Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #3: Books 9-12 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [reading in the dark TXT] 📗

off with her. Most of her friends and family suspected suicide, but nothing was ever proved. You’d think Bee would hate him, wouldn’t you? But instead she stepped right into her sister’s shoes and became his long-term lover.”

Her eyes drifted toward the window and for a moment she looked as though she was going to make a move to leave again. Dehan preempted her.

“So what was the old man like? You must have known him quite well. Did you get on?”

She kept looking at the window, but she smiled. “Oddly enough, we did got on. He was all right.” She blinked and turned to look at Dehan. “He was what he was. D’you know what I mean? He didn’t pretend to be anything but the arrogant, ruthless, obsessed bastard that he was.”

“So you did know him well?”

“Oh, aye.” Her accent was slipping again. “He used to come to the inn, often on a Sunday for a Sunday roast. Part of his act as the Laird, you know, mixing with the riff-raff, staying connected with ‘his subjects’. I used to tease him. I was a shameless flirt back then. I’d make him laugh and more than once he bought me a drink. Aye, we got on OK.

“When his son proposed to me, he came out straight and told me. You’re not right for him, and he’ll not make you happy. And he was right, God bless him. I wish I’d listened.”

I said, “Did you resent him for saying that?”

She shook her head. Then she hesitated and made a face. “Not at first. I agreed. But then, as everybody started pressuring me, and forcing me to change my mind, then I did, a bit.”

Dehan pointed to her glass. “One for the road?”

“Ah, go on then. It’s good to get all this crap off my chest, I can tell you. I’ve never spoken to anyone about it. You should be a fucking psychologist. I tell you, you have a gift.” She smiled at me. “Hasn’t she?”

“She has that, Pam. No question.”

Dehan smiled. “So, come on, level with me. Your husband is convinced that his father was murdered. You hinted at that last night. So what do you really think?”

She shook her head. “Nah, that’s nonsense. I was just winding him up. It is so typical of him, shifting the blame. He killed his father, with his arrogance, with his ruthlessness. The old man had a dream, let him have his dream! We could have been lovers. He was not in love with me, and I was not in love with him. We could have just had the occasional shag and let it run its course. He could have married Bee’s sister, or some rich Gordon from Scotland or America, who would have suited him better. But he had to stick it to his dad, hurt him, humiliate him. And also, he wanted a woman he could control and shape and possess!” She shook her head. “No, he killed his dad the same way he killed Margaret. He broke their hearts, but rather than admit it and take responsibility for what he’s done, he says it was murder. Who? Who would murder the old man? And what for?”

I had finished the pie. I laid down my knife and fork and drained my pint of bitter, then suggested, “A jilted lover?”

She looked surprised. Len appeared smiling at Dehan’s side.

“Everything OK? Are we happy?”

I made a face of contentment. “I’m happy, Len, but you know what would make me delirious? Some Stilton cheese and the best local single malt you have.”

He made a face that was conspiratorial. “Ooh,” he said. “We have some fine whuskeys in the Orkneys. No doot aboot that. I’ve a ten year old Highland Park there that’ll have yiz singin’ your heart oot afore the afternoon’s done. Ut’s the northernmost distillery in the world, so it is, and one of the oldest and the finest. Started as an illegal still in Orkney by one Magnus Eunson in 1790. A priest by day and a smuggler by night, God bless his heart.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Who do I have to kill to get some?”

He laughed. “Nerry a soul. I’ll bring yiz a dram right away.”

Dehan raised a hand. “Make it two.” She pointed at Pam, who shook her head and Len went away with our plates. I was wondering how I could subtly reintroduce the question without sounding as though I was prying, but Pam didn’t need reminding.

“He wasn’t like his son in that way. He had a lover, but he didn’t cheat, he was in love with his castle, his family, his fantasy.”

Len returned with a slab of Stilton, a bottle of Highland Park single malt and two shot glasses. He winked at me. “I’ll leave yiz the bottle, save mah legs havin’ ta keep runnin’ back an’ forth!”

He left again and Dehan poured while I helped myself to some cheese. While I cut, I asked Pam, “Who was his lover? Was she a Gordon too?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’ think so...”

“What happened to her?”

“I don’t know...”

“And you? Are you from one of the clans?”

She didn’t answer. Instead she said, “I mean, you’d think he’d have been concerned about interbreeding. I mean, I know clan is not the same as family. It’s not exactly genetic, but even so, it’s got to be healthy to mix, at least with other clans, don’t you think?”

She had been sipping steadily at her G&T on an empty stomach, and suddenly she looked as though gin might be mixing with all the emotions Dehan was stirring up, and going to her head. But something in what she’d said made me curious.

I frowned. “Did he have plans to marry again?”

She stood suddenly. “I don’t know. Look, I had better go. I think