When Murder Comes Home

Chapter 1

Chapter One

It had been a stupid thing to do! Who in their right mind left their job on a whim, put their house up for sale – which, mind you, they’d just paid the loan off on – and bid adieu to the city they’d always wanted to live in? All in a blink of an eye.

Only her.

No, Aileen reminded herself. It was time to be ‘adventurous’. Her mind was so used to following a logical pattern that it was now in an ocean and didn’t know how to swim.

Would she drown? Maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew.

No, no – she wasn’t the old Aileen any more. She would never be that Aileen again.

Bummer, how long had she been driving? She had left the main highway behind a long time ago. Had she seen another car on the road in the last hour?

But Aileen remembered all those summers spent at her gran’s inn. She remembered the magical snow-splattered hills; the quiet burbling of the loch waters. Oh, how blue the loch was, a mirror reflecting the abundant cerulean abyss of the sky.

It was that dream she had recalled: those carefree summers where she had been adventurous. She’d chase rabbits and swim in the refreshing waters of the loch when she’d been told not to.

Aileen sighed in awe at the pleasant scenery hurtling past her.

She was surrounded by rocks that stretched up to the sky. A gurgling stream zipped by the side of the road and right there was a ruined fortress: all the pieces that made the Scottish Highlands so bonnie.

The road turned narrower and raced away from the fortress. It went past hills, dense pine-filled forests and then, oh my! Aileen gasped.

In front of her was a large mass of deep cobalt water, as blue as the Scottish flag. And white snow sparkled on the mountains that stood tall and mighty behind the loch.

Home, her heart beckoned.

A smile cracked on Aileen’s face, the frown that had settled there with self-doubt dissolving into pure joy, the stress that had taken residence in her body evaporating into the song of the Highlands.

Aye, she could hear the melody now. The wind whistled with the tune of a bagpipe playing ballads, as they seemed to have for aeons. These songs that scores of Scots had sung, danced, made merry or cried at.

A blue sign on the road announced Aileen had reached the end of the road. And hopefully a bonnie beginning in her life.

Aileen had reached Loch Fuar, the town with the cold lake.

The long sedan that drove through the ancient streets of Loch Fuar was caked in mud. The fact that it was long and a sedan told every passer-by that it wasn’t local. There was no need for a number plate. It had disappeared behind the coated mud a long time ago.

The lass who stumbled out of the car had long brown hair. Some would say it was almost black. Her coat and shoes screamed city folk.

She stretched her legs as best she could. Grimacing at her sore muscles and then wincing at the look of her car, she blew out a breath.

A long way from home she was.

The tea shop’s wooden door chimed open as Aileen rushed into the warmth.

The shop was filled with gusto. After all, it was late in the afternoon, time for some warm tea.

Aileen shuddered. She could do with a whisky. Her nerves were all over the place. Fish out of water made to mingle with people she didn’t remember. Aileen’s shiver turned into a moan as pain zinged across her back.

Perhaps she needed a warm bath to loosen her tight muscles.

‘If it isn’t MACKINNON!’ a boisterous voice exploded in her ears. The tea room went quiet.

Aileen’s heart began to thud wildly.

She searched for the voice in a room full of hefty, pink-faced, heavily bearded Scottish men who looked older than the Duke of Edinburgh.

Some of them had grown old with rotund bellies and some remained burly.

One such man stood and raised a beefy hand. ‘Helped yer granny with the inn.’ His voice held a strong Scottish burr. ‘Remember ya as a wee lass running about. Look just like yer granny did fifty years past.’

Her poor heart had no chance – it was beating at such a high rate, she thought she might collapse. Before she could react, Aileen lost her small hand in one of the smiling gent’s.

Manners kicked in and in one exhale she muttered, ‘Aileen – Aileen Mackinnon.’

‘Aye!’ This time it was an old Scotswoman who came up to her. ‘Now I remember. Ye loved the shortbread I’d bake – never spared any for the other guests.’

