Page 10 of Death on a Scottish Train

He made a face in the rearview mirror, before pulling out of his parking spot. “Oh. My,” he said. “He does not look good. No. I dinnae think I’ve ever seen him before.”

Abigail sat back, and then Jasper maneuvered the van down the mountain.

“Any idea how he died?” he asked.

“I’m curious about that as well,” Mara said.

Abigail and I glanced at one another.

“I do not even have to turn around to know you two are looking at one another,” Mara said. “Maybe Jasper and I can help if you give us something to go on.”

“This stays in this van,” I said.

“Promise,” Jasper and Mara said at the same time.

“I better not hear a word has leaked at the pub.”

Mara sighed. “I’ve never said a word about your cases to anyone outside our group. But that doesn’t keep people in our small town from talking. My guess is half the town already knows something bad happened.”

She wasn’t wrong. The grapevine in Sea Isle was a quick one. That was one of the many things I’d learned about small-town living.

As a doctor, I knew more than I wanted about most of my patients. Of course, I never said a word because of confidentiality. That didn’t stop my patients from gossiping about their neighbors as that was the town’s main form of communication.

As we made our way down the mountain, I explained that he may have died from an allergy.

“Did he mention anything to you, Mara?”

She shook her head. “Since we were doing small plates and desserts only, we didn’t have dietary restrictions. We tried to have a good mix.”

“Do you have any idea what caused the reaction?” Jasper asked. “I’d hate it if something I prepared killed him.” He’d provided petits fours and macarons for the event.

“I don’t think you have to worry,” I said. “From what I could see, he never made it onto the train. So, whatever caused the reaction was most likely ingested before he arrived or inside the station.”

“But all we had in the station was the champagne,” Mara said. “Maybe, he was allergic to alcohol.”

“Could be,” Abigail relayed. “But wouldn’t he know not to drink it? I think the Doc is right. Whatever reaction he had was caused by something either before or just after he got here. His time of death, which she’ll be able to be more precise about once the labs come back, will most likely show when he ingested whatever it was.”

I smiled. Abigail was a flower who had blossomed over the past year. She was confident about her skills, as she should be. She was a marvel.

“So, he was allergic to something but that doesn’t mean someone killed him,” Mara said.

I didn’t blame her for wanting the case to be murder-free. I’d feel the same way if I’d worked as hard as she had to launch the Storytellers’ Train.

“We’ll see,” I said. “We have a lot more testing to do.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Mara sighed.

“It will be OK,” I said. “No one is going to blame you.”

“And who knows,” Jasper said. “Some people might want to take the train even more if they feel like their lives might be in danger. I mean, there is a reason there are so many murder shows and podcasts.”

“Not. Helping,” Mara told him.

We pulled up at the corner behind the pub, which was just down from my home and practice.

“Get some rest,” I said to Mara. “I promise to share what we find out tomorrow. Just please …”

“I know. Don’t say anything in public.”