stairs.
“I’m getting tired of this. Surely you don’t want me to go on? We’ve seen everything.”
“No, that’s terrific. I appreciate your help.”
She didn’t say anything until we were downstairs, then, rather oddly, she addressed Gillies. “What’s this all about Gill? Do you suspect a burglar or something?”
He passed it deftly on to me. “Miss Morris just wanted to satisfy herself that there was nothing untoward about Tormod’s death.”
That angered Lisa, who was already at the edge of frayed nerves. She rounded on me. “What the hell does that mean, untoward? Do you think somebody offed him?”
“I really don’t know, Lisa. I told you, it’s my job, and given the possible involvement of my own mother, I wanted to make sure Tormod died from natural causes.”
“And are you sure?”
I stared at her for a moment.
“I wish I could say I was.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lisa had left to go to the village store for some groceries. I thought she might be reluctant to stay in the house, but she said she had a lot of studying to do and this was her home as much as anywhere else. Before she went, she stripped the bed and put the sheets and coverlet into the washing machine. There was nothing I could do about that. This was not an official crime scene.
Gillies and I sat a bit longer in the kitchen drinking more fortified tea and talked over all possibilities. The most likely scenario was that MacAulay, against character, had tidied up his house because he was expecting visitors. All that told me was that the visitors were important — even important enough to possibly pick some mums, although I was still betting on Joan for that. The outof-place cups, the newspaper, and the vase didn’t say much. People moved things from one place to another without it meaning a damn thing. The hiding of the novels in his bedroom could also indicate a desire to impress. He was a Bible-reading man. Of course, that also suggested he was expecting his visitor to view the bedroom, and here the memory of the condoms in Joan’s suitcase hung in the air. We didn’t address it.
Several things niggled like a badly cut jigsaw puzzle. First, there were the whisky glasses. Unless they swigged from the bottle, the (at least) two women had downed several drinks, but theglasses were in the cupboard. Did Tormod’s fit of tidiness extend to washing glasses after his visitors left? Second niggle: If he had gone up to bed as Dr. MacBeth insisted he had, why didn’t he undress? Third big niggle: As I’d tried to say to the doctor, there was the side from which he’d hemorrhaged.
But if none of these niggles were the innocent variables of real life, what were they? And back we were again. But the picture slipped away like Jell-O on a spoon as soon as I tried to bite into it.
I hadn’t mentioned to Gillies my interest in my sperm donor, but I was rapidly developing one possible story. This was a conservative religious community. Joan was only eighteen when I was born, and although from the beginning she called herself Mrs. Morris, I’d be very surprised if she’d had benefit of clergy. There was a good possibility that she got herself knocked up and fled to Canada. Was this a happy coupling or not? There was no way to know at the moment. She’d told me she wanted to lay some ghosts to rest. I just hoped she didn’t create one.
Gillies pushed back his chair and began to gather the tea cups.
“Come on, let’s get you to the hotel. I suggest you try to have a rest while I go to the station and see if there’s any news. How about if I come over about eight and take you to dinner? There’s a good wee restaurant near the hotel that specializes in Scotland’s national dish.”
“My God, not the famous haggis? I don’t know if I’m up to eating sheep’s intestines.”
“That used to be Scotland’s national dish. Now we’re talking fresh-caught salmon with delicate herb seasoning and buttered potatoes. Tourist
“I’m getting tired of this. Surely you don’t want me to go on? We’ve seen everything.”
“No, that’s terrific. I appreciate your help.”
She didn’t say anything until we were downstairs, then, rather oddly, she addressed Gillies. “What’s this all about Gill? Do you suspect a burglar or something?”
He passed it deftly on to me. “Miss Morris just wanted to satisfy herself that there was nothing untoward about Tormod’s death.”
That angered Lisa, who was already at the edge of frayed nerves. She rounded on me. “What the hell does that mean, untoward? Do you think somebody offed him?”
“I really don’t know, Lisa. I told you, it’s my job, and given the possible involvement of my own mother, I wanted to make sure Tormod died from natural causes.”
“And are you sure?”
I stared at her for a moment.
“I wish I could say I was.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lisa had left to go to the village store for some groceries. I thought she might be reluctant to stay in the house, but she said she had a lot of studying to do and this was her home as much as anywhere else. Before she went, she stripped the bed and put the sheets and coverlet into the washing machine. There was nothing I could do about that. This was not an official crime scene.
Gillies and I sat a bit longer in the kitchen drinking more fortified tea and talked over all possibilities. The most likely scenario was that MacAulay, against character, had tidied up his house because he was expecting visitors. All that told me was that the visitors were important — even important enough to possibly pick some mums, although I was still betting on Joan for that. The outof-place cups, the newspaper, and the vase didn’t say much. People moved things from one place to another without it meaning a damn thing. The hiding of the novels in his bedroom could also indicate a desire to impress. He was a Bible-reading man. Of course, that also suggested he was expecting his visitor to view the bedroom, and here the memory of the condoms in Joan’s suitcase hung in the air. We didn’t address it.
Several things niggled like a badly cut jigsaw puzzle. First, there were the whisky glasses. Unless they swigged from the bottle, the (at least) two women had downed several drinks, but theglasses were in the cupboard. Did Tormod’s fit of tidiness extend to washing glasses after his visitors left? Second niggle: If he had gone up to bed as Dr. MacBeth insisted he had, why didn’t he undress? Third big niggle: As I’d tried to say to the doctor, there was the side from which he’d hemorrhaged.
But if none of these niggles were the innocent variables of real life, what were they? And back we were again. But the picture slipped away like Jell-O on a spoon as soon as I tried to bite into it.
I hadn’t mentioned to Gillies my interest in my sperm donor, but I was rapidly developing one possible story. This was a conservative religious community. Joan was only eighteen when I was born, and although from the beginning she called herself Mrs. Morris, I’d be very surprised if she’d had benefit of clergy. There was a good possibility that she got herself knocked up and fled to Canada. Was this a happy coupling or not? There was no way to know at the moment. She’d told me she wanted to lay some ghosts to rest. I just hoped she didn’t create one.
Gillies pushed back his chair and began to gather the tea cups.
“Come on, let’s get you to the hotel. I suggest you try to have a rest while I go to the station and see if there’s any news. How about if I come over about eight and take you to dinner? There’s a good wee restaurant near the hotel that specializes in Scotland’s national dish.”
“My God, not the famous haggis? I don’t know if I’m up to eating sheep’s intestines.”
“That used to be Scotland’s national dish. Now we’re talking fresh-caught salmon with delicate herb seasoning and buttered potatoes. Tourist
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