Mystery: The Merlon Murders II: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  The Merlon Murders

  BOOK II

  By

  Victoria Benchley

  Copyright

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without prior written consent of the copyright holder. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Although some locations and businesses named may be real, any events involving them are fictional.

  Copyright © 2015 by Victoria Benchley

  About the Author

  Victoria Benchley lives with her husband of over twenty years and their two children on the West Coast of the United States. She grew up reading the classics and counts Dickens and the Bronte Sisters as her favorite authors. After a career in corporate America, spanning public accounting, cash management, and real estate investments, at national and international firms, she chose to become a stay-at-home mom and full-time taxi cab driver for her children. She is a Christian and enjoys quilting, cooking, and traveling (road trips included!), as well as reading and writing.

  Would you like to join me for a cup of tea? If so, pop over to my blog, Teatime Tuesday, at https://victoriabenchley.com/blog/ for cups of fun, conversation, and of course, tea!

  Visit my facebook page https://fb.me/vbenchleyauthor for more enjoyment and stunning photographs of Scotland. You can click the sign up button there and join my exclusive mailing list!

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  Acknowledgements

  A big thank you goes to my beta readers and editor. Your input was invaluable. Also, a simple thank you is not adequate for my friend, Christine. Her knowledge, help and support has encouraged me through the writing process. Finally, I want to thank my husband and boys who put up with my long hours at the computer and continue to bolster my efforts. I appreciate and love all of you.

  Dedication

  I wish to dedicate this book to my Scottish ancestors, some of whom I was fortunate to know. Their wit and love of family resounds to this day. Their writings continue to inspire and delight their descendants.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1 - Fall From Grace

  Chapter 2 - The Hermit of Taye

  Chapter 3 - Home

  Chapter 4 - Theft and Discovery

  Chapter 5 - Edinburgh versus London

  Chapter 6 - Under a Microscope

  Chapter 7 - Angela & a Money Chicken

  Chapter 8 - A Swede and a Tussle

  Chapter 9 - Strong Women

  Chapter 10 - Johan's Conclusions

  Chapter 11 - Snow Drifts & Dilemmas

  Chapter 12 - How to Cook a Steak

  Chapter 13- Edinburgh

  Chapter 14 - Meet the Family

  Chapter 15 - A Christmas to Remember

  Chapter 16 - Return to Taye

  Chapter 17 - A Hermit's Revenge

  Chapter 18 - Another 15 Minutes of Fame

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  By the time he finished his lunch, the rain slowed to a drizzle. Hotshot insurance investigator Duncan Dewar had come to Castle Taye to examine the scene where Stuart Menzies died. Stuart's captivating widow, Caroline Menzies, stood to receive an eleven million pound life insurance payout. A merlon fell from the castle two years ago, crushing Stuart and sending the laird to his Maker.

  Since Duncan's arrival in the village, numerous strange events befell the investigator. He had been nearly run over by Stuart's nephew and prime suspect, Peter Menzies. A ghost seemed preoccupied with his documents, scattering them around his room at the Blue Bell Inn. The vicar preached a sermon that tied into his case, and Caroline had captured his heart.

  Today, he would finally examine the castle's battlement and perhaps find some hard evidence. He wanted to wrap up his investigation, so he could pursue a relationship with Stuart's widow.

  Caroline insisted he borrow a raincoat before he ventured outside, while Stuart's niece, Julia, hovered about. He planned to visit the battlement and look for evidence. Duncan lugged his briefcase and a small tool bag up the castle's spiral stairs. He tried to stay next to the wall, but found the experience dizzying again. Once at the top, he pushed the door open and ducked beneath the jamb.

  A crisp breeze hit him and felt wonderful. A sense of freedom accompanied him when he left the building. He crept around the battlement toward the north side. He found the walkway wet and slippery. It was narrower than he expected, in some places more like a catwalk. He spotted the area of the missing merlon in the distance. It was an eyesore, especially knowing where the stone landed. He followed the crenellation, observing and touching the fine grained stone, until he reached the location he needed to examine.

  Duncan ran his hand over the base of the merlon. It had detached at an angle, sloping towards the ground. He removed a laser measuring device from his case and placed a wooden ruler vertically at the outside edge of the stone. This required him to lean to the outer part of the wall, an uncomfortable and dangerous position. He aimed the laser first at that edge and pressed a button. Then, he eased the laser up to a horizontal position, even with the inner edge of the base. He recorded his results in a small tablet. Next, he measured the merlons on each side of the break. Both had virtually the same dimensions, which he also recorded in his notebook. Then, he walked around the battlement, stopping at each merlon and crenel, taking measurements. Amazingly, he found differences of no more than two centimeters between any of the "teeth" and openings. Stone masons of the distant past knew their trade, he thought. Their precision impressed Duncan.

