Mums and Mayhem Read online

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “You aren’t second fiddle to anything or anyone, Chief Inspector Craig. I would think you knew that by now.”

  He squeezed my hand in return before releasing it. “It is still good to hear.”

  “Your point about second fiddle reminds me of something,” I began, then went on to tell him about the argument Isla and I had seen between Owen and Kenda.

  “So you were being nosy,” he said with a smile.

  “I wasn’t,” I said defensively. “They were having a terrible fight right in front of us. What could we do?”

  “Move away and give them privacy.”

  I made a face. If Craig knew anything about me, he would know moving away was something I wasn’t prepared to do in that sort of situation.

  He laughed. “Fight or no fight, the concert will go off swimmingly. They are professionals.”

  “I hope so. This concert could be just the beginning of great things for the village,” I said.

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s where your Americanness is showing.”

  “Americanness? Did you just make up a word?”

  “Maybe, but it’s true. The American tendency is more and bigger and better and new. We don’t always buy into that in Scotland. We appreciate old and tradition. Why change something that has worked for hundreds of years?”

  “Can’t you have both?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be better for everyone with both?”

  He nodded. “And that’s why I have you. You’re my opposite, my balance.”

  I felt my cheeks grow hot, and a warm feeling grew in my chest. When my ex-fiancé left me for our cake decorator, I’d never thought I would find someone who cared about me so much again. I certainly hadn’t thought it would happen so soon, not even a year after my broken engagement. I wasn’t ready to use the love word just yet, but I felt like we could get there. At the moment, my heart was still too bruised from my last relationship to say those three precious words out loud. Craig was bruised and battered too when it came to relationships. His ex-wife, whom I’d had the misfortune of meeting once, was a piece of work, to be sure. We both were treading lightly.

  He kissed me on the cheek, which was a rare display of affection when we were out in the open, especially around so many people. I felt myself blush with pleasure. I was happy Craig wasn’t afraid to show he cared for me.

  “I should do a loop before Bernice gets on my case. I want to make sure all my constables are in place,” he said.

  I nodded. “I should see what help she needs, too. I just want this to go as smoothly as possible, as much for the village as for Bernice’s blood pressure.”

  “You and me both,” Craig said, and walked away. He paused. “The mums look beautiful, by the way. Almost as beautiful as you on this lovely morn.”

  I beamed back at him.

  I watched him go. Beyond him and the stone arch was a field, which was being used for a car park. Teenage volunteers directed the long line of cars, and it was still hours before the concert. The stage was set up at the end of the street, and as I walked to it, I could see men and women in black jeans and T-shirts making the finishing touches. From the back, the stage just looked like a giant black rectangle in the middle of the cobblestone road, but when I came around the side of it, I saw the hard wood stage. Amps, guitar pedals that could change the tone of the guitar’s sound with just one press, and drums waited under a white stage awning. I hoped that the awning wouldn’t be needed, given the unpredictable November weather.

  I looked up at the sky. It was blue and clear. I felt suspicious. The weather in Scotland could turn from beautiful to terrible in a blink.

  The stage took up the entire width of the street, which was about two compact cars across. Roads in Scotland were much narrower than in the States.

  Even though things were still being set up as the crew moved around the stage, running wires and plugging in instruments, concertgoers were finding their spots. Bernice had been right. This was the biggest event Bellewick had ever seen.

  People poured into the village, walking past the seven-foot-tall unicorn sculpture that met them at the village gate and over the old stone bridge. I was convinced that a troll lived under that bridge, not that I had ever seen one. My ability to believe the impossible had grown by leaps and bounds when I moved to Scotland and learned I had inherited a magical garden. I didn’t think trolls were real, but if you had asked me a year ago if there was real magic in the world, I would have said no to that too.

