn you, we’re prompt on the islands. Both ends — starting and finishing.”
I honestly couldn’t tell if his barely contained animosity was directed at me or was his general attitude to life.
He ushered me out, obviously not about to say anything else. I went up to my room and sat at the window for a while, watching the masts bob on the water. There was still light enough to read by, but the street was quiet. The Sabbath was being observed. I was definitely in another world.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
That night I slept soundly for the first time in a long while, with only minimally anxious dreams. Daylight returned at four-thirty and slid through a gap in the curtains, but I pulled the sheet over my head and, amazingly, managed to sleep on until almost seven. A quick shower and then I went in search of a public telephone. I found one in a narrow hallway leading from the bar to the rear washrooms and the kitchen. I could hear the comforting sound of dishes clinking from the kitchen, and bacon smells wafted on the air, almost causing me to salivate.
I phoned Paula. We had been friends too long and through too many tough situations for me to hesitate about calling her, even though it was three in the morning Toronto time and I had to call collect. As always, she sounded alert and wide awake.
“Wow, kiddo. Bring me up to date. What’s going on?”
I launched into my recital of events, but had managed only to tell her about Tormod MacAulay’s death and the neighbours apparently identifying Joan’s car leaving the house that night before Colin MacLeod came out of the kitchen, tray in hand.
“
Madainn mhath,
good morning,” he said.
He continued into the dining room, but I was suddenly restricted in what I could say. At various times, on probably dozens of occasions, either Paula or I had been forced into cryptic
conversations because somebody could overhear us. We’d developed a code.
“I can’t hear you, please speak up.” I said to Paula. “The connection is bad.”
“Okay. The person you just said hello to?”
“Hmn, hmn. That’s better.”
“Do you think MacAulay was murdered?” Paula asked.
“Could be.”
“Who would have?”
“It’s hard to tell, really.”
“Surely you don’t think it was Joan?”
“Who knows?”
Colin came into the hall and made sign language to indicate there was a table waiting and was I hungry?
“Just a sec, Paula,” I said and partially covered the mouthpiece. “Thanks, Colin. I’ll be right there.” I returned to the phone. “Sorry Paula, go on.”
“Big ears, huh?” she remarked, laughing.
“Very. Anyway, I’m going to do a bit of touring today.”
“Can you call me later from a private telephone? Not to mention at a slightly better time?”
“Sorry. But I’ll try to do that. Phones aren’t easy to come by.”
“I’m tied up all tomorrow in meetings, but you can leave me a message at least. Are you all right, Chris?”
“As well as can be expected. The air’s great here.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“One of the local officers has offered to show me around the island.”
“As a tourist?”
“Not entirely.”
“Take care, Chris. This isn’t an ordinary situation. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“You’re right. Anyway, get back to bed. I’ll call again as soon as there are more developments.”
“To hell with more developments. I want to know how you’re doing.”
“Okay, okay, stop fussing. I’m a big girl.”
“That is not the point. Do I need to remind you that I care what happens?”
She sounded angry with me, but I didn’t want to keep her on the phone any longer. Knowing Paula, she’d tell me what was on her mind.
We hung up and Colin, who had been waiting, ushered me through the door and led me over to the table by the window that I’d had last night.
“D’ye want the full Scottish breakfast?”
“Sure, why not?”
He poured me coffee from a carafe and disappeared into the kitchen. Two middle-aged couples came into the dining room at the same time. Both men were freshly shaved, with shiny chins and virtuous looks. The women were also dressed for action in pastel pantsuits and sensible running shoes. We all exchanged “Good mornings,” “Lovely mornings,” the way people do when they’re on holiday and obliged to eat in close proximity to total strangers. I wasn’t quite up to sharing life stories, but the others immediately began to find out where they were all from. One couple was German, one English. I put my head down and sipped at my coffee, which as I expected was depressingly weak. Ah, Tim Hortons, where are you when I need you?
Colin returned, carrying a plate of food, which he set down in front of me. Two fried eggs, fried tomatoes, fried bread, and one fat black sausage. There was a token gesture to health in a twist of orange, more peel than pulp.
He pointed. “That’s a blood sausage. It’s made here in town and it’s very good. Try it.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Anyway, I couldn’t help but overhear you say you’re going to do some touring today. Is Gill taking you?”
“Yes, he is.”
“He’s a great chap — for a police officer.” This last was said with a grin meant to be disarming. “Did he say where he was going to take you first?”
“The Callanish Standing Stones, I believe.”
“Good. They’re a popular tourist site, although as far as I’m concerned, if you didn’t know they were ancient you wouldn’t be that impressed. Just a lot of grey stone pillars jumbled around.”
The German man was waving his hand to get Colin’s attention, but he still lingered.
