wwwEB OF LIES

By Ella J. Fraser

The second in a four part cosy mystery series. While unraveling the mystery behind a friend's death, Fiona Sutherland discovers secrets buried under her own family tree, but the game changer is figuring out whom she should trust in order to avoid becoming tangled--or worse--in a web of lies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ella J. Fraser
• Release date: Jan 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9780986969058

Ella J. Fraser

While her day job had been in corporate marketing and communications, making the most of an MBA she’d earned years earlier, it often required a knack for creativity and the sort of willing suspension of disbelief worthy of an MFA. Nevertheless, it failed to provide the level of satisfaction accrued from more legitimate pursuits like painting and writing. After receiving New York photographer Christopher Beane’s book Flower as a gift, she was so moved she sat down to write him an email complimenting him on his talent. What she ended up writing was the manuscript for Waking Up In London, her first novel.

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wwwEB OF LIES

Sutherland Mystery Series #2

Ella J. Fraser

http://www.ellajfraser.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Ella J. Fraser

All rights reserved worldwide.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A special ‘Thank You’ to W809, Cat Girl, and Lawn Boy.

Prologue

The maitre d’ scans the interior of his restaurant with a critical eye worthy of a stage director. And while he watches his team of waiters, one of the patrons watches him.

She thinks he must be pleased with what he sees. Balancing plated works of art, his staff weave themselves smoothly around the guests, from table to table, as though they are experienced members of the corps performing an intricately choreographed, much rehearsed, ballet.

On cue, her ears prick at the poignant melody strum by the harpist serenading them from an upper balcony. Another element lending a deceptive intimacy to an otherwise vast room. She sits in an alcove under a celadon cut-glass chandelier suspended from a scalloped and frescoed ceiling high above. Behind her, a bronze silk wall dotted with sconces wraps the room like a gift box.

The decadent ambiance speaks of grand occasions, celebrations. One can’t help but believe all this has been placed here solely for them. For their pleasure.

It is also a place for quiet words spoken in earnest. Strategically positioned damask covered tables sit well enough apart to encourage conversation, the exchange of confidences.

At least, she imagines that is how it will be for her, tonight.

Above the rim of a long-stemmed crystal glass, she casts her gaze about the room, taking it all in. Unquestionably, she is a part of the scene, yet she feels more the observer than a member of the cast. Partially because after serving her the icy Chardonnay along with the message that her dinner companion would be a few moments late, the staff have chosen to leave her to her own devices. But mostly because she feels the evening cannot truly begin until her partner arrives.

She fidgets with the silverware at her place setting. Though her nerves are a bit frayed, she would not deny that she feels content, optimistic about the evening ahead. Her gaze settles on the table centrepiece. A lone ivory candle nestled in a creamy bed of roses. The flame burns unwaveringly, as intensely now as when it was first lit. The flame hypnotizes, and before long memory upon memory intrudes, each one enhanced by the golden glow of nostalgia.

The spell is broken by someone’s approach. Looking up, she sees the maitre d’ gliding purposefully toward her. She feels a quickening in the pit of her stomach and immediately suspects there has been another delay. What could be keeping him? She steals a glance at her wristwatch. Eight forty-five. Her wineglass is empty. Where has the time gone?

Well…she has been waiting for him for as long as she can remember. She can wait a little while longer.

Chapter One

Eavesdropping was not generally an occupation held in high regard. At least not by anyone Fiona Sutherland knew. The possible exception being Mrs. Innes, the daily, who possessed such an encyclopedic knowledge of the goings on in Beilberry that Fiona suspected she must have, on the odd occasion, employed this tactic herself. But other than Mrs. Innes, Fiona didn’t know anyone who would be impressed at finding her leaning against Kilmarack House’s library door, listening as intently as she could.

Fiona’s guilt was, however, quickly surpassed by mounting frustration. The ancient wooden door was too thick. She couldn’t make out a word.

Moments earlier, her grandmother had summoned her from the ballroom to meet her cousin. Her cousin! A person they knew nothing about. Fiona could only surmise it had something to do with the woman her uncle had been briefly engaged to some twenty years earlier.

The only woman he’d ever been engaged to.

As Fiona’s grandmother once explained to her on the way home from a dinner at Hugh’s cottage, the two of them had met in London the summer after he’d graduated university. When he came home to Beilberry a few months later, he brought Katherine with him.

It was a shock to everyone. But to Edmund, Hugh’s father, most of all. Fiona’s late grandfather held a very stern view that the family whisky distillery should never fall into anyone else’s hands, making it clear he expected Hugh to take over the business. It was as if it were life or death, Isobel had told Fiona. This had been how he was raised by his father, and that’s how he was with Hugh. Everything settled down when Hugh told them that he and Katherine weren’t going anywhere. They would be married and make their home at Kilmarack House. All would carry on as planned.

