by Amy M. Reade
“Sylvie, I think you need to rest,” Mum said.
Seamus nodded. “Sylvie, you’re not going to recover from your concussion if you tire yourself out trying to solve crimes.”
“But don’t you want to know who did it?”
“Of course I do, love, but I want you to get well. Let’s leave the investigating to the police.”
“But I’m not investigating anything—I’m just thinking,” I insisted.
“And that’s the problem. You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“It’s so boring,” I whined.
Seamus grinned. “I know, love. I’m sorry. I’ll go for a walk with you as soon as the shop closes, if you’d like.”
“Okay,” I said with a small smile. If he could make an attempt to get out of the doghouse and back into my good graces, the least I could do was go for a walk with him.
That afternoon I sat at my work table in the studio and leafed through photos. I still wasn’t allowed to look at them on my computer, but I figured it couldn’t do any harm to look through physical photos. I made lists of photos that I wanted to group together for collages and photos I would make into larger prints to sell on consignment at various gift shops around the Highlands. That was a good way, I had found, to make some extra income.
Seamus and I took our walk later that evening, after making sure Mum was locked safely inside and promising to be back before dark. We didn’t even talk while we walked—we just savored the cool summer evening and the soft lamplight coming from inside the cottages of our tiny village.
But something was nagging at me. As much as I wished I could enjoy the time I was spending with my husband, I couldn’t get the questions about money out of my head. I chose not to ruin the evening by trying to discuss it again, but more than anything I just wanted some straight answers.
Instead, I ended up with more questions.
The next morning I was tidying up the kitchen when I heard Seamus’s mobile phone ring. I stood still, listening for his voice coming from the shop. But as soon as he answered, he must have moved farther away, into the studio.
Tiptoeing, I stole through the shop and stood outside the studio door, straining to hear what he was saying. I hated eavesdropping, but I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t getting any answers directly from my husband. Though I couldn’t make out most of the words, there were a few I heard clearly: “Clydesdale,” “forty-five thousand,” and “private.”
When I could no longer hear him speaking, I turned and went back to the kitchen as quietly as I had come. But I had no more interest in cleaning up from breakfast. I was lost. I couldn’t bear to think that Seamus was hiding something from me, but now I had confirmation that he did, in fact, know something about Clydesdale Bank. That receipt I had found hadn’t belonged to someone else, after all.
And that wasn’t all. He had quite clearly named the amount of money in question—the difference between what the Lundenburg said he made and what he said he made.
Why was he keeping forty-five thousand pounds private, in a bank with which he claimed not to have an account?
Without realizing what my fingers were doing, I rang up Greer. I was surprised when James answered.
“Hullo, Sylvie. Good to hear your voice. How have you been feeling?”
“Fine,” I answered in a flat voice.
“Greer isn’t here. She left her phone behind when she went to work this morning. Can I help you with something?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to unburden myself to James.
As if reading my thoughts he said, “If this is about Seamus and the money, Greer already told me.”
“Oh.” I wished Greer had asked if she could share what I had told her, but at least maybe James could give me some good advice.
I told him about the phone call I had overheard. There was a momentary silence on the other end after I finished talking.
“It certainly sounds like you’re not wrong to think there’s something he’s keeping from you,” James said. “But I know Seamus, and I just can’t believe it’s anything too serious. Want me to talk to him?”
“No!” I almost shouted. “Thanks anyway. I think this is something I should handle myself. Any advice?”
“You know me, Sylvie. I’m always one for being up front and honest. I would just talk to him and ask him outright about the money and the phone call.”
“But he yells when I try to talk to him about it. It’s obviously something he doesn’t want to discuss. And if I tell him about the phone call, I’ll have to admit I was eavesdropping.”
“But you don’t want your marriage to be tainted by secrets. So what if he yells? It sounds like you’re entitled to an explanation. And so what if you eavesdropped? His refusal to answer your questions necessitated it. At least that’s what I’d say if he accuses you of listening in on his conversation.”
