Mums and Mayhem Page 13

  “Will you forget about the takeout and focus?” I let out a breath. “I’m sure there is some sort of simple explanation as to why Dad would have spoken with Barley. There has to be. Maybe he just wanted Barley’s autograph.”

  Craig arched his brow. “Did your father collect celebrity autographs?”

  “No, but I can’t think of any reason he would be there. He and Barley claimed they didn’t know each other. I know that because I asked both of them separately when I found out that Uncle Ian was their mutual friend.”

  Craig pressed his lips together, and I knew things were very bad for my father. I had to find him before the chief inspector did. I trusted Craig, but he was still a cop. If my father said too much or too little when Craig interviewed him, he could be in some serious trouble. As a former murder suspect, I would be a good coach.

  “That’s not all,” I said.

  His broad shoulders drooped. “You have more?”

  “Not about my dad, but a reporter by the name of Trina Graham from Action News out of Aberdeen came to the flower shop today.”

  “I know reporters are in the village because of Barley’s murder. It’s a big story, but why was she interested in you?”

  “She heard from Isla, I’m sorry to say, that I was the one who found Barley’s body.”

  Craig rubbed his forehead. “With all these reporters in the village, I have to be extra careful with this case. One mistake and it’s going to end up on the news.”

  “Trina knew that we are dating.”

  “Great,” he muttered, and I felt like he’d donkey-kicked me in the chest. He must have seen the look on my face. “Don’t take it that way, Fiona. I don’t regret being with you. I just don’t want that to confuse the investigation.”

  “I know,” I said quietly.

  He sighed as if he knew I didn’t completely understand. Maybe I didn’t. I didn’t want to be a hindrance to Craig in any way, neither in the investigation nor in anything else.

  He touched my cheek. “Please believe me. This will be fine. What you and I are to each other has no bearing on the investigation. I’m sure Trina brought it up just to see if it would get you to talk or react. That’s her job. I’ve dealt with her before in cases that have involved the city of Aberdeen. She can be a real bulldog. I’m not happy she’s here.” He opened and closed his mouth as if he was going to say more, then snapped it closed.

  I wished I knew what he had been about to say.

  The accusations Hamish had spouted off about Craig not that long ago came into my head. He’s only interested in you so he can learn more about the magic. He tried to steal the stone before.

  “Fiona?” Craig asked. “Where did you go for a moment there? Did you have a vision?”

  I licked my lips. “No, I can’t have a vision now that the rose is dead.”

  He studied me. “How do you know that? You’ve told me before that you don’t know exactly how the magic works. Maybe if you tried to have a vision, you could have the answers you seek.”

  I frowned at him. “I can’t just try to have a vision. It’s not like television and I press a button and turn it on.”

  “I wasn’t saying that it was, but you won’t know if you don’t try.”

  My frowned deepened. What did he know about it? What did anyone, even Hamish, know what it was like to be the Keeper? Trying to have a vision. That sounded to me like Craig thought I was some sort of magician with a hat trick. There was no hat trick here. The magic was gone, and it was my fault because I hadn’t been here to protect the garden. After three hundred years, the garden was dead, and it was my fault. Why did everyone think I had the ability to bring it back?

  Craig looked down. “The cast is dry.”

  It had dried much more quickly than I would have expected it to. He squatted next to the boot print and carefully removed it from the ground. He showed the print to me and stood up. “I can at least have the lab find the type of boot that made this print. We will find out who did this to the garden, Fiona, and who killed Barley too.”

  He sounded so confident that it was hard not to believe him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Before he left, I showed Craig the yellow rose in the bowl of water in my cottage. It was still as vibrantly yellow as ever. Seeing it gave me hope, but not more clues as to who’d cut it from the menhir. Shortly after that, the station called Craig to come back about another pending case, and he and I parted ways. As he drove away from Duncreigan, I tried to shake off the uneasy feeling that hovered just above my head. Nothing seemed to be going right. Barley was dead, my father was a suspect, and I might not be able to bring the garden back.

  Among all those things that were wrong, the second was the only one I could do something about at the moment. I might have a shot at clearing my father’s name if I could just find him. I stopped at the cottage to check on Ivanhoe. The cat was asleep on his cat bed on the hearth.

  Now that I knew Craig did suspect my father of the murder, it became more urgent to find him. I texted both my parents, again with no response. I would just have to go back to the village and wait until they returned. I knew they would. They had to.

  A little while later, when I walked into the Climbing Rose, Isla was miffed. She put her hands on her hips as she stood in front of the sales counter. “You never told me you were going to be gone this long. My shift at the pub ended a half hour ago. I was supposed to meet Seth at the harbor. He has some big news to tell me!”

  “What’s the big news?” I asked as I removed my coat.

  She threw up her hands. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me yet. Honestly, Fi, I think sometimes you don’t listen to a word I say.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry I was late. Craig came out to Duncreigan to look at the garden.”

  “Does he know who did it?” she asked.

  “Nothing certain.” I was hesitant to tell my sister about Carver Finley. Isla wasn’t the best at keeping secrets, and I didn’t want Carver to hear we suspected him before Craig was sure enough to make an arrest.

