A Scone of Contention Page 14

  “I see what you’re saying, I do,” I said, nodding my agreement. “Probably not everyone.” That was supposed to be a joke, but it fell flat. Not even a ghost of a smile. “And I hadn’t planned this at all. It’s just that I googled Joseph Booth and noticed that his family lives right here in town, and I couldn’t see when else I would get the chance to talk with them.”

  I explained about the prize scones and how I’d thought they would be a perfect cover for my questions. Then I smiled, knowing I was repeating myself and possibly sounding dizzy, but wanting her to understand the strong urge I’d felt to gather this information. She still looked grim.

  “Point taken. I won’t go off alone again.”

  I wanted to say more, such as “I didn’t want to wake you or Miss Gloria,” and “I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” and “You are my mother-in-law, not my mother.” But in the end, she had a good point. Nathan would not be happy. Nor did I want to put myself in danger.

  Then her face seemed to soften. “What did you learn?”

  “We know that Joseph Booth was teaching at University the same time that your daughter and her friends were there. He left suddenly, for unknown reasons, even though his mother said he’d always wanted to be a teacher. His relatives believe that it had something to do with a broken heart.” I sighed. “Actually, that’s what his mother thinks. She was so sweet and so devastated.”

  Helen looked sad too—she would understand the horror of almost losing a child.

  “I started to wonder as I was walking back to meet you,” I said, “whether it’s possible that Vera or one of her friends could have dumped him, and that’s why he left his teaching position.”

  “Maybe,” Helen said, “but why would they then all deny they knew him? I don’t remember Vera mentioning that name, but she wasn’t telling me much of anything back in those days.”

  I nodded. “Joseph’s aunt pulled me aside as I was leaving, to say he sounded angry about something, both back at University and also in the last conversation they had with him this past weekend.”

  “Why would he be angry now about being dumped in the past? And why would that old news become cause for his murder?” Her expression showed a mixture of annoyance and concern. “Next time,” she said, “please don’t hesitate to wake me up. I would have gone with you, and sometimes it helps to have a second observer. And then I wouldn’t have to report to my son that once again you went off half-cocked and put yourself in danger.”

  She forced a little laugh, and suddenly I realized that her feelings had been hurt that I hadn’t invited her to go along. And that she was seriously worried about my safety.

  I gave her a hug, quick enough to surprise her. “I will.”

  In front of us, the parade appeared to have wrapped up, and the participants had begun mingling with the crowd, accepting their congratulations. The temperature felt as though it had dropped ten degrees, and I was no longer dressed appropriately. I began to shiver.

  Vera said, “We should start back up to the hotel so we’re not late for our reservation.”

  * * *

  The dining room was simply decorated with plain blond wood tables, wooden chairs with patterned blue fabric seats, and no tablecloths or rugs. I liked the clean lines, though it was not what I would have expected for a grand old hotel. The waitress showed us to a long table with a name card at each place. Someone, Vera, I suspected, had already arranged the seating.

  I found my place toward the end of the table, seated between Gavin and Glenda. Across the way, Nathan’s mother winked as if to say, ‘Don’t worry about getting stuck with the duds, I am in this with you.’ When the waitress returned, she was carrying a tray of drinks, which she described as Simmer Dim gin on the rocks, ordered by Gavin for everyone.

  Vera opened her mouth as if to protest, but Gavin headed her off.

  “They don’t have to drink it, but it’s the perfect toast to solstice. And it’s on me. This gin is made in Shetland, to celebrate the midsummer light,” he explained to everyone. “You will notice hints of orange peel and licorice root, with a spicy finish.” He lifted his glass and said, “Slàinte mhath.”

  I took a sip and choked a bit as the strong drink burned my throat. I took another, paying attention to the flavors he’d described. Meanwhile, the alcohol rushed in two directions—straight to my belly and right to my head.

  “That parade was a spectacular event,” I said, glancing down the table at Vera. I lifted my glass a third time. “Thank you for including us on this visit. We couldn’t have imagined something so special.”

  “Yes, thank you all,” said Miss Gloria, and then drained the gin in her glass and grinned at me. “It was positively glorious, an experience that we will never forget.”

  “And this,” said Gavin, “is exactly why people will be so excited about the way we’ve woven my concept into the new book. It’s the difference between watching a sport like rugby from the stands versus actually dodging players on the field.”

  “It’s the difference between watching a television show and sitting on the couch chatting with those same characters,” added Glenda. “My husband can take videos and photographs and post them all over the internet, but he can’t videotape something that’s happened in the past. That’s where the virtual reality brings history alive.”

  “But I’m confused. I thought this project was to be a book,” said Miss Gloria.

  Glenda opened her mouth as if to explain, but her husband waved her off.

  “Imagine,” said Gavin, “if I had told you about this parade. Or even showed you a few snapshots. I could tell you about the bagpipers and maybe even play a snippet of the music and show some photos or a little video. But how would that compare to attending the event?”

