Chapter 5
FIVE
The Locharran Village Post Office and General Stores was run by two aged spinster sisters: Queenie and Bessie McDougall.
Queenie was the elder and the boss, and spent most of her day stretched across the counter, so as not to miss any conversation which might be taking place between the aisles of canned goods and Locharran souvenirs – mainly tea towels sporting an unlikely tropically coloured depiction of the village and the castle.
And Queenie was the font of all knowledge when it came to village gossip.
‘Och, it’s yersel’,’ Queenie stated as Ally walked in.
‘I just need a few bits and pieces,’ Ally said, picking up a basket and bracing herself for the barrage of questions to come.
‘Ye was at the Games yesterday, I hear,’ Queenie stated.
‘Yes, I was,’ Ally said, popping a jar of marmalade and one of raspberry jam into her basket. ‘And, before you ask, yes, I did have the honour of accommodating the poor man who was killed, and his family, under my roof.’
‘And they’re still here?’ Queenie asked.
‘Well, he isn’t, of course, but they are! Where would you expect them to be? This only happened yesterday!’
‘I’ll tell ye somethin’,’ Queenie said, leaning even further across the counter. ‘That wife of his was a local lassie.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ Ally replied, placing her purchases on the counter. ‘Angus’s niece, I believe.’
‘Pat McKay she was before she went off with that Canadian. She always liked the men.’
‘Yes, well, she’s very upset at the moment, naturally.’ Ally wasn’t sure that Patti was all that desperately upset, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell Queenie this.
‘Ach, she’ll soon be findin’ someone else,’ Queenie retorted. ‘Bessie,’ she yelled into the depths of the storeroom. ‘Did ye hear that?’
Bessie emerged from the room with some packs of toilet rolls. ‘No, I didn’t hear,’ she said. She climbed a couple of steps up a ladder to best display the wares, at the same time tugging at her grey, droopy skirt in the hope that no one would see her voluminous pink knickers.
Queenie sniffed loudly. ‘We was just talkin’ about that shootin’ yesterday.’
‘Aye, well they’ll no win any popularity prizes round here,’ Bessie said as she lowered herself carefully down the steps.
‘Our late brother’s granddaughter was dancin’,’ Queenie said proudly.
‘She’s a grand wee dancer is Dolina. And she should have won!
She’s the best dancer for miles around! How come thae two girls of Pat’s won?
Eh, tell me that? Everyone’s sayin’ how well Dolina was dancin’ better than the McConnachie lass, and a bloody sight better than them girls of Pat’s!
Just a shame our Charlie, God rest his soul, is no’ here to see her. Did I ever tell ye about poor Charlie?’
‘Yes, you did,’ Ally got in quickly. She recalled hearing from Queenie, not so very long ago, all about their late brother who, in his normal inebriated state, had met his demise by stepping out in front of the bus from Clachar.
That had been the end of him. But – Queenie had added with much satisfaction – it had been a ‘grand funeral’, although someone called Ecky, who’d been driving the bus, was never the same again.
Ally got her purse out, paid for her purchases and beat a hasty retreat.
When Ally got home, she found the girls sitting on a garden seat, concentrating on their phones. Occasionally, one or the other would toss the ball for Flora to retrieve.
‘We had a real nice walk,’ Janey said.
Ally was amused to see them wearing their dancing medals around their necks. ‘Do you do much Scottish dancing in Canada?’ she asked.
‘Oh sure,’ said Julie. ‘We keep lots of Scottish traditions. And Daddy took us all over Scotland before…’
‘But we’re not going to be coming here again, ever,’ said Janey. ‘Not after this.’ She blew her nose.
‘I can hardly blame you,’ Ally admitted, ‘but it’s such a shame because there’s so much to see.’
‘Will they ever find who did this?’ asked Julie, her voice breaking.
‘I’m sure they will,’ Ally replied, ‘and we have a very good detective on the case.’
‘Is he the cute one with the lovely smile?’ asked Janey.
Ally smiled. ‘Yes, Detective Inspector Kandahar.’
‘Mom says she quite fancies him,’ added Julie.
Their mother has recovered mighty quickly, Ally thought.
‘It’s got to be one of the competitors,’ Janey said, ‘because, let’s face it, they were all jealous of Dad.