  She sighed. “Well, I’m sure Seth will understand that you made me late. He’s such a caring guy. He knows I have to take care of my family. He has a lot of responsibility too, being the janitor at the school and also with all his charity work.”

  Seth’s charity work was picketing for environmental causes. I saw nothing wrong with that. I agreed with him on most points, but the fact that he didn’t actually pitch in and clean up the stony beach at the harbor or volunteer to plant trees or anything of the sort made me skeptical of his commitment to the cause. I thought he more liked to picket and be photographed doing it. He even had an Instagram page for his pickets. Not that I had ever seen it. I didn’t want to. Isla kept me up-to-date on his every movement.

  “Have you heard from Mom and Dad?” I asked.

  “Not a peep. I feel like they are in less contact with us now than they are when they’re home,” Isla said.

  “That’s probably because Mom doesn’t know she can use her cell phone in this country.”

  She shook her head. “I gave up trying to teach our parents technology a long time ago. It’s too headache inducing.” She hopped back and forth on her feet.

  “You don’t have to break into a jig. You can go,” I said. “The shop closes in an hour. I can handle it from here. Thanks for staying so long.”

  She nodded and pulled on her coat, which was lying across the sales counter, and grabbed her purse from the same spot. It was clear she had been itching to leave for some time now.

  “What are you going to do after you close up?” Isla asked at the door.

  “Find Mom and Dad. I’m starting to worry.”

  Isla cocked her head. “You’re worried because you’re a worrier, Fi. I’m sure they are fine. I bet Dad wanted to see some of the countryside that he missed. You overthink things too much.”

  It was an old argument from my sister, and maybe there was some truth to it. I did worry about a good many thing
s because I knew so many things could go wrong. Isla, on the other hand, ran headlong toward whatever she might want. It could be a relationship, a job, or even just a new outfit from the mall. She went for it without weighing all the pros and cons like I did. I envied her ability to do that. I thought we both might do better if I worried less and she worried a little more.

  But I couldn’t tell her the reason for my worries—that Dad was a suspect in Barley’s murder. She was still my little sister and I wanted to protect her as much as possible. Presha would have scolded me for that.

  Isla left the shop, and I set to work finishing putting away the shipment of flowers I had received. I was happy to see that Isla had organized a quarter of them. My sister had a good eye for color and pattern. I thought she would make a good florist if she wanted to, other than the fact that she spent as much time as possible with her boyfriend.

  It had always been different for me. I’d known what I wanted to do from the start. When I first set foot in Uncle Ian’s garden as a child, I knew I wanted to work with flowers. I knew now that it was my connection to the garden that had caused that feeling. I hoped that connection wasn’t lost now that the garden was in danger.

  I placed a large bundle of canna lilies inside a green bucket of water and set it on the floor. I had ordered only a dozen canna lilies. They were popular for spring and summer weddings but not as popular in the fall. People tended to pick their flowers seasonally. For one, you rarely saw tulips at a December wedding. It was possible, but the cost was prohibitive when buying flowers out of season.

  The front door of the flower shop opened and the morning glory–shaped bell that hung from the door rang. Presha walked into the shop.

  I smiled. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “It is good to see you as well, Fiona. I stopped by to check on you. You had quite a shock. I have taken it upon myself to make sure you are all right. Ian would have liked that.”

  “He would, and you’re right. I have had a shock. The problem is, I have no idea how to bring the garden back to life.”

  “The garden? What is this about the garden?” She wrapped her colorful shawl more closely around her shoulders. “I was talking about the murder.”

  I shook my head. “Right. Right, the murder.”

  “What’s wrong with the garden?” She sat at the little white wrought-iron table and chairs I had placed in front of one of the two windows. I’d bought the set at a street sale during the summer and painted them white. I’d found, after the shop was open for a few weeks, that customers liked to sit when placing large flower orders. The table was just big enough for the three matching chairs around it.

  I sat across from her and told her what had happened.

  “Oh.” She folded her hands in front of her as if in prayer. Her shawl draped over her arms, giving her an even more penitent appearance. “I sensed that something was wrong, but I never expected it to be this.”

  “You sensed it? Presha, do you have magic too?”

  She smiled. “No. Just a woman’s intuition. I have learned to trust it in my many years. There is something mystical in a woman’s way of knowing.”

  Maybe for Presha.

  “How is the garden?” she asked.

  I told her the current state of Duncreigan, but she only nodded as if she waited to hear something more, maybe even something worse. She listened patiently as I cataloged everything that was wrong.

  “You don’t seem to be that upset about it.” I paused. “I mean it’s not your garden, but it’s important to me and Uncle Ian’s legacy.”

  “This is true.” She wrapped her shawl a little closer around her body. I kept the shop at a lower temperature than other shops in the village might have because it was better for the flowers. The cooler air helped the plants to stay fresh longer. “All will be well with the garden. I have faith in you.”

  “How?”