  “It wouldn’t be the same,” Miss Gloria said, nodding yes to the waiter who hovered behind her with a bottle of white wine. He splashed her a full glass, even though I tried to catch his eye and motion that she only needed an inch. “Don’t pay any attention to that lady at the end of the table,” Miss Gloria said to the waiter, pointing at me and winking. “She does not speak for me.” Then she turned back to Gavin: “So many amazing details would be missed.”

  “Yes!” Gavin pounded a fist on the table. “It cannot possibly be the same in a two-dimensional experience.” He explained that there would be two ways to access the book. One would be the old-fashioned way of reading. The second would be by also purchasing the specially made goggles, and this would allow the consumer to access the virtual reality component of the chapters.

  “Access?” I heard Vera mutter. “Books are meant to be read, not accessed.”

  Then the waitress reappeared and our orders were taken; for me, the whiskey cheddar beignet with onion and leek puree that I’d been thinking of all afternoon, and a grilled salmon with local vegetables to counteract an onslaught of Scottish carbs.

  “Now what did you say you did for a living?” Gavin asked, once the waiter had collected the menus and shaken out the napkins on our laps.

  “I’m a food critic. I taste food and then write about it to help people choose where they will dine and what to eat once they get there.” Two waiters appeared and slid our appetizers in front of us.

  “Perfect example,” Gavin said, holding up a homemade roll that he’d carefully buttered earlier. “Reading about food can never compare with the experience of actually being in the place and tasting it yourself. You can and do write about it, I’m sure, with finesse and detail, but how can you capture that first moment where the food hits your tongue and the flavor bursts forth?” He bit into his roll. “For that moment when you realize the butter is probably made of milk pumped from a local cow and churned by the farmer’s wife, you must have your knees under the table.”

  “You have a point,” I said, surprised that he’d understood exactly what I was trying to say about my work and the limitations a critic faced. “But I can’t think how your process could replicate that.”

&
nbsp; “No,” he agreed, “we can’t do taste, though new techniques are always trying to push those boundaries. But we do have a way to include smells. And history is different. We can definitely amp up the sounds and sights until they become so real that a person suddenly understands the history of that place in an entirely new way—and then begins to imagine more, even feeling the emotions of the people who lived through it.”

  As we continued to chat, I did not get the feeling Gavin was trying to overwhelm me with his knowledge. He truly wanted me to understand his excitement. He seemed charming and lively, not the buffoon I’d assumed him to be. Maybe I’d been too quick to judge. I was surprised to be warming up to him, getting the sense that he felt unappreciated and maybe even edged out of the project by the women.

  Though, on the other hand, at Ainsley’s house, he’d struck me as an insufferable boor. Maybe he’d been wound up about something personal and stressful that had nothing to do with the book?

  As the appetizer plates were cleared, I turned my attention to Glenda. Her husband had not once looked away from our conversation, and I was afraid she would be feeling neglected. And possibly annoyed with me.

  “This is such an astonishing and complex project,” I said. “What is your role in getting it accomplished?”

  “Gavin needs me—it’s that simple.” She dropped her voice. “The others constantly nag him or argue, and it’s positively draining. He knows I’m a hundred and ten percent on his side of the ledger, both emotionally and financially. He’s so brilliant, but the small things sometimes slide right by him.” She glanced at him with an expression both irritated and adoring.

  “He’s so lucky to have you,” I said. “I’ve not even been married a year, so we’re still finding our way.”

  She let loose a peal of laughter. “Oh that first year, doesn’t it plummet from peak to valley?”

  As we chatted, I noticed that she pushed her food around her plate without eating much of it. From the tiny size of her, I suspected this was not uncommon. But it also could be a sign of physical or emotional distress.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked her, lowering my voice so Ainsley wouldn’t overhear the question. “You had quite a scare the other night.”

  “You know, it was terrifying,” she said. “At first, I thought perhaps I’d eaten a bit more than normal or that some of that heavy food didn’t agree with me. But then the stabbing pains got worse, and I was afraid I’d die.” She closed her eyes and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. She blinked them open. “I know Ainsley thinks the world of her, but I do not trust that cook, not for one moment. Plenty of times my stomach has been upset after leaving a meeting at their home. Everything she makes is overdone to the point of nauseating.”

  Based on my small experience of Grace’s cooking, I did not agree with Glenda’s assessment. Did she actually believe that Grace put something in her scones to make her ill on visits before the party? That seemed unlikely, but I made a small noise of sympathy to keep her talking.

  “And furthermore, she does not like me,” Glenda added. “I think she fancies my husband.”

  “Is that so?” According to Blair, it had been Gavin who fancied Grace, not the other way around. I wanted to ask her straight out if she thought that Grace had intentionally tried to harm her, but here at the table was not the right place. “Were you acquainted with Mr. Booth, the man who fell from the wheel?”

  She shivered and clutched her arms to her chest. “Why, oh why would they come around flashing that dead man’s photo at us when we had nothing to do with him?” She glanced at her husband, her cheeks flushed with worry. “I, for one, cannot wait until this work is completed. It’s been very hard on my Gavin.”

