Scottish Rite (Maggie Devereaux Book 1) Read online

  4. Ceud Mìle Fàilte

  It was late afternoon as the train approached the outskirts of Aberdeen. It snaked its way along the North Sea coast, to its left the Grampian Highlands and ahead of it the mouth of the River Dee at the center of Maggie's destination. As they entered Aberdeen, Maggie was struck by the stark beauty of the rows of slate-roofed townhomes. She could also see the ships in the harbor, looking so much like the vessels she had always seen on Elliot Bay back in Seattle. The train station was down near the docks and the oldest part of the city, and as the train pulled through the town, she could see the bustle of the Aberdeenians as their work day drew to a close. The train began to slow as it approached the station and Maggie's pulse began to quicken as her stomach filled with both excitement and anxiety. Her trek would finally be over and she would set foot in Scotland, but she was also about to meet her 'aunt' and 'uncle,' Lucy and Alex MacTary, for the first time. Technically, they were some degree of cousins, thrice removed or so, but 'aunt and uncle' was going to be a lot simpler, and regardless of the exact familial connection, she was going to be living with them—at least for the first semester—so she hoped deeply that she would like them, and they her. She looked at her watch. 5:49. Only three minutes late as the train slowly rolled to a stop at platform six.

  The nearly empty train unloaded quickly and in as much time as it took to pull on her coat, grab her bag, and follow the two young backpackers off the train car, she was standing on the blustery platform, tucking her thick, straight hair behind her ears and scanning the faces of the people there for some expression of recognition.

  "Maggie?" A woman stepped toward her and smiled. The woman had short black hair with loose curls blowing around the edges of her round face. She shared Maggie's petite stature and wore a simple, but obviously high-quality brown overcoat which covered all of her clothes save the hem of her gray skirt and her black leather shoes. Maggie guessed her age at about 45. The woman offered a tentative wave. "Maggie Devereaux?"

  Maggie smiled, almost as tentatively. "Aunt Lucy?" Then, looking at the smiling man behind the woman, she ventured, "Uncle Alex?"

  The couple stepped forward and the woman embraced Maggie in an uncertain hug.

  "Welcome to Aberdeen, Maggie." Her Scottish brogue bathed each word. "I'm your Aunt Lucy. And this is your Uncle Alex."

  Uncle Alex pushed forward a hand in greeting and Maggie shook it warmly. He was a large man, at least six feet tall, and probably a few years older than his wife. His hair was thick and brown, dotted with both red strands and white streaks. He too wore a coat, a red wool affair, but it was smaller and unbuttoned, flapping in the wind to reveal a tan sweater and brown trousers. "Welcome, Maggie."

  "Thanks," Maggie said simply, not sure what etiquette required when one meets distant relatives in a foreign country for the first time.

  "Er," Alex mirrored her awkwardness. "That is— Well, we were sorry to hear about Kate."

  Maggie frowned sharply. Her grandmother's death had slipped her mind in the excitement of her arrival. She felt bad for that. "Thanks. Me too."

  "She's in a better place," Lucy offered.

  Maggie smiled. "I'm sure you're right."

  Not sure what else to say as they stood on the now deserted train platform, Alex pointed at Maggie's carry-on bag, "Is that all your luggage, then?"

  Maggie looked down at the bag. "Oh, no. Of course not. I've got three other bags, but I checked them. They've probably been unloaded already."

  Sure enough, a quick glance around the platform revealed her bags standing unobtrusively against the wall behind Alex and Lucy, next to the entrance to the station lobby and under a large sign marked, 'BAGGAGE.' From the side of the station extended a cast iron fence with a gate hanging open to the parking lot.

  "Good Lord, girl!" Uncle Alex exclaimed with a laugh as he spied the luggage. "You don't think I can carry all that, do you?"

  "Hush, Alex," Lucy chided. "If she can bring them all the way from the States, you can certainly help bring them to the car."

  She turned to her niece. "Don't mind him, Maggie. He's just an old man who likes to grouse. And he hasn't been himself lately anyway. All the preparations for your arrival, I expect."

