A Corpse at the Castle Read online

  A Corpse at the Castle

  The Highland Horse Whisperer Mysteries, Book 1

  R B Marshall

  For Dancer, the horse of my dreams, who taught me so very much in the too-short time we had together

  Contents

  On language and spelling

  About this book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  A note from the author

  Also by R B Marshall

  From the Author

  About the Author

  GLOSSARY

  CHARACTERS

  Recipe 1: Sweet Potato Stew

  Recipe 2: Leek & Sweet Potato Soup

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2020 R.B. Marshall

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  The characters, places and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  Printed in the United Kingdom

  First published, 2020

  Cover by Alba Covers

  * * *

  Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at rozmarshall.co.uk/books

  Get your FREE starter library—sign up for my newsletter: rozmarshall.co.uk/newsletter

  On language and spelling

  A NOTE TO MY AMERICAN READERS:

  The characters in this book are British, and the heroine is Scottish, so it would seem strange if they spoke American English.

  Because of that, the British spelling and grammar used here might appear like spelling errors.

  For example: realise (British spelling), realize (American spelling); colour (British), color (American); panelled / paneled; dialogue / dialog and so on.

  We also use some words differently (eg our leg wear is trousers, not pants) and have some colourful dialect phrases (‘argy bargy’, ‘lovely jubley’) so I’ve included a Glossary at the back which I hope will be helpful.

  About this book

  A royal castle. A murder. Only one witness: a horse

  Horse trainer by day, I.T. consultant by night, Izzy Paterson is a classic nerd who’s better with animals than humans.

  But when a body is found at the feet of a prize stallion in the Queen’s summer castle in the Scottish Highlands, Izzy—and her new friend Craig—are in the wrong place at the wrong time, becoming suspects in the murder.

  In the race to clear their names, Izzy has to employ all her horse whispering and computer hacking skills. Can she piece together the clues in time to stop the mysterious killer from striking again?

  Chapter One

  It’s not that I’m addicted to coffee. Much.

  But with a job that demands early starts, and a body that’s more owl than lark, I need caffeine to make me functional in the morning. The stronger the better. Which was why I was standing at the counter of Kaffe Kalista on a Monday morning in May, mainlining the rich scent of coffee beans and waiting impatiently for my triple-shot cappuccino.

  The chrome coffee machine in the corner looked like something NASA would use, rather than a tiny café in an off-the-beaten-track Scottish village. With pipes here and gauges there, it gurgled and hissed imperiously, steaming like a shuttle about to launch.

  Kalista Dudek, the Polish owner of the coffee shop, would not have won any beauty contests with her lacklustre brown hair, acne-scarred skin and small, hooded eyes. But she obviously had a degree in rocket science.

  She manipulated the machine like a pro, turning knobs and levers until it finally submitted and produced the perfect brew which she placed before me with a flourish.

  For me, all for me, I thought as the heavenly aroma reached my nostrils. Like I said, I don’t think I’m addicted. But if there was a seven-step plan for Coffeeholics Anonymous, my colleague and house-mate, Trinity Allen, would have enrolled me before I had time to say, “To go, please.”

  We’d only been in Glengowrie for three weeks, and I’d already fallen into the habit of coming to the café for coffee as soon as it opened in the morning, before I started working with the horses at Glengowrie Stud.

  As I reverentially took my first sip of the foamy brew, a bell over the door pinged, and in bustled two older ladies, both strangely similar.

  Each had grey hair regimented in a tight perm, a tweed skirt encasing a shapeless body and eyes that were sharp as a blackbird hunting for worms. The only real difference was their girth—one was stick-thin, the other cuddly in the extreme.

  “Edie and Ina Large. Sisters,” Kalista whispered to me, then raised her voice. “Good morning, ladies. What can I be getting for you this morning?”

  But they were too busy gossiping to notice her. “Did you see him?” the fatter one was saying.

  “Aye, aye,” replied the other, her head bobbing like a chicken pecking at grain.

  “Like one of them body-poppers, all built up with spheroids.”

  “Aye, body-pumpers on steroids, aye.”

  The sisters bustled over to a table at the window and sat down, placing their bulging shopping bags in the aisle where anyone could trip over them. “Wonder what he’s wanting with herself at the big house?” said the larger Miss Large. Her eyes widened behind their wire-rimmed glasses. “Could he be a giglio, after her ladyship’s money?”

  “No, a gigolo, surely not?”

  “What is this village coming to?” her sister said, peering over the net half-curtain and staring down the street. “Of course, I’m not incinerating anything, but it has been a long time since his lordship died.”

  With a start, I realised that they were talking about my employer, Lady Letham. I felt a tiny bit guilty, as I’d been wondering what had happened to her husband, but hadn’t dared to ask. Lady L had the air of someone who’d been alone for some time, but I definitely didn’t see her hooking up with some muscle-bound toy boy. The sisters must surely be mistaken?

