~

 

“I heard it might have been murder!” Mrs. MacColl emphasized the word as if she was one of those big Hollywood movie trailers, and Mrs. Dougall gasped with dramatic shock.

“Nooooo,” she said, clutching her hands and shaking her head as if to underline that very point.

“Oh, aye!” Mrs. MacColl nodded back.

I had to roll my eyes towards the rather overcast sky and wonder how those two women ever got anything done in their lives when you could always find them on the corner outside my Bistro gossiping.

“You don’t say…”

“I do say!”

“But, maybe you shouldn’t say.” Mrs. Dougall swallowed hard, looked about her to make sure that there was nobody listening – quite ignoring the fact that I was coming up behind her – and whispered, “but who said it was murder?”

“Well! I heard it from Mrs. Phee, who heard it from her niece, Angela, who, as you know, is dating the local Constable Dougie, who’s been investigating with that nice outlander Detective from the mainland.” She nodded just once as if that was all the proof that she or anyone else needed to back up her claims.

“There’s a detective from the mainland, you say?” Mrs. Dougall hissed a loud whisper, and my ears had pricked up as well at that point.

Both women snapped their heads around towards me like crocodiles sensing a fresh kill.

“Well, hello, Maggie MacFae!” Mrs. Dougall nodded smugly, and I groaned inwardly.

I normally sailed on by these gossips with my nose in the air and my eyes anywhere but on them, and nothing more than a quick hello as I rushed to stay out if their evil clutches!

Now they’d be wanting their pound of flesh!

“Mrs. M, Mrs. D.” I nodded back, trying not to think of all those times I’d cursed them for choosing my corner to gossip on.

Oh, not a curse as in a witchy one, because that would be wrong.

“And how are you today, Maggie?” Mrs. MacColl asked, those dark eyes of hers devouring me like she was a soul-stealing demon.

Which, she wasn’t – I don’t think.

“Can’t complain, although my sister, Eileen is a little under the weather.” Their ears pricked up. “She’s been looking for love in all the wrong places.”

I offered that little snippet of a lie and crossed my fingers behind my back to try to save the backlash from fate, or karma, or both.

“With who?” Mrs. D looked completely shocked as if she’d been flabbergasted by the fact that she hadn’t heard the news.

Oh boy! What news? My sister was a homebody, and we couldn’t pry her out of the seat in front of the fire most nights where she curled up with a book like a contented cat.

“Ross MacNabbie!” I blurted out, only grimacing a little, and making certain that both sets of my fingers were crossed for that lie.

“You don’t say?” Mrs. M looked pleased to hear that.

“I do say.” I nodded, and in for a penny … “But he only has eyes for my other sister, Moira,” I offered, and while I’d already crossed both sets of fingers, then I had to try for my toes as well.

You could never be too careful with a lie – says the witch.

“Ross MacNabbie – scoundrel,” Mrs. D snorted in contempt of the man.

She was a churchgoer, and she should have been a little more Christian in my book, but who was I to say?

“He’s in my shop now, drooling on my table, and looking all doe-eyed at my sister. Which is why I had to get out of there,” I offered.

That, the bank, and the fact that it had been the second time that Ross had come in today – without Jamie this time. Chicken-weasel of a little man.

“Oh.” Mrs. D’s eyes flicked towards my Bistro, and she craned her neck to try to see in the window.

“So, murder you say?” I did the sidestep into that one rather nicely I thought.

Both women nodded as they strained their necks to get a better look inside. Mrs. D even did a little sideways shuffle to gain a better vantage point from which to see.

“Detective … you say?” I threw that one in rather casually.

“That nice young man that always comes when there’s trouble afoot!” Mrs. D said absently.

Yes! I got my answer.

“Well, I have to be going to the bank,” I announced, not even feeling the slightest bit guilty at leaving them shuffling along behind me peering into the window at Ross and Moira!

That’ll show Ross that I mean business!

 

~

 

“So, I was right!” Eileen announced in a rush of victory hormones and gloating, and for one long moment; I thought that my sister was going to actually punch the air; she did look mighty pleased with herself, too pleased with herself for my liking.

“I suppose they want to be on the safe side,” Gran offered as she reached for the platter and stabbed a piece of cooked chicken like it had done her harm in another life. Then she spent the next few moments trying to shake it loose from her fork.

