Allegra Fairweather_ Paranormal Investigator - Janni Nell [6]
Douglas hurried to fill McEwen’s order. Bess rushed it over to his table. She was setting down the last drink, when McEwen got to his feet and, beer in hand, moved unsteadily toward me.
After putting his full pint carefully on the bar, he tried to climb onto the stool beside me. Immediately he slipped off and tried again. The second time he succeeded.
Fixing me with his bloodshot eyes he said, “So, lassie, you’ve come here looking for things that go bump in the night.”
I gave him my standard reply. “I’ve been asked to investigate certain paranormal occurrences.” Then I dropped the official line and gave him a flirtatious smile. I’m not one of those women who draw the line at using feminine wiles to elicit information. I’ll use any means that gets results and feminine wiles usually work wonders with drunks like McEwen.
Proving this theory, he gave me a lecherous smile and offered to buy me a drink. Accepting a soda—I wanted to keep a clear head—I asked him his thoughts on the wailing wind.
“Was it a banshee or just the wind?”
He seemed surprised by my question. “Och, it’s the banshee. Someone in this village is a walking corpse. Or someone at Maitland House. That’s the stately home on the ridge.” He gulped beer, wiping froth from his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Who lives there?” I asked.
“Sir Alastair and his new wife, Lady Justina. She’s not from round here,” he added with a sneer.
I interrupted him. “What about staff? At Maitland House?”
“A chef, a butler,” he checked them off on his fingers, “and a couple of lassies from the village who go up there twice a week to clean. But they dinnae live there.” McEwen leaned toward me. “Has Douglas told you Lady Justina is a witch? She dances naked in the clearing near Beag Glais—” he pronounced it bayk glis, “—casting spells.”
This sounded like a malicious rumor. The classic case of an outsider being blamed for everything that goes wrong in a village. Calling McEwen’s bluff, I asked, “Have you seen this with your own eyes?”
“Matter of fact, I have.”
Greatly surprised, I pressed him for more information.
“It was early one morning,” he said. “I was on my way to the castle to do some carpentry for Sir Alastair, when I heard a strange sound. Like singing but not, if you know what I mean. Anyway, for once in my life I was early for work, so I followed the sound. That’s when I saw her, dancing around in her birthday suit. Och, she’s a bonnie woman.” He paused as though a new thought had come to him. “Of course, she could have cast a spell to make me think she was bonnie. For all I know she’s an ugly old crone.” He paused again, this time to drink his beer.
I filled the silence by saying, “Do you really believe that singing and dancing naked around a clearing makes Lady Justina a witch?”
He stared at me as if I was crazy. “How many people do you know who dance around clearings stark naked?”
“It’s proof she’s eccentric,” I said, “but not that she’s a witch.”
“She was chanting a spell.”
“You said she was singing.”
“It wasn’t a proper song. It sent shivers down my spine.”
“Do you remember the words of the song?”
“Aren’t you listening? It was a spell. I dinnae understand the words.”
Seeking to cover all bases I asked him whether Lady Justina spoke any foreign languages.
“Aye,” he replied. “She speaks fluent Witch.”
Ignoring his reference to Witch—I doubt if he’d ever heard it spoken—I asked, “Has anyone else seen Lady Justina dancing in the clearing?”
“I’m not making this up,” he said.
It wasn’t a direct answer to my question but it contained all the information I needed. Unless I had another confirmed sighting of Lady Justina I couldn’t afford to take McEwen at his word.
To smooth his ruffled feathers I offered to buy him another pint. When Douglas had placed the drink in front of McEwen, I asked, “Supposing Lady Justina was casting a spell, what kind of spell do you think it was?”
“A spell to make me fall in love with her.” He