Page 30 of Death on a Scottish Train

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I have something you need to see,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Easier to show you, than explain over the phone.”

“All right. I’ll be right there.”

I couldn’t imagine what it might be. It was an assumption, and I didn’t have the proof yet, but I had a feeling the accountant had made someone very angry. As we’d said a few times, money was a big motivator. If someone had stolen my money, I would have wanted to get it back.

OK, I was a doctor, and I’d taken a do no harm oath. But I would be very angry if someone had embezzled from me.

While I couldn’t be certain exactly what was going on with our crafty accountant, he’d definitely been up to no good.

I wonder what Abigail has for me?

Chapter Eight

As I was leaving the victim’s town home, there were two fake ficus trees on each side of the entry, and I stopped. Henry, who was carrying out boxes, nearly bumped into me.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Look around,” I said. I pointed to the train room and the office. Everything was neat and orderly. Not a book was out of place. I’d glanced in the kitchen and there were no dishes in the sink.

Ewan came to the entryway.

“What are we looking at?”

“Symmetry,” I said. “Nothing is out of place, and everything is neat and orderly.”

“Right, and?” Ewan asked.

“These trees are fake but are different heights.”

They glanced at each other and then at me.

I shrugged. “So, you know how I love some UK mysteries? You’ve watched a few with me.”

“Aye,” Ewan said. “What does that have to do with trees and our case?”

“One is taller than the other. I saw an episode where the victim had hidden drugs under a fake tree like this. The detective noticed the different heights.”

I leaned over to pull the tree from the pottery it sat in, but it was stuck. Ewan tugged as well, and it came loose.

In the bottom was a plastic garbage bag. I’d already taken off my gloves, so Ewan reached in and pulled it out. He sat it on the floor.

When he untied the bag, he opened it so we could see. Inside was cash and a lot of it. If the tops of the piles that had been rubber banded together were any indication, it was several thousand.

“How much do you think that is?” I asked.

Ewan flipped through some of the bills. They were all one-hundred-pound notes. “Tis difficult to say without counting but at least fifty thousand pounds.”

I’m sure my eyes were the size of saucers. “That doesn’t seem like something a man who invests money for a living would keep around. Unless …”

“Unless, what?” Ewan asked.

“He was getting ready to make a run for it,” I said. “Maybe someone found out things didn’t add up with his accounts. He knew he was under investigation.”