Chapter 10 #2
‘I daresay they do,’ snapped Mrs Jamieson. ‘They have a word for most things!’
‘What about the Auld Alliance?’ asked Golden Curls, apropos of nothing.
‘You’re probably thinking of “in vino veritas”,’ Ally said helpfully, ‘which only means that alcohol can loosen the tongue.’
‘Aye, that’s right,’ said Golden Curls, ‘and that’s no’ French, that’s Latin! Anyway, poor Micky’ll no’ be guilty.’
‘But he was awful mad about Armstrong winnin’ everythin’,’ Queenie pointed out.
‘Whose bloody side are ye on then, Queenie?’ asked Green Beret.
Ally placed her teabags on the counter. ‘That’s all I need for the moment,’ she said to Queenie, desperate for escape.
‘Will ye be needin’ a bag?’ asked Queenie, taking her money.
Ally didn’t need a bag. She’d got what she needed: Angus had spent the afternoon of the gun cabinet break-in in the kitchen at the castle and, crucially, not at the Highland Games.
When Ally got home, she found the Armstrongs in a state of high excitement, as she discovered when she let herself in the door and Julie rushed out from the sitting room.
‘Mrs McKinley, you’ll never guess what! They’ve found the horrible man who killed our daddy!’
‘They have?’ Ally hoped she appeared suitably surprised.
‘Yes,’ said Julie, ‘it was one of those nasty competitors, I think.’
Janey rushed out to join her. ‘We should soon be able to go home!’ she exclaimed.
In spite of herself, Ally was curious. ‘They’ve actually arrested someone?’
At that moment, Greg emerged. ‘Oh, hi! Have the girls been telling you? Sounds like they’ve got the right guy. We only found out on the local BBC news website, which also said that Detective Inspector Kandahar had taken some guy into custody and would be speaking to us this morning.’
‘Did they give the name of the person?’ Ally asked.
Greg shook his head. ‘No, just some thirty-five-year-old local guy, who they have reason to keep in custody, but sounds like they’ve found the killer.
And I sure hope they do because I need to be getting back to Nova Scotia.
’ He sighed. ‘It’s a one-man business now that Archie’s no longer with us, and someone needs to explain this to our bewildered staff, to help them to move on. ’
‘Oh, good,’ Ally said lamely.
The moment she entered the kitchen, she checked the BBC website and found that they had now published the name, and it was none other than Micky McConnachie! She sighed. Since her guests wouldn’t know Morag’s surname, it was unlikely there could be any friction at breakfast time. She hoped.
As she filled the kettle, Ally couldn’t believe that Micky McConnachie was a killer.
Big mouth, yes. Borderline drunkard, yes.
But surely not even Micky could get infuriated enough to kill someone on the strength of losing the Highland Games.
It was obviously a premeditated murder because the gun had been stolen the previous day, and Micky couldn’t have been absolutely sure that Archie would win the caber tossing, and surely it wasn’t the end of the world if he did?
Or if his daughter came third instead of first in the Highland dancing?
Ally was having one of her ‘feelings’, which Ross always teased her about, but her feelings were usually correct.
And she did not think they’d found the killer.
An hour later, Hamish appeared. As he sat down in the kitchen, he beamed at Ally.
‘I have this idea,’ he said, ‘because, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, there’s an air of gloom hanging over the village at the moment.
Not surprising really, I suppose, in view of recent events.
Anyway, I thought I’d organise a fun run for Saturday afternoon! ’
‘A fun run!’ Ally stared at him. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a kind of mini marathon. Since all the hammer throwers and caber tossers are supposedly suspects, I thought it might be a good idea to organise a race for them, from the village, up past here to Loch Soular, round the loch and then across the moors to the castle, where I could lay on a barbecue.
We could mark the route out with wee flags here and there.
What do you think of that?’ He hesitated. ‘And perhaps a prize?’
‘I’m sure it would cheer everyone up, but—’
‘Do you think one hundred pounds would be sufficient for the winner? I mean, it must be about ten or eleven miles, a bit less than half a marathon, so it would be quite an achievement.’
‘I think it would be very generous of you, Hamish. How many would you be catering for at this barbecue?’
Hamish thought for a moment. ‘Well, obviously all of the runners, and any of their friends and family who’d come up to cheer them on; yourself and Ross, of course; and the Armstrong family…’
‘That would be a lot of sausages!’ Ally exclaimed, laughing.
‘And burgers and things,’ Hamish added vaguely, knowing this would be Mrs Jamieson’s headache and not his. ‘Do you think it would cheer everyone up a little?’
‘Hamish, do you not realise that Micky McConnachie is under arrest?’
‘What?’ Hamish looked appalled.
‘It’s all round the village and even been on the local BBC news,’ Ally said.
‘Well, it’s not him! Good Lord, I had no idea! Whoever it was, it was not Micky McConnachie!’
‘Really?’ Ally was astounded. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Yes, really,’ Hamish confirmed. ‘I clearly remember Micky just leaving the tent at the same time as myself when we heard the shot. They’ve arrested the wrong man! They must release poor Micky immediately!’
‘Hamish, are you absolutely sure about this?’
‘Of course I’m sure! Where have they taken him?’
‘Fort William, I believe,’ Ally replied.
‘Well,’ Hamish said, getting to his feet, ‘I’m going to Fort William right now because they can’t keep that young man – silly though he is – in custody for something he damn well didn’t do! And, on the plus side, he can provide an alibi for me too!’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Ally agreed, thinking of how delighted Morag and Murdo would be, even if it probably meant that her guests were going to be under her roof for an indeterminate length of time.
Hamish refused all offers of refreshment and set off for Fort William at full speed.
Shortly after he’d left, Ally saw Greg and Wendy drawing up in their hired car.
As she pulled the kitchen door behind her, she heard them talking and stood listening with the door only slightly ajar.
Obviously, they had no idea whatsoever that Micky McConnachie was possibly going to be released, and Ally wondered how they’d react when they did.
‘Thank God they’ve finally found the killer,’ Greg was saying.
‘I hope you’re right,’ Wendy said.
Ally could hear them going into the sitting room and tiptoed across the hallway, duster in hand, just in case either of them came out and spotted her.
‘Thank God Patti’s now agreed that the business is mine,’ Greg was saying, ‘so at least she won’t be interfering.’
‘She’ll be expecting a share of the profits though,’ Wendy pointed out. ‘How did you manage to get her to agree to all that?’
There was silence for a moment before Greg replied, ‘Let’s just say that she’s got her freedom now, so we’ll see what she does with it…’
Nothing further was said, and Ally could only hear the rustle of newspapers, so she headed back to the kitchen.
Was what Greg said important? Should she tell Amir when next he appeared?
Or was she translating what he’d said wrongly?
Because it seemed to her that Greg was doing pretty well out of his brother-in-law’s demise.
He and Wendy could bring their son into the business, which could now be run the way Greg wanted, with no interference from Archie – or Patti either.
And where was Greg when Archie got killed?
They weren’t going to be too happy at Micky’s release because it didn’t now seem likely that any of the family would be going anywhere any time soon.