Yet that’s not what happened. For whatever reason, Katherine left. Fiona’s grandmother said there had been some sort of disagreement between the two of them. She saw them returning to the house one afternoon after a walk on the moor, their faces downcast. That same evening, mere moments before Hugh took Katherine to Edinburgh Airport, he told them she had decided to return to London. No one thought it appropriate to ask many questions. It was clear Hugh’s heart was broken.

A few weeks later, when it was apparent Katherine would not be returning, Hugh informed them of his decision to buy an old crofter’s cottage closer to the distillery, saying he wanted to be on his own for a while to concentrate on the business. They’d assumed it was temporary.

It wasn’t. He kept a room at Kilmarack House, but never came back to stay for good. The distillery became his life. It was the result Edmund had wished for. But even he’d not meant for it to work out quite the way it had.

Hugh had retained his bachelor status ever since. Moving on with little or no visible evidence to suggest he’d suffered from the experience—the mantelpiece above his own fireplace continuously overflowed with invitations. Yet Fiona had sometimes wondered if the hurt inflicted by his experience with Katherine hadn’t truly scarred him.

Having had limited experience in spying—and as luck would have it, limited success—she had no idea how the sudden appearance of his and Katherine’s offspring was being received. But she decided, for her uncle’s sake, to put aside her own questions for the time being.

Straightening up, she clasped the door handle with a clammy palm, and walked inside. Ready—or not—to meet the newest member of the Sutherland family.

* * *

Fiona. There you are. Her grandmother’s voice reached out to her from the far side of the library as the door clicked audibly closed behind her. Though she hid it well, Fiona thought she detected a note of hopefulness in her grandmother’s voice. As if Fiona’s presence might somehow ease the tension amongst the room’s occupants.

Feeling like an unwanted burden had been handed to her on a silver platter, Fiona shot a brief glance at her uncle. He was standing with an elbow resting on the mantelpiece, his face more or less hidden from view as he occupied himself with staring into the fire.

Behind him, heavy brocade curtains had been drawn across the French doors. But the room still held a chill, feeling noticeably cooler than the crowded ballroom Fiona had only just exited. Even in late July, the feeble Scottish summer rarely mustered sufficient heat to penetrate the dense stone walls of a house such as Kilmarack.

Running her hands up and down the length of her arms, Fiona moved toward the sofa where her grandmother was seated. Managing to do so without turning her head, stealing not even one peek at the person occupying the high-backed wing chair opposite.

I was delayed a moment, she said, finding her voice at last. Miss Cunningham wanted a word. She purposely held her grandmother’s eye until the last possible second. But when her grandmother’s gaze shifted to the stranger, Fiona’s did as well.

We’ve a rather full house this evening, Isobel explained graciously. A wee party to celebrate the Open Championship. Although her grandmother needed little excuse to entertain, the fact that the neighbouring village of St. Andrews had recently been host to golf’s most renowned tournament certainly qualified. Her love of the game was enough to lighten her tone, even under the present circumstances. This is my granddaughter. Fiona, this is Jamie Bennett.

The man was already on his feet, extending his hand. Pleased to meet you, he said.

Fiona nodded and smiled as they shook, thankful no further comment was required when the young man looked at her grandmother and gave what Fiona guessed was not his first apology for arriving unannounced in their midst. I knew there was something…I-I didn’t want to interrupt, but I… His tone was polite, soft-spoken. And Fiona realized that out of all of them, this man found the situation the most awkward.

Isobel waved away his concern. Mrs. Ferguson told me she was checking on the staff at the front entrance when she saw you. Because of the ball, I think she automatically assumed you were coming in. Either way, it’s just as well. You’re here now.

While Fiona seated herself on the sofa, Jamie sat back down as well. She saw that he then held himself very still unsure of how to proceed now that he’d found himself the centre of attention with all eyes trained on him. Not unlike a bug under a microscope.

Unable to restrain her curiosity, Fiona took another sidelong look at her uncle to see how he was taking the news that this man was his son. From this angle she was able to see what she hadn’t before. That although his head was down, he wasn’t really looking into the fire. He was looking at Jamie. In fact, he seemed unable to take his eyes off the young man. It took no more than a second for Fiona to register precisely why.

Her gaze swung from her cousin to her uncle and back again. Jamie wore a pale blue corduroy blazer over a collared shirt with beige chinos. His hair was light brown, his eyes only slightly darker. Her uncle, meanwhile, couldn’t have been dressed more differently, kitted out for the ball in full regalia of kilt, leather sporran, skean dhu, and cairngorm brooch. But for all that, they looked exactly alike.

