Murder on the Moor (3 page)

“I know, but it was in Gaelic.” Helen looked helplessly at Rex.

“It’s not for delicate wee ears like yours,” Rex told Estelle, propelling her toward the drinks cabinet. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, really! I may be an aristocrat,” Estelle said coyly, “but I grew up with three brothers, you know.”

Rex had to refrain from looking at her. She really did resemble a sheep with her woolly hair.

He gazed around the room to make sure everyone had what they needed. The Allerdices and Rob Roy Beardsley stood to one corner, no doubt devising ways to capitalize on Liz of Loch Lochy. Rex wondered if Beardsley was getting free room and board out of the deal.

The Allerdice children, Flora and Donnie, perched close together on a window seat with plates of food on their laps. Rex poured himself a small tumbler of the Glenlivet that Alistair had brought and made his way back to Helen.

“Flora is a martyr to her brother,” she said, glancing in the direction of the siblings.

“I wonder if having a slow-witted brother under her wing has cramped her style at all.”

“Possibly, but she’s not very extrovert to begin with.”

Rex held the rim of his glass to his lips, nosing the clean, oaky fragrance of the twelve-year-old single malt in anticipation of the first sip. “She could be bonny enough, but there is something lackluster aboot her. Falling in love would bring a glow to her cheeks.”

“And how would you know?” Helen asked.

“Well, look at you. You are positively radiant!”

“I see,” she said with an amused smile. “And I suppose you are taking all the credit? Perhaps it has something to do with the bracing walk to the village this afternoon.”

“Och, noo. Fresh air just lends a ruddy sort of glow. Yours definitely comes from within.” He stuck his nose back in his tumbler. Hmm. Definitely oaky, with perhaps just a hint of the heathery outdoors?

“Well, you look positively pink yourself,” Helen quipped. “Of course, that might have something to do with the booze!”

Rex chuckled. He was beginning to enjoy himself, in spite of his motley crew of guests. The isolating rain lent a sense of camaraderie, and the Speyside whisky was damn good. He must remember to thank Alistair again.

“Well, doesn’t look like I’ll get an admission of love from you tonight,” Helen groused in jest. “Might as well get back to the kitchen and see to dessert.”

Rex grabbed her as she walked away and, whisking her around, planted a big kiss on her lips. “Will that do ye?” he asked.

“For now,” she replied, smiling as she flounced off toward the door.

“Aye, verra nice,” Hamish growled at his side, appearing out of nowhere, his gaze level with Helen’s shapely behind.

Rex forced himself to restrain from decking him. Hamish Allerdice was decidedly the most uncouth of men. And his wife in the same room, not to mention his daughter!

“Funny,” his colleague Alistair said behind him. “I thought I heard someone at the door. Are you expecting more guests?”

“No, I’m not.” Rex could not think whom it might be at this hour. There was no one around for miles and it was pouring with rain.

Moira Wilcox stood under
the porch with the rain hissing behind her as taillights disappeared over the hill. Dazed by a sensation of déjà-vu, Rex simply stared at her. Her dark, wavy hair glistened with moisture. Droplets of rain beaded the shoulders of her camel-hair coat. She deposited a small suitcase by the door. He took in these details one by one, his thought processes lagging behind his powers of observation.

Finally, as though waking from a dream, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“What a daft question. I came to see you, of course.”

“But how, I mean …”

“Miss Bird said you’d be up here—in your Highland retreat,” she added tartly.

Rex made a mental note to throttle the housekeeper when he got back to Edinburgh.

“Och, don’t look so cross,” Moira said. “It’s no her fault. I’m sure she just felt sorry for me after you jilted me so cruelly.”

“Jilted? You ran off with that photographer in Baghdad!”

“I tried to apologize. I even went all the way to Florida to see you.”

“Aye, well I’m not looking for a repeat performance.”
What on earth did she hope to achieve by turning up here?
he asked himself.

“I wasna well in the spring. I was still traumatized by the bombing, but I’m better now and I want to try again. I’m sorry aboot what I put you through.” Moira shivered. “Will ye no let me in out of the rain?”

“This is right awkward,” he told her, moving aside so she could pass into the hall. “Helen’s here.”

“You’re still with her?”

“I bought this place for the two of us.”

“I see. Well, it’s high time I met my rival, don’t you think? Don’t worry—I’ll be all sweetness and light. Who else is here? I saw a van, a Land Rover, and a couple of other vehicles in the driveway.”

Standing with Moira under the light from the teardrop chandelier, Rex noticed that she had made up her face. This came as a surprise since Moira, a self-professed feminist, had eschewed such tactics to attract men in the past. And she wore what he took to be an expensive perfume.

