solicitor, but after this, I can’t be so sure.”
“Your stepsister killed Gavin Mitchell, then, that’s the story we continue ta tell?”
“Who else would have done such a thing?”
“Handle both busybodies at once, is me thinkin’.”
“That’s my thought exactly.”
If I was interpreting this pair’s meaning correctly, and I was pretty sure I was, they were dangerous to my health. And to Vicki’s. If they came around the corner into the room and saw me, I’d be in very real danger. The next bus of shoppers couldn’t arrive fast enough.
I held my breath, my heart pounding so loudly that I thought the sound of it would give me away. But a bell tinkled in the front of the shop, and I heard the husband-and-wife conspirators move off.
They said they had a plan. What plan? And how did they think I could ruin it? There had been so many scary implications of ill will toward Vicki and me in that conversation. John had sounded disappointed that I was safe.
The purpose of the fire might have been to shut down the inn, but John had just presented another, one that concerned me decidedly more. Had he set it himself to scare me away?
Just as I was about to give up, I heard a miracle—voices at the front of the shop. As more voices joined in, I rose up on shaky legs and leaned against the wall until I felt strong enough to make a hasty retreat, hopefully unseen.
A fine mist was falling, but I hardly noticed as I hurried back to the barn. On the way, I really began second-guessing the meaning of the conversation I’d overheard.
Never trust a writer for an accurate, unbiased account of any situation she can infuse with additional drama. My vivid imagination tended to take over, making the smallest, most insignificant detail a major point of concern. Were John and Kirstine really responsible for the fire
and
for Gavin’s death
and
guilty of planning to add Vicki and me to their pile of corpses?
I slowed my pace, let a little rain fall on my face, and came back from the edge of reason.
By the time I returned, a very sexy and very unavailable Leith Cameron was able to proudly proclaim the Peugeot to be in fine working order, and I had pretty much convinced myself that I’d read way more into their meaning than I should have.
But part of me wouldn’t let the idea die. I decided to share my concerns with the inspector.
C HAPTER 14
Once Leith went off to see his girl, I drove myself to Glenkillen behind the wheel of the Peugeot for the first time. I coaxed the car through the roundabouts, staying well below the speed limit, and still managed to scare myself silly.
After parking and taking a moment to compose myself, I found Inspector Jamieson standing in front of the Whistling Inn, intently studying the exterior of the building as if clues to the fire would appear if he stared long enough. What did I know? Maybe they would.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but I’d like a word with you.”
“Ah, it’s yerself again. Very well, let’s find a quiet place tae talk. How about inside the pub? Will that do?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A chalk billboard on the sidewalk outside the Kilt & Thistle announced
Pub Fayre!,
a new advertisement addition since last I’d been here, and even in my agitated state I managed to find some humor in that small slice of local color. Inside, we wound between occupied tables and found one tucked back in a corner, where we both decided on hot tea. The inspector also placed an order for food, and we made small talk until the tea arrived.
Over tea, I related to him what I’d overheard inside Sheepish Expressions—skipping over the part where I’d hidden on the floor, a detail too personally embarrassing to share, but the rest I laid out on the table, so to speak—as close to verbatim as I could possibly remember.
Inspector Jamieson listened without interrupting. When I finished, he said, “Based on my previous association with MacBride family members, I’m o’ the personal opinion
“Your stepsister killed Gavin Mitchell, then, that’s the story we continue ta tell?”
“Who else would have done such a thing?”
“Handle both busybodies at once, is me thinkin’.”
“That’s my thought exactly.”
If I was interpreting this pair’s meaning correctly, and I was pretty sure I was, they were dangerous to my health. And to Vicki’s. If they came around the corner into the room and saw me, I’d be in very real danger. The next bus of shoppers couldn’t arrive fast enough.
I held my breath, my heart pounding so loudly that I thought the sound of it would give me away. But a bell tinkled in the front of the shop, and I heard the husband-and-wife conspirators move off.
They said they had a plan. What plan? And how did they think I could ruin it? There had been so many scary implications of ill will toward Vicki and me in that conversation. John had sounded disappointed that I was safe.
The purpose of the fire might have been to shut down the inn, but John had just presented another, one that concerned me decidedly more. Had he set it himself to scare me away?
Just as I was about to give up, I heard a miracle—voices at the front of the shop. As more voices joined in, I rose up on shaky legs and leaned against the wall until I felt strong enough to make a hasty retreat, hopefully unseen.
A fine mist was falling, but I hardly noticed as I hurried back to the barn. On the way, I really began second-guessing the meaning of the conversation I’d overheard.
Never trust a writer for an accurate, unbiased account of any situation she can infuse with additional drama. My vivid imagination tended to take over, making the smallest, most insignificant detail a major point of concern. Were John and Kirstine really responsible for the fire
and
for Gavin’s death
and
guilty of planning to add Vicki and me to their pile of corpses?
I slowed my pace, let a little rain fall on my face, and came back from the edge of reason.
By the time I returned, a very sexy and very unavailable Leith Cameron was able to proudly proclaim the Peugeot to be in fine working order, and I had pretty much convinced myself that I’d read way more into their meaning than I should have.
But part of me wouldn’t let the idea die. I decided to share my concerns with the inspector.
C HAPTER 14
Once Leith went off to see his girl, I drove myself to Glenkillen behind the wheel of the Peugeot for the first time. I coaxed the car through the roundabouts, staying well below the speed limit, and still managed to scare myself silly.
After parking and taking a moment to compose myself, I found Inspector Jamieson standing in front of the Whistling Inn, intently studying the exterior of the building as if clues to the fire would appear if he stared long enough. What did I know? Maybe they would.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but I’d like a word with you.”
“Ah, it’s yerself again. Very well, let’s find a quiet place tae talk. How about inside the pub? Will that do?”
“Yes, thank you.”
A chalk billboard on the sidewalk outside the Kilt & Thistle announced
Pub Fayre!,
a new advertisement addition since last I’d been here, and even in my agitated state I managed to find some humor in that small slice of local color. Inside, we wound between occupied tables and found one tucked back in a corner, where we both decided on hot tea. The inspector also placed an order for food, and we made small talk until the tea arrived.
Over tea, I related to him what I’d overheard inside Sheepish Expressions—skipping over the part where I’d hidden on the floor, a detail too personally embarrassing to share, but the rest I laid out on the table, so to speak—as close to verbatim as I could possibly remember.
Inspector Jamieson listened without interrupting. When I finished, he said, “Based on my previous association with MacBride family members, I’m o’ the personal opinion
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