The Christmas Puzzle (Pitkirtly Mysteries Book 8) (14 page)

Chapter 21 Doughnuts and deductions

Amaryllis was on her way to the supermarket when she saw Zak dash out of the Cultural Centre and look wildly round as if searching for something or someone.

He ran up to her. ‘Have you seen the police?’

‘No, why, are they looking for me?’

‘No.’ He paused for breath. ‘I need them in the Centre. Tamara’s throwing a wobbly.’

‘That isn’t exactly unusual.’

‘Christopher told me to get the police. She’s demanding to speak to them.’

‘You’ll have to ring them.’

‘But you just get put through to the call centre in Achiltibuie,’ he complained. ‘There’s no way I’ll be able to explain it to them.’

‘All right, let’s go up to the police station and dig them out, then.’

‘They won’t answer the doorbell at this time of day.’

‘I think you’ll find they will,’ said Amaryllis crossly. She temporarily pushed aside her craving for one of the iced doughnuts filled with synthetic custard she knew they sometimes had in the supermarket in the mornings, and led the way up to the police station.

After only a minor argument, Sergeant Macdonald agreed to send Keith Burnet down to the Cultural Centre to take a statement.

‘And this had better not be a wild-goose chase,’ he called after them. ‘We’ve only just got rid of that Penrose guy again. And we’re short-handed, as you well know.’

‘Thanks,’ said Keith Burnet on the way back down the road. ‘I could do with getting out of the station for a while. The sarge has gone power-mad.’

‘You were only just down at the Centre earlier,’ Zak pointed out.

‘Whatever,’ said Keith.

‘Do you know what Tamara wants to speak to them about?’ Amaryllis asked Zak.

He seemed taken aback. ‘Should I?’

‘I don’t think we should discuss this just now,’ said Keith primly.

Amaryllis pushed the doughnut craving aside again as they passed the supermarket. The three of them entered the Cultural Centre together, moving as one. She was determined not to be left out of this statement-taking exercise, even if she had to fight Keith Burnet for the chance to be involved. She assessed him with a practised glance. Yes, she could probably subdue him with one hand tied behind her back.

It was all the more of a shock, then, when the door of the office slammed in her face immediately after Keith had gone inside. It opened again briefly to allow Christopher, Dave and a protesting Bruce to come out.

‘Don’t you think Tamara should have someone with her?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Another woman, perhaps?’

She was doubly aggrieved when Keith opened the door again and said to Christopher, ‘I think we should have another woman in here. Aren’t there some on the library staff?’

Amaryllis coughed to remind them of her presence, but they all ignored her. Zak said, ‘I’ll get Harriet.’

Dave decided to go home to Jemima after that, and Zak returned to work in the Folk Museum, where he had been helping Maisie Sue to corral a group of quilters, all recruited to work on the great Pitkirtly Quilt Project. Bruce went off somewhere too, and Christopher and Amaryllis were left just outside the office door staring at each other.

‘Do you want a quick pint at the Queen of Scots?’ said Amaryllis. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime and I need to get to the tram for two.’

‘Better not at the moment,’ said Christopher, ‘but we can have a cup of coffee in the tea-room if you like.’

‘Put the kettle on,’ said Amaryllis. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

She ran across the car park to the supermarket and snatched the last two iced doughnuts with the gloopy custard filling from under the noses of a very startled mother and small child. She scooped up a couple of designer soups and a baguette, paid for them, and was back in the Cultural Centre tea-room before the kettle had boiled.

‘What’s all this?’ said Christopher, blinking in surprise.

‘Just thought you could do with something to eat,’ said Amaryllis.

She heated the soup in the microwave and sliced up the baguette. Christopher seemed on edge, perhaps wondering what she wanted from him in return for this impromptu picnic.

She waited to move in for the kill until they had slurped their way through the soup, which was heavier going than it looked, and he had bitten into the doughnut.

‘Do you know what Tamara’s up to?’