Aileen wedged her lips apart into a smile as polite as she could muster and felt a strong fiery blush burn her cheeks.

The last thing Aileen had come looking for was attention…

But this was a small town, and the Adventurous Aileen could talk to people.

As if experimenting, Aileen licked her lips.

‘I remember you,’ Aileen said in her Lowland tongue. She wished she had a burr too. That way she wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

Smiling at the people in the room, she tried retreating from all those kind, cheerful faces, but it was not to be. Instead, she ended up walking face-first into a hard chest.

‘Grown-up, ye are! Such a bonnie lass…’

And so it continued. She was engulfed, thumped heavily on her back, pushed into a chair and stuffed with as much food as she could stomach.

It would have overwhelmed some. But to Aileen, it was a sign that she was indeed home. Even if that meant she’d had to combat her inner fears.

The sky was painted in a beautiful lavender shade, with a few bright stars shimmering like diamonds. The fresh air smelled sweet with the scent of wildflowers.

Aileen looked up at the clear sky and sighed.

She’d spent a busy evening with the local folk, laughing and talking. They showed no qualms about her being here. It had been so long now, more than a decade since she’d last been to Loch Fuar. And yet they’d been good to her.

How long had it been since she’d mingled and felt no urge to run for her life?

Aileen took a deep breath. Things were about to change because Aileen had changed. If sometimes she did slip, it would be fine. As long as she kept up being adventurous.

A bird sang a tune, a goodnight to his fellows, and Aileen lost herself in its sweet tune, tilting her head to glance towards her right.

Behind a stone fence, she patted with a smile, stood ‘Dachaigh’, her gran’s inn.

Aye, this was her home now.

The old inn stood solitarily on a wee mound. Sturdy stone hid behind brilliant white paint, making it clean and welcoming.

Aileen let a giggle escape. Her grandmother had insisted the window frames be painted a distinct pastel blue. It might attract bluer skies, she’d joked.

Siobhan was that kind of a woman: twinkling cerulean eyes and hair gone white so long ago she hadn’t a single brown strand left.

Aileen’s grandmother had set up her inn five decades ago as a young widow. The short, yet independent mother of two had decided to fend for herself after her husband had died, so she’d travelled up to the Highlands with her sons and settled in a small town. The real estate was affordable for her, and Loch Fuar was a decent place to raise two strapping boys, so it was the best destination to set up her inn.

The innkeeper’s chambers were on the last floor, Aileen recalled.

Her face split in an even wider grin. The inn had two storeys above the ground floor. From the outside though, the innkeeper’s quarters couldn’t be seen. They were stuck between the first floor and the slanting grey roof.

She’d loved trying to climb onto the roof from her granny’s bedroom window. Siobhan had laughed at the attempt though her father had yelled at Aileen’s dangerous antics.

The good old days.

Aileen looked at the inn again and took a deep breath. She wished that joy would return to her heart.

With a jump in her step, humming a tune, Aileen made her way towards the entrance.

The wooden door, which had once seemed as gigantic as that of a castle’s, now creaked open easily.

Aileen gasped. She had expected warmth, not rain! What a horrendous scene!

Three buckets were spread around the large reception area that led into what used to be a cosy drawing room. Water pattered languorously into the waiting buckets, like a ghost’s laughter, while the plush sofas and cushioned chairs which were her grandmother’s pride were covered in sheets of plastic.

What in the world?

Armed with a suitcase in her hand and a furious glare, Aileen made her way towards a middle-aged woman who sat behind the reception counter, her face buried in her phone.

Aileen’s awkwardness was so deeply buried inside the raw fire in her belly, it needed a tombstone. Her boots clomped on the plastic-covered flooring, yet the woman didn’t look up.

‘Excuse me, Miss.’ Aileen pressed her lips together and gestured at the lady.

The present innkeeper looked up with a scowl. ‘We need reservations first – no walk-in guests.’

Holding in her rage, Aileen told the woman, ‘I’m Aileen Mackinnon, Siobhan’s granddaughter.’

