Page 39 of Death on a Scottish Train

“I know I asked this before, but it is important. Do you remember him speaking to anyone else that night? Or did anything happen that made you curious before you boarded the train?”

“I’ll be honest, I was quite busy with our guests.” She closed her eyes. “I do remember him speaking with a man over in the corner near the champagne. They seemed to have quite an intense conversation, but I was across the room. I could not tell you what it was about. Why are you curious about who he was talking to? I thought it was a bee sting.”

I cleared my throat. I kept stepping into these situations where I gave too much away with my questions. I needed to stop doing that.

“I’m trying to set a timeline,” I said. “From the time he was, uh, stung, until his death.”

“Oh. Well, I remember seeing him with the man.”

“Do you know what he looked like?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry. We were so busy, and other than he was male, I do not remember anything about him. But he had to be one of the guests. Mara has the list, and she might be able to tell you. And that was it. We were helping the guests get on the train and none of us noticed Mr. Jacks didn’t make it. Poor man.”

Poor man, indeed. One question bugged me more than any other I had. If he’d seemed fine before everyone had boarded that train, how had he ended up in that cupboard?

Chapter Eleven

By the time I finished speaking with some of the other storytellers, it was early evening. No one had much to say about Mr. Jacks, other than he was a meticulous man, who felt strongly about the train rides being authentic.

While some of them didn’t seem to be his biggest fans, none of them were angry enough to kill him.

Or if they did, none of them admitted it. That would have made things much easier.

As I was leaving the station, my phone buzzed. I’d forgotten about a meeting with Mara and the festival committee. The end-of-summer festival was a week-long celebration with different events.

I’d been coerced by my best friend to be a part of the committee, though most of the time I was there only in an advisory capacity. If they gave me a job to do, it was usually fairly simple and flexible.

As the town doctor, I had to be around for any mishaps that might have happened to the visitors or locals.

When I arrived back at the practice, I texted Mara that I would be a bit late and to start without me. Abigail and Tommy were gone, but she had left reports stacked on my desk.

All of the lip balms we’d collected, along with his shaving cream, had been contaminated with the bee serum. Someone had gone to great lengths to make certain he used the tainted concoctions on his skin and that there was enough toxin to be deadly. But that also meantthe person who killed him might not have known that he would react that night.

So, perhaps, the killer hadn’t thought the death would be so public. Once the reaction reached deadly levels, his throat and tongue would have been too swollen for him to speak.

But surely someone would have noticed his misshapen face and the fact he couldn’t breathe. Someone had followed or shoved him into that office and later into the cabinet where I found him.

Ugh. I was no closer to finding the killer, but it had to be someone who was there that night. Mara had sent the complete list to Ewan, but I was going to ask her for a copy as well.

After freshening up, I headed down to the pub. It was Saturday night, so it was more crowded than usual. It was unusual for the committee to have a meeting on a Saturday night, but Sunday was the kick-off to the festival week.

It started with fairy boat rides on Sunday afternoon for visitors. I was scheduled to go on the five o’clock boat, which promised views of fairies on one of the nearby islands.

I had had no idea what a fairy boat was. At first, I thought they were saying “ferry” in that delightful Scottish accent. But they had meant the kind that fly around and are magical. They spoke about fairies as if they were real. Like many things in Sea Isle, it sounded charming. I was also curious how the boat captains could guarantee fairy sightings.

When I arrived at the pub, Mr. Wilson, who was behind the bar, motioned me to head out back to the patio area. A private party sign was above the door leading out to the area.

Since it was cool at night, Mara had turned on some of the courtyard heaters that stood like soldiers around the place. The ten committee members were there at a long table. Many of them had served on the train board, as well.

They had drinks, and plates of hors d’oeuvres placed down the table. Mara’s love language was food, and that was one of the many things I adored about her. Mine was eating said food.

She had a black and tan waiting for me in a space next to her. Next to me was the Assistant Chief Constable, who was also the mayor. Hedidn’t always sit in on the meetings, but my guess was he wanted to make certain we had adequate security for the various events. No one would ever say Ewan wasn’t conscientious.

I sat down next to him. He always smelled of fresh pine, and tonight he wore one of his cable-knit sweaters with jeans.

He was incredibly handsome, but he wasn’t one of those guys who acted like he knew it. He was self-assured, but never boastful. And even though we’d butted heads more than once over various cases, I knew him to be kind and caring—especially where his townspeople were concerned. He looked out for everyone.

“Evening,” he said, as I sat down.