  Chapter Seven

  Barley waved to the crowd from the stage. “Thank you all! The band is going to take a fifteen-minute break before our next set. Take a load off and grab some food. You have been a fabulous audience!” He and the band marched off the stage. All appeared to be in high spirits. No one watching the performance would know there was any kind of rift between Barley and Kenda.

  A cheer rose up from the audience, and the general mood in the village was jovial. I couldn’t believe how well everything had come off. Barley and his band had arrived on time to the stage for their sound check and promptly started the concert at two. The crowd was large but civil, and everyone seemed to be having a fabulous time.

  Bernice beamed at me. “One more set and this is over. It is like some kind of Scottish miracle,” she said. “Did you and your garden have anything to do with the good weather?”

  I wasn’t surprised she asked that. All the villagers knew the tales of the garden and its magic. However, they believed it to varying degrees. I didn’t think Bernice was one of the people who really thought the garden was magical. She was just trying, in her way, to make a joke. It didn’t bother me in the least.

  “I had nothing to do with the weather. You should be very proud of the event. You did a fantastic job steering our ship. To be honest, a week or two ago, I thought we were going to sink.”

  “Between you and me,” she whispered. “I did too. I’ll be happy when it’s over, and when I have recovered, I would like the Merchant Society to meet again and talk about how we can do more events like this in the village.” She paused. “Just not at this scale.”

  I was happy she said that. I wanted it to be a very long time before I was involved in planning such a giant event. Like forever long.

  I answered tourists’ questions about the village as I waited for the band to return to the stage. Just like Bernice, I was looking forward to when they finished the concert so everyone would pack up and leave. I hadn’t realized how much I loved my sleepy little town until it was overrun with outsiders.

  I saw my parents chatting with some of the villagers while standing in line for one of the food trucks. They too seemed to be calm and having a good time.

  My stomach growled. The wraps the food truck was selling looked delicious. I was overdue for lunch, but I told myself to wait until after the concert, when I could grab a proper meal at the pub. Raj’s tikka masala would be the perfect end to a long day.

  When the fifteen minutes were up, the band was back onstage, and Owen, the manager, waited in the wings. There was no sign of Barley. Ten more minutes ticked by. The crowd was starting to talk among themselves. I spotted Bernice across the audience, and she gnawed on her thumbnail.

  Owen waved me over. Maybe because I was wearing a Merchant Society sweat shirt, he pinned me as someone who could help.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  He licked his lips. “You were the girl setting out flowers when we arrived.”

  I nodded.

  He flushed red. “Yes, well, I think you might be able to assist me. We need Barley to return to the stage. We can’t keep the audience waiting for this long. You can go look in the tour bus for him. I think that’s where he went for intermission.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Kenda, who was glaring at him.

  She waved her bow. “We have to start whether or not Barley is back. I can lead the next set.”

  He waved his hands like he was directing a plane in for a landi
ng. “No, no, Kenda, that wouldn’t do. It would insult Barley if we began the set without him. He has a very clear vision for each and every one of his concerts.”

  “I would hate to insult Barley,” she said sarcastically.

  The manager turned back to me. “As you can see, I can’t leave my spot. I need to, well, keep an eye on things here.”

  “I can go look for him for you,” I offered.

  His face brightened. “Would you?”

  “Or I can stay here and make sure everyone stays in line while you check,” I said.

  “No!” he said, a little too forcefully. “I know better than to disturb Barley on a break. Maybe if the time reminder came from you, he would be less upset.”

  I frowned and pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. The fifteen-minute break had already run twelve minutes longer than promised. I wanted this concert over as much as Owen and the band did. “I’ll go look for him.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. This village has been nothing but hospitable to us. We’re so grateful to you for hosting this concert for Barley. Coming home has meant a great deal to him, and everyone has been wonderful.”

  I nodded and was happy to hear it.

  “I would give him some space, though. He can be a real bear when he’s in the performance zone,” Owen warned.

  I frowned. Great. Sounded like it would be great fun to find him.