“Sorry if I was a bit
crosta
last night. It’s the old big-brother thing.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure Lisa is glad to have you looking after her like that.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more, but his guests were obviously in need of coffee. He left me to my breakfast. I started with the eggs, fresh, and then the tomatoes, soggy. If I ate one of these breakfasts every day, I’d soon have to be identified as “Big Chris.” I was trying to get up my nerve to tackle the sausage when Gillies came in. He, too, was shiny of chin, and emanated a pleasant soapy smell and perky energy.
He grinned and walked over to me. “I came early. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. You’ve saved me from this bloody sausage that Colin is determined I eat. Have a seat.” I pushed my plate over towards him. “Here. I didn’t touch it.”
“I actually ate already, but I’d never say no to blood sausages. They’re made in town.”
He took a piece of toast that was going cold and hard in the silver rack provided for that express purpose. I waited for a moment.
“Gill, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to go to Sarah MacDonald’s office. You know how it is, find out about the victim and you sometimes find out about the bad guy.”
I was using criminal jargon again, but I couldn’t help it.
He hesitated, then chomped down on the crisp toast. “I don’t see why not, if it’ll set your mind at rest. The office is just down from here.”
Colin came out of the kitchen, greeted Gillies, commented on the sausage swap, then did a quick refill of everybody’s coffee cup.
“Enjoy the Stones,” he called as we left. “Callanish, not Rolling.”
The Lewis Estate Agency where Sarah MacDonald had worked was a plain, square building with a dull façade of rat-grey brick. A rectangular display window held a few photographs of properties for sale. I had a quick glance before we went in, but didn’t see the MacAulay cottage listed.
A bell like the kind you hear in an old-fashioned grocery store signalled our entrance. The office was long and narrow, with half a dozen movable partitions marking each agent’s space. A mature woman was at the front desk. She was immaculately made up, with flaring red cheeks and clotted eyelashes. Her ash-blonde hair was teased into a stiff, high beehive that I had seen only in photos from the 1960s. When she saw Gillies, she yelped with excitement.
“Gill, rumour has it that Prince Willie is paying us a visit. Is it true?”
He dodged the question. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Morag Murray was down on the beach scraping crotal off the rocks. You know, for her dyes. A man appeared out of nowhere and asked for directions to the Blackhouse Village. Gave her quite a start, but she knew at once he was a secret-service man from the way he was acting. Ever so polite, but his eyes never stopped moving. He didn’t want directions, he just wanted to know what she was doing. So are we right?”
“You know I couldn’t tell you that. National security is involved.”
The receptionist gave a little squeal. “So it is true. My grand-daughter’s mad for that lad. She’ll be over the moon. When’s he coming?”
“Janice, I didn’t confirm that.”
She flapped her hand at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention you. Morag can winkle it out of Rosie anyway.” She reached for her phone, thought better of it, and regrouped into her professional manner.
“What can I do for you then?” She looked pointedly at me, and Gillies responded.
“Oh, sorry. Janice MacIver, Detective-Sergeant Christine Morris. She’s visiting from Canada.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Janice wasn’t a Scot, more Yorkshire.
“I’m just following up on the accident involving Sarah MacDonald,” continued Gillies.
“My soul, what a shock that was. I was the one who got the call. I’m not usually in on Saturdays, but Andrea was off sick. Young Barry Irwin, the constable from Barvas, rang. He said Sarah was dead of a car accident. Well, right off I thought that was peculiar, because her car was in the parking lot. I noticed it because she’d taken Mark Faraday’s spot, and I knew he’d hit the roof when he came in. I expected to see her in the office, but she wasn’t here, and I just thought she’d gone out to get a coffee or something. I never in a million years thought I’d be hearing that she was dead.” Janice paused to get her breath and pay a brief tribute to the departed. “Well, then young Barry said as how the car in the accident was a red Vauxhall, which was hired out by Arnol motors to a woman from Canada. Well, I knew right away who that was, and I told him. She’d come in here early Friday evening looking for Sarah. I told him as how I saw them later on, going into Duke’s. I’d popped into the co-op to get some chops for dinner, and I saw them as I was coming out. Everybody’s saying it was her driving the car and she’s run off. Or drowned herself. Have you found her?”
“No, we haven’t. We’re just sort of backtracking Sarah’s movements to see if we come up with anything helpful.”
Both Gillies and I were perched on the edge of nearby desks at this point. We knew a garrulous witness when we found one. Let them ramble on, sift out the nuggets from the dust.
Janice smoothed back her hair, shifting it wholesale in the process. “Well, that woman came in here on Friday afternoon without a doubt. She was a blonde, rather plump, about my age.
Not a local. At first I thought she was from America, but she said no, she was a Canadian.”