~

I saw Mrs. D and Mrs. P, and Dougie’s girlfriend, Angela, all standing on the corner outside the bistro, and wasn’t fast enough on my feet to turn and walk the long way around to the bank before I was spotted.

“Maggie,” Mrs. D called out in a sickly sweet tone that left a bad taste in my mouth.

Just once, I’d only joined their gossip circle once, and now I was pegged as one of them. Doomed – doomed, I say.

“Nope got it,” I said as I waved the slip in my hand and turned back toward them like I was relieved. “Thought I’d left this behind.” I lied.

“And how are Moira and Ross doing today?” Mrs. D asked, and I sighed inwardly.

How was I supposed to know that would come true when I’d lied about it only a few days earlier?

I’m a witch, not a psychic – or … no.

“As well as a couple can expect to be,” I lied again.

Moira was not talking to Ross after what she’d heard him say last night, and the man hadn’t been thinking fast enough to manage to dig himself out of that particular hole. When he had come in for his breakfast, he was sulking and pouting, by lunchtime he was grovelling, and now he was back to pouting again.

Loves young dream.

“And there she is, herself, her snootiness,” Mrs. P said with a lot of acidity in her voice, and I had a feeling I knew who that was aimed at. Sure enough, I followed the daggers in their eyes to where Helena was getting in her car.

“Saw her the day before yesterday at the old mill, looked – shifty,” Mrs. D whispered the last word, and I bit down with a chuckle. As far as I was aware the only shifter on the isle was … wait…

“Day before yesterday, you say?” I asked, and Mrs. D nodded.

“At the old mill, although what her highness was doing up there?” She shrugged and looked eagerly at the others to see if anyone had heard any gossip about it. When the others shrugged, she looked disappointed.

I wasn’t disappointed, I was damn curious though.

“I thought she was away all week?” I asked, and watched them wrack through their collective gossip-filled brains.

“Aye, she was away, but I saw her last Saturday…” Angela said.

The day after Earnest died.

“Friday,” Angela corrected herself, and my heart leaped.

Well, that was news. What that news meant was anyone’s guess, but she’d lied for a start, and she was on the island the whole week.

“Best get to the bank,” I said, all bright and breezy.

I hated to say it, but there was some use to this gossiping thing after all.

 

~

 

“Was she?” Gran asked as her hand holding the platter of chicken hesitated in mid-air, and the piece that she’d stabbed on her fork slowly slid downward as it hovered over her plate while she consulted the wall opposite her for answers.

“Aye, and then Angela said she was on the Isle on Friday,” I looked around me as the others all considered my findings. All except for Moira, who cocked one of her eyebrows at me.

“Gossiping, now?” Her tone was mildly caustic and extremely accusing.

“Not a pastime I would normally…” She grunted, and I frowned at her, “ever…” She grunted again and raised her other eyebrow, “usually…”

“Ha!” she coughed that one out, and I scowled back at her across the table.

“Partake in.” I finally got out, and she snorted. I bit down on a curse or two and scowled at her harder. “But, this is valuable intel.”

“Intel? Are you a spy now?”

“Private eye,” Eileen chuckled.

“Aren’t they called dick’s?” Moira said, so I booted her in the shin with the toe of my shoe, and she jumped in place and growled in annoyance.

“Oh, would you listen to that – Ross is wearing off on her,” I said, beaming a smile at her.

“Witch,” she bit back.

“With relish,” I grinned.

“So, Helena lied,” Duncan said.

“About what else?” Gran shot back.

“Perhaps I should pay her a visit,” he replied.

“She still has her magic, and if she’s up to no good…?” Gran left that hanging.

“She was seen at the old mill on…”

“The mill!” Gran shrieked, and I jumped in place.

“That’s not…” Duncan shook his head and pursed his lips.

“Is there a significance to the old mill?” I asked, knowing that there was by the reaction of the two of them

“It was one of the ritual places that we…” Gran waved a hand.

“Particularly good ley lines, or so I’m told,” Duncan offered, but I was more interested in Gran’s reaction. She looked sheepish and constipated, one or the other would have tweaked my suspicion, but both together – weird.

“Anywhere else?” I asked.

“Just one other place,” Gran said, and Duncan frowned. “The manor house.”

“Really?” I asked, as my brain configured what she was telling me with a map of the Isle. North, south, west. “So, there wasn’t an east?”

I watched the two of them shoot glances at each other. Ah-ha!

“Oh, I’d forgotten,” Gran lied but said no more. I coughed, and when she looked at me, I questioned her with just a look. “The … err …”

“Maybe the vampire can help you out?” I turned my gaze on him.

“The – Vampire?” He looked amused.

“He does have a name, you know,” Eileen piped up in his defense, and I snorted in amusement.

“How things change in twenty-four hours,” I grinned at her and wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. She gasped, blushed, and averted her face from everyone at the table.

“Play nice,” Duncan said. “Put the claws away.”

“That’s Moira’s department,” I offered back and got a mild zap for my trouble. “Gran?”

“The churchyard!” Gran admitted, and we all stared at her in disbelief.

“Around the back,” Duncan said.

“Holy ground – Gran?” I was shocked.

“Mother,” Dad shook his head, and she grumbled something that made the vampire smile.

“So, we have Helena visiting the site of the ritual, and lying that she was even here,” Mother said.

“That’s right!” Gran pointed her fork and the chicken that gripped to it, at my mother as she rushed to deflect our attention.

“I don’t think Helena would be running around killing people,” Dad said.

“Well, you would take her side, wouldn’t you?” Mother tossed back.

“I’m not taking sides…” he rested his arms on the table and partially turned towards my mother, who snorted at him like a truffle hunter.

“Of course Helena couldn’t possibly be…”

“Caitlin, in front of the girls?” he said, and all three us paid even more attention as we sat upright in our chairs and even leaned in a little.

“Your father had a crush on her, Mrs. Robinson.” She waved an absent hand in the air.

All three of us pulled back in distaste; there were varying degrees of sounds that applied.

“It wasn’t a crush…” he raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Old enough to be your mother,” she tossed back.

“She was a very good looking woman.” Dad wasn’t helping himself, and when my mother snorted again and pushed up to her feet, my father sighed. “Well, she was.” He offered emphatically.

“Dad, hole, stop digging,” Moira said, so I kicked her again as my mother took herself off in a huff.

“But, she was,” Dad said again, and Duncan chuckled.

“You’ll never learn, son,” Gran chuckled as she fought to get that piece of chicken off the end of her fork, but it didn’t seem to want to let go. That was until Gran got a little too fierce with it, and it shot off the fork, hit the side of the plate, and rebounded right into Moira’s cleavage.

“Hey!” Moira snapped, picking the thing up with her finger and thumb and tossing it down onto gran’s plate.

“Well, I don’t want it now, you dafty,” Gran huffed, prodding it from her plate with her knife.