Page 3 of A Very Bookish Murder (Ally McKinley Mystery #3)

THREE

It was seven o’clock before Ally finally got back to the malthouse.

Rigby had been flown away to Glasgow, to a special cardiac unit.

The women attending the writers’ retreat had been shepherded into the Craigmonie Hotel dining room for dinner, although most protested that they wouldn’t be able to eat a thing, and Ross had arrived to take Ally home.

‘Are you hungry? You have had such a shock. You really should eat something if you could face it,’ he asked when, finally home, he guided her to her favourite chair beside the log burner.

As she sat down, she was greeted enthusiastically by Flora, her young, black Labrador, and also by Ebony, Ross’s dog, also a black Labrador, who accompanied him everywhere.

To her surprise, Ally found that she was peckish, aware that her tummy was rumbling noisily.

‘Do you know, I think I might just be able to manage some fish and chips?’

‘Your wish is my command.’ Ross picked up his jacket. ‘I’ll go and get some right now.’ He looked at her closely. ‘You sure you’re OK?’

Ally shrugged wearily. ‘I keep thinking about poor old Rigby. He always looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but I’d become quite fond of him in a funny way. I hope he’ll be OK.’

‘He always appeared to be absolutely gobsmacked that any crime could take place up here,’ Ross remarked as he made his way towards the door. ‘But he should know by now that there’s no getting away from the evils of this world.’

Ally wondered if he was thinking about his younger son.

Not long after the Patterson family had moved up to Locharran from Glasgow forty years previously, looking for a better life, their son, Alan, had died of a drug overdose.

Yes, Ross and his surviving son, Will the vet, had found a better life, but not without cost. Their son’s death had also hastened that of Ross’s wife a short time afterwards, as efficiently as any dagger through her heart.

Ally couldn’t even begin to imagine the agony of losing a child at any age, and her only prayer was that her children would survive her, as it was meant to be.

After Ross had gone out, Ally’s thoughts turned to the five women who she’d welcomed to her cosy little B Brigitte, you’re sharing with me, and Millie and Joyce, you’ll be sharing the third room.’

‘Yes, yes,’ they confirmed in unison, having heard it all before.

They insisted that they could manage to carry their own suitcases, and Ally led the way upstairs, opening the door of Room 1 for Jodi, and then opening the doors of Rooms 2 and 3 for the other four to sort themselves out.

She informed them that she’d be doing a light, informal supper in her kitchen – leaving the dining room pristine for the serving of breakfast the following morning – at around half past seven for any of them who wanted to join.

For the rest of the retreat, they would eat their lunch and dinner at the Craigmonie, but Ally had made some pasta, assuming they’d be too tired after their long journeys to go back down there again.

As Ally made her way towards the stairs, she was waylaid by Jodi.

‘ Love the room!’ she said. ‘And this supper idea is so very kind of you. These ladies have come from all over the country; from London, Kent and Gloucestershire, and even Northern Ireland on this occasion, so they’ve been travelling for most of the day.

And they’re not exactly in their first flush of youth !

That applies to me too because I’ve driven up from South Wales and I’m truly knackered. ’

Ally returned to the kitchen to let them settle in and to make a large bowl of salad to go with the vegetarian pasta she’d put together earlier.

The first duo to arrive in the kitchen were the two women who were sharing Room 3.

‘Hello,’ said the taller of the two. ‘I’m Joyce Williams, and this is Millie.’

‘Millie Day,’ said the smaller of the two, almost apologetically. ‘Short for Camilla.’

‘Very regal,’ Ally said, laughing, although regal was not an adjective she’d have used to describe Millie.

They were polar opposites. Joyce was a big-built woman and probably in her mid-sixties, Ally reckoned, who seemed supremely self-confident. Millie, on the other hand, with her salt-and-pepper hair and hesitant manner, was short and sturdily built.

Joyce raved about the kitchen. ‘This is so spacious, yet cosy,’ she proclaimed, looking around approvingly at Ally’s painted wooden units, at the Aga, the log burner, and the long wooden table set for six.

‘I know it’s unusual to have an Aga and a log burner in one room,’ Ally said, ‘but the Aga is oil-fired and provides all the central heating and hot water. And when I spotted the big old inglenook, I just knew I had to have a log burner.’ And I’m still paying for it , Ally thought.

‘Could I please ask you a favour?’ Joyce asked.

‘Yes, of course,’ Ally replied, wondering what was coming.

‘I’m diabetic and I really need somewhere to store my insulin,’ Joyce asked, looking worried. ‘I wondered if I could store it in your refrigerator?’

‘No problem,’ Ally said. ‘I have an enormous fridge and there’s plenty of room.

Just remind me every day and I’ll bring it out for you.

I’ll store it all in a big Tupperware box and stick a “Joyce” label on it.

’ She made a mental note to buy some small fridges for the bedrooms so that her guests could access ice cubes, wines and milk, not to mention any medication they might have.

Millie, who’d been looking around silently, came alive as Flora came bounding in from outside. ‘What’s your dog called?’ she asked.

‘That’s Flora,’ Ally told her, watching the little woman stroke the dog and play with her silky ears.

Just then, Brigitte and Penelope appeared.

‘Hello, I’m Brigitte.’ Brigitte was plainly French, pretty with large brown eyes and her hair tied up in a carefully careless chignon, and much younger than the others.

‘And I’m Penelope,’ said the last of the four.

