‘Salt is ausefulthing, Detective Chief Inspector, but too much can beverybad for your health.’
19
Rain snapped and popped against the library windows, wind mourning at the joints in the woodwork, while the sky hung there, murderous and dark. Letting only the meanest light spill into the gloomy room.
The weird wee redhead, Janey, had served Roberta’s teeny Major Investigation Team afternoon tea, done a weird wee curtsey, holding down the hem of her weird wee tartan miniskirt, then made her weird wee self scarce before Roberta could point out that what Skirivour Castle Hotel billed as ‘serves three’ was barely enough for one.
Roberta plucked the last cucumber-and-cream-cheese from the crumb-speckled platter and stuffed it in her dinner-hole. Crunchy and soft and creamy and delicious AND TOO BLOODY SMALL.
PC McKinnon must have seen her eyeing the last inch of his ham-and-mustard, because he wolfed it down before she could nab it. Greedy sod. His words had to fight their way around the miniature mouthful. ‘Is it wrong I’m a bit disappointed we got through the whole thing with only two dead bodies? If this was on the telly we’d have at least three more murders by now. And maybe a car chase? Ooh! I know: or someonevanishinginto the woods, leaving nothing behind but a mysterious note...’
‘Yes, it’swrong.’ Sergeant Moore leaned forward in hisarmchair, setting free a squeaky-leather farting noise, and topped up everyone’s china cups from a pot the size of his head. It was the only thing the hotel had been generous with.
Well, except for the wedding cake. And that didn’t count, because the father-of-the-bride would’ve paid for it in advance, and being dead he wasn’t in any position to complain about them doling out the leftovers willy-nilly. A small mountain of it, all cut into rectangles and piled on a plate, sat in the middle of the coffee table like sticky dot-less dominos.
‘You know what bothers me?’ Roberta helped herself to a domino of cake. ‘Only person in the whole place who’ll admit to no’ liking the old bugger is the one person you’d think would stick up for him.’ She pulled her mouth out and down, in a proper disgusted-frog face. ‘As for the rest of them...?’
‘Salt of the earth.’ Sergeant Moore did the honours with the milk. ‘Such a card. A real character.’
‘It reallyislike they’ve been rehearsing their statements. Or someone’s coached them.’ She took a bite of sweet sticky brown cake, knocking the icing free. ‘Mmmm, cake.’ All those dates and sultanas and raisins, all working together in one sticky gooey...
She stopped chewing and frowned.
Then stood and scuffed her way across the tartan carpet to where the library doors sat in a recess, just wide and deep enough to accommodate a small antique table. A hotel phone sat on top of it, nearly as big as the one at reception – probably down to the fact that they’d named the rooms after single malts, instead of numbering the bloody things like anyone with half a brain would’ve, so each button had the name of a whisky attached to it.
Sergeant Moore watched her go. ‘It doesn’t really matter though, does it? Albert Nairn killed Sir Reginald, it was right there in his suicide note. The rest of them might be rancid Tory dickheads, but at least they haven’t killed anyone.’
McKinnon helped himself to cake. ‘Wasn’t just Sir Reginald he killed. Completely murdered that poem.’
She picked up the receiver and pressed the button marked ‘LAGAVULIN’.
Silence.
OK, that was a relief, for a moment there she—
Susan’s voice burst from the earpiece.‘Hello?’
Of course it was.
Roberta closed her eyes and pulled her lips back from her teeth, trying to hold the swearing in.
‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
Stay calm. Don’t shout. Nice and nonchalant. Forcing as much jollity into it as possible with a clenched jaw. ‘Aye, just wanted to make sure you’re still OK.’
A wee hint of saucy minx flirted its way into Roberta’s ear.‘Why don’t you come up here and find out for yourself? I might have beenverynaughty.’
Stay calm.
‘Good. I’ll... talk to you later.’
‘Love you.’
STAY CALM.
‘Me too.’ Roberta placed the handset back into its cradle with slow deliberation. Backed away from the antique, and probably veryexpensivetable, then growled like a pissed-off tiger, flinging her arms and legs about as the growl built to a throat-rattling, ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’ Blood pounding in her face and neck, spittle flying as she thrashed.
Sergeant Moore scrambled to his feet. ‘Are you OK?’
