Chapter 15
“You and Skye seem close,” Jamie remarked as he pulled his seat belt around him in Cal’s car.
He nodded once. “Skye’s family.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “So she’s your . . . Niece? Cousin?”
“No!” He made a face as though Jamie was an idiot. “Not that kind of family.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Not the blood kind.”
“What other kind is there?”
He changed gear and picked up speed. “Just the people who come along. You know?”
“No idea,” Jamie said, shaking his head.
Cal looked slightly bemused. “The people who feel like family, even though you’re not related by blood.”
Jamie made a noise of acknowledgement. Like Violet, he supposed.
“Does Skye have family in Edinburgh? She said that’s where she lived before here.”
Cal lifted a hand from the steering wheel and scratched at his jaw. “Skye doesn’t have family. She grew up bouncing around foster homes. I’m guessing some not very pleasant ones. When Moira took her in she was as timid as they come. Barely spoke. She wasn’t in a good way.”
“And that was just a couple of years ago?” Jamie asked in surprise.
“Yeah. Two years ago. Bit more, maybe. Now she has her jobs and she’s studying. She moved out of Moira’s and into a shared house with a couple of other young women.” He smiled lightly. “She’s like a different person now.”
Skye hadn’t come across as overly outgoing, but she hadn’t seemed shy either. Jamie couldn’t imagine her being timid.
Silence hung for a moment.
“How do you know Detective MacLeod?” Jamie asked, when Cal pulled the car into a parking space on a quiet road which ran parallel to the beach, with the golf course in between.
“Emma was living at Moira’s at the same time I was there.” His lips curled to a smile. “That was a good time.”
“So she’s family too.”
“Aye.” He gave a solemn nod. “Moira, Em and Skye are my family.”
“What about blood relatives? Do you have any of them?”
He tapped on the steering wheel. “My mum died when I was a wee lad, and my dad used to beat me on a regular basis. Until I got big enough to hit him back. Then he kicked me out.”
Jamie wasn’t sure he managed to disguise his shock, not only at the words, but at the casual way he’d uttered them.
“That’s when I ended up at Moira’s,” Cal added. “I haven’t seen my dad since. He moved out of the area, or so I heard. Could be dead for all I know.”
“Sorry,” Jamie murmured.
Cal turned the engine off and removed the key from the ignition. “It’s a long time ago now,” he said blithely, then stepped out of the car and left the conversation behind.
They crossed the narrow stretch of golf course and found Petra easily, smoking a cigarette beside a bench which overlooked the beach.
The stereotype that dogs look like their owner didn’t work in this instance.
While Petra was short and stocky with pitch-black hair, the golden Great Dane at her side was tall and lean.
Petra’s features were fierce and sceptical, while the dog’s were friendly and open.
He wagged his tail as they approached, but remained obediently by Petra’s side.
Strong gusts blew Jamie’s hair in all directions and he rounded his shoulders as a fine mist of sea spray stung his cheeks.
“You Cal?” Petra called out as they got near.
“Aye,” he replied.
“I don’t have a lot of time. I’m working this afternoon. What are you looking for exactly? A cleaner for your home, or for a business?”
“I’ll be straight with you,” Cal said, eyeing the dog and keeping his distance. “We’re not actually in the market for a cleaner.”
Her shoulders dropped, the disappointment clear in her eyes. “What is it you want then?” she snapped.
“To ask you a few questions about the Langfords. We heard you used to clean for them.”
She sucked on her cigarette, then blew out a stream of smoke. “I did, aye. But not anymore. If you heard any wild rumours about me stealing from them, I’d advise you not to listen.”
“So you didn’t steal anything?” Cal asked.
“No. And they know I didn’t. If they truly believed it, they’d have called the police.
They wanted someone to blame for misplacing their things.
It was always the same. Usually it was some bit of paperwork or an ornament or something that they’d insist I must have moved.
And then all of a sudden it was the jewellery. As if I’d want her gaudy jewellery.”
“Had you worked for them for long?” Jamie asked.
“Eighteen months or so. Glad to be out of there, to be honest. Mad as hatters, the Langfords. She used to have her podcast blaring so loud that the nosy woman next door would come and shout at her. It’s a bit weird though, isn’t it? Loving the sound of your own voice like that.”
“What do you mean?” Cal asked.
“The podcast. It was replays of these old radio plays that Marguerite had been involved in. She was an actress, you know? Years ago that was, and I don’t think she was ever famous or anything, but she has the air of someone who thinks a bit too highly of themselves.”
“Not anymore she doesn’t,” Cal said.
Petra threw her cigarette on the ground, then squished it into the sandy path with the toe of her shoe. “How do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear?” Cal said. “She died yesterday morning.”
Her lips twisted to one side. “Dead?” she said after a moment.
“Yeah,” Cal replied.
“What happened?”
“Looks as though she fell from the landing to the hall. The rail gave way.”
Petra took a packet of cigarettes from her coat pocket and removed one. It dangled between her lips when she spoke again. “Fell, or pushed?” she asked flatly.
“What makes you think someone would have pushed her?”
“Because she told me a few weeks ago that her daughter wanted her dead.” She flicked her lighter and held the flame to the cigarette. “She also asked me if I’d kill her husband for her, so I guess she didn’t get on too well with him, either.”
Jamie’s eyes bulged. “She asked you to kill Edward?”
“Yep. Offered me money for it too!”
“What did you say?” Cal asked.
“No, of course.”
“Why would she ask you to kill her husband?” Jamie asked, shocked.
“No idea. She laughed it off as a joke. Did the same thing when she said her daughter wanted to kill her – let out this creepy laugh and said she didn’t think Heather would really resort to murder.
” Petra shook her head. “I couldn’t make out if it was a joke.
Even if it was, that’s a weird thing to joke about. ”
“Yeah,” Jamie agreed. It was also very similar to his conversation with Marguerite about Heather.
“I have to go,” Petra said. “I don’t think there’s much more I can tell you. Why are you asking all of these questions anyway? Do you think someone pushed her?”
“We don’t know,” Cal said. “It seems like a possibility.”
She shrugged and said goodbye before walking away and onto the beach.
“She didn’t seem devastated,” Jamie remarked as they made their way back to the car.
“Do you think she was involved?”
“No. I don’t think so. It really didn’t seem as though she even knew Marguerite was dead.”
“The family clearly had some issues. Marguerite thought her daughter wanted to kill her, and she wanted her husband dead.”
“I don’t know if either of those things are true. There was something very odd about the way she spoke to me about Heather wanting to kill her. It was almost like . . .”
“Like what?” Cal asked, stopping beside the car.
Jamie thought back on the strange encounter. That flash of confusion in Marguerite’s eyes as though she wasn’t even sure what she was saying. “I wonder if she was on strong painkillers or something,” he said eventually. “Something that might have altered her mind and made her say random things.”
“I’ll speak to Emma later. See if there are any updates on the police side. They should know if there’s anything like that.”
“Will she tell you?” He opened his door at the same time as Cal and slipped into the seat. “I mean is she allowed to discuss the case with you?”
“I doubt she’s allowed. But yeah, she’ll tell me.”
“Let’s go and speak to the physiotherapist,” Jamie said, pulling his seat belt on.
“You’re really getting into the swing of this detective thing, aren’t you?”
Jamie shrugged. “I’m enjoying it. It can’t hurt to ask a few more questions.”