  Kalista, meanwhile, adjusted the red apron around her waist, picked up her order pad and a pen, and strode over to their table. “Good morning, ladies.” She tapped the butt of her biro on the cardboard back of the notepad. “Can I please be taking your order?”

  Counting out some coins, I left the money for my coffee by the till, and waved at Kalista as I left. I had my coffee, and all was well with the world.

  Or so I thought.

  Five minutes later, I drove around the final corner, and into Glengowrie’s stable yard.

  In the passenger seat sat Trinity, clutching her water bottle and looking more like a young Halle Berry than ever, with her pixie-cut hair, sand-coloured skin and delicate features. “I’ll just go get Merlin in,” she said, and jumped out, leaving me to park the car.

  Across an expanse of concrete, a line of stone-built loose boxes faced me, with a hay barn at one end and an L-shaped apartment on two levels—Stables Cottage, which was to be our new residence, if the builders ever finished—at the other end.

  Outside the cottage was a huge oak tree with a parking ar
ea underneath. I pulled up beside a battered grey pickup, presumably belonging to one of the builders, grabbed my keep-cup and headed for the tack room, my mind running through the list of jobs I had to do today.

  I’d only gone two steps when I gasped in fright and almost dropped my coffee. A dark shape loomed towards me from the nearest stable, and my heart leapt into my mouth—at this time of the morning, nobody else should be on the yard.

  “Sorry, m’love,” said six foot of solid muscle in a black t-shirt and jeans, topped by faded leather chaps. Small brown eyes regarded me below heavy brows, and short cropped dark hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just looking for the manager.”

  On a dark Friday night in a trendy Glasgow nightclub the chaps might’ve led me to a different conclusion, but in the context of Lady Letham’s stable yard on the outskirts of Glengowrie in the Scottish Highlands, I deduced he was a farrier—a blacksmith of the horsey variety. But not one that I recognised—although that wasn’t really a surprise since I was new here.

  “It’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting anyone this early,” I said, taking a deep breath to get my heart rate back under control. This must be the ‘gigolo’ that had got the Misses Large in a stew. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes, then held out my hand. “I’m Izzy. Izzy Paterson, Lady Letham’s horse trainer. How can I help you?”

  Dainty is not a word my friends have ever used to describe me. Klutz, yes. Even ‘bull in a china shop’ on occasion when my clumsy gene has been in the ascendant. But, with my hand enveloped in his ham-sized fist, for a few seconds I felt like a size zero supermodel. That makes a change, I thought, smiling up at him.

  “Richard Mortimer,” said Chunk McDunk with a flash of pearly-whites, while he did a quick up-down, taking in my navy breeches, navy and teal polo top and turquoise gilet.

  I may not be a very girly girl, but I’m into my matchy matchy. But this non-girly girl didn’t like being objectified, and Richard’s brazen appraisal of my figure took him down a notch in my estimation.

  “Pleased to meet you, darlin’,” he continued, finally letting my hand go. I resisted the temptation to wipe it on the seat of my jods.

  As he stepped back, I caught a glimpse of his boots. Fancy schmancy. Rather than the sensible working boots I’d have expected from a farrier, they were cowboy boots patterned in black with decorative stitching, made from snakeskin or crocodile skin. With footwear like that, perhaps he had aspirations to be the next John Wayne.

  I stifled a smile. He’d struggle if that was the case, for there wasn’t much of a range to ride around here, seeing as we were in the foothills of the Scottish Highlands, with more sheep than people per acre, and hardly a cow to be seen. But that was most likely an improvement on his hometown, if I was guessing right from his accent. There were even fewer cows to be found on the streets of London.

  A white transit van roared around the corner, causing both of us to turn in surprise. It screeched to a stop under the tree, a bevy of builders spilling out and heading for the apartment before the engine had even stopped turning. It was only then that I realised that the battered grey pickup must belong to Richard. Guess he didn’t ride here on a mustang after all.

  Fishing in his pocket, the wannabe cowboy pulled out a business card and handed it to me, eyebrows raised. “I heard Lady Letham had a new gel working for her.”

  My face was hidden, as I was looking down at his card. But if he could have seen it, he’d have seen my jaw muscles tighten. Girl! Was he blind? My last birthday cake had so many candles it nearly set the smoke alarm off. Down another notch. It took a determined effort to relax my expression. I looked up. “Yes. I just started three weeks ago.”

  “Like mesel’ then, eh? I’m new here too.” He raised a shoulder. “But you know what they’re like in small towns, I’ll always be an incomer.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “If I hear right, there’s a shortage of good farriers around these parts. So here I am, hoping I can offer my services to Glengowrie Stud. Word is you’ve some nice horses.”

