Chapter 1
Inveraray, Scotland
Present Day
“I’m no’ certain I should let ye go in there, Vi.” Aila Marshall pulled her car to a stop in front of a tidy cottage of white-washed stucco and shot her companion a skeptical grimace. “I promised Brontë I’d keep ye out of trouble.”
“What kind of trouble can I get into at a wake?” Violet’s unusual blueish-lavender eyes twinkled with humor.
“A wake? With that racket? Until I see a body, I’m going to assume we’re going to a rave.”
Saying such a thing in reference to an eighty-plus-year-old lady might seem odd, but if living with Vi had taught Aila anything, it was that Violet Graham might act the frail, elderly grandmother, but she didn’t fool Aila. She was more trouble than a recalcitrant teenager.
Aila would know — she’d been one of the worst.
“My goodness, you’re a sassy thing.”
“We work to our strengths.” Aila shrugged philosophically then focused once more on the house that emanated shouts and thumps loud enough to be heard down the street.
Every house — moreover, every building in the village of Inveraray — was a tidy one. On a spring afternoon with the sun shining and flowers blooming, it was like something from a fairy tale. The main avenue followed along the bank of Loch Fyne in western Scotland. It was lined on both sides with white-washed brick, stone, or stucco buildings. Some had two stories, some three. Some were adorned with dormers, others had unsullied rooflines punctuated by a chimney at each end. But for a few notable exceptions, every single building in town was white with a black roof and black painted doors and window frames.
It provided for a soothing aesthetic though an unfortunate standard for those inclined to express any individuality. Pretty as it was, Aila would hate living here. Restriction of any sort had always chafed.
She’d wager Violet would feel the same. That’s why they got along so well.
Their camaraderie was the reason Aila accepted her friend Brontë’s invitation to move in with her grandmother and keep Vi from getting lonely while Brontë “travelled” with her new boyfriend. She’d also promised to take care of her. That meant more than helping Vi out of the car and holding her arm as she shuffled along the wobbly cobbles with her cane.
This cottage sat a few short streets from the main avenue, yet practically on the outskirts of the small town. As it conformed to the village’s standard, it was therefore virtually indistinguishable from the others around it.
Except for the ruckus coming from within.
Enough of a ruckus for Aila to be hesitant about going inside. “Are ye certain this is the place?”
“I am. Though, I’d rather it were a rave.” A hint of melancholy chased away the light in the older woman’s eyes. “I’ve been coming to these bloody things too often of late. That’s the problem with having reached my age. My friends are dropping like flies. Bessie Boyce was one of the best.”
“Dinnae fash, Vi, ye’ll go on forever,” Aila offered.
“Why would I want to? Enjoy those around you while you have them, dear. You never know when you’ll end up alone.” Violet clucked her tongue. “Heavens, listen to me. Poor you, carting an old woman around when you should be having fun with your friends or finding a nice young man to spend your time with.”
“Ye are my friend, Vi,” Aila assured her. “Besides, there’s no’ a man in this century worth the effort as far as I’ve seen.”
“You’re not dead yet, dear.”
“Neither are you.”
Violet’s mood had wavered between extremes during their two-hour drive from Leith outside of Edinburgh to Inveraray. The loss of her friend had hit Violet hard. All of the condolences in the world hadn’t helped. Even so, Aila couldn’t refrain from offering a sympathetic pat of the older woman’s hand. Violet turned her hand and caught Aila’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze.
Violet tapped her cane against the plastic boot cast encasing her right foot. “They better at least have booze at this thing.”
That was more like the Violet she knew. Aila smiled. “Somehow I dinnae think ye need worry about that. If there’s no’, I noticed a couple of whisky shops in town.”
A notable feature in a village of only about five hundred souls. And a good thing if what they heard out here was any hint of the atmosphere inside the cottage. She’d need a glass or two of something strong herself.
“You’re a kind and generous soul, my dear,” Violet said with a grin and a wink. “My granddaughter would have suggested wine if she were here. As if that would suffice. Thank goodness I have you to keep me in good company while she’s away.”
Aila rolled her eyes as Violet patted her cheek. “I’m here because ye promised me food and drink, Vi. Fresh-caught salmon and a hundred whiskies to choose from, if I recall correctly. That’s all the incentive I need. At any rate, I could hardly let ye go off on yer own, could I?”
“A kind way of reminding me that I’m incapable of doing so?” Violet knocked a stray stone out of her path with the tip of her cane. “Can’t wait to get this last contraption off my foot. Then life can finally return to normal.”
