Murder on the Moor - C. S. Challinor [9]
“I—um—er—your husband just told me a joke,” Helen replied, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Really? He’s not usually so funny. Do tell.”
“I—I can’t remember!”
“What? You said he had just told you it.”
“I know, but it was in Gaelic.” Helen looked helplessly at Rex.
“It’s not for delicate wee ears like yours,” Rex told Estelle, propelling her toward the drinks cabinet. “What’s your poison?”
“Oh, really! I may be an aristocrat,” Estelle said coyly, “but I grew up with three brothers, you know.”
Rex had to refrain from looking at her. She really did resemble a sheep with her woolly hair.
He gazed around the room to make sure everyone had what they needed. The Allerdices and Rob Roy Beardsley stood to one corner, no doubt devising ways to capitalize on Liz of Loch Lochy. Rex wondered if Beardsley was getting free room and board out of the deal.
The Allerdice children, Flora and Donnie, perched close together on a window seat with plates of food on their laps. Rex poured himself a small tumbler of the Glenlivet that Alistair had brought and made his way back to Helen.
“Flora is a martyr to her brother,” she said, glancing in the direction of the siblings.
“I wonder if having a slow-witted brother under her wing has cramped her style at all.”
“Possibly, but she’s not very extrovert to begin with.”
Rex held the rim of his glass to his lips, nosing the clean, oaky fragrance of the twelve-year-old single malt in anticipation of the first sip. “She could be bonny enough, but there is something lackluster aboot her. Falling in love would bring a glow to her cheeks.”
“And how would you know?” Helen asked.
“Well, look at you. You are positively radiant!”
“I see,” she said with an amused smile. “And I suppose you are taking all the credit? Perhaps it has something to do with the bracing walk to the village this afternoon.”
“Och, noo. Fresh air just lends a ruddy sort of glow. Yours definitely comes from within.” He stuck his nose back in his tumbler. Hmm. Definitely oaky, with perhaps just a hint of the heathery outdoors?
“Well, you look positively pink yourself,” Helen quipped. “Of course, that might have something to do with the booze!”
Rex chuckled. He was beginning to enjoy himself, in spite of his motley crew of guests. The isolating rain lent a sense of camaraderie, and the Speyside whisky was damn good. He must remember to thank Alistair again.
“Well, doesn’t look like I’ll get an admission of love from you tonight,” Helen groused in jest. “Might as well get back to the kitchen and see to dessert.”
Rex grabbed her as she walked away and, whisking her around, planted a big kiss on her lips. “Will that do ye?” he asked.
“For now,” she replied, smiling as she flounced off toward the door.
“Aye, verra nice,” Hamish growled at his side, appearing out of nowhere, his gaze level with Helen’s shapely behind.
Rex forced himself to restrain from decking him. Hamish Allerdice was decidedly the most uncouth of men. And his wife in the same room, not to mention his daughter!
“Funny,” his colleague Alistair said behind him. “I thought I heard someone at the door. Are you expecting more guests?”
“No, I’m not.” Rex could not think whom it might be at this hour. There was no one around for miles and it was pouring with rain.
Moira Wilcox stood under the porch with the rain hissing behind her as taillights disappeared over the hill. Dazed by a sensation of déjà-vu, Rex simply stared at her. Her dark, wavy hair glistened with moisture. Droplets of rain beaded the shoulders of her camel-hair coat. She deposited a small suitcase by the door. He took in these details one by one, his thought processes lagging behind his powers of observation.
Finally, as though waking from a dream, he asked, “What are you doing here?”
“What a daft question. I came to see you, of course.”
“But how, I mean …”
“Miss Bird said you’d be up here—in your Highland retreat,” she added tartly.
Rex made a mental note to throttle the housekeeper when he got back to Edinburgh.
“Och, don’t look so cross,” Moira said. “It’s