  “I am not concerned, because I know you will be able to fix it. If Ian MacCallister chose you to be the next Keeper of the garden, he thought you were up for the job. The garden has died many times before. The Keeper has always been able to bring it back to life. I have faith that you will be able to do that too.”

  I blinked at her. “The garden has died before?”

  “Of course it has. Gardens are living and breathing entities, and all living and breathing things have a life cycle. All life ends and is reborn in a new and different way. Where is that not more evident than in a garden, where the weather and the seasons dictate what will live and what will die?”

  I didn’t want to argue with Presha over the Hindu belief in reincarnation. I didn’t know if she was right or wrong. I didn’t know if what I’d been taught in my church back in Tennessee was right or wrong. What I did know was that the garden was as dead as I had ever seen it. It was farther gone than when I’d first arrived at Duncreigan after Uncle Ian’s death, but Presha’s words gave me hope. I had to find a way to bring the garden back to life. It was my legacy, and I needed to use my gift to help others. That was the most important part.

  “There is always life. It might be deep under the surface, but you will think of a way to bring it back.” She smiled.

  “Do you have any ideas about how I can do that? Because that would be a big help.” My voice wavered. “To be honest, I don’t know what to do.”

  She shook her head. “Even if I did, I shouldn’t share them with you. It is your challenge to bring the garden back, not mine. My challenges are different. The challenges of every person are different from the next.” She patted my cheek. “I have great faith in you, Fiona Knox, just as your godfather did.”

  Before I could respond, Presha went on, “And you’ve done it before. When you first arrived in Scotland, the garden was dead, and you brought it back to life.”

  I knew she was trying to help, but it didn’t feel like help at all. “But that time the rose was still living. This time the rose is dead.”

  She leaned closer to me and took my face in her cool hands. “The magic is not dead. All you need is that to bring the flowers and plants back.”

  “Where’s the magic?” I asked.

  She pressed her hands together. “The magic is from Duncreigan earth, is it not? It’s where the stone stands and from which the rose grew.”

  “That doesn’t tell me how to bring the garden back, though.” I sighed. “The dead garden and the dead body aren’t the only problems I am having. My parents are missing too. They left early this morning to go for a scenic drive, according to Eugenia at Thistle House, and still haven’t come back.”

  “Your parents aren’t missing, then. They are just sight-seeing.” She shook her head as if it was the craziest thing she had ever heard.

  “Maybe they aren’t officially missing, but Isla and I are worried sick. Mom and Dad aren’t using their mobile phones.”

  “You shouldn’t be worried. I saw both of them this morning, and they were fine. Your parents came very early to my tea shop,” Presha said. “They were cheerful and seemed to be enjoying their break from home.”

  “What time was this?” I asked.

  She thought about it for a moment. “It was before I even opened, and I open at seven. Six thirty, I would say. It was still dark out.”

  “What did they want?”

  She smiled. “What do you think they wanted, child? It was scones and tea. Your father raved over the scones I’d sent to Duncreigan for their arrival. Thankfully, I had just pulled a tray of orange and another tray of blueberry out of the oven. I packed up a takeaway basket with the scones and a thermos of chai.”

  “Did they say where they were going?” I asked.

  “Your mother said they wanted to go for a drive through the countryside, visit some of the castles, and be a tourist for a day.” She cocked her head. “Is something wrong with that?”

  “No, I just wish they would have told me their plans. They can’t just pick up and go wherever and whenever they like without telling Isla and me.”
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  She put her hands on her hips. “Who is the child and who is the parent here?”

  My face flushed red, and Presha, like she did many times, made me see how ridiculous I was being.

  “I saw Isla a little while ago, and she didn’t mention it at all,” Presha said.

  “Well, okay, I’ve been worried about it. Isla is Isla, and she is preoccupied with Seth at the moment.”

  She nodded. “Young love will do that,” she said, as if she spoke from experience. Presha and her brother had lived in Scotland for over forty years, and neither of them had ever married. Presha never mentioned men or women in that way, now that I thought about it. I wondered if she’d had a romance in her life when she was younger. The question was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it back. She would tell me if she wanted to.

  “Your parents will return this evening. Don’t fret about it so much,” she advised.

  “Well, you have put me at ease about one thing. Now I just have to bring the garden back to life and solve a murder. Considering the scale of my worries, having one thing off my plate is better than nothing.”

  “You’re investigating, then. You want to help Kenda?”

  I trusted Presha one hundred percent, but I didn’t say my true reason for wanting to investigate the murder was because my father was a suspect too.

  “I don’t believe Kenda did it,” Presha said, when I didn’t say anything.

  “Why do you say that? Do you know her?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I just met her this weekend, but I still don’t think she did it. She’s not the type to get her hands dirty.”

  I frowned.

  “Murder is a messy business, and Kenda is the sort of woman who wants others to take care of the messes in life, especially in her life. She’s a blamer. She blames others for where she is and where she isn’t. Sometimes,” Presha said, “others might be to blame for these things, but not always. A way to foster humility is to accept your part in your own life. Choice plays a great role. I don’t know that Kenda would believe me if I told her that. Even so, it is something she needs to hear when she is ready to take it to heart.”