Or exactly as she imagined Uncle Hugh would look had he been twenty years younger.

The same square jaw. The same shoulders, broad enough to hoist that solid build. And the same sparkle in a pair of deep-set eyes that made you think him capable of finding something entertaining in nearly every situation. Tucking it away for later when he could pull it out again for his own amusement.

Fiona wondered what the man was thinking right now. About them.

And although her uncle’s gaze seemed glued to the young man, Hugh, normally an imposing figure, was most definitely trying not to show it. Accompanying this observation was the uncomfortable realization that this was the first occasion she’d ever seen that degree of uncertainty lurking behind Hugh’s trademark confidence.

Fiona’s gaze drifted over to her grandmother. Isobel appeared to be the most composed among them looking regal in a black velvet dress that highlighted her glowing complexion and silver halo of hair. This brought forth a momentary pang of sympathy from Fiona on her cousin’s behalf. Making her wish she herself were wearing something less obtrusive than a full-length gown. Surely he’d have felt more at ease if he hadn’t stumbled upon them right when they appeared to have fallen out of a portrait.

Perhaps sensing that the moment of truth had arrived, the young man decided to begin.

Thank you, again, for meeting with me. I had no idea how to go about this. Coming by now, it was more or less out of curiosity. I was actually planning to call on you tomorrow. But I drove by and saw all the cars…

Isobel nodded and said, Where is it that you’ve come from, if I may ask?

London, he said. I’ve taken a room at The Pear Tree for the night. I fly back tomorrow.

Isobel turned to Fiona, and said, Mr. Bennett, er…Jamie, told us he has a message to deliver from Katherine.

Reminded of the purpose behind his visit, Jamie stirred into action, reaching inside his jacket to withdraw an envelope. When he looked up, his eye landed directly on Hugh. He said, She wanted me to give it to you.

Hugh appeared more than a little hesitant. But faced with no other choice, stepped forward, reaching out cautiously to accept the proffered envelope. An uncommon silence descended, accentuating the crackle of paper as Hugh opened, and proceeded to read privately, the single sheet enclosed. When finished, he paused, staring sightlessly down at the polished wood floor, the forgotten paper in his hand.

After a moment, he revived himself and passed it to his mother. Then turned his back on the room. All Fiona could make out was his shadowy profile reflected in the ornately framed mirror above the fireplace.

Isobel laid the note on the sofa between them so Fiona could read for herself:

My dearest Hugh,

Permit me to use that endearment one last time, and know that I use it genuinely.

By now you will have been told the circumstances that have befallen me. What I’m quite sure you’re not aware of are my feelings for you. I know it is cruel of me to insert myself into your life at this late date, and in this manner, but the time has arrived where I must explain my actions.

Whatever excuse I gave you when I fled to London, it was not the truth. At the time, I was in denial and could scarcely admit the truth to myself. Several weeks after my return, a doctor confirmed what I had already feared: a manic-depressive disorder. The stigma surrounding this and my own cowardice made me believe it impossible to stay in Scotland with you. There have been many times since, where I knew that decision to have been a mistake. But there were also many moments I was thankful I saved you from going through this alongside me.

What I did not know when I left you was that I was also pregnant. When I learned of this, it only strengthened my resolve to let you live your own life while I, with the support of my family, dealt with mine.

If nothing else, I simply wanted you to know that my love for you remains unchanged to this day.

K.

Hugh cleared his throat. His eyes rose to Jamie’s. He said flatly, She’s dead.

Jamie swallowed. …Yes. About three weeks ago.

Hugh opened his mouth to say something else, merely to close it again.

It was liver failure, Jamie told him.

The room was quiet. Fiona could feel moisture gathering in her eyes. And for all her unquenchable curiosity earlier, now found herself incapable of looking at her uncle, fully aware of the pain she’d witness if she did.

And she knew then, with a certainty that was never there before, that at one time there would have been joy and much, much love in those deep-set eyes. She envisioned Katherine and him together. A lifetime ago. When Hugh was young, looking not so different than his son looked now. When Katherine would have been vibrant and happy. A time when they held the world in the palm of their hands. Or at least thought they did.

She understood now what had precipitated Jamie presenting himself on their doorstep. A last request. But had he known anything about them before his mother asked this of him? It was certainly a request he’d have been in no position to refuse had he wanted to. And if he hadn’t known his mother’s history, surely it would have come as a shock. The same shock they were faced with now.

There’s something else, Jamie said in a stronger voice than before. He reached into his pocket and withdrew what Fiona saw was some sort of locket. He gathered the gold chain into his hand and, once again, held it out to Hugh.

Before making a move to accept it, Hugh narrowed his eyes, questioning what he was seeing. Eventually, he came closer and Jamie dropped the item into his open palm.