  The three of them walked over to the suitcases and Maggie quickly arranged them into two two-bag combinations so that she and Alex would be able to roll them easily enough to the waiting car. Uncle Alex pulled his suitcases toward the iron gate, Aunt Lucy at his side, but Maggie stopped for just a moment to look around. She was there. She was in Aberdeen. She'd done it. But then her smile turned to a soft frown. Somehow she had pictured herself being able to see rolling Scottish hills from the train station, but no such luck. Squat brick buildings were the only scenery visible from where she stood. Still, as she gazed around at her surroundings, she felt a surge of nervous accomplishment that she was actually, finally, really there.

  She looked up at the sign over the train station door.

  'Welcome to Aberdeen. Ceud Mìle Fàilte chun Obair Dheadhain.'

  'Ceud Mìle Fàilte.' 'A hundred thousand welcomes.'

  Maggie smiled, the wind blowing her hair across her face again. It would be a good year.

  She rolled her suitcase toward the gate. Lucy and Alex were already well into the parking lot. As she approached the gate herself, Maggie looked up and around, trying to remember as much as possible of what she was seeing. But she was so busy looking up that she didn't notice the newspaper that blew by her feet and pinned itself to the iron fence as she walked by. And as she stepped through the gate, she completely failed to notice the newspaper's headline:

  'Female Student Found Butchered at University'

  5. The Pursuit of Knowledge

  The drive from the railway station to the MacTary's house was a quick one and their home was as nice as Maggie's grandmother had described. Unfortunately, Maggie had been exhausted, and the comfort of family—even distant and previously unmet family—had only served to increase her sleepiness. As a result, Maggie noticed little more about the house than that it was green as she dragged herself up the stairs to the front door. After a brief tour of the downstairs, Aunt Lucy had taken Maggie upstairs to her room and encouraged her to lie down before dinner. Not needing much cajoling, Maggie had dropped her bags near the door and crawled onto the bed, surrendering to sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  When Maggie finally awoke, she was thoroughly surprised to find that it was the next morning. She had slept through dinner and indeed all through the night. She was still in her street clothes, although someone had placed a warm quilt over her during the night. The clock on the bedside table showed 7:15, and the dawn was just beginning to break.

  Maggie sat up in bed, simultaneously groggy and rested. The air in the room was cold and she pulled the blanket around her shoulders as she swung her feet off the bed. As she came more to her senses, she realized that she heard muffled voices echoing around the room. Looking around in the relative dark of the chamber proved unhelpful, so Maggie clicked on the lamp next to the clock and the room was illuminated by a soft yellow glow shining through the well-aged lampshade.

  The room was a little larger than she had remembered from the night before and was decorated in a comfortable, if perhaps overly cute style. The double bed was centered in the room, a multicolored floral bedspread over it and its dark wooden headboard pushed against the wall opposite the door. Against one wall was a rather tall wooden chest of drawers and an even taller wooden wardrobe. Against the opposite wall was a fine wooden writing desk with a roll top. That left the corner between the desk and the door to be filled by a comfortable looking reading chair with a small table next to it, a standing lamp next to that, and two waist-high, and quite full, bookcases hiding against the walls behind them. On the other side of the door, toward the wardrobe, was a second door, slightly ajar, through which Maggie could see a small sink.

  Ah, she thought, the bathroom.

  She rose from the bed and
crossed the hardwood floor with a purpose. On the way she found the source of the muffled voices: an air vent in the floor between the chest of drawers and the wardrobe. Crouching over it she could now clearly hear Aunt Lucy and Uncle Alex engaged in light conversation.

  "... wake her up?" Aunt Lucy was asking, her voice echoing metallically through the vent.

  "Nae, love," was Uncle Alex' reply. "Let the lass sleep."

  "But she'll miss breakfast."

  "Aye, perhaps. But she's obviously tired. Let her get her rest first. There'll be time enough to eat later."

  It was quiet for a moment, then Lucy tried, "Well, what if she wakes up and doesn't know where the loo is?"

  "Lucy," Alex replied. "The loo is connected to her room. If she hasn't already found it in the middle of the night, then I expect it will be the first thing on her mind when she wakes up."

  Well, that's certainly true enough, Maggie's thought. As she walked to the bathroom, she could hear Alex' voice trailing off, "And you've already put out fresh towels for her. She's a smart lass, studying at the college and all. I wager she can figure out how to use the fixtures..."

