Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [32]
Installed on the upright seat, Rex manually rolled down his window to get rid of the stench and pressed the switch for the headlights. His knees embraced the wooden steering wheel in the cramped space, rendering it almost unnecessary to use his hands. Forcing the rickety gear shift in first, they wobbled off down the road. “This is right embarrassing,” he muttered, imagining the villagers laughing their heads off behind their net curtains.
Helen opened the window on her side and stuck her face out for air. “What a ponk! But at least we don’t have to walk.”
“I’m verra grateful for the transportation, Helen, but was there really nothing else on offer?”
“We’re lucky to get this. Seriously. They’re a suspicious lot at the Gleneagle Arms. The looks I got! I suppose they don’t get many visitors. They were still gossiping about a man who came in last night, who was ‘not from around these parts.’” Helen mimicked the Highland accent, instilling the words with distrust and foreboding.
Rex’s ears pricked right up. “What else did they say?”
“Well, I knew you’d be interested, so I asked the barman. He told me the man came in asking for directions to Gleneagle Lodge.”
“Did you get a description?”
“Average height, around forty, and wearing something on his head. He seemed in a bad mood, apparently. Oh, and he was foreign.”
“Around here that could mean he’s from Inverness. Did the barman say what time the man came in?”
“About nine o’clock. And that’s all he could tell me. Most of the regulars were in, he said, and he was busy serving, so he didn’t pay much attention.”
Rex concentrated on the slippery road as best he could while he assimilated this new piece of information.
Half a mile out of the village, the blare of a siren assailed them, followed by the persistent sound of a horn. Rex spotted the flashing ambulance in his rearview mirror and rolled onto the grass shoulder out of its way. The back end of the ambulance thundered into the distance.
“They’ll get there before we do,” Helen remarked.
“By a long chalk,” Rex added, gunning the accelerator from a standstill as the single front wheel spun uselessly. “We are stuck in the mud.”
By the time Rex and Helen arrived back at Gleneagle Lodge in the three-wheeler, both of them mud-splattered from head to foot, the ambulance had left.
“It’s all taken care of,” Alistair said, coming out of the house to meet them. “The medics took the body to the morgue. Here’s the number.” He eyed the yellow van. “Um, may I ask … ?”
“It’s all we had available to get us back here,” Rex told him. “No one in the village wanted to venture out in this weather. The ambulance ran us off the road and we got stuck in the mud.”
“I need to go and change,” Helen said, starting toward the house.
“What about the police?” Rex asked Alistair.
“No show. And the ambulance had to dash off and respond to another call. I gave the medics all the information. They couldn’t wait around for the police.”
“So, what’s new here? How are the guests bearing up?”
“The Allerdices are insisting they have to get back to their hotel. I persuaded them to wait until you returned. Shona is busy throwing together some lunch. Estelle and Flora are helping out.”
“And the men?”
“Watching the soccer. All except Cuthbert, who stalked off somewhere in his hunting gear.”
“Did he now?” Rex said tersely. “I asked him to keep an eye on things at the house.”
“I couldn’t stop him. He promised he wouldn’t leave the property.”
“Did he take his rifle?”
“Aye. He said to tell you not to worry as he didn’t intend to kill anything.”
This was not very reassuring. “What aboot you, Alistair? Are you okay?” His friend, hunched in his jacket against the wet weather, looked deathly pale. “You’re soaked through.”
“It was a wee bit emotional seeing that poor woman being carried off in a bag. I’m glad you were not here to witness it.”
“Did the medics find anything unusual?”
“Nothing beyond the obvious. They were reluctant to move the body before the police arrived, but I