Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

Convincing Abigail to distract Henry was the toughest part of the plan. Early the next morning we cornered her in the kitchen. The only way any of this would work was if she helped us.

“I’m not leaving Tommy,” she said. We’d made our way out to the lamb pen.

“I understand,” I said, “which is why you should take Tommy and the lamb with you. Poor Henry has been up all night, watching the door. The least we could do is get him some coffee and breakfast. He’d appreciate the visit, I’m certain.”

“That’s all we’re asking you to do,” Mara added.

“Henry is nice,” Tommy said. “He holds the baby while I feed it. He doesn’t yell. Bad men yell.”

Tommy had suffered abuse by his uncle at a young age and never liked loud voices.

Who did?

As far as I was concerned, Tommy was a great judge of character.

“I don’t want my brother anywhere near that man,” she said.

“Completely sensible, as usual,” I said. “Which is why you will stay outside of the room at all times. Mara scoped it out this morning. There is a table and chair in the hallway. You can give poor, poor Henry a bit of a break.”

Abigail scrunched up her face. “I’m not good chatting people up. I get nervous. Why would Henry want to have breakfast with Tommy and me?”

Mara snorted, and I gave her an evil glare. She made a funny face.

“Because Henry is sweet on you,” Mara said.

The surprise on Abigail’s face was priceless.

“Whaaaat?”

We might as well have told her she was the mother of alien twins.

“Henry is nice,” Tommy said again. “He can play chess.”

Bless Tommy and his brilliant mind.

Abigail frowned. “Is that why he makes us all those cakes?”

“Cakes are good,” Tommy said. “But not for babies.” He shook his finger at the lamb, who sniffed his shirt and made a small squeaky sound, as if he didn’t agree.

We laughed.

“We just need you to distract him for a short time,” I said.

“I can’t imagine he’d leave his post,” she said. “He’s a good policeman.”

“He is,” I agreed.

“Why can’t you just ask to talk to Caleb?” Abigail asked sensibly.

“Ewan won’t let us anywhere near him because he’s a suspect. A real one, now,” Mara added.

“Well, Ewan is right, and I don’t want to make him mad. Caleb is dangerous.”

“Bad man, bad man,” Tommy chimed.

Mara started to say something, but I held up a hand.

“We need the truth,” I said. “Ewan has decided Caleb is the bad man, as Tommy says. But not all the pieces fit. I need him to fill in the blanks. He might be more willing to speak to me than the constable.”

“Are you ordering me to do it?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “If you’re that uncomfortable, I would never make you do anything you don’t want to, Abigail. Please know that.” I took her hands in mine. “You work with me, but we are friends. That comes before anything else.”

“I’m not good—with men. You know that.”

“Just be yourself,” I said.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“I’m trying to find a killer,” I said. “It’s my job. Ewan is a wonderful constable, but he’s also very intimidating. Caleb has been in jail more than once, and he knows his way around police.”

“If he’s the killer, you have no reason to be alone with him,” she said.

“Again, sensible,” I said. “Mara will be with me, and Jasper.”

“Jasper isn’t much protection,” Abigail said. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

I smiled. “Please.”

She sighed.

A half hour later, we peeked around the corner as Abigail carried a tray to the door where Henry sat outside.

“I brought you food,” she said in her brusque tone.

Henry smiled up at her. “Thank you, Abigail.” He started to take the tray.

“Nay.” She motioned with the tray toward the small table and chairs midway down the hall.

“Can’t leave my post,” he said.

“Do you like me?” she asked.

I put a hand over my mouth to hide my gasp.

Poor Henry’s mouth opened and closed a few times.

“Yes,” he said. The word squeaked out.

“I didn’t know. We should talk,” she said. Then she headed off down the hall with the tea and breakfast.

Henry followed.

She was smart and distracted him with where to sit while we tried to open the door. It was locked.

Mara produced the housekeeper’s keys she’d nicked earlier.

In a matter of seconds, we were in the room, with the door shut.

“Who’s there? I’m not answering any more questions without my lawyer.”

I cleared my throat. “I came to check on you,” I said. “You were pale last night.”

The room was quite dark, and Mara moved to open the curtain. Not that it helped much. A bucket sat next to him and smelled horrible.

I turned on the side lamp next to the bed.

“Go away,” he said.

I pulled the covers down. He was gray and covered in sweat. His body shook.

I placed a hand on his forehead. “Fever,” I said.

“Has he been poisoned?”

“No,” I said. “Classic withdrawal symptoms,” I said. “Heroin?”

“Fentanyl,” he said.

How he was able to get something like that in Scotland was beyond me. They had much stricter drug laws here. Fentanyl could be found on almost any big-city street corner in the States.

Something clicked in my brain. “Right. That’s why you were in my room.”