  “I’ll go now.” I turned and headed around the stage in the direction of the tour bus parked in the corner of the field just on the other side of the village gate.

  As I reached the field, I started when I saw the man across from me was Carver Finley. He was a handsome man in a polished way. He had a mane of golden hair brushed back from his face, even features, and just enough stubble to give his otherwise perfect appearance interest. I hadn’t seen him since the summer when he was in the village to work the restoration of the village’s original chapel, which had been built in the fourteenth century. By the time Carver got to the chapel, it had been little more than one standing wall, a wall that sadly fell down during restoration. It would take a lot more work and funds to get the chapel pieced together again.

  He smiled at me. I debated walking over to him and asking him what he was doing back in the village, but I thought better of it. Carver and I had not gotten off on the right foot. He was a historian who was determined to study the menhir in my garden, to the point that he’d tried to force the issue last summer. At the time, I was still learning my role as the garden’s Keeper and was afraid Carver would use the garden for his own purposes—to further his career.

  The less contact I had with him, the better. Besides, there was no rule that said he couldn’t come to the concert, and he might just be a fan of Barley’s music. Even still, seeing him back in the village put me on edge.

  Isla pulled on my sleeve. I had been so caught up in seeing Carver that I hadn’t even known she was there. “Fiona, you were supposed to come back to the shop and give me a turn watching the concert. I have been stuck in the shop all day, and Mom has been in and out of it like fifty times. If she tries one more time to talk me into moving back to the farm, I will scream. I really need to tell her about Seth and me getting married. I think then she will finally back off.”

  I shook my head. “No, Isla, Mom will double her efforts, and then she will torment Seth as well.”

  “Gah! Now, I wish they never came,” she whined.

  I didn’t even touch that bratty comment. Instead I homed in on her standing here and what that meant. “You left the shop in the middle of the day with no one there?” I asked, concerned. I needed to find Barley to get this concert over with, but I didn’t want to leave my shop unattended, especially with so many potential customers in the village.

  “I locked it up. We didn’t have any customers anyway. I mean, except for Mom, and she didn’t buy anything,” she groused.

  “There might be some customers when the concert is over. I’ll take it from here just as soon as I find Barley. Have you seen him?” I asked. “The next set should have started twenty minutes ago. It’s growing colder by the second, and we need to keep the concert on schedule.”

  “Maybe he’s just hanging out at the end of the rainbow.”

  “Isla!” I hissed. “Don’t say that. It’s not nice.”

  “Oh come on, Fi. He does kind of resemble a leprechaun, doesn’t he? I mean that as a compliment. Leprechauns are lucky.”

  “I’m not sure he or anyone else would take it that way,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s probably just chilling in his tour bus. Let me tell you, from working concerts in Nashville, some performers can be real divas. It’s when they are nice and on time that’s more notable.”

  “I’ll go see what’s taking so long, and then I’ll head over to the shop. You can hang out at the rest of the concert. I know you’re a big fan of Barley’s music.”

  She made a face. “Just like Seth.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes, but since I was an adult, I refrained. At least outwardly.

  She hopped in place. “Awesome. I need to find Seth. He said he would he helping out at Raj’s booth. He’s so thoughtful like that.”

  I knew Raj paid Seth to work at the booth. I wasn’t sure thoughtfulness had much to do with it at all. I felt pretty proud of myself that I refrained from commenting about that as well.

  I walked up to the tour bus and marveled yet again at the huge likeness of Barley plastered on the side of it. He smiled down at me from the bus with bright white teeth. I shuffled away from that image. Something about it made me edgy.

  I knocked on the small trailer door, but there was no answer. “Mr. McFee!” I knocked harder. “Mr. McFee, the band is ready for you to join them on the stage,” I called through the door. “Everyone is waiting for you, sir. The audience loved the performance.”