“What happened to your lift?” he asked, recalling the departing taillights.

“I came by taxi. I sent it away once I saw you were home.”

“You came all the way from Edinburgh in a taxi?”

“I don’t drive, remember, and I didna expect you’d come and pick me up from the station in Spean Bridge, or if I’d find a cab service there. The driver almost couldna find this place. I suppose I’ll have to stay the night.” She brushed her hand down her wet coat. “It’s no weather to be oot looking for a hotel.”

“The owners of the Loch Lochy Hotel are here. I’m sure they could put you up. That’s their van outside.”

“They’ll never get out wi’ that van. It’ll get stuck in the mud. The cabbie almost refused to bring me down here. There’s no sign of any letup. The rain’ll only get worse.”

Rex slowly banged the back of his head against the wall. “You’ll have to promise to leave first thing in the morning.”

“Now, now, Rex,” Moira said. “Don’t let’s start all that again. Remember what happened last time.”

“Rex?” Helen’s voice came at him from down the hall. “Is everything okay?”

“Helen, meet Moira.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Helen,” Moira said sweetly, as promised, holding out her hand. “Sorry I’m late. There was an accident on the M90 and traffic was backed up for miles.”

“Oh, I didn’t know we were expecting you,” Helen faltered, taking the proffered hand. She stood a couple of inches taller than Moira, who gazed up at her with calculating eyes.

“It must have slipped Rex’s mind.” Moira skirted around Helen and made toward the sounds of voices and music emanating from the living room.

Rex listened in trepidation.

“Hello, everyone, I’m Moira, an old flame of Rex’s. Oh, what a lovely spread. I’m starving! And I could do wi’ a drink. The roads are a nightmare what wi’ all this rain …”

Rex knew from experience that Moira and drink did not mix well. The daughter of an alcoholic, she was a lifetime teetotaler before she went to Iraq. Rex had first seen her drink in Florida. The result had been disastrous.

“Rex?” Helen asked beside him. “What’s going on?”

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his corduroys. “I have no idea, except that the housekeeper told her I was here.”

“Is she sane?”

“Who? Miss Bird? Apparently not.”

“No—
Moira
. Is she still under psychiatric care?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in months. In fact, no one has. She no longer attends the church meetings. The Charitable Ladies of Morningside were trying to get her interested in social work again, but … Oh, I suppose I should have visited her to see how she was getting on.” Rex slumped against the wall.

“She seems a bit hyper,” Helen said. “Her eyes are glittery. Not a good sign.”

Laughter spilled from the living room as the voices grew more animated.

“What do you think we should do?” he asked Helen.

“Better try not to antagonize her. Don’t show me any affection.”

“Helen, I’m so sorry. This was supposed to be a special weekend for us.”

“There will be other weekends. We should attend to the guests.” With a wintry face, Helen moved off toward the living room.

Rex glanced at his watch. It was only nine-thirty. The rest of the night would be murder. He would have to keep a careful eye on Moira and hope the situation did not blow up in front of his guests. Not that he really cared what they thought. Alistair, the only one who counted as a friend, would understand. However, he didn’t want to embarrass Helen. She had worked so hard in preparation for this party.

By the time he returned to the living room, Moira had a small entourage gathered around her, with all but the two youngest guests in attendance. Flora was watching the group from across the room while Donnie tried to puzzle out one of Rex’s multicolored Rubik’s Cubes.

Alistair handed Moira a glass of white wine. The woolly haired Estelle plied her with food from the table. Cuthbert sat on a footstool at her feet, listening to her recount the perils of her journey. The Allerdice couple and Rob Roy Beardsley had pulled up chairs and were all ears.

“You poor dear!” Estelle exclaimed when Moira told her audience how she had witnessed a head-on collision and seen bodies pulled from the wreckage.

“It was just like the car bombing at the market in Baghdad, only I wasn’t just a spectator that time—I was actually buried under a pile of rubble. An Australian photographer saved my life.”

“You should write a book about your experiences in Iraq,” Beardsley suggested.

“Perhaps I should.” Moira’s sharp brown eyes lingered on his face. “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

The journalist looked abashed. “Och, I’m no famous yet.”

“Oh, well. You have a Glaswegian accent, so maybe we passed in the street years ago when I lived there. I’ve met so many people on my travels.”

“It was very brave of you to go to Iraq,” Shona Allerdice cooed in admiration.

“What were you doing out there?” Alistair asked, sitting forward in his chair.