The woman’s face seemed to be contorted in a permanent scowl. ‘Well, you can stay in whichever room you like. We don’t have any guests.’

‘Why don’t we have guests?’

‘Look around ye.’

‘Explain what I see.’

The scowling lady shrugged. ‘We don’t have any funds for repairs.’

‘My grandmother is advised bed rest and she isn’t here. So she can’t know what the inn needs. You could have taken the initiative. Have you taken the trouble of asking Gran for funds?’

‘Not my job,’ came the disinterested answer.

‘Well, it is your job to keep this place clean and bring in customers,’ Aileen huffed. ‘Tomorrow morning we’ll work on this.’

‘So you’ll take over now?’ The lady smirked. She hadn’t bothered to introduce herself yet.

How could she charm customers with this attitude? The inn needed someone personable to keep guests returning every holiday.

Aileen decided tomorrow was soon enough to fight her battles. For now, she needed a good night’s rest.

The Highland morning had been as scenic and pleasant as any Aileen remembered. She woke to the melody of birds, the sun shining merrily through her window.

But the smile on her face promptly disappeared. Her gran’s inn was in a state worse than any haunted house.

Aileen had been too exhausted to remark on the state of her mattress or her room last night. She sincerely doubted it had even been cleaned since its last guest had departed.

And now the larder, oh God’s teeth! The entire larder was stocked with tinned food. Food that had expired a year ago. The entire thing stank of vomit and a cesspit mixed together!

Aileen gagged.

Her feet thundered on the stone floor and then over the wooden stairs as she burst out the front door.

Without skipping a beat, she jogged to her car and made her way to the main town. It was high time someone got the messages.

The rough road wound around tall trees, before crossing a buzzing stream. The city sedan tumbled over a short stone bridge, completely out of place in one of the world’s quaintest areas.

Quaint it may be – boring it wasn’t.

The trees opened to reveal gigantic mountains, proud and mighty under the fresh pastel sky. Clouds in all forms and shapes decorated the blue gulf.

It was as if an artist had painted this masterpiece: ‘The Beginning of Spring’.

A few short minutes later, small stone cottages began dotting the greenish landscape. Just looking at this view made Aileen feel as if she’d been transported back in time.

One cottage was alive, its chimney busily huffing out smoke, and as she drove past, Aileen smelt freshly baked bread through her open car windows.

These brick houses had probably stood here for ages. How many happy memories did they hold in their walls?

The narrow winding road opened up into a junction of sorts. Here, there were a few people at large.

A busy place for a small town like Loch Fuar, almost like a city suburb.

A cluster of three ladies stood, laughing and jesting with each other, while young children marched their way to school. They were primly dressed in uniforms, even though a few of their uniform skirts had muddied hems.

Nowhere else in town could you find more of a crowd.

Scattered around this junction were all the essential shops: the grocer’s, the butcher’s, the baker’s and a general merchandise store.

Aileen had no time to waste. She quickly bounded towards the bakery. If memory served, the inn had bought bread here every day for the past fifty years.

The mouth-watering smell of bread tickled her nose, and her stomach growled, demanding breakfast.

‘How are you this morning?’ A cheery red-headed lad beamed at her from behind the counter.

‘Oh hello! Fine weather, isn’t it?’

‘Aye! What would you like?’ He waved a hand to indicate the stacks of bread-loaves.

Aileen hesitated. Would this be too intrusive?

‘Well, I wanted to know how many loaves you supply at Dachaigh every morning.’

‘Dachaigh? You mean the inn?’

Aileen nodded.

‘We don’t sell our bread to them anymore…’

That perked up Aileen’s curiosity. She choked her doubt and continued, ‘Why’s that?’

The lad considered for a while and then leaned in as if to let her in on a secret.

‘Have you seen the looks of that place? If it wasn’t for Siobhan, the police would’ve shut the place a long time ago!’

Goosebumps appeared on Aileen’s hand when the door jingled. A short healthy woman walked in.