  He observed the composition of the merlons. The builders used what was called rubble to build most of the castle, various stones found locally and held together with the mortar of that day. Where the merlon broke away, limestone was the main rock used, along with some rarer blue stone. Limestone dissolves slowly unless exposed to hydrogen ions. Duncan pulled the hand lens from his briefcase. He examined the limestone for any signs of contact with hydrochloric acid or chisel marks. The drizzle made it difficult to detect much, but he thought he saw the telltale grooves of a chisel. If he could get a slice of this stone back to a lab, a scanning electron microscope would provide all the proof needed. He removed a small chisel and a hammer from his bag and chipped off a piece of rock about the size of a large coin. He marked the side he had cut with a fine tip marker and placed the stone segment in a plastic bag before dropping it into his pocket.

  Duncan now looked over the edge of the battlement to the ground. He went over the pictures taken at the scene in his head. There was just no way a merlon could land on Stuart as he had been found. It might have pounded him on the head, but Stuart would have to be lying flat on his back on a wet lawn to be killed as supposed. Did he fall from here with the stone? That might be possible, but unlikely. His position was too tidy, directly under the merlon. If he was leaning on the stone and it gave way, he'd probably land apart from it or on it. The only other explanation was that he died another way. Then, someone placed the stone upon him, everything staged to look like an accident. Duncan pushed t
his conclusion from his mind. He needed to focus on the evidence now. He scrutinized the area for several yards around where he stood; looking for any clues that might remain. He searched for marks in the stone, stains, et cetera, but found nothing.

  He took a deep breath and one more look around. He had been on the battlement for some time and it was getting dark. He concentrated so hard on his work that he had not noticed the drop in temperature or the light waning. Now, he shivered. It was time to go. He placed his tools back in the bag, put his tablet in his briefcase, and then ambled to the door with his belongings.

  When Duncan tried to open the oak door, it would not budge. He tried pushing against it with his hands several times, to no avail. Then, he used his shoulder to apply pressure, throwing his weight against the wood. It was no use, the door was locked.

  A wave of disgust hit Duncan. Julia or Peter locked him out here. What did they hope to accomplish? He glanced around to be sure he was alone. He did not want to be ambushed by those delinquents. He reached for his cell phone, and another wave came over him, a wave of fear. Fear for Caroline. What if they locked him up here so they could harm her? If something happened to Caroline, Stuart's niece and nephew would inherit the estate and life insurance proceeds.

  He felt panic rise from his chest to his head. He tried to get his fingers to punch the correct numbers on his phone, but they slipped off the wet surface or hit the wrong keys. The drizzle mixed with sleet as he frantically redialed the only number he could remember, that of the Blue Bell Inn. He waited, heart pounding, hoping the call went through.

  "This is the Blue Bell, Donald at yer service."

  "Donald, Donald, can you hear me?" Duncan yelled into the phone.

  "Of course, I can hear ye. Ye're shouting!" Donald answered. "What's the matter?"

  "Donald, this is Duncan," he heard the innkeeper say he knew who it was and continued, "I need you to call Castle Taye right now. Make sure you get Caroline on the phone and that she's all right. You got that? Be positive that she's okay!"

  "I can do that, but what is happening? What are ye so upset about?" he asked, alarmed.

  He tried to catch his breath while Donald spoke. Hyperventilating, Duncan sucked in as much air as his lungs could hold. It wasn't enough. The rain vacillated between water drops and sleet. The precipitation increased, and the sound of large drops pummeling stone, combined with Duncan's breathing, made it difficult to hear Donald.

  He shouted, "I got locked out up on the battlement. I have reason to believe Caroline might be hurt. If you can't get her on the line, drive out here right away. Expect trouble. If she does answer, come out anyway!" he added as an afterthought.

  "Alright," was all Donald said. He hung up on Duncan.

  Duncan walked back to the north side of the castle, the direction of town and the spot of the missing merlon, so he could see Donald's car come down the road. He tried to calm himself by taking deep, slow breaths. He concentrated his gaze on the road, hoping it wouldn't take his friend long to get here. Rain poured and dark clouds dominated the sky as far as the eye could see.

  He leaned on a merlon next to the empty space in the crenellation. The stone was slick with moisture. It was late in the day and getting dark. He strained forward in search of any headlights. There was no sign of Donald, and he thought he should have arrived by now. The anxiety he felt grew in intensity as each moment passed. As night arrived, the temperature dropped further. The rain turned to sleet and a shiver ran up Duncan's back.

  Chapter 1 - Fall From Grace

  A sense that he was not alone crept up on Duncan. He felt that something now came upon him stealthily. Just as the hairs on the back of his neck rose, he spun to face whatever was behind him. Before Duncan turned a full 180 degrees, he felt a sharp pain on his chest, near the collarbone. A pointed, dark object thrust against his clavicle and he slipped backwards, away from the merlon and towards empty space.