  My head jerked up at the clip clop of hooves on concrete. Round the corner came Trinity, leading one of Lady L’s young horses, Merlin.

  The Man in Black’s eyes widened appreciatively at the sight of her, and he turned on the full wattage of his smile. “Morning, darlin’.”

  Like the yin to my yang, Trinity was petite compared to my leggy frame, had short brown hair compared to my long dark locks, and was a real people person where I preferred animals and computers. “Trinity, this is Richard Mortimer, a new farrier in the district,” I introduced them. “Richard, Trinity works with me at the stables here.”

  Tying Merlin beside his stable door, Trinity stepped closer to us. “Didn’t think I’d seen you before.” Her face said, ‘I’d have remembered’, even if the words didn’t pass her lips.

  I looked from one to the other. Richard’s grin was even wider, and something sparked in his eyes. “Are you from London?” he asked. “Me, I’m from Barnet.”

  “South of the river,” she put a hand on her chest. “Camberwell born and bred.” Then she tilted her head. “But what brought you up ’ere to Scotland? You’re miles from home.” She seemed genuinely interested in him.

  He looked down at her, taking in her jeans, blue t-shirt and ribbed fleece. “I could ask the same of you, darlin’?”

  With a laugh, she pointed at me. “Me mate got us the job here.”

  “An’ I came here hoping to get more clients.” Richard winked at her. “Talkin’ of which,” he segued neatly back into his sales pitch, “what say you to this? For my best customers, the shoeing is discounted, and the visits are free.” He turned a puppy-dog gaze on me. “Any chance you could put in a good word wiv ’er ladyship for me? Us newcomers should stick together, like?” he added, opening his hands in a supplicating gesture.

  Behind his back, Trin gave a thumbs-up. Obviously she was quite taken with him. But something about him was nagging at me; I just couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Maybe he was just a bit too smooth. I’d had my fill of slime balls when I worked in the city.

  “Uh, I’ll certainly mention your visit to Lady Letham.” I slid his card into my pocket. But if Trinity liked him, then maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt. I gave him a quick smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to do Merlin, then I’ve three other horses to work before lunch.” Picking up a grooming brush, I began to brush the black gelding. “But I’m sure Trinity would be more than happy to show you back to your car,” I added, hoping Trin would take the hint.

  As they walked away, I could hear Richard’s voice rumbling like an ominous thundercloud. “Trinity. Now ain’t that a lovely name?”

  Hands on my hips, I stared after them. Trinity’s attention was on whatever he was saying, a smile playing on her lips.

  It seemed like the flirtatious farrier had all the patter, but I could only hope there was more to him than that, because I didn’t want Trinity’s feelings to be hurt. Again. After the terrible time she’d had in London, she deserved better.

  By the time Trinity had seen Richard off the premises, I was already in the round pen with Merlin, leading him around the post and rail enclosure and sending out calming vibes to get him into the right frame of mind for today’s training session.

  One of the reasons I’d got the job with Lady Letham was because I’ve qualifications in Horsemanship—the training of horses using ‘natural’ methods such as body language. Made famous by an American who tamed a wild mustang right off the prairie, we sometimes get called ‘horse whisperers’, but that’s mainly because the things we do are often so subtle they’re invisible to the human eye. Personally, I prefer the term ‘horse listeners’.

  Today, all I had planned for Merlin was to teach the youngster to lead quietly and take his confidence from his handler. It would stand him in good stead later in his career as a dressage horse, when he’d have to contend with unfamiliar surroundings and crowds of people.

&
nbsp; Trinity knew better than to interrupt, which would break the horse’s concentration. But I could see she was itching for a chat, so when Merlin needed a stretch and a break, I stopped at her side of the pen.

  “What did you think of him, then?” she asked, without beating around the bush.

  “The farrier?” I wrinkled my nose. “Not my type. But I think he liked you.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “It’s just nice that someone eligible has come here. From what I’ve heard, all the local guys disappear off to Dundee or Aberdeen for work. And it was nice to hear a familiar accent.” Then her gaze darted across to the big house. “D’you think Lady L might switch to using him?”

  I pursed my lips. “She strikes me as someone who’s fairly set in her ways.”

  Trinity’s face fell.

  “But we could maybe try him on one of the youngsters. Can’t do too much wrong with a trim.”

  “True!” She assessed Merlin’s feet. “But they’re not due for a few weeks yet.”

  I gave her a rueful grin. “Sorry. You’ll just have to be patient!”

  Her face took on a mischievous look. “Or pray for mud to pull some shoes off!”

  I raised my eyes heavenwards. With a new boss to impress and four horses to train, that was the last thing I needed.

  Chapter Two

  When it came time to ride Leo, my dressage horse, our hack in the countryside didn’t go quite as planned.