I sighed. There had to be another way to find out what Seamus was doing. But the more people I discussed it with, the more I was hearing to confront him directly.
And I knew what Mum would say—she would advise me to talk to him about it.
But I couldn’t. Though we had declared a silent truce, I preferred its distrustful peace to the anger and tension I knew would erupt if I broached the subject of money with Seamus again.
Just then Chloe texted me. She and Felix were beginning to wind things down for their holiday to the Highlands, she said, and she wanted to make sure everything was okay between Seamus and me and that she and Felix could still visit.
I welcomed the thought of having Felix and Chloe at our cottage. Without even knowing it, they could be the buffer Seamus and I needed right now. They wouldn’t come for a couple more weeks, but hopefully I would be recovered from my concussion and I could get out of the house and show them around.
Seamus was pleased when I told him Felix and Chloe were making their plans to visit. We talked at dinner about the places they should see, along with the possibility of introducing them to Callum and Eilidh.
Though Seamus would not be able to spend as much time with our friends as he would like, he would be able to leave the shop and gallery in Mum’s capable hands while they visited. He and Mum prepared for visitors, tourists, and clients who might be looking for Seamus while he was touring with Felix and Chloe. As the days passed, I was able to help them in the shop, cataloguing inventory and making sure Mum understood how to use the register, how to run credit cards, and how to make bank deposits. Though she had been in the shop since the attack on me, she had insisted on helping by keeping the spaces tidy, interacting with customers, and helping to clean up the damage wrought by my attacker. She hadn’t wanted to learn about the money side of the business, so Seamus handled all the money during my convalescence. But when Mum learned that Felix and Chloe were visiting, she insisted upon learning how to complete transactions so we could be out for an entire day and not worry about the shop.
Seamus planned meals, too. He knew Felix and Chloe were familiar with all the latest food trends in London and visited restaurants frequented by the rich and famous, but he wanted to show them how outstanding Scottish food could be in the hands of the right chef. He planned menus with everything from salmon to fish and chips to cullen skink to haggis. He wanted our big-city friends to go home with a new appreciation for Scottish cuisine.
The days until Felix and Chloe arrived passed quickly. I was able to spend time each day helping Mum and Seamus in the shop and the gallery. I shopped for the pantry staples Seamus would need to cook, and I even found some time to sneak in some work on my photography. I worried a bit about having them stay at our house—they had such a magnificent flat in London that staying in a cottage in Cauld Loch might seem dowdy. But Seamus assured me that they lived the high life in London because it was expected of them. They longed for simplicity, and he was sure they would enjoy our hospitality.
Nothing happened to mar the uneasy peace that had settled between me and Seamus, and I didn’t want to disturb it
by asking questions about money. As the summer drew to a close, though, we would have to decide whether we could hire Eilidh. I would need more information about our financial situation in order to make a decision. And as I was feeling better and beginning to work more on photography, Seamus was realizing how much he appreciated Mum’s help in the shop. I suspected Seamus would miss having an assistant when she returned to Dumfries.
It was a perfect day in the Highlands when Felix and Chloe arrived. It was late August; the weather had started to get cooler and it felt delightful. Our friends had taken an early morning train from London, so they were in Cauld Loch before evening. Seamus and I went outside to greet them when we saw their hired car coming up the drive. We were thrilled to see them.
Chloe stepped out of the car in an outfit worthy of a Highland life magazine, complete with dainty—but useless—boots, a plaid button-down shirt over a silk t-shirt, and perfectly clean, creased denim trousers. Her aviator sunglasses were perched on top of her head.
Felix looked much the same as he slid from behind the wheel. He could have just come from a photo shoot, with Doc Martens, denim trousers, a shirt similar to Chloe’s, and a light leather jacket.
Seamus laughed when he saw them. After shaking hands with Felix and hugging Chloe, he said, “You know those posh clothes are going to get dirty up here, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Chloe hastened to assure him. “We just wanted to look the part for our trip today.”
