Thephone rang and I answered immediately, grateful for the distraction. “InspectorBrodie.”
“Aye,hello, would it be of any trouble to request a Constable’s assistance at myhome?” the elderly voice replied, wavering with age.
Witha long-winded, bored sigh, I pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Right. Canye please tell me what the problem is?”
“Ah,sure, of course. Well,y’see, my cat, Fritz, thewretched, wee beastie, was offchasin’ a butterfly,when he found a suspiciouslookin’ shoe in the woodsbehind my house.”
“A… shoe,” I drawled, wishing for a dram and a coma. “And what did ye find sosuspicious about this shoe?”
“Well,it was the ghastliest thing,y’see. Because thisshoe—a lassie’s shoe, to be specific—is covered in what appears to be driedblood.”
“Driedblood,” I repeated, sitting up straighter in my chair.
“Aye,dried blood. Which is the most peculiar thing, because my neighbor, acharmin’ bloke called Angus, was justtellin’me about the foot he found the other day. Ah, can ye imagine it? A human foot?”She clucked her tongue. “Poor old Angus.Hasnaebeenable to sleep for days.”
“Wheredid ye say ye live?”
“Oh,right on Winter’s Crest. Just on the border ofCoilleFeannag.”
Ina hurry, I told the old woman I would leave straight away and hung up thephone, just as Finley sauntered into the office. He headed right toward me withpurpose, his glare hardened, and his mouth held in a tight, thin line. Whateverhe had to say to me, I wanted nothing to do with it, not when there was thepotential to learn more about Gracie’s murder, but before I could thwart hisinterrogation, he sidled up close and grasped my shoulder.
“Ineed to talk to ye, mate,” he muttered, speaking from the corner of his mouth.
“Well,I’m about to—”
“I’llcome with ye.”
Wealways worked as a team, and while I didn't want to raise any questions, I alsohad to fly solo on this one. “Y'know, I think I’ll befine—”
Finleyleaned in close, putting his mouth only a breath away from my ear. Goosebumpstrickled over my arms and spine, as I fought off the urge to push him away.
“Somethin’isnaeright here, man,”he hissed. “Idinnaeken what it is, but it hassomethin’ to do with this American woman.”
Iwas at a crossroads. I knew I was better off alone, especially when I had noidea who in this town I could trust. But Finley’s suspicion warrantedcuriosity. What if he knew something I didn’t? Would it be wise to pass up anopportunity to learn more?
“Allright,” I grunted with resolve, while grabbing my jacket. “Let’s go.”
***
“Rightover here,laddies,” Wilma directed us, tottering herway over an uneven and hilly landscape, with a wee woolen hat perchedprecariously on her head. She had nearly lost her footing too many times to becomforting, and Finley shot a concerned glance in my direction.
“I'msure we can find the way,” I insisted.
“Och, no,” she spat, throwing her hands in the air. “Why sendye on a wild goose chase, when I can just bring ye to the grizzly thingmyself?”
Acool wind whistled around us as we neared the edge of the forest, and Wilma'sfunny woolen hat was nearly lifted clear off her head. Finley choked on alaugh, as I bit my tongue, and Wilma held tight to the brim with one hand whileshe pointed with the other.
“Rightthere,” she said with affirmation.
Iwalked ahead of her and crouched down to the grass, clearly seeing thehigh-heeled shoe that perfectly matched the single shoe Grace Allan wore indeath. There was also no mistaking the crusted blood, splattered along the toeand smeared across the sole.
Iglanced at Wilma, standing over my shoulder, clutching both the cross aroundher neck and the hat on her head, and asked, “Can ye tell me if ye touched theshoe at all?”
“Oh,Jesus, no!” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “I have seen far too many of thosetrue crimeprogrammes. I know better than to tamperwith the evidence. But I neverwouldaeguessed I'd beusin' that knowledge.Nothin'of the kind ever happens in our wee town, does it?”
“No,”I agreed, nodding solemnly. Or so I had thought.
“Areyesuspectin' foul play?” she asked, widening hereyesand glancing between Finley and me.
