The Ardmore Inheritance by Rob Wyllie (reading the story of the .txt) 📕

He shrugged but didn't answer directly.

'I thought I'd best leave this bit to friends and family. And I always find these things a wee bit awkward, don't you?'

She nodded and gave a half-smile. The mourners had formed a line and were shuffling past the bereaved couple, some smiling, some sombre, exchanging a word or two, most looking as if they wished the ordeal to be over as soon as possible. As Jimmy had said, it was always an awkward moment. They watched as it became Flora's turn. Her face wore a sympathetic smile, and as she approached, she clasped Kirsty's hands in hers, leaning forward to whisper something in her ear. Then momentarily there was a change in Flora Stewart's expression, a mixture of apology and puzzlement, as if, unknowing, she had said the wrong thing. In a moment the smile had returned, empathetic and concerned as was mandated on these occasions. But Jimmy had noticed it too and gave Maggie a questioning look.

There was to be a modest wake at the Lochmorehead Hotel, a finger buffet with tea and coffee, scheduled to be done and dusted by one o'clock, although with the bar open for business it was expected there would be a few stragglers. Jimmy said he would put in a brief appearance, taking the opportunity to make some peace with his father-in-law and mother-in-law after three years of estrangement. With a full schedule of afternoon appointments, Dr Flora Stewart was heading back to her surgery, and Maggie somehow suspected that Jimmy would be relieved at that. Originally the schedule had including dropping off the inheritance agreement at Alison Macallan's lodge, and it had been agreed with Frank that they should continue with that whilst the Hampshire police were tidying up the evidence on the Susan Priest hit and run. A walk had been planned, Jimmy keen on a near ten-mile expedition that would see her bag her first Munro, a label awarded to every Scottish mountain over three thousand feet in height, of which there were apparently two hundred and eighty-two. He had over one hundred to his name, his brother Frank precisely nil, which made her smile, because it was impossible to imagine the elder Stewart brother in a cagoule and walking boots. Rather like herself in fact, which is why, as diplomatically as possible, she had declined the offer. Instead they agreed on an all together gentler lochside stroll, taking in the eastern side to the point where it joined the sea. An easy five-miler there and back, but still allowing plenty of time for her to ask him once again the million-dollar question, but only if she dared. How was it with you and Flora?

'We should have hired a boat,' Maggie said. They stood on the rickety jetty that was the property of the hotel, looking down the loch towards the Atlantic Ocean. 'See how the sun shimmers on the surface, reflecting the mountains. It's so beautiful, isn't it?'

'Aye it is,' Jimmy conceded, 'but it's also bloody treacherous too. Have you not heard of the Loch More tidal race? It comes in and goes out at about thirty knots, and it's perfectly designed to capsize wee boats. It's absolutely lethal so novices like us are going nowhere near it. We'll stick to the shore, thank you very much.'

She laughed. 'Roger that Captain Stewart. So just a little stroll is it?'

'That's it. The path takes us up to the headland where we'll get a magnificent view right over to the islands, according to my map anyway. Ninety minutes there and ninety minutes back. We should be back in plenty of time for tea at my in-laws.'

'What?' She looked at him with astonishment.

'Sorry, didn't I tell you?' he said, smiling. 'Angus and Elizabeth have asked us to tea. It's a Scottish thing. Tuna sandwiches, shortbread biscuits and fruit scones. Five-thirty sharp.'

Maggie raised an eyebrow. 'So does that mean that relations are thawing then?'

He shrugged. 'They said it was nice to see me again. So perhaps.'

And now she could ask the question.

'And what about Flora? Is there a thaw there also?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know. Maybe you can give me some womanly insight when you see her later.'

She laughed. 'I don't think I'd get many votes as a relationship guru, given my track record. But I'll try my best.'

A few hundred yards down the path stood a pretty wooden boat-house, almost directly opposite the gatehouse which Alison Macallan was soon to vacate. Maggie had passed her suspicions on to Frank and now the Hampshire police were looking again at the Susan Priest hit and run, re-interviewing eye-witnesses and re-examining CCTV footage. It was only a matter of time before they came knocking on this door, exchanging Alison's dreams of a better life for twenty-five years in Cragton Valley prison.

Through the part-open door they could see a small rowing-boat, bobbing up and down on the ebbing tide. Painted on the stern was a name that must have seemed amusing at the time the owners conceived it. Tinytanic.

'Don't even think about it,' Jimmy said, catching her eye.

'Wasn't,' she lied, smiling back at him. 'And I remember what happened to the real Titanic.'

'Aye, although luckily there's no icebergs in Loch More as far as I know.'

They spent the rest of the afternoon in pleasant companionship, talking of this and that, or enjoying periods of comfortable silence. The scenery was breathtaking and she wondered what it must have been like to have grown up in such a paradise, immersed in nature's abundance. Flora, Morag, Kirsty, Elspeth. And now two of them were dead, brutally murdered, the idyllic childhood no protection against the bitter twists of unpredictable fate.

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Angus and Elizabeth McLeod were warm and welcoming, their beautiful Victorian home decorated in rich hues that melted in seamlessly with the varnished wood panelling that was a feature of every room. The room they were in was dominated by an imposing stone fireplace featuring an elaborate cast-iron grate, which by