‘I’m the leader and organiser of The Literary Ladies, and I’ve come all the way up from the Cotswolds,’ Penelope said very loudly in her very posh accent.

She had a double-barrelled surname, which Ally had not yet memorised.

She wasn’t exactly chinless but wasn’t too strong in that department, with short greying hair and sharp blue eyes.

‘This is so kind of you, Mrs McKinley,’ she bellowed.

‘Please, everyone, do call me Ally, and do help yourselves to a glass of wine.’ She indicated the dresser. ‘I’ve opened a few bottles, but I have to warn you that this is nothing fancy, just supermarket red.’

‘Suits me,’ boomed Penelope, leading the way, with Brigitte and Millie eagerly following.

‘I don’t drink alcohol,’ Joyce said, ‘because I’m diabetic, but I’d love a sparkling water or something.’

It was a good ten minutes later before Jodi swanned in, wearing what looked like her pyjamas but was probably some form of leisurewear. She was wearing another beautiful long silk scarf around her neck, this one in what could only be described as shocking pink.

‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ she said breathlessly, ‘but I’ve had a long chat with my agent on the phone.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You know what these agents are like!’

The others obviously didn’t because no one uttered a word.

‘Please sit down, everyone,’ Ally said, lifting the pasta dish out of the oven, ‘and help yourself to wine, Jodi.’

As they took their places around the table, Joyce said, ‘This is so very kind of you, Ally.’

There was a general nodding of heads.

‘This is so much nicer than some dreary hotel,’ Jodi said, helping herself to garlic bread and taking a hefty gulp of her red wine.

‘But you’d probably be having a nice three-course dinner down at the Craigmonie,’ Ally said. ‘The food is really very good there.’

‘Who needs a three-course dinner?’ shouted Penelope, followed by murmurs of agreement. ‘A quick supper and an early night.’

‘Well,’ said Joyce, ‘I have some good news, which I haven’t told anyone else yet. I’ve just had another short story published by a women’s magazine, and that’s four now!’

‘Congratulations,’ said Penelope without enthusiasm.

‘That’s wonderful,’ said Brigitte drily.

Millie cleared her throat. ‘What do you write about, Joyce? I don’t recall reading any of your stories.’

‘Women!’ said Joyce. ‘Women like us. Ordinary women. You should read the popular women’s magazines, Millie.’

There was silence as everyone ate and digested this news.

Then Jodi said, ‘Have you ever considered sexing them up a little, Joyce?’

‘Ooh la la!’ said Brigitte, rolling her eyes.

‘We don’t all want to read erotica,’ snapped Joyce. This was an obvious dig back at Jodi, who wrote very racy, explicit novels.

Perhaps sensing some dissension, Millie interjected quickly with, ‘How long have you lived here, Ally?’

‘About a year and a half,’ Ally replied. ‘I come from Edinburgh and lived there most of my life. I was widowed about nine years ago, my son and daughter are both married with families of their own, and I decided to make a new start.’

‘Wow!’ exclaimed Jodi. ‘That was so brave! Especially at your age!’

Slightly annoyed, Ally said, ‘Perhaps, but I see no reason why older women shouldn’t do something with their lives if they want to, and they’re fit enough, that is.

I fell in love with this old building, originally a store for the malt that makes the local whisky, mainly because of its position in the hills, with the castle towering above and the village alongside the river below. ’

‘What about the famous earl?’ asked Penelope loudly. ‘We were all mates at uni, you know, and my late husband was a friend of his.’

‘Hamish is actually a very good friend of mine,’ Ally said staunchly. ‘He’s recently remarried, and his wife is expecting twins.’

‘Have you ever thought about marrying again, Ally?’ Millie asked timidly.

‘Well, no, I haven’t,’ Ally said, feeling rather self-conscious, ‘but I have met someone new since coming up here.’

‘Oh, do tell us more!’ Joyce urged. ‘The love lives of older women provides such good material for my short stories.’

‘Well,’ said Ally, ‘his name is Ross Patterson and he’s supposedly a retired vet, but he spends half his “retirement” standing in for his son, also a vet, who inherited the business from his father.’

‘Good for you, Ally – love is love whatever your age,’ said Brigitte enthusiastically.

The pasta was a great success, and everyone, except Jodi, had second helpings. And everyone, including Jodi, was on their second or third glass of wine. Supermarket brand or not, it was going down well. The ladies were all beginning to visibly droop though.

Millie was the first to crumble. ‘That was lovely,’ she said, ‘but I’m utterly exhausted. It’s been a long day. Will you excuse me?’

Joyce stood up. ‘I’ll come too, so I don’t disturb you later. I’m knackered anyway.’

Penelope yawned. ‘And so say all of us.’

Brigitte gave a Gallic shrug. ‘OK, so it is bedtime.’

‘What time would you like me to serve breakfast?’ Ally asked as they began to make their way towards the stairs.

Jodi stood up and looked around at them all.

‘Our schedule states that we have breakfast at nine thirty, then we go down to the hotel to meet up with the other ladies and have lunch at twelve thirty. At three o’clock I will give a lecture for about an hour and a half.

’ She paused and turned to Ally. ‘Ally, I would like to thank you for your kindness this evening and would be honoured if you could join us tomorrow afternoon – just so you can see what this little group is all about.’

Put that way, how could Ally have refused?

Now, as she remembered that previous evening, Ally could scarcely believe that today had ended the way it had. Who would do such a thing? A horrible thought crossed her mind. Could the murderer be one of the ladies, her ladies, right here in The Auld Malthouse?