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The tense atmosphere went over Madeline’s head, mainly because she didn’t look up from her phone. “The ones at the ball. Hashtag Kintyre Mansion Ball. Hashtag have a great one! Oh, look, there’s a ceilidh band.”
Those alarm bells that had been sounding for weeks suddenly made sense. “Who’s running the fundraiser?”
“Don’t you know?” Madeline was busy thumb typing.
“No, I don’t know, so I wouldnae mind if you told me.” Duncan clasped her hand to stop her typing. “Who’s running it?”
She licked her lips nervously. “The local branch of the Scottish Women’s Institute.”
A flash of the woman he’d met at the pub came to mind. Flora Reid. It came to him where he’d seen her before—she’d been walking across his lawn with a wheelbarrow full of glitter. The chickens—they were the number of people attending the ball! His heart missed a beat. There were a hundred and twenty strangers in his house.
And his housekeeper had let them in.
He was going to wring her neck. Then work his way through her sisters.
He shot to his feet. “I need to get to the airport. There’s a flight to Campbeltown at eight. I have to be on it.” Without waiting for a reply, he jogged from the restaurant and straight into one of the taxis waiting outside.
Chapter 27
Donna had lost control of the mansion. It was now in the hands of hundreds of rabid party goers and three old women who were stirring everyone up.
“Any ideas?” she asked the women at her side.
“Call the police and have them thrown out?” Grace suggested.
They were standing at the back of the ballroom, watching as a swarm of locusts dressed in formal attire decimated the buffet.
“They won’t do anything,” Donna said. “I spoke to the police officer who came with the ambulance to pick up Flora’s father.” She gave them a bewildered look. “What was a ninety-five-year-old man doing on a mechanical bull?” She shook her head to clear it. “Anyway, the police told me that there was nothing they could do because I’d given permission for the Women’s Institute to use the mansion for the fundraiser. He said that if they were still here after the cut-off time, he could help us evict them. Until then, we’re on our own.”
“Is anyone else wondering how Flora’s dad is still alive?” Mairi said. “I mean, Flora’s ancient. And she has a father? That seems wrong.”
“Focus.” Agnes smacked Mairi on the back of the head.
She rubbed the spot. “Every time you do that, I lose brain cells.”
“Can we concentrate? I need a plan to...contain this.” Donna pointed at the chaos in front of them.
“It’s like every American teen movie I’ve ever seen,” Mairi said. “The parents are away, and the kids have a party that gets out of hand. Only, the twist is that Duncan is the parent. We should sell this concept to Hollywood. We’d make a mint.”
As they watched, the band stopped playing. “We’re going to take a
wee break,” the lead singer said. “No doubt you’ll miss us, but not too much because the Women’s Institute have organised a halftime show for you. Hit it, boys!”
Coloured spotlights flitted across the dancefloor as music with a heavy beat blasted from the speakers. A voice boomed out as the group of six men wearing traditional Scottish dress sauntered into the middle of the room.
“What’s happening?” Grace said.
“Oh, no,” Donna moaned.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice shouted out. “Please put your hands together and welcome Scotland’s answer to the Chippendales—the Highland Hotties!”
The men started to gyrate to the music and Donna’s jaw dropped.
“Oh good,” Mairi said gleefully. “I wanted to know what was under those kilts.”
All Donna could do was stare at the strip show taking place in the middle of the Georgian ballroom. Fiona must be turning in her grave. She blinked several times as one of the men whipped off his sporran and tossed it into the crowd.
“Aggie,” she said. “I’m going to my office to see if there’s a clause in that agreement I signed that will get us out of this.”