  It was true what people said about life flashing before one's eyes in that split second when death approached. Duncan did not view his entire life, nor did he see events in chronological order. He first observed himself earlier in the day, desiring to leave this place. He should have listened to his instincts. Then he glimpsed his brother, Angus, turning the Vauxhall over to him before this trip and his parents at dinner last Christmas. He saw his flat in London, Cassandra Baines, the model he had dated, and his awards. Duncan caught sight of Caroline floating down the aisle at the kirk in her cream coat. The ancient vicar flashed before him. "He has hedged me in so that I cannot get out…. He has made my chain heavy…. He has blocked my ways with hewn stone." The minister's words seem to compress into a split second and echo within his brain. He witnessed a beating he took in America as a boy, and a small, dark, cloaked figure in front of him now, pushing him over the edge.

  In that split second, as Duncan viewed the details of his life, his feet shot from underneath him. Ice had formed on the battlement while he waited for Donald. That ice saved his life and changed the direction of his fall from empty space towards another merlon. He hit the back of his head on that rock, but slipped onto the battlement instead of over the edge to his death.

  His head felt as if it were split in two pieces. He was afraid to move, afraid he might slip again, this time fatally. The cloaked person was on top of him now, touching his head. With a great deal of pain, he reached up and pulled the hood from his assailant. Caroline stared down at him, horror on her face and blood on her hands.

  "Don't touch me," he managed to growl

  For a second she moved back, away from him, a hurt and perplexed look on her face. Then, her expression crumpled.

  "You are hurt! Look at this blood!" she screamed at him, holding her palms out for him to see.

  She was near hysterics.

  "I rushed up here to get you and you jumped away from me like a crazy person. What's wrong with you? You could have fallen off," she said, her face growing bright red and shaking visibly as her voice trailed away.

  Duncan's head whirled in a sea of pain. He was confused. He had seen her push him with a stick or some other sharp object. Hadn't he? Why was she here in the dark anyway? He tried to prop his body up against the wall. Everything hurt. He shut his eyes, certain the petite Caroline was incapable of throwing him over the side and that he was safe in his current position. He relaxed and his thoughts drifted away into a sleep-like state. At some point, he heard Caroline talking to herself. No, she spoke to someone else, another woman. He opened his eyes to see Julia standing over him.

  "Whh… whh… where's Donald?" Duncan asked, his teeth chattering and his body shivering.

  "He can't get up those stairs, Duncan. We had to send for Constable Ainsley," Caroline replied in a calm voice.

  She articulated her words slowly, as if he had trouble understanding English. He glared her way. She had managed to compose herself, since he last was conscious. She'd also wiped all blood from her hands.

  "He should be here any minute. Do you want one of us to take a message to Donald?" she added.

  "N… n… no," was all Duncan said.

  Caroline was correct. Constable Ainsley arrived within minutes. He carried a torch and was the picture of efficiency. As he bent to inspect Duncan, a look of contempt traveled across his countenance. He shined the bright torch in Duncan's face and insisted on checking his pupils.

  "You're all right. Get up."

  William Ainsley grabbed Duncan by the forearm and hauled him to his feet. The world spun, and Duncan lurched forward, fighting to stay upright until his dizziness subsided. His body ached in places he didn't know existed. The policeman turned to Caroline.

  "Do you want to press charges, Mrs. Menzies?"

  "Now wait just a moment… " Duncan managed to protest when the constable cut him off.

  "Be quiet, you, or I'll haul you in right now, scrape on the head or no!"

  Ainsley placed a hand on each of Caroline's shoulders and looked her in the eye. He said something in a
whisper that Duncan could not hear. He could see the constable's breath as he spoke to Caroline. Something about the glances traded between them during this exchange raised a red flag in his mind. Caroline listened to Ainsley and moved her head from side to side as if saying, No. Then, Ainsley turned his attention back to Duncan.

  "See here. You've caused a lot of trouble for everyone here tonight. I'm going to help you down those stairs only because you'd die of exposure if left up here. I don't want to hear another word out of you until we're on the ground!"

  Constable William Ainsley took Duncan's elbow and moved him towards the stairwell and into Castle Taye. Every step down the spiral staircase jostled his wits. It was as if his movements dislodged a large iron ball within his skull and it bashed against his brain with each step. He could think better than before, but knew he was not entirely himself. He worried the constable might throw him down the stairs, such was the young policeman's anger. Ainsley was purposely rough with him and Duncan resented it. He was the victim here.

  Upon reaching the kitchen, Duncan took the first chair available. He still shivered uncontrollably. Donald had made hot coffee while they were on the roof, and now everyone drank a cup. Caroline started a fire in the old kitchen fireplace and Duncan moved his seat nearby, hoping to get warm. Soon, General Washington, Lincoln, and Roosevelt joined him near the hearth. He figured he had a case of hypothermia. He felt the chill deep in his bones. His teeth rattled intermittently. Someone had removed his raincoat and handed him a blanket when he arrived at the kitchen. The innkeeper pulled a chair over to him while Ainsley sat at the kitchen table, taking statements from Julia and Caroline. Twice, Duncan took a quick look their way and noticed Constable Ainsley made a point of touching Caroline. He either had his paw on her forearm, shoulder, or hand at all times.