Page 42 of Death at a Scottish Halloween

I was a few steps away, and I couldn’t resist. Ewan wouldn’t let me go to the interviews. The pub might be the perfect place for them to chat about it. I stepped inside, and the scent of beer and something wonderful in the kitchen made me feel right at home.

I loved this place and the people who ran it. My stomach grumbled, and I had to laugh.

Mara was behind the bar and motioned to the men who were seated in the booth by the back wall. I took the booth next to them and put down my shopping bags.

“So what did he want to know from you two?” One of the men asked.

“Nothing, boss. Just a bunch of questions about the job and if Duncan got along with everyone.” The man sounded defensive or maybe worried.

“And?” The boss sounded demanding.

“I told him the truth. That his job as a quality inspector didn’t always make him popular, but he got along with most of us.”

There was a long pause. “Did you tell him about the argument?”

The guy who had been talking cleared his throat. “No, sir. You told us not to.”

“How about you?” the boss said.

“I told him I didn’t know anything,” the other man said. His voice was much higher. “Like you told us to. Just that he was a nice bloke.”

“Good men. We don’t need the police in our business. What happens on the rig, stays there.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Let’s get you another round,” the boss said.

I was dying to know about the argument. I wanted to text Ewan and say they lied to him.

But then one of them mumbled something when the boss went up to the bar.

“Do you think he was the one who stabbed Duncan?” the man with the higher voice asked.

“Shhh. Do you want to lose your job? We were all together that day at the pub down the road. He was drunk. That’s the story, and we will stick to it if we want to keep our jobs.”

“Yeah, but he could have gone—”

The door to the pub flew open and Duncan’s friend, Baird, headed straight for the bar.

“You son of—” He pulled on the boss’s jacket and then threw a punch. It happened so fast, it was a blur. The boss fell to his knees.

“Hey,” Mara yelled. “Not in my pub. You take it outside. I’m calling the Constable, now.” She held up her phone with one hand and had a cricket bat in the other that she kept behind the bar. I stood, not certain what I should do.

“Please call him,” Baird shouted. “Tell him to round up this bunch of liars. You two are no better,” he pointed at the men in the booth. “If you told the truth, this idiot would be behind bars. I know what you did. Duncan told me everything. It will be in his reports.” Baird spit out the words. “You aren’t getting away with it this time.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Boss said. “You weren’t there. And we both know your so-called friend could lie with the best of them.”

There was a low-pitched growl coming from Baird. His anger seething out of him.

“I mean it,” Mara said. “Get out. Now.” She had strict rules about fighting in the pub. As in, a zero-tolerance policy. That wasn’t always easy to keep as people who drank too much often had words with one another, but she drew the line with physical violence.

I stepped forward. “Baird, it’s Dr. Emilia McRoy, remember me? It would be a good idea for you to take a step back so I can see to his wounds.” I held up a hand.

His breathing was like that of a bull ready to head straight into danger.

“Mara, I need some napkins and your first aid kit.”

Baird took a step forward. That’s when I moved between them.