I overheard two of them talking, saying that Dad should have stayed in Canada, where he belonged.
And the other one said, “I’d like to send him home in a box. ” Isn’t that a mean thing to say?’
‘Yes, it’s a horrible thing to say,’ Ally agreed.
‘Mom’s upset for Uncle Angus too,’ Janey said. ‘Did you know he was Mom’s uncle?’
‘Yes, I did know,’ Ally said. ‘He’s a nice old boy.’
‘Well,’ Janey continued, ‘nice or not, everyone’s blaming him.’
‘Because he’s got the keys to everywhere,’ added her sister.
‘But the gun cabinet was broken into,’ Ally said, ‘so the keys weren’t needed.’
‘And who else would know where to find that gun store?’ Janey asked. ‘So it’s got to be someone in this village! Because it sure as hell wasn’t any of us.’
‘Unless it was Uncle Greg,’ Julie said with a snort.
‘Don’t say that!’ Janey nudged her sister and looked somewhat guiltily in Ally’s direction.
‘Well, he and Daddy weren’t getting on too well, were they?’ Julie persisted. ‘And he wasn’t with us when Daddy was killed.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Janey snapped. ‘He was bored, wasn’t he? He’d only gone over to the tent for a drink!’
‘So far as we know,’ said her sister ominously.
Ally hadn’t liked Greg all that much, but she certainly wouldn’t have considered him to be a suspect. Until now. Was it time to work on the board again?
The board was actually the back of a painted wooden picture – a still life of fruits brought back from Italy years ago by her grandmother – which hung on the wall behind the kitchen table.
Ally had once been a researcher on a TV programme in Edinburgh.
When she’d done her research, she’d always put the problem in the middle and the possible solutions around the centre, like the numbers on a clock face – the most likely candidate at the top of the dial, at twelve o’clock, and the least likely at the foot, at six o’clock.
When she’d used her board previously, she’d found it helped to clarify her own thoughts.
She would glue a large piece of paper to the back of the picture, write the victim’s name in the centre of a circle and place the suspects – on Post-it notes – all the way around, as on an imaginary clock.
The Post-it notes could be moved, or removed, as necessary.
Ally found a large piece of white paper, drew a circle on it using a dinner plate and wrote ‘Archie Armstrong’ in the centre.
Then she got out her Post-it notes for the suspects.
But who were her suspects? Who might have killed the Atlantic Warrior?
Ross would tease her for her efforts, of course.
‘You and your board!’ he’d say, laughing.
‘You’ve become addicted to sleuthing!’ And she couldn’t deny that she had.
Let’s face it, no one at the castle had any need to break into the cabinet when they could have helped themselves to the key which hung in Angus’s office.
Unless, of course, they wanted to make it appear to have been someone else.
There were two under-ghillies: the older of the two, Gordon Soutar, was in his late forties or early fifties, and would one day be taking over from Angus.
The younger was called Tom Hamilton, who Ally had never met but who set the hearts of the local female teenage population into frenzy mode apparently.
She’d heard that he was friendly with Micky and Bobby McConnachie, so either of them could have visited the castle and sussed out the whereabouts of the gun cabinet.
Unlikely, but they couldn’t be ruled out.
Then the Armstrongs had all visited Angus the day before Archie was killed.
Was Patti perhaps having an affair and fancying her freedom?
Then there was Greg, who appeared all too keen to point the finger at both Angus and the earl.
Furthermore, according to the girls, Greg hadn’t been getting on too well with Archie.
All these thoughts were whirling round in her head. It could have been any of them.
Ally supposed she couldn’t exclude Angus from the suspects, but she’d place him as low as possible at six o’clock, right down at the bottom of her ‘clock’.
Then she decided that, due to a lack of any other likely suspects yet, she’d place Patti up there at twelve o’clock because of her connection to Angus and the likelihood of her being able to get a gun from him, and Greg at three o’clock, mainly because of what the girls had told her about him not getting on with their father.
After all, he’d gone up with the family to see Angus, so perhaps he’d sussed out the whereabouts of the gun cabinet while he was there.
And then there was Wendy Watson, but how likely was it that she would want to kill her own brother?
That left the competitors at the games, none of whom had been exactly delighted at the prospect of competing against this Canadian champion.
But surely none of them felt strongly enough to attempt to kill the man! It was, after all, only a sport!