Holy Terror in the Hebrides

Holy Terror in the Hebrides by Jeanne M. Dams Page B

Book: Holy Terror in the Hebrides by Jeanne M. Dams Read Free Book Online
Authors: Jeanne M. Dams
Tags: Mystery
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I slathered butter on a hot scone, lumpy with currants, and told myself firmly that I deserved it. Anyway, I’d worked it off this morning. Of course I indulged in these rationalizations far too often, but
this
time it was justified. Sure it was. I defiantly accepted another piece of shortbread.
    While we ate, the three MacPhersons kept up a gentle flow of conversation about the gale and the other villagers, whose roof had been damaged, whose garden needed work. The two men, father and son, had made it home easily in the dinghy after mooring
Iolaire
in the Bull Hole for the night. They plainly thought me too easily impressed by a wee blow, while I was filled with awe at the thought of anyone crossing the Sound in a small boat in that weather.
    “Was the
Iolaire
damaged at all in the storm?”
    “Nay. She’ll ride oot a wee gale like yon. She’s a good boat, Mrs. Martin, and we take good care of our boats here on Iona. For islanders, they’re a lifeline. But we’ll no’ be able to take her oot soon; there’s too big a swell for passengers.”
    “Then I suppose the Coastguard hasn’t been able to—find anything. Or do you know?”
    “Aye, I’ve a radio in the hoose as well as on the boat. They’ve been oot since first light, in boats and helicopters, and the police have been sairchin’ the shore, as well. They’ve no’ found anything yet.”
    “Will—do you think the body will stay in the cave, or be washed out to sea?” I thought about the impression I’d had of a strong undertow.
    He thought about that for a moment, and then shook his head. “I dinna know. Debris that floats, wood and that, can stay for weeks in the cave, but something heavy . . .” He shook his head again. “We’ll have to let the Coastguard sort it. It’s their job.”
    I thought about Bob’s body, being dashed against the rocks, finally floating, but perhaps unrecognizable by then . . . I decided not to think about it.
    “Ye know the police will be on the island soon, to question you and the others.”
    I put my teacup down carefully, hoping the jerk of my hand hadn’t spilled tea on the carpet.
    “Oh,” I said as soon as I thought I could control my voice, “the police? Why is that? We already talked to the constable once.”
    “Sudden death,” he said laconically. “Or presumed death, but the Coastguard willna find him alive, if they find him at all. The currents round here can be verra unreliable, and a gale like yon . . .” He shook his head. “Wi’ the sea running as it is, the constables’ll no’ be here soon, I’m thinking. They’re no’ worried aboot foul play, and they’ll no’ want to get oot in a dinghy; they’ll wait for the ferry.”
    “I wondered about that.” Change the subject. “I haven’t seen the ferry today. Do they take it to some safe harbor in a storm?”
    “She’s in the Bull Hole wi’ the rest, and she’ll stay there for a bit. She can handle a bit of weather, but her computers can be touchy, and Cal-Mac willna take chances when it’s too rough.”
    “Cal-Mac?”
    “Caledonian MacBrayne,” explained Fiona softly. “They offer the ferry services for the whole of the Hebrides.”
    “Do ye not know the auld rhyme?” David asked me.
    “What old rhyme?”
    “‘The airth belongeth to the Lord, And all that it contains, Excepting for the Western Isles, And they belong to MacBrayne’s!’ Caledonian MacBrayne has run the service for the islands for generations, time oot o’ mind.”
    There was something comforting about the thought of a continuity like that, “time out of mind.” Maybe part of the eternal peace of Iona had to do with that sort of changelessness.
    But there was no peace for me until I settled a few things, at least in my own mind. I rose. “Thank you, Mrs. MacPherson, for a lovely tea. I must get to the hotel to check out.” I thought about adding that I was now staying in Dove Cottage, but everyone on the island who cared probably already knew that my

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