Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [27]
“It—it was carrying a long knife.”
Shona gasped. “A knife! My poor child. Why didn’t you say something before?”
“A knife, eh?” Cuthbert echoed.
“Good God,” said Alistair.
Rob Roy smirked and stroked his beard. “I think you were having a nightmare.”
“It seemed very lifelike.” Flora kneaded her hands together. “I feel foolish for bringing it up. I almost didn’t.”
“Not at all,” Rex said. “At least we know your door was locked as of around twelve-thirty last night. Presumably Moira was dead by then or you would have heard her knock to get in. She wasn’t with Alistair.”
At around the time Flora claimed to have seen the Gorgonesque monster, he had brought the sleeping pill downstairs to Alistair. Or perhaps it had been a bit later. Either of them could be mistaken by ten minutes or so. He had not been aware of any movement in the communal areas of the house, but with so many people staying over, he had not paid much attention. On top of which, the house creaked like an old ship at sea, not to mention the din the radiators made when water gushed through the pipes.
Hamish returned from the stable. “No sign of the ambulance. We really need to get back to the hotel, Rex. Donnie has the pony bridled and is ready to set off. It’s a five-mile hike through the glen.”
“I’ll call 9-9-9 again.” Rex rose from the sofa and picked up the phone. “The line’s dead,” he said in surprise.
“Uh-oh,” said Cuthbert.
“Could be from the storm,” Hamish suggested. “Shona has her mobile with her.”
“Yes, but I can’t find it. I must have put it down somewhere last night. I looked for it this morning. I thought if the hotel called, I’d hear it and be able to locate it.”
“Who called the ambulance earlier on?” Rex asked the people in the room.
“I did,” Flora said.
“Can you call again, please.”
She pulled the cell phone from her cardigan pocket and flipped it open. “The battery’s flat. It’s a terrible phone—never holds a charge.”
“Who else has a mobile?”
“I do,” Rob Roy said, “but it got soaked in the boat. It might start working again when it dries out.”
“I object to the damn things,” Cuthbert expostulated. “They should be banned from public places—”
“Shut up, Bertie,” his wife interrupted. “We’re discussing a murder. We’re not interested in your peeves just now.”
“Sorry, old thing.” Cuthbert helped himself to a tumbler of whisky, even though it was only mid-morning.
“I didn’t bring my mobile,” Alistair apologized. “I decided to take a break for the weekend.”
Rex sighed. “I left mine behind in Edinburgh too, for the same reason, but I’m sure Helen brought hers.”
“I didn’t, I’m afraid. I left it at home. I was already thirty miles from Derby when I remembered. It was too late to turn back.”
That’s wonderful, Rex thought. Ten people and not one working phone among them. “Perhaps Moira had one. I’ll look in her bag.”
“Good thinking, old chap,” Cuthbert approved.
Rex crossed into the hall where a coat stand held the guests’ outdoor apparel. A tapestry bag, which he recognized as Moira’s, stood on the marble-top tripod table. He rifled through a bunch of keys, a packet of tissues, a couple of lipsticks, and a purse. Careless to leave it out in the hall with strangers about, he reflected. The previous evening when she arrived, she must have abandoned it there before going into the living room to meet his guests.
Perhaps he should check for the phone in the suitcase. He hurried upstairs to what had originally been designated as Alistair’s room and where Flora had spent the night, and sifted through the clothes and toiletries in the leather case in what proved to be a futile exercise. It was bizarre that Moira had left Edinburgh for a place she had never visited before without taking her cell phone with her.
If she had brought a phone, someone must have taken it. That same someone could have stolen Shona’s phone. There was nothing for it but to drive to the village and alert the authorities from there.
“Can I borrow your Land Rover?” he asked the Farquharsons upon returning to