Too Soon a Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 2 by Janet O'Kane Page A
Authors: Janet O'Kane
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drink.’
Margaret’s face had gone red, as though she could feel the heat Zoe would be exposing herself to. ‘Nothing will grow if you plant it now.’
‘It’s really just to get some ideas. I don’t plan on buying anything except maybe a couple of books.’ Zoe smiled to let Margaret know she appreciated her concern. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’
However, when she opened the Jeep and felt the temperature inside it, she almost changed her mind. Resisting the urge to open all its windows, she waited for the air-conditioning to take effect then set off. A few minutes later, driving slowly through the village, she noticed a blue Fiesta in her rear view mirror. It was some way back, also keeping to the speed limit, and maintained the space between them as she slowed down to let the postie’s van out of a side road. Then it fell back and disappeared from view.
As her car gained speed, Zoe turned the music up loud and tried not to think about the dead boy and how he must have suffered. She failed miserably. Having attended post mortems herself, she could imagine only too well the scene in the mortuary as the pathologist went about his work, pointing out evidence of abuse to the police and other observers. The cigarette burns, the cracked ribs, the burnt hands. And worse. The bruising on the boy’s face was rendered almost irrelevant by the sadistic nature of the treatment which must have caused his other injuries, yet for some reason she had a strange feeling it was important. She just couldn’t work out why.
The satisfaction she’d experienced at extracting information from Sergeant Trent had vanished. He should never have told her so much. He probably realised this too by now, and she felt burdened by having to keep the knowledge to herself. Last year, her friendship with Kate had nearly been destroyed by what Kate viewed as Zoe’s secretiveness, and since then she had tried to be more trusting. In this instance, though, there was someone else’s reputation to consider.
As she neared Kelso, a blue Fiesta came up behind her. It looked like the one that had followed her through Westerlea a little earlier and, now she came to think of it, had trailed behind her on the way back from Moffat on Saturday. She’d taken nothing in about the driver then, so couldn’t tell if the person wearing a baseball hat and dark glasses today was the same one.
On impulse, she indicated right and immediately took the minor road that ran round the back of Kelso Racecourse. In her hurry to escape the other car, although she had no idea if it was following, she came close to losing control of the Jeep as she took a tight bend much too quickly. Shocked into recognising she was endangering not only herself and her baby but anyone unfortunate enough to be coming in the opposite direction, she slowed right down. As she passed the racecourse entrance, she allowed herself a brief glance in the mirror. No Fiesta, no other vehicle at all.
By the time she’d passed the Golf Club and Kelso Ice Rink, rejoining her original route at a mini roundabout, she felt foolish. ‘Sorry. I was being silly, wasn’t I?’ she said, patting her bump. ‘But we’re going to the garden centre now. Nothing sinister ever happens in one of those.’
Forty minutes later, having wandered around the tempting displays of shrubs and trees and treated herself to a beautiful hardback book on garden design by the Royal Horticultural Society, Zoe drove out of the garden centre’s car park. As she set off in the direction of Kelso Abbey, she noticed a blue Fiesta parked at the side of the road, a hand hanging out of the driver’s window with a cigarette clamped between its fingers. She checked out the sole occupant as she went past. He wore a baseball cap and aviator sunglasses.
She pulled into an empty space up ahead and got out.
By the time she reached the passenger side of the Fiesta, the little car was already indicating to pull away, but a succession of
Margaret’s face had gone red, as though she could feel the heat Zoe would be exposing herself to. ‘Nothing will grow if you plant it now.’
‘It’s really just to get some ideas. I don’t plan on buying anything except maybe a couple of books.’ Zoe smiled to let Margaret know she appreciated her concern. ‘I’ll be fine, honestly.’
However, when she opened the Jeep and felt the temperature inside it, she almost changed her mind. Resisting the urge to open all its windows, she waited for the air-conditioning to take effect then set off. A few minutes later, driving slowly through the village, she noticed a blue Fiesta in her rear view mirror. It was some way back, also keeping to the speed limit, and maintained the space between them as she slowed down to let the postie’s van out of a side road. Then it fell back and disappeared from view.
As her car gained speed, Zoe turned the music up loud and tried not to think about the dead boy and how he must have suffered. She failed miserably. Having attended post mortems herself, she could imagine only too well the scene in the mortuary as the pathologist went about his work, pointing out evidence of abuse to the police and other observers. The cigarette burns, the cracked ribs, the burnt hands. And worse. The bruising on the boy’s face was rendered almost irrelevant by the sadistic nature of the treatment which must have caused his other injuries, yet for some reason she had a strange feeling it was important. She just couldn’t work out why.
The satisfaction she’d experienced at extracting information from Sergeant Trent had vanished. He should never have told her so much. He probably realised this too by now, and she felt burdened by having to keep the knowledge to herself. Last year, her friendship with Kate had nearly been destroyed by what Kate viewed as Zoe’s secretiveness, and since then she had tried to be more trusting. In this instance, though, there was someone else’s reputation to consider.
As she neared Kelso, a blue Fiesta came up behind her. It looked like the one that had followed her through Westerlea a little earlier and, now she came to think of it, had trailed behind her on the way back from Moffat on Saturday. She’d taken nothing in about the driver then, so couldn’t tell if the person wearing a baseball hat and dark glasses today was the same one.
On impulse, she indicated right and immediately took the minor road that ran round the back of Kelso Racecourse. In her hurry to escape the other car, although she had no idea if it was following, she came close to losing control of the Jeep as she took a tight bend much too quickly. Shocked into recognising she was endangering not only herself and her baby but anyone unfortunate enough to be coming in the opposite direction, she slowed right down. As she passed the racecourse entrance, she allowed herself a brief glance in the mirror. No Fiesta, no other vehicle at all.
By the time she’d passed the Golf Club and Kelso Ice Rink, rejoining her original route at a mini roundabout, she felt foolish. ‘Sorry. I was being silly, wasn’t I?’ she said, patting her bump. ‘But we’re going to the garden centre now. Nothing sinister ever happens in one of those.’
Forty minutes later, having wandered around the tempting displays of shrubs and trees and treated herself to a beautiful hardback book on garden design by the Royal Horticultural Society, Zoe drove out of the garden centre’s car park. As she set off in the direction of Kelso Abbey, she noticed a blue Fiesta parked at the side of the road, a hand hanging out of the driver’s window with a cigarette clamped between its fingers. She checked out the sole occupant as she went past. He wore a baseball cap and aviator sunglasses.
She pulled into an empty space up ahead and got out.
By the time she reached the passenger side of the Fiesta, the little car was already indicating to pull away, but a succession of
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