He shook his head, chewing away.

‘And did Jemima return the letter before she fell over?’

He shook his head, but still didn’t reply.

‘Would you like me to go and collect it?’

He shook his head again, swallowed the rest of the doughnut, took a gulp of coffee and said, ‘She’s lost it.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Amaryllis.

‘What has the letter got to do with Tamara?’ said Christopher.

Amaryllis considered this for a moment. ‘Nothing,’ she said at last. ‘More or less... Tell me about Jemima and the letter. Don’t leave anything out.’

‘It isn’t all that interesting... I don’t see how it can mean anything.’

‘Humour me. Did Jemima just suddenly turn her ankle, or was there something else?’

‘The white dog ran under her feet or something. According to Dave. The dog’s owner helped her up. She must have dropped her bag, and the letter fell out and got lost. That’s all.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Amaryllis again. ‘Do you remember what was in the letter?’

‘Not exactly. It was something to do with a cat being out all night – or was that one of the others? You lose track after a while.’

‘Jemima will know,’ said Amaryllis with confidence. She glanced at her watch. ‘Damn – I don’t have time to go up there and ask her about it before Elf Hour.’

‘Elf Hour?’

‘Two o’clock. It’s the time of day when a mysteriously beautiful woman goes into the tram, and a few moments later an equally lovely elf appears. It’s magic, you see.’

‘Who’s this mysteriously beautiful woman, then?’ said Christopher after a pause for reflection.

She ignored that.

‘So what do you think Tamara wants to say to Keith Burnet, then?’

He shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

‘Will we take bets on it?’

‘On whether your guess is as good as mine or not?’

She ignored that too. ‘What do you think anyway? Is she going to confess to the revenge killing of Jackie Whitmore?’

‘Do you really think she’s capable of it?’ said Christopher, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of coffee. ‘She’s a bit droopy – I doubt if she’d have the strength.’

Amaryllis smiled. She couldn’t have hoped for a better answer. But she was still prepared to play devil’s advocate for a while yet. ‘Maybe she did it in a way that didn’t require strength. She could have set up a trip wire or something.’

‘I meant mental strength as well as physical. I just can’t imagine her being able to plan it all and carry it out without somehow falling apart.’

‘Perhaps she had an accomplice, though,’ suggested Amaryllis.

‘Yes – Jason Penrose,’ said Christopher hopefully. ‘Maybe that’s why she’s asked to speak to the police – so she can drop him right in it.’

‘Hmm. I don’t know about him.’

‘You’re biased because he looks good in leather?’ said Christopher.

Amaryllis was genuinely shocked. ‘You think so?’ she said.

‘I don’t mean I think he looks good,’ said Christopher hastily. ‘I thought you did, that’s all.’

‘I can take him or leave him,’ she said. ‘But I think he’s a red herring. No matter how irritating he may be.’

‘He’s very irritating,’ said Christopher.

‘Perhaps her accomplice is someone so insignificant we’ve never really noticed him. Bruce, for instance. What do you know about him and his background? He might have been in the SAS when he was younger, for all we know.’

Christopher laughed. ‘I happen to know he was a civil servant for years, then retired here to look after his mother.’

‘There you are, then! Jackie Whitmore must have done something bad to Bruce’s mother.’

‘I think you’re clutching at straws,’ said Christopher.

‘But will you have a chat with him to see if there’s anything in it?’

‘I’m not as good at interrogations as you are.’

‘I know that. Very few people are. It’s one of my special powers. But you’re better at having a casual chat. People trust you. They might let their guard down.’

‘Maybe,’ said Christopher.

He didn’t seem to be convinced, but she knew from experience that this was promising. If he ever greeted any of her suggestions with glee and enthusiasm she would know something was wrong.

‘This is nice,’ she said suddenly.

‘What’s nice?’

‘Having this picnic here with you in the tea room. It’s nice and cosy.’

