Page 13 of Death at a Scottish Halloween

“Oh. Yes. We did a couple of shots before we left the caravan park,” Baird said. “He doesn’t usually drink, but for some reason he suggested we loosen up a bit.”

“That’s right,” Isobel added. “I forgot. But I mean it was two shots of whiskey.”

“And he had a flask with him,” Baird said. “It was a part of his costume. I assumed it was water. But he got nervous around crowds. Maybe … I don’t know.”

“Was he drinking while we were there?” She turned to Baird surprised.

“Maybe. You know how he was. We joked he’d make the perfect hermit. I mean, he could have been drinking more, and we didn’t notice. We were giving it our all. Why do you ask about the whiskey?” Baird pulled my attention back.

“We found his alcohol count past legal levels,” I said. “But his liver looked in good shape.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Our dad was a heavy drinker, and we both were careful about that sort of thing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drink more than a pint, maybe two, over several hours. He was acting sort of goofy, but I thought that was for the crowds. I know we keep saying this, but he really was fine when we left.”

“I believe you,” I said. “But the alcohol in his system may have slowed his response to the attack. And we haven’t found a flask.”

“Did you pick it up?” Isobel asked Baird.

“No.”

“The police will find it,” I said.

“Do you know when we will be able to …” she didn’t seem able to finish the sentence.

“We’re heading to the funeral home now to make arrangements,” Baird said.

“Most likely in the next few days,” I said. “Once all our testing is done, I’ll have a better idea.”

“He wouldn’t want much,” Isobel said. “We don’t have many family members left. He loved art and music, but he didn’t like any sort of formality. Said he had enough rules at work. He liked to live life easy when he was off the rig.” She gave me a watery smile. “I have no idea what that means.”

I was about to say something, but the door buzzed.

“Excuse me.”

I opened the door to a woman, holding the hand of a young girl.

“Is he here? I just heard.” She sobbed a bit.

“Can I help you?”

“Duncan, is he here?” The woman was petite, and the little girl wide-eyed and frightened looking.

“I’m sorry. You are?” I motioned for them to come inside.

“Duncan’s wife, Flora,” she sniffed.

Isobel gasped.

“And this is his daughter, Elsie. I don’t understand why I wasn’t informed. I had to find out in the pub of all places. I’d been checking there to see if anyone had seen him. I haven’t heard from him.” She cried harder. “Why didn’t someone call me? I want to see him. I don’t believe it.” She sobbed again.

The little girl pulled on her mother’s hand. “Please don’t cry, ma. It will be OK.”

That didn’t seem to help. She squeezed the little girl to her side.

“Why don’t you come inside,” I said. I guided them into the lobby.

From the surprise on Baird’s and Isobel’s faces, I had a feeling they knew nothing about the woman.

“Who are you?” Isobel said.