Fiona and Isobel watched as Hugh’s bulky fingers fiddled with the clasp. At last, the locket sprang open. Fiona could only speculate that inside was a photo of Katherine. Or, perhaps, the two of them. But she was never to find out.

After studying the contents, Hugh snapped the lid shut, enclosing the treasure snugly in his fist. From there it disappeared into his sporran before he bent to pick up a log from the basket and hurl it at the fire. It sparked angrily. The logs underneath collapsing into a flurry of red ashes. Then he made for the drinks cart where he wasted precious little time fixing himself a whisky.

Tactfully sensing that Hugh needed a moment or two to find his footing, to grasp all he’d been presented with, Isobel spoke casually into the ensuing silence. Jamie. I should have offered before now. Would you like something to drink? She looked at Fiona. Would you mind? I think I’ll have a glass of whisky myself. And as Jamie nodded and murmured his thanks, Fiona found she was grateful to have been given a task to perform. Something to keep her hands busy while her mind whirred away, processing and assimilating the myriad of implications associated with Katherine’s apparently indisputable revelation.

Drink in hand, Hugh returned only to deposit himself in the other wing chair without a word. Fiona came next. Jamie watched as she made her round of deliveries, and continued observing her as she regained her seat on the sofa.

Isobel noticed and said, I don’t know how much you know about us, but Fiona is my daughter Anna’s daughter. Anna was a year younger than Hugh. She and Fiona’s father were killed in a car crash when Fiona was three.

Jamie’s eyes widened imperceptibly before he nodded.

Fiona came to live with us. My husband thought it best that we adopt her outright. Give her the Sutherland name. George’s parents—her paternal grandparents, live in Canada. And moving there, it was agreed by all concerned, would have meant more upheaval than necessary. So she grew up in Beilberry, pretty much as if she’d been born here.

Jamie admitted, I only learned about…about your family in the last couple of months.

Isobel released a long breath, and looked at Hugh.

After a moment he returned her gaze, but nothing more. Isobel took a sip of her drink. Coming to a decision, she set the glass on the side table. I think there is much then that we have to learn about each other, she said. But, perhaps now is not the best time.

Jamie, Fiona saw, slid a surreptitious glance at Hugh. But Hugh noticed nothing. He sat transfixed, unreachable, staring into the glass clutched between his hands.

Isobel continued in a gently persuasive tone. How would it be if you came here again tomorrow, as you had planned? We’ll all have had a chance to digest what you’ve told us and be in more of a position to have a meaningful discussion. She gave Jamie a benevolent smile. I know I for one am curious about you…as I’m sure you must be about us.

Yes, he answered, unable to pretend otherwise.

That reminds me, she said, glancing again at Hugh. We’ll have a great group of inquisitive guests wondering where we’ve disappeared to if we don’t show our faces again soon.

The simple truth behind this comment managed to penetrate Hugh’s preoccupied thoughts, sparking an innate reaction resulting from having had good manners drummed into him since he was a bairn. He set down his drink and heaved himself to his feet. As good a signal as any for everyone else to do the same.

And it was when Jamie stood that Hugh finally acknowledged him. Extending a hand, looking deeply into eyes that mirrored his own, he found the words he couldn’t earlier. Softly, he said, Welcome home.

* * *

As they made their way back to the ballroom, having left Hugh to see Jamie out to his car, Isobel looked at Fiona and said, We’ll talk more about this in the morning. For now we’d best get back to our guests or we’ll find ourselves dealing with a lot of unanswerable questions. She shook her head. I hope no one took much notice of our absence.

I’m sure Mrs. Ferguson would have made excuses.

Yes, you’re right. She’d have thought of something. Isobel gave a mirthless chuckle. Though I think finding Jamie at the door, the very image of Hugh when he was a boy, left her quite speechless. I’d best find her first and let her know what’s happened. You start circulating; make sure everyone’s still having a good time.

As they approached the ballroom, they could hear that the ceilidh band had started up again. I don’t think you have to worry on that score. Sounds like everything is just as we left it.

See you later, darling. Isobel smiled and opened the door. Then, locating Mrs. Ferguson where she chatted with Mrs. Joshi and her husband, proprietors of the village supermarket, she moved off in that direction.

Fiona plucked a flute of icy champagne from a passing waiter and glanced across the ballroom, gauging that things had indeed been managing perfectly well without them. Guests glittered and swirled looking as though they could go all night.

He’s gone.

Fiona turned and saw Beth Cameron, a journalist with the Fife Gazette. Or more importantly, her closest friend and sparring partner.

Who? said Fiona.

The man you’re looking for while trying to disguise the fact that you’re looking for him. She paused