He blinked.

“Do you want me to help you?”

He nodded.

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I’m not going to implicate myself.”

“Then I’ll leave. We aren’t supposed to be in here.”

“You’re a doctor—you have to treat me.”

I shrugged.

“Not if she doesn’t know about it,” Mara said. “Let’s go. He deserves to suffer for scaring the wits out of Tommy.”

I stepped away from the bed. “You’re right.”

“Wait,” he said weakly.

We’d made it halfway to the door.

“I didn’t mean to scare him,” he said. “I didn’t see him until I was already in there. I needed a fix. The alcohol wasn’t taking the edge off. I’d heard someone talk about how you had a kit here, and I assumed you’d have painkillers at least.”

For once, I believed him.

“Mara, I need my kit.” She took off, leaving the door open.

“Hold up. Who is there?” Henry was at the door. Abigail was right behind him.

Ever helpful, Jasper pointed at me. “Someone called for the doctor.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “I must insist you leave.”

“I’m the coroner,” I said. “I came to check on him. No one was here, so I came in. This man has a serious condition and needs to be treated.”

Henry stomped into the room, but at the sight of his prisoner, he took a step back. “He said he was sick, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Well, it’s the one time he hasn’t lied. If you’ll excuse me, I need to treat him.”

He turned to Abigail. “Did you do this on purpose?”

She appeared confused. “I don’t know what you mean. Did I do what?”

God, bless her. While she was a terrible liar, she was good at appearing innocent.

Henry sighed. “What do you need, Doctor?”

“Mara’s on her way with my kit.”

Abigail glanced around me. “Withdrawal?”

“Yes,” I said. “Opioids.”

She chewed on her lip.

“I’ve got this,” I said. “You don’t have to help.”

“Did he tell you why he scared my brother? Was he there to hurt him?”

I shook my head.

“He was after drugs then,” she said. There was a reason I couldn’t live without her at the practice. She was incredibly bright. It ran in her family.

“Aye,” he said from the bed.

Mara came back out of breath. She handed me the kit.

“Henry, clean out that bucket.

“Abigail, find me a vein.

“Mara, we’ll need clean sheets and towels.”

As I barked orders, everyone ran in different directions. I opened my kit to put a concoction together. I’d dealt with this sort of thing more often than I would like while working in Emergency in Seattle.

I didn’t have exactly what I needed, but Abigail had put together a thorough kit. I could get him through the next twenty-four hours, but I wasn’t sure after that.

“How long and what’s the dose?” I asked. “And be honest. I don’t want to risk killing you.”

“No idea,” he said. “Just white tabs.”

“I don’t suppose you have any left?”

“Nay.”

“When was the last time you had any?”

“Before they picked me up,” he said. “Three days.”

Three days? “You’re lucky you lasted this long.”

“I know. Done it before. Wasn’t quite as sick when I kicked cocaine.”

“Two different drugs.”

That explained why he’d been so drunk all the time. But alcohol would have made him dehydrated, worsening his symptoms.

An hour later, we had him cleaned up and had two IV drips going: one with saline to hydrate him; the other a slow drip to stave off his symptoms until we could get him into a hospital.

“I’m an arse, but I wouldn’t have hurt the kid,” he said. “He surprised me. I grabbed that candlestick to protect myself. There’s an effin’ murderer ’round here.” Then his eyes fluttered shut.

“Is there truth serum in those bags?” Ewan’s voice made me jump. No telling how long he’d been standing at the door.

A few hours later, I sat on a couch downstairs, with my legs on an ottoman. Most of the women were gathered in the room where the hen party had been. They were busy stringing flowers together to make huge swags for the wedding.

Most of the flowers would, hopefully, show up on the day of the wedding, but these had been delivered early. This was another Scottish tradition. The women in the bridal party created flowered swags to decorate the aisle and arches, of which I was told there were several, in the church.

Mara had to help oversee something in the kitchen, but I’d been determined to find out who had been in Angie’s stepmom’s room the night before. I’d positioned myself in the center of the room, and without my friends around, I was free to listen to the various gossip.

I was surprised when Damien’s mother sat next to me. “Doctor, are you okay?”

“I’m better, thanks.”

She picked up some of the heather and one of the shorter boughs that sat on the long wooden table.

“Thank, you,” she whispered. “For helping Caleb.” She sniffed. “I know what you must think of us, but he’s not a bad boy.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I wouldn’t point it out.

“We’ll need to get him to a hospital as soon as we can,” I said.

She nodded. “He’s never been one for handling pressure, and his father has put a great deal of it on him. This isn’t the first time—I’m not sure what to do.”

While she may have been a posh woman who didn’t think my friend was good enough for her son, she was still a mother.

“Addiction is difficult and very hard on families.”