  After we’d eaten our main courses and been served a potpourri of Scottish cheeses and shortbread cookies to finish, Vera stood to get the attention of the table. She looked drawn and pale. “If we could wrap up breakfast by nine in the morning, we will start off for Glencoe. We plan to spend the rest of the day there so our team can consult on photos, and then travel to Loch Long for the night, where we’ll be having dinner with our publisher, who is driving in from Glasgow. I wish you all a pleasant evening.” She sounded like a tour guide at the end of a long trip that had been oversubscribed with difficult travelers.

  As we started back to our rooms, I checked my phone and noticed that I had missed a call from Nathan. “I’ll see you in a bit,” I told Vera. “I’m going to the lobby to chat with your brother.”

  “Tell him we’re taking good care of you,” Vera said. “He need not fret.”

  Nathan picked up on the second ring. “How was your outing?” I asked, so happy to hear his voice. “Did you play like Tiger?”

  Nathan snorted. “I can’t even describe how bad it was. It was as though I’d never seen, never mind touched, a golf club. It was as if you were playing instead of me.” We both laughed.

  “Thanks a lot,” I said. “For all you know I could be the most coordinated person in the world.”

  “I’ll say one thing, I miss you like crazy,” he said, sounding more mellow than usual, which I attributed to the whiskey and having nothing to worry about but bad golf. His job as a senior detective in the Key West Police Department was super stressful, both physically and mentally—especially during these times when a few bad apple cops made all of them look potentially bad. He had needed a break from our island and its troubles for a while.

  “Vera’s two cats have taken over our bed and left me only the smallest knife edge of space. They lie on my legs, and it feels as though I’m wearing a lead apron. And the purring is so loud, it’s like being back on Miss Gloria’s houseboat. And I can’t tell one from the other.”

  I felt a quick stab of homesickness—for him, for Key West, for our animals. “That sounds so lovely. It’s easy to tell them apart if you look. Archie has more white on his face than Louise, and she’s much more outgoing and chatty. Are you having a good time in spite of the golf?”

  “I’m enjoying my brother-in-law, and we had the most amazing bagpipe performance and whiskey tasting.”

  “That sounds an awful lot like our evening.” I gave him a summary of lunch and the parade and then dinner, and my new assessments of Gavin and Glenda. As I talked, I wondered whether I should tell him that I’d visited Joseph Booth’s family home. I decided I’d better, so I spilled that news quickly. Even more quickly, I segued from his possible dismay by wondering aloud whether I should tell Vera about this too. After all, I had shared this information with Nathan’s mother, and I thought Vera might resent that I’d kept it from her.

  “There is something going on between these people who are supposed to be old friends, and I have no idea what it is. Why won’t any of them talk about it? Why would they even do this project together if there are that many problems? That much tension?”

  I realized that I didn’t truly understand the relationships between these three women. “They’ve been friends for a long time and now work together on this book, but how have things changed over time? Ainsley appears to be keeping her distance from Vera. Glenda distrusts everyone. Is it possible that she thinks of Gavin as a rock star, maybe a little bit out of her league? Maybe easily tempted by other women, including these two?”

  “Wait, let’s back up a minute,” he said, sounding a lot less sleepy. I pictured him sitting up in bed and shoveling Archie and Louise over to my side. “Why in the world were you making a house call to the Booth family? And who went with you?”

  I explained that I had discovered his family living right in town, and this had been my only chance to chat with them, and no one else was available. “It was two sad ladies plying me with baked goods on doilies. And they won the best scone in the country contest recently and I hoped I could get their recipe. Alas, not to be. But I swear I was in no danger. And they think he left the University because of a love triangle.”

  “And this has become your problem because?”

  “Because it’
s your sister, and we are her guests, and we were right there when these incidents happened. And I swear she knew Mr. Booth, and I’m worried that she herself could end up in danger. And you know perfectly well that it would go against my human nature not to ask questions.”

  “And it would be deeply embedded in my human nature to worry about you. And I wish you would leave the poking and prodding to the professionals.” I heard him sigh. “I should never have agreed to this tournament. I should be right there watching over all of you.” Another big sigh. “I’m going to stop at the local police department tomorrow before we tee off and see what I can squeeze out of them. What does Vera say about it?”

  “Vera is so tightlipped that I’m surprised she can eat.”

  After we both said, “I love you,” and he had made me swear that I would absolutely stick with the group, especially Miss Gloria, Vera, and his mother, I hung up, stood up, and stretched. The bar looked appealing, light sparkling with flashes of blue and pink through the bottles arranged on the counter, the people laughing, those lovely Scottish accents. Gavin, Glenda, and Ainsley were sitting at one table in the back, heads close together. Which totally surprised me after the scuffle following Grace’s dinner the other night. But I had promised Nathan no more solo butting in, so I returned to the room. Vera was in bed but said a muffled hello.

  “Nathan sends his love,” I said. “Do you mind if I ask one question?”

  “If it’s not too hard to answer,” she mumbled.

  “Your friends don’t seem to enjoy one another or see eye to eye. I’m just so curious about how and why you all agreed to work on this project,” I said.

  “Oh, that’s not an easy question,” she said. “That’s a lifetime of complications.” She rolled over and put a pillow over her head. “I’ll think about it and maybe get back to you tomorrow.”

  Which sounded like a polite way of saying “mind your own business.”