  As Maggie entered the small but adequate bathroom, she made a mental note to close that vent in the event she ever needed some privacy. She was sure voices would travel both ways.

  Soon, Maggie had fetched her toiletries from her luggage and taken advantage of the small shower shoved into a corner of the bathroom. Once cleaned and dried, she pulled on the smart new outfit she had bought for her first day in Aberdeen, set her small glasses squarely on her face and bounded downstairs, fully rested and eager to be a more considerate guest than her exhaustion had allowed the previous night.

  "Good morning, Maggie." Aunt Lucy was waiting at the foot of the stairs. "I could hear the water running so I knew you'd be down soon. You're just in time for breakfast. Come on then."

  "Great," Maggie replied, but her efforts to apologize for her failure to visit with them the night before were met only with warm rebukes.

  "You can't help it if you're tired after two days of travelling," Uncle Alex said as Maggie and her aunt entered the dining room; he had obviously overheard Maggie's protestations. "Besides, the rest will make you that much more lively company for breakfast."

  "Come, lass." Lucy pulled a chair out from the already set table. "Sit here. I'll go fetch the food."

  Maggie did as she was told, wishing to be as polite as possible. She felt a twinge of guilt as she looked out over the elaborately set table. It was large enough to seat eight comfortably. Its legs appeared to be cherry, but the remainder was hidden under an enormous cotton tablecloth, which boasted an amazingly intricate floral design of green, lavender and gold. Two separate flower arrangements graced the table as well and scattered among the plates and bowls were a sugar bowl, a creamer, a butter dish, and three different jars of marmalade. As Maggie surveyed the tabletop she noticed for the first time that there were four places set.

  "Is someone joining us for breakfast?" she asked her aunt who was just walking in with a basket of rolls.

  "Aye," was the answer as the rolls descended onto the table near the butter dish. "Mr. Grant. He's the manager of our store. He usually breakfasts with us Monday mornings so he and Alex can go over the books and such. He's a good man. We're lucky to have him."

  "Is there anything I can do to help?" Maggie offered.

  "Oh, no. Just stay seated, dear. Breakfast is ready. I'll just bring it out. Alex will help me." She looked at the small wooden clock on a table near the window. "Mr. Grant should be here any minute now."

  Aunt Lucy disappeared for a moment then returned with two platters of food and Uncle Alex in tow with two more. Soon they were all seated and Lucy offered Maggie a platter of oatcakes.

  Taking one, Maggie asked, "Should we wait for Mr. Grant?"

  She wasn't sure what the etiquette was at this point, but did not want to experience the wrath of a hungry old Scottish store manager, should he take offense at their having started without him.

  "Nae, go ahead and eat, lass," Uncle Alex exhorted. "The man will be along soon enough. He can't expect others to go hungry waiting for him."

  This settled, Maggie took a generous bite of one of the oatcakes. Looking desperately for the marmalade, her thoughts on the epicurean value of oatcakes were cut short by the sound of the doorbell.

  Alex rose from his chair. "That'll be Iain," he said simply and disappeared toward the front door.

  Readying herself to meet another local, Maggie sat up straight and brushed the crumbs off her chin. She wondered absently whether Mr. Grant also had wisps of gray in his hair like her Uncle Alex. Looking up as the two men entered the room, the answer was definitely no.

  Iain Grant was no more than thirty. He stood a good bit over six feet tall and his body hung loosely, but pleasantly, from broad shoulders. Also hanging from his shoulders was a thick black wool sweater. His hands were in the pockets of his tan pants, which extended down his long legs to his large black European shoes, and a newspaper was tucked under one arm. His sweater accented his thick black hair, which fell lightly over his bright blue eyes despite obvious efforts to comb it back from his strong, clean-shaven face.

  "Iain Grant," Alex waved toward Maggie. "Our niece from the States, Maggie Devereaux."

  Iain Grant flashed a disarming smile. "A pleasure to meet you, miss." His soft Scottish brogue hung magnificently on the 'r' in 'pleasure.'

  "Yes, it is," Maggie replied to the blue eyes.

  Iain raised an eyebrow. Alex smiled.