“It runs in ours—at least my husband’s side—although mostly it was drink. His father—well, let’s just say, it’s in the blood, blue as it may be.”

Her tone was light, as though she’d been making fun of their lineage, which didn’t make sense.

“There are several studies that show genetics are involved in addiction. But it’s also about the choices we make.”

She sighed. “I’m the first to admit my son—and my husband—have made poor choices. If he pushes Damien away, I shall never forgive him.” She sounded like she meant it.

“So, you aren’t against the marriage?”

She frowned. “Of course not. She’s a wonderful young woman, and brilliant. I’ve done my homework on her. While I’m not a fan of her specific style or her garish wedding, she’s a good match for my son. She far exceeds the women he dated at university.”

The woman next to me went up in my estimation tenfold. I couldn’t hold the style question against her. Angie’s preferences were distinctive for her.

I had no idea why she confided in me, but I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have her jerk of a husband and a son addicted to drugs. I worked in emergency medicine, and I’d seen how drugs and alcohol destroyed families.

“At least the heather matches her theme,” I said as she stuffed another set of flowers into boughs.

“Aye, it does. Do you know the significance? I like that she’s included some of the more important traditions into her untraditional wedding.”

“I don’t know the significance.”

“The heather is for luck and protection. The roses and lavender the others are adding symbolize love and the coming together of two families.”

“This is my first Scottish wedding, but I like that you have so many traditions and that Angie included them.”

She smiled. “I had my doubts, but she’s a young woman who knows what she wants, and she isn’t afraid to make it happen. I admire her.”

That was the last thing I’d expected her to say. Except for the time when I’d seen her having a nearly silent argument with her husband, she’d been quiet during most of the events.

Perhaps she wished she could be as bold as her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Yes, it’s the least I can do for you helping my son.”

“Why is your husband so opposed to Angie marrying Damien? I mean since you don’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“It isn’t Angie so much as her ancestors. There is a silly feud that goes back hundreds of years with her father’s family. Had to do with some property her family believes my husband’s ancestors stole.”

“I had no idea. Angie didn’t mention it.”

“She most likely thinks it is an absurd situation. I do. The truth is my husband’s ancestors probably did exactly what Angie’s family say they did. They were a notorious bunch.”

“What is it they say? Behind great wealth are a lot of not-so-nice people.”

She smiled. “I’ve never heard that, but I’m certain it’s true. At least in our crowd. Out-dated ideas about everything, and posh nonsense.”

“I can see why maybe Angie’s family wouldn’t be happy about the marriage, but why would that matter so much to your husband?”

“You’re American, so I’m sure family feuds seem archaic, but they can go on for centuries here.

“To be honest, I don’t think it’s the feud as much as that Angie gives my son Damien ideas to achieve his own dreams. My husband is counting on him to take over the family empire.

“My husband spends most of his time on the golf course and at his club, so Damien has already taken over the reins as far as I can see.”

“Strange.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I heard your husband threatened to disown Damien if he didn’t give up on Angie. I think it was Caleb who said he tried to blackmail his own son.”

She paused in her flower making. “What?” She turned to me. Her eyebrows drew together. “Caleb said that?”

“Yes. It was a direct threat. But I believe Damien called him on the bluff. Well, since he’s going forward with the wedding.”

“I’m going to kill him.” Her hands trembled, and then she seemed to realize what she said. “I don’t mean literally.”

“You didn’t know about the threat?”

“Not that he’d taken it that far. I can promise you it was an empty one. The only person he wants at the helm of the business is Damien. In the few years since my eldest has taken over, we’ve become quite competitive again in the market.

“If he doesn’t stop with his manipulations, he’s going to drive both our children away. I won’t have it.”

“Do you think your husband might have brought Robbie in?”

“Robbie?” She appeared genuinely confused.

“The dead man.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve met so many new people this week, I thought it might be someone in Angie’s family. You think my husband brought him here to cause trouble?”

I shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“A week ago, I’d have thought you mad. But his behavior since we’ve arrived has been abominable, and now you’re telling me he threatened Damien. A boy who has done nothing but work to please his father.

“So, yes. It is in the realm of possibility. Though, we haven’t seen Robbie in many years.”

That didn’t mean Mr. Carthage hadn’t met with him or hired him. Mr. Carthage had also skipped the stag that night.

“Was your husband in your room the night Robbie died?” I didn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly.

“He was when I went to bed,” she said. “Once I take my tablets, though, I’m out. But he goes to sleep very early in the evenings. So I don’t see him murdering young Robbie.”

I could see it. Especially if Robbie planned to tell Damien and Angie the truth about the situation.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How do I save my son? He’s been in and out of rehab and jail so many times. I’m at my wits end, and his father has thrown up his hands. This last bit—he wouldn’t even go with me to see our Caleb. I’m not sure what to do.”

