Page 77 of Death on a Scottish Train

“Aye. She wore that ridiculous red wig that came past her bum. I remember thinking she was one of the storytellers in her flapper dress, but she mentioned she was a guest when I couldn’t find her on my list. She was Mr. Burn’s plus one. But I explained he hadn’t RSVPd. She said he had. We had room, so I let her in. She was holding up the line, and I didn’t want to argue.”

“That’s strange. Why would she go without him? Maybe, they planned the murder together.” I hadn’t realized I’d said the last bit out loud until I noticed Mara’s expression.

“And I was the one who let her in.” She made a face.

I waved a hand. “No. No. Don’t do that to yourself. We have no idea if she was there for nefarious purposes.”

But she had opportunity, unlike the partner. And if the accountant had been feeling poorly, which was likely, she could have shoved him in that closet.

For the second time that day, I texted Ewan.

He replied he was hung up with something, but he would come by later that evening to talk.

My phone dinged. It was Jasper.

The text said:Help! Please come to the shop.

“Jasper needs us,” I said. “He’s in trouble.”

“Oh, no,” Mara said.

We hurried down the sidewalk.

Chapter Twenty

It was nearing four, and Jasper’s shop usually closed at half past three. The door was locked.

I peeked in and saw him behind the counter. He glanced up, and I waved. He hurried forward. His shop was something straight out of Paris with its pink, white, and black décor and lovely glass shelves with all sorts of goodies.

When he opened the door, we were assaulted by the lovely scent of his pâtisserie, and the sound of sobbing. Mara and I turned at the same time to see the mistress sitting in a corner at one of the wrought iron tables. She was alternately sobbing and stuffing a variety of pastries in her mouth. Mascara streamed down her face, and there were bits of cream and pastry on her lips.

“Oh, my,” I said.

“Exactly,” he whispered. “She was like that when she came in and bought one of everything I had left. I asked if she was all right, and she cried harder. I dinnae know what to do.”

“You’re the doctor, Em, what do you suggest?” Mara asked.

“You’re the bartender,” I joked. But I knew a mental breakdown when I saw one. And that was no laughing matter. My personal opinion of the woman didn’t matter. She needed help, and I’d taken an oath long ago to do exactly that.

Mara took my shopping bags, and she and Jasper went to the back where the kitchen was. But I had a feeling they would be listening. My sweet friends were just as nosey as I was.

I sat down across from her. She was busy stuffing a lemon tart into her mouth but looked up when the elegantly scrolled chair I pulled out for myself scraped against the tile floor.

“Who are you?” she sniffed.

I handed her a small package of tissues I pulled from my purse. “I’m Dr. Emilia McRoy, the town doctor,” I said. “You seem distressed, and I hoped I might be able to help.”

“A doctor? I’m not sick, I’m just sad. My boyfriend is furious with me because his wife found out about us. I don’t think you have pills for that sort of thing.”

“Right. But I can listen if it will help you. Let’s start with an easy question. What’s your name?”

She shook her head. “I’m Davina. You’ll be no better than the rest of them. Everyone always takes the wife’s side. They have no idea how awful she has been with him. I’ve been looking after him and making him happy for months. We were having a good time.

“But she just confronted me in a shop, and he took her side. He said we are through, and he wants his debit card back.”

Oh. My. This was a level of shallow I seldom witnessed, but here we were. She must not have noticed us in the shop during the showdown with the wife.

“I could take it to him, if you don’t want to see the man who broke your heart.”