“I went to help the Iraqi civilians. Our relief unit provided everything from food and uncontaminated drinking water to blankets and medical supplies. We equipped schools with the basics so the bairns could get on with their studies …”

Turning away, Helen raised an eyebrow at Rex. “She’s got them eating out of her hand,” she murmured.

“Aye, she can be very dramatic when it suits her.”

“She’s prettier than I imagined,” Helen said grudgingly. “You never told me she had such nice hair.”

“Och, I’d hardly call her pretty. You’re pretty. But she can look attractive enough when she’s in her element.”

“Well, she’s in her element now. Just look at Hamish and Cuthbert fawning all over her.”

“And Alistair, poor fool. I should warn him.”

Helen stared at Rex in amazement. “What do you mean? He’s gay! You can’t tell?”

“Really? Are you sure?” Rex trusted Helen’s intuition about these things. She was invariably right.

“Pretty certain,” she said.

Rex searched his memory. “That would explain why I’ve never seen him with a woman in all the years I’ve known him. He must be a closet gay. I’ve never seen any indication …” He thought for a moment. “Wait a minute. He did stay at the Loch Lochy Hotel with the young solicitor who did the conveyancing for the lodge. I wonder … I thought it strange they should both be staying up here. Most solicitors rarely venture out of their offices for their work.”

“There you are, then,” Helen told him. “So, where are we going to put Moira? I’m assuming she’s spending the night. I didn’t see a car.”

“She came by taxi. We’ll have to put her in the room with the leaky radiator, unless she can go with the Allerdices back to their hotel.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“If push comes to shove, Alistair could take the sofa in the library and she could have his room.”

“Oh, let her have the leaky radiator,” Helen decided. “I just hope the Allerdice crowd don’t have to stay over as well. The rain is coming down thick and fast.”

It could be heard pummeling the eaves and drilling into the expanse of lawn. It washed in waves down the living room windows. Rex was glad he had installed double glazing on this side of the house. There were enough leaks already.

Moira had removed her coat and wore a becoming pale blue silk dress that draped her child-like frame.

“I need a drink,” Helen said, making a beeline for the cabinet.

Rex crossed over to the window seat to see how the young Allerdice siblings were doing. “Why so glum?” he asked Flora. “Are you not enjoying the party?”

She smiled weakly. “Your friend seems to be having fun,” she said with a nod in Moira’s direction, where Alistair was topping up her wine glass.

“I didn’t know she was coming. Did either of you want some sponge cake?”

“Aye, ta verra much,” the boy replied.

“I’ll get you some,” his sister told him, hopping off her perch.

Donnie beamed after her.

“Your sister takes good care of you.”

“That she does.”

“I see you figured out the Rubik. Well done, it’s the hardest one in my collection. It takes most people a lot longer.”

“Flora helped me—just a wee bit.”

Rex followed Donnie’s cross-eyed gaze to Moira, who was now absorbed in a conversation with Alistair by the window where the rain played a staccato accompaniment, drowning out their words. Her brown eyes held the seductiveness of smooth milk chocolate. She held her painted lips slightly parted in rapture at what he was saying.

Since when had she turned into such a Jezebel
? Rex wondered. One thing was for sure—she was not the same woman since she had returned from Iraq. Did she know Alistair was gay? Moira could be a little naïve, as demonstrated when she had run off with the married photographer, who had subsequently returned to his wife in Sydney.

Rex looked around the room to see if anybody’s glass needed a refill. Allerdice and Farquharson were discussing hunting and how many kills they each had to their credit. Their wives were helping Helen clear the table. Rex wandered off to the front porch to smoke his pipe.

The rain fell in oblique sheets, isolating the lodge from the outside world. He lit the bowl of his pipe, filled with mellowy fragrant Clan tobacco, and stood leaning against the wall of the house, enjoying the fresh moisture-laden air.

The potholes in the driveway had filled to capacity. The road leading up to the village must have turned into a mudslide by now. A four-wheel drive might still manage to get up there, but the hotel van? Not a chance, he decided.

He began to resign himself to the fact that he would have a full house that night. The Farquharsons had the main guest room next to his on the side overlooking the loch. Moira could take Alistair’s room and possibly share with Flora. The Allerdice couple, if they had to stay over, could occupy the room with the leaky radiator at the top of the stairs. That left Rob Roy Beardsley and Donnie. There was a serviceable sofa in the living room for the journalist and a trundle bed in the stable equipped with blankets where the boy could sleep if he wished to stay with his pony. One or other of the McCallum brothers had slept there on occasion while work was progressing on the house.