Amaryllis almost immediately wanted to stuff the words back into her mouth. ‘Nice’ and ‘cosy’! What sort of words were these for a former spy, ruthless interrogator and deadly assassin to use?

Christopher stared at her, and a smile slowly spread across his face. ‘I knew you’d go native in Pitkirtly one of those days. It was only a matter of time.’

There was a knock at the door and Keith Burnet opened it. ‘Well, this is nice and cosy,’ he said. ‘I’ve finished in your office now, sir. Mrs Macpherson’s going to see the other lady to the bus stop. Thank you for your patience.’

‘I hope that was useful,’ said Christopher.

Keith stepped right into the room and lowered his voice. ‘It was interesting. Daft as a brush, that one. But mind now, if anybody asks you, I didn’t say that.’

Amaryllis waited for him to say more. In her experience people became more indiscreet the more there were silences for them to fill.

‘There’s nothing in it, of course,’ added Keith. ‘Druid festivals – hmph! We don’t have any of that kind of thing around here. Just as well really – there’s enough else to keep us busy.’

‘Druid festivals?’ said Amaryllis once she was convinced he wasn’t going to add anything else of his own accord.

‘Aye,’ said Keith on a sigh.

‘Would you like a coffee before you head off?’ said Christopher.

Amaryllis smiled at him. He had, for once, said exactly what she wanted him to say at exactly the right time. All in all, she was rather pleased with him today.

‘Thanks, I wouldn’t mind,’ said Keith.

‘Have a seat,’ said Christopher. ‘I’ll put the kettle on again. Amaryllis, do you want another cup?... By the way, Keith, have you seen any more of Jason Penrose up at the station?’

‘Sergeant Macdonald won’t let him dig in the garden any more, if that’s what you mean,’ said Keith.

‘I was surprised he was allowed to do it in the first place,’ said Christopher, getting down the biscuit tin from its shelf.

‘We thought he might be for real at first,’ said Keith, ‘but then we saw him doing it.’

‘Saw him? Doing what?’ said Amaryllis.

‘He’d brought some old stones and stuff with him. He took them out of his pockets and dropped them into his excavations. Then he pretended to have found them afterwards.’

Christopher glanced round from putting coffee granules in the mugs and caught Amaryllis’s eye.

‘I can’t believe he was so stupid!’ she said crossly. ‘He was bound to get caught out sooner or later.’ She didn’t really want to think of Jason Penrose as stupid, exactly. In fact, she didn’t feel much pleasure in having caught him out. He seemed like a pathetic figure now, desperately trying to revive a waning career at all costs. She dismissed him from her mind.

Christopher brought over the coffee and the biscuit tin. Amaryllis and Keith sat opposite each other. Amaryllis leaned back and tried not to look too threatening before she began her attack.

‘So did Tamara say she thought the Druids were behind it?’ she enquired.

‘Not the Druids as such,’ said Keith. ‘But it was something to do with them. I didn’t follow the whole story but she claimed to have seen a man she thought looked like a Druid, going out to the Island one night last week. She was nearly frantic about not having told the police before, but she claimed she didn’t want to draw attention to herself because we might start looking into her past and finding things that would cast suspicion on her... As if we didn’t know all about her daughter and Jackie Whitmore already. I even remember it all from when it happened. My brother was only a couple of years ahead of them both at school.’

‘You know all about that?’ said Amaryllis, feeling oddly disappointed. Of course she had intended to tell them eventually, but even so, it was a bit of a let-down to find they already knew the story.

‘The Druid thing was all in her mind, of course,’ continued Keith. ‘Why should there be anybody dressed up as a Druid around here? They’re all Welsh, aren’t they?’

‘It’s very unclear whether they actually existed,’ said Christopher from over by the kettle. ‘At least, not in the form people seem to believe these days... Of course there were some kinds of ancient Celtic festival that might have included Druids, but they’re hidden in the mists of time. So it isn’t really feasible for somebody to dress up as a Druid. It’s such a hazy concept...’