As if it was the actual police, Aileen! She rebuked herself.

The woman’s cat-like green eyes twinkled with unfiltered exuberance, her cheeks flushed pink, and an aura of energy beamed from her and settled throughout the bakery. Her smile was brighter than the sun.

‘I heard but… Aileen Mackinnon in the flesh!’ She hopped enthusiastically in place.

Aileen’s heart palpitated. She wasn’t yet used to how gossip worked in Loch Fuar.

At Aileen’s confused look, the woman bobbed her head and continued, ‘Your gran always spoke about you. She doted on you, showed me all the pictures too. Are you back to fix the old inn?’

‘Um, aye…’ Aileen was unsure what to say, but she didn’t get a chance to offer anything more before the lady spoke again.

‘The innkeeper is a rude nut! Hope you fired her.’

When Aileen shook her head solemnly, the woman turned an exasperated set of eyes on her. ‘Well, ye should! What are you waiting for?’

Swatting a hand at the air, she continued, not waiting for a response, ‘Don’t worry a bit now, lassie. You see this entire town has yer back. Say the word and we’ll all be down there, mopping and cleaning up the place. Siobhan is ours. She treated my husband and his friends like hers when they were bairns.’

Aileen grinned, her fondness for her grandmother shining through. Siobhan was a grandmotherly woman when she wanted to be. But Aileen remembered that one time an awry guest had tried to sneak out an old bedside lamp. Her grandmother’s wrath had been enough to scare the ghosts from all the Scottish castles combined!

‘My grandmother is that sort of a woman. The bed rest the doctor suggested makes her restless – more so day after day,’ Aileen managed finally.

It looked like the lady had run out of steam. She panted for a while, sucking in gulps of air, giving Aileen the chance to study her. With her wild red hair and pink cheeks, she looked similar to the lad behind the counter, though she was older – in her thirties.

Having finally caught her breath, she flashed an energetic smile at Aileen – then, before Aileen could deflect, the woman engulfed her in a ferocious hug.

‘Isla McIntyre,’ she announced finally. ‘I forgot to introduce myself! I’m so excited to meet you.’

Aileen filled her lungs with much-needed air when the woman let her go. It had been a tight hug! Random conversation and now hugs? Aileen shivered slightly. She’d never get used to this friendliness!

‘Isla, have ye—’ a gruff voice approached with slow heavy footsteps.

‘Ah, the talk of the town.’ The tall yet broad man pointed a finger at Aileen. ‘Mackinnon, the loved yet absent grandwean.’

Aileen groaned internally. Was there one person who didn’t know who she was?

His heavy footsteps thudded on the stone floor, and Aileen noticed that, despite his sure footing, his gait wasn’t regular.

A pair of eyes – electric blue mixed with some grey – assessed her. He wore black trousers with a black leather coat. His equally soot-black hair was neatly trimmed, almost in a military cut.

Holding out a hand, he gripped hers and flashed a dazzling smile. ‘Callan Cameron, detective with the Loch Fuar police.’ Pointing a finger at the door, he mock smirked. ‘Have ye got a licence plate under all that…?’

The detective pouted as he racked his brains over what to call the muck on her car.

Isla chirped in, ‘Oh, Callan, don’t scare the lass.’

She turned to Aileen. ‘He’s a regular, here for a cup of coffee and a warm loaf. Why you can show her around sometime. There’s no crime in Loch Fuar…’ she teased the detective.

He flashed another smile. ‘Now that’s stretching it a bit too far. Only this morning Ms McHugh was complaining about her neighbour helping himself to some apples from her tree.’

‘Oh, that old woman – always complaining she is!’

The detective exchanged a few pence for his steaming go-cup. ‘Have a good day. Ye find yer licence plate through all that mud. Stay safe, especially ye Lowland folk,’ he dismissed Aileen.

That got Aileen’s blood boiling. She wasn’t from the Lowlands! She’d grown up in the Highlands!

‘I’m not…’ she flustered but the annoyingly rude detective was already gone.