Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [14]
His attention was suddenly diverted by a commotion across the room. Donnie, who had been horsing around on the dance floor, had accidentally tumbled into Rob Roy Beardsley and sent him tripping headlong across the rug. The journalist’s spectacles flew off and, retrieving them, the boy tried them on and grinned.
Rob Roy snatched them off the boy and whisked them back on his nose. “You wee imp! They’re the only pair I have.”
“He didna mean any harm,” Flora intervened, taking her brother’s arm.
“He should watch where he’s going.” Beardsley’s normally pale face had turned scarlet. “He could cause someone harm, charging about like a bull in a china shop.”
“Och, save yer breath to cool yer porridge, Rob,” the boy’s father told him. “Donnie just gets a wee bit spirited at times, but he’s harmless as a newborn lamb.”
“Why don’t you come and sit down.” Shona prodded her son toward a sofa, but he shrugged her off.
“I’ll go check on Honey,” he said sulkily with a black look at Beardsley.
When the boy left, the dancing resumed, good humor restored.
“Rex, I bag the next dance,” Moira declared breathlessly as Rob Roy twirled her beneath his finger.
“Och, you know I’m not one for dancing.”
“The next one’s a slow waltz. I’ll lead you.” She and her partner joined hands in a ballroom hold and skipped away in a polka around the room.
Rex sighed miserably.
“Don’t worry on my account,” Helen said. “If she tries anything on, I’ll slit her throat with the cake slicer. And you’re doing quite well, by the way. My toes are still intact.”
“That’s because my mind’s elsewhere. If I think too hard aboot where I’m placing my feet, I trip over them.”
“Are you thinking about me?”
“Aye. I’m thinking how lovely you look tonight with that pink flush in your cheeks.”
“Ha! This is a strenuous dance. That’s why I’m flushed.”
When it came to an end, everyone stood in place and clapped. A slower piece ensued, and Moira claimed Rex. Helen found herself with Rob Roy.
Moira’s head barely reached Rex’s shoulder. He lightly touched the small of her back and took her hand.
“I like your new place,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Helen is a very lucky woman.”
There was no tactful answer to this, and so Rex kept quiet.
“I won’t cause any trouble,” Moira said gravely. “There are plenty more fish in the sea.”
“Many,” Rex agreed. “And much fancier ones. Why settle for a minnow when you could catch a trout?”
“Do you consider Alistair a trout?”
“Aye, a rainbow trout. He comes from a very wealthy family and has impeccable credentials.”
“He lost the MacClure case,” Moira pointed out. “You’d have won it.”
“Och, there’s no guarantee. The prosecution had very little to go on.”
“That poor wee lass. Imagine being left to die out on the moor, alone wi’ her teddy bear.”
Rex stopped in mid stride. “Och, I wish you hadna brought it up. It’s right depressing.”
“I can’t stop thinking aboot it. She’s the third bairn the police have found. There might be others. Dozens of children have been reported missing in the Highlands over the years. Some bodies will never be recovered, especially on Rannoch Moor. It’s a wilderness of crag and peat bog, and no road for miles around in most places. What if the perpetrator is never caught?”
“We’ll just have to pray that he is. Parents will have to be more vigilant.”
Alistair came up to ask Moira for the next dance. He winked at Rex over her head, and Rex understood that he was thoughtfully taking her off his hands for Helen’s sake.
“Cheer up, Rex,” she said, approaching. “You actually look depressed that Moira’s dancing with another man.”
“It’s no that. It’s just that she brought up the murder of Kirsty MacClure. Did you hear about it in England?”
“Of course. It was all over the news. That blond child with the angelic face? It was heartbreaking.”
Rex hugged Helen to him and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll go make coffee for the guests.”
“Good idea. I’ll give you a hand.”
After coffee was served along with a tray of liqueur chocolates, Rex went to dig up some extra sheets and blankets. The Aller-dice couple would