“Safe side? In case a low flying eagle had pushed the man to his death in retaliation for him murdering birds?” Moira offered with a snort.

“We’re talking about a man’s life,” father reminded her with his stern tone of voice and a look down his nose to match the attitude.

“I thought we were talking about his death,” I offered, and my father’s eyes sparkled with amusement and mischief.

“Well, in life and death the man was a…” my grandmother bit off her words. Her eyes flicked around the table to see if we’d caught her in hypocrite mode about to speak ill of the dead.

“Go on, Gran, you can do it,” Moira offered, and I kicked her under the table, to which she replied with a zap of her magic to my water glass. I was wise to that move and caught it before it tipped all the way over.

I grinned back in victory – so she zapped me.

“Do not!” Mother hissed at us before all hell could explode around the table for another night.

Gran lifted her hand and pointed a finger back over her shoulder toward the front door – she had a feeling about when visitors were close by, and it had never failed her yet. There was a gentle rap of knuckles on the front door, and Gran’s nose twitched. She lifted her hand to stop my father from getting to his feet.

“That will be for me,” she offered, and mother sighed, but she waited for Gran to leave the room before she leaned in over the table towards dad and hissed out a whisper like a demented cat.

“Spelling? Really, Donlan?”

“What am I supposed to say, Caitlin? She’s been the matchmaker around these parts for going on forty years.” His eyebrows reached for his receding hairline as he offered my mother a look of pure helplessness.

“That’s all well and good, but she’s going a little cuckoo, and if she messes up those spells again then someone could get a very nasty surprise,” mother warned.

I had to agree. Imagine if one of Gran’s matchmaking spells went wrong, and it was all well and good when you’re Highland Terrier couldn’t stop shagging your leg, but imagine if it was a Highland Coo.

“I can’t exactly tell her to stop, or that she needs a chaperone, now can I?” He blustered at the thought of it.

“Gran can be very headstrong,” I offered just to help my father out.

“Headstrong!” He almost choked on the word.

“I have a plan,” Mother said. I think it was at that point that there was a collective sigh around the table, although not all of us were stupid enough to do it out loud. “One of the girls needs to take over from their Gran…”

“Now, really…” Dad started, but mother cut him off again as she normally did.

“Hear me out, Donlan. She can train Moira with her matchmaking skills…”

“Me!” Moira shrieked in alarm and bolted upright in her chair – she looked as if she’d seen an unfriendly spirit.

“That sounds like a volunteer,” Eileen said and sniggered like the cartoon character Mutley.

I had to snigger as well. My sister, Moira, the matchmaker; that was just funny.

“Yes.” Mother didn’t even look at her as she dismissed her argument. Not that she’d managed to make an argument, but the rest of us couldn’t see a problem with it.

“Why can’t Maggie do it?” Moira grumbled, and I snorted my contempt for her. But I did notice that mother didn’t continue talking — that was always a bad sign – that meant she was thinking, and when mother was thinking then bad things tended to follow.

“Agreed!” Mother said, and I almost choked on my tongue as Moira grinned from ear to ear like the cat that stole the kipper.

“You little…” I didn’t get any further than that because I was too busy zapping her.

Moira shrieked as the pain of my magic went through her body. Mother sighed, but I didn’t care. My sister was a little weasel, and she’d dropped me right in it this time, and all to save herself.

“It’s settled,” Mother said, and my heart felt like a stone that had dropped into my stomach. I might even have given birth to it had I stood up, but my legs were a bit weak from the thought of spending all of that time with Gran.

“You and me,” I bit out as I staked my sister over and over again with an imaginary fork.

“Anytime — any place — oh wait, you’re going to be too busy with Gran,” Moira smirked back at me.

If I’d had one of those cream pies from the movies it would have ended up in her face, but the only dessert on the table was one of Gran’s chocolate sponge cakes, and I wasn’t wasting that on my sister’s face no matter how much she was goading me.

There were some things that you valued over retribution and Gran’s cakes were one of those things. I’d find another way to deal with my sister, boy, would I?

Trust me; she was going down to the fiery pit of hell.

Dropping me in it with Gran, who could be so evil, so cruel, so heartless, and so thoroughly wicked?

Moira, that’s who.

Well, two could play at that game, and as I was almost two years older than that little witch, I’d learned a trick or two in my time. I’d find a way to get my own back, or my name wasn’t Margaret McFae.