“I’m not an expert on the subject of addiction,” I said. “But getting him away from the environment he is in is important. He must want help. I also know he won’t be successful until he’s had a good dose of therapy.”

“I’ve been told the same by my psychiatrist,” she said.

I must have shown surprise.

She held up a hand. “I may appear a posh from Notting Hill, and I am. But I care about my children, and you don’t get through a marriage like mine without some mental health counseling along the way.”

I opened my mouth and closed it.

“Right, so why would I stay with him?” She shrugged. “He has his world, and I have mine. It works for me—except for the way he treats our children. Unfortunately, that too is something he inherited, which is probably why I’ve lived with it for so long. His father was an awful man. My husband is a kitten compared to him.

“That isn’t an excuse, but at least he didn’t beat the boys, like his father did. He’d berate them, send them to bed without supper, but he never laid a hand on them.”

Emotional abuse carried through families every bit as much as physical abuse did. Behaviors were learned, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be changed. I didn’t think she was quite in the place for that lecture.

“Consorting with the enemy. What will Angie have to say about that?” The current stepmother sat down in a chair across from us. She sipped champagne and wore a scowl.

“I’m not the enemy, Dara. That’s what I just explained to the doctor.” Mrs. Carthage smiled, but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes.

“Right. You’re so happy about the wedding, you left my husband to pay for it all.”

“That isn’t true,” I said. “Angie and Damien paid for it themselves. They didn’t ask for help from anyone.”

The surprise on the stepmother’s face said it all. She’d had no idea. “But he said … you must be wrong.” She was not a happy woman. “He told me we couldn’t—because he had to pay for the wedding.”

“Couldn’t what, dear?” Mrs. Carthage said.

“Never mind.” Dara gulped her champagne.

“When I fell against your door last night, I heard a man in your room. Is everything okay? I know Angie’s dad isn’t here yet,” I said.

There was a slight gasp from Damien’s mom, covered by a pretend cough.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dara said.

“When I fell against your door, you were arguing with a man. I heard it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, Doctor, but I was the only one in there. You probably heard the telly.”

Then she stormed off.

“What was all that about?” Angie replaced her in the seat.

“A miscommunication, I think,” Mrs. Carthage said.

“Is everything, okay?” She glanced from me to her mother- in-law.

“Yes, dear. These are lovely flowers.” Then she lifted her head. “I want to formally apologize for my family,” she said. “I will not make excuses. They don’t deserve them. But I want you to know that I fully support your marriage to my son. He could not do better, in my estimation.”

Angie waved a hand in front of her face. “I’m trying not to cry,” she said. She moved around the table in front of us, to sit by Mrs. Carthage. “Thank you. I so needed to hear that.”

“Oh, my dear, I should have said something much sooner. This whole debacle should have never happened. Don’t listen to my husband—he has no idea what is best for his family. If he did, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Angie took a deep breath. “Will you tell Damien? He isn’t so sure your husband isn’t the one trying to kill me.”

The woman gasped in surprise. “No. He would never.” Her hand went to her chest. Then she looked at me and frowned.

“Oh my, how awful that my son could believe that.” She sighed. “Though I suppose I understand why. I’ll say this: he’s many things, but not a murderer. I honestly don’t think he has the nerve.”

“Are you certain?” I asked. “Not to be rude, but he is the one who is most opposed to the marriage.”

She swallowed hard. “My husband can be hateful and harsh with words. But he’s a bit squeamish when it comes to blood and such. No. He might be manipulative, but murder?”

“He was in our room the night your friend Robbie died,” she said to Angie. She snapped her fingers. “I did wake up to his snoring. We sleep in separate rooms at home. I didn’t look at the clock, but he was there.”

She was his wife, but I didn’t see her as someone giving a false alibi for a man she didn’t seem to love, no matter how much she might want to save face. She appeared to be fed up with her lot in life.

“That’s good to know.” Angie smiled. “Can I get you some tea or coffee?”

“We should be the ones waiting on you,” Mrs. Carthage said. “Let me get you some tea.”

“I’ll come with you,” Angie said.

They went off to the tea table. I shifted in my seat.

I didn’t trust Angie’s soon-to-be father-in-law, but that didn’t mean he’d tried to kill me or my friends.

Was she right? It did take a certain breed to murder someone. It had been established that he wasn’t the best of men.

I went back to the fact the first murder had been poison.

Women used poison.

And the stepmother had lied about a man being in her room last night.

She liked Angie, though. Where was the motive?

Still, I’d seen the look on her face when I asked about the night before. That woman was hiding something.

Maybe she was having an affair. Dangerous in a house full of family.

If I could find out who had been in her room, I might have my answer.

But I’d need a little help from my friends.