  I opened the screen door and knocked on the second aluminum door. When I did, the door opened and banged against the wall on the inside of the bus. The most disconcerting thing about the noise was that nothing happened. No one yelled at me and demanded to know what I was doing there. No one yelped or screamed or made a single peep.

  Against my better judgment, I stepped into the trailer, telling myself everything was fine. I was just being a scaredy-cat, worried about going inside. Maybe I was a little nervous. I didn’t want to walk in on Barley McFee in some kind of compromising position.

  “Mr. McFee?” I asked in a quieter voice, like one I would use in a church.

  Then I saw why he didn’t respond. All was not fine. Barley McFee was dead on his trailer floor with a fiddle cord around his neck. His luck had finally run out.

  Chapter Eight

  I gasped, and my stomach dropped into my boots. It was a violent scene. Papers, dishes, and musical gear like pedals and microphones were strewn all over the floor. Barley’s hands were bloody, as if he’d tried to pull the cord away from his throat and ultimately failed. He’d put up a fight, which made it somehow worse. He’d known what was happening at the end. How terrifying that must have been.

  I closed my eyes and willed the image away from my mind. When I opened my eyes again, it was still there. This was not a dream, vision, or hallucination. This was real. I had found another dead body, another person killed at the hands of violence. This wasn’t the first time this had happened since I’d come to live at Duncreigan, but it wasn’t a claim to fame that I wanted or needed.

  I backed out of the tour bus, trying to remember everything I touched so I could tell Chief Inspector Craig. I knew he would want to know when the crime scene was processed. I had been a murder suspect in the past, so my prints were on file. Sadly.

  Outside the trailer, I doubled over and gulped air. Of the dead bodies I had seen, this was the worst. Really, how horrible was that—dead bodies, as in plural? But I wouldn’t dwell on previous tragedies. My mind was firmly locked on today’s events.

  I couldn’t block the look of horror on Barley’s face ou
t of my head. As I was gasping and bent at the waist, Bernice Brennan marched toward me. I noted that Bernice never walked anywhere; she always marched like she was a soldier about to lead a siege on a castle. She would have done well as a medieval knight. There was a righteous Joan of Arc quality about her, but instead of a sword she wielded a clipboard.

  “Where’s Barley?” She wanted to know. “The set was supposed to start almost half an hour ago. The audience is restless, and Owen Masters refuses to let the other band members play to pass the time. It’s utterly ridiculous. I have tried to call Barley’s cell four times, and it always goes to voicemail. Owen said he sent you to go look for Barley. Did you find him?”

  “I did,” I said.

  “He’s in the tour bus, then. He needs to come out. The show must go on. He should know that. He’s been in this business long enough to know that!” She walked up the steps into the trailer.

  “No!” I cried. “Bernice, don’t go in there!”

  She sniffed at me. “I will go wherever I please. It’s up to me to make this concert a success, and I’m going to make sure it’s just that.”

  She pushed her way into the tour bus. A moment later, she came out of the bus, her face pale, and threw up.

  I had to look away, because I was at real risk of getting sick to my stomach as well. I knew I would have already if I hadn’t taken the time to gulp that beautiful fresh air. However, now I realized my error. My delay had given Bernice enough time to see the inside of the bus. I didn’t wish her to have that image in her head. I didn’t want it in my head, that was for sure.

  I hadn’t noticed that a small crowd was gathering around the trailer. I was sure they were attracted by the commotion Bernice and I had made.

  “What is going on over here?” The question came from Chief Inspector Craig.

  I was so relieved to hear his voice. “Craig!” I called, and waved over the crowd.

  He pushed his way through the cluster of curious concertgoers. Then he looked back at the encroaching audience. He removed his badge from the inside of his coat and displayed it as he encouraged people to “make way.” Wondrous what that medal could do. I wished I had that kind of authority. Then again, maybe not. I was fine not walking in Craig’s proverbial shoes, because crime was something Craig had to deal with on a daily basis and I’d much rather live in my world of flowers.