  "I mean," Maggie corrected, slightly embarrassed, "it's nice to meet you, too."

  "Well, come now lad," Alex laid a hand on Iain's wide back. "Sit yourself down and have your breakfast. I'll get you some coffee from the kitchen."

  "Sit yourself, Alex," Lucy said, rising. "I need to fetch more marmalade anyway," and before Alex could argue, Lucy had slipped past both men, adroitly snatching Iain's coffee cup on the way. Alex' "Thanks, love" followed after her toward the kitchen.

  Iain pulled his chair out and sat down opposite Maggie. They each smiled again, and then uncertain what else to do, Iain pulled the morning paper out from under his arm.

  "So, have you seen the news then?"

  "What's that?" Alex was spreading marmalade across an oatcake. Smart man, thought Maggie.

  "About that poor girl."

  Alex didn't say anything.

  "What girl?" Maggie asked.

  "Come now, lad," Alex started, "that's hardly—"

  "I know," Iain apologized only half-heartedly. "But you have to admit it's a bit unusual to have a murder like that right at the college. And so sensational. The state the police found her body in—all cut up like it was Jack the Ripper who'd done it."

  Maggie's eyes widened at the story. She noticed Aunt Lucy standing in the doorway, more marmalade in one hand, coffee in the other, and a look of horror on her face. A glance at Alex revealed him to be staring intently at his eggs, his face contorted into a grimace, like a patient in a dentist's waiting room trying to ignore the sound of the drill within.

  Iain looked at Maggie. "It's not the sort of thing one expects in Aberdeen, is it? And her being all sliced up like that. Obviously the work of some madman. I mean, that's the sort of thing one might expect in America, right, Maggie? But not Aberdeen."

  Maggie just grunted noncommittally as she watched over Iain's shoulder as her aunt's face flushed.

  Iain turned back to Alex, "And what was she doing out alone at that hour anyw—"

  "Iain Grant!" Aunt Lucy's voice cleaved the room.

  Iain turned straight around to face Lucy. Alex dropped his fork on his plate a bit too loudly and sat up in his chair, but he said nothing.

  "You'll not talk of that poor girl like that in this house!" Lucy's face was entirely red now and coffee spilled onto the saucer held by her visibly shaking hand. She looked urgently at her husband. "Alex?"

  Alex MacTary nodded his head slowly as he dabbed h
is mouth with his napkin. "She's right, lad. Mustn't speak ill of the dead."

  Iain's face showed his mortification at having offended his employers, albeit inadvertently. For her part, Lucy seemed more upset now with Alex' half-hearted admonishment than at what Iain had said.

  "Come along, lad," Uncle Alex added quietly as he stood from his seat. "It's time to head in to the store anyway. Breakfast is over."

  The clock on the table confirmed that it was nowhere near time to head in to the store. However, despite Alex' half-full plate and Iain's never-filled plate, the two men walked out to the foyer, and in the amount of time it would take two men to grab their coats and keys, Maggie and her aunt heard the front door slam shut. The episode having thus ended, Aunt Lucy seemed to regain herself. She crossed to the table uncertainly, the flush draining from her face, leaving it blotchy and tired-looking. Maggie sat quietly, not wanting to be the first to say something.

  Aunt Lucy set the coffee and the marmalade on the table with two clacks.

  "Forgive me," she said as she slumped into a chair. "It's just—" She shook her head.

  "It's all right, Aunt Lucy," Maggie tried to reassure her. "Iain probably shouldn't have been talking about it." Although Maggie wasn't sure it really warranted such a harsh reaction.

  "No. No, it's not all right. Iain's a good man. It's just— I mean—" She stopped and took a deep breath. "No matter what she'd done, she didn't deserve to die like that." Then with conviction, she added, "No one deserves to die like that."

  Maggie agreed earnestly, although she knew nothing of the murder beyond what little Iain's comments had revealed. Aunt Lucy was silent, lost in thought, and Maggie was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. Suddenly, her aunt reached out and grasped her hand.

  "Promise me," she implored. "Promise me you'll be careful. I can't—I couldn't stand to lose kin."

  Maggie's eyes widened. It had been a strange morning.

  "Sure," she agreed. "I'll be careful."