Seamus shook his head, still chuckling, and helped Felix take their bags from the boot of the car. Chloe tucked her arm through mine and we made our way into the house ahead of the men.
“I’m so happy to finally be here!” she squealed. “I’ve missed you.”
“We’ve missed you, too,” I replied. “We’ve got all sorts of things planned for the next two weeks, so I hope you’re ready to spend some time outdoors with us.”
She spread her arms wide. “It’s just gorgeous up here! I can’t wait to get outside and explore.”
I laughed. “Good. We’ll start in the morning. I hope you still feel the same way after a few days in the Highlands.”
We introduced Mum to Felix and Chloe and the five of us sat down to one of Seamus’s specialties—fish chowder.
Over big bowls of chowder and lots of bread, we chatted about everything from the weather to Scottish food to United Kingdom politics and back to lighter topics like shopping and tourist attractions. After dinner Mum went to her bedroom to watch television and the rest of us sat in the living room having coffee.
“So what’s new in London?” Seamus asked.
Felix warmed to the subject quickly. He talked about the gallery, the artists who had been in recently, and some new ideas he had for exhibits. Chloe and I listened, but didn’t contribute much.
Finally, during a lull in the conversation, Chloe turned to me. “Remember Hagen?”
“Of course,” I replied, thinking back to the night I was attacked.
“He’s taken a leave of absence from the university. No one knows where he is.”
Seamus and I exchanged glances. His eyes warned me not to say anything about my suspicions that Hagen had been the intruder, but I wouldn’t have. I knew Chloe and Hagen were colleagues, perhaps even friends.
“He didn’t tell anyone where he was going?” I asked in surprise.
“No. No one, including Thea—remember Thea, his ex-wife?—has been able to reach him at home or on his mobile.”
“Where could he be?” I wondered aloud.
Chloe shrugged. “I have no idea. He seemed very keen to find more information about that painting we talked about in London—the one with the map hidden behind it.”
I looked over at Seamus, who was studiously avoiding my gaze.
“Do you suppose he came up here to look for it? The painting, I mean?” I asked.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Chloe conceded. “He seemed to think it hadn’t made its way to London after it went missing from the scene of that horrible accident.”
“Why does he think that?” I asked.
“I guess because he hasn’t heard anything about it, and a rumor like that would make its way around the art world very quickly. I’m surprised we haven’t heard about it in the mainstream news. It seems to be a mystery that very few people know about.”
I had nothing else to say. I wanted more than anything to ask Chloe if she thought Hagen was capable of violence, of taking drastic steps to obtain the painting he sought, but I knew Seamus would be furious if I said anything.
But he and I discussed it at length after we’d gone to bed. Felix and Chloe were sleeping in our room—our bedroom for two weeks was a small office off the living room. We had set up an air mattress and let Felix and Chloe think we were sleeping in a second guest room.
“Do you think it was Hagen?” I whispered to Seamus.
“I suppose it could have been him,” he said. “You’re pretty sure it was a man?”
“No,” I admitted. “I just assumed it was a man because he knocked me down so hard and because the voice sounded low.”
“It seems like reckless behavior for someone with a big-deal job in London.”
“It does,” I agreed. “But maybe he doesn’t care about the job as long as he finds the painting. Maybe the painting and the map would make him so much money that he would never have to work anyway.”
“And just live off the profits from the sale of the painting?” Seamus sounded skeptical.
“Why not?” I asked. “Just because you want to paint until the day you die doesn’t mean that everyone feels the same way about their job.”
“But he’s important in the art scene,” Seamus insisted. “I can’t imagine that he would risk his position by committing a crime.”
“If he found it, he would become important in different circles of people,” I pointed out.
Seamus sighed. “You’re right. I guess it’s impossible to know what Hagen’s motives are. We barely know the man.”
I felt like we were banging our heads against a wall. We weren’t getting anywhere in figuring out who had broken into our house, and we hadn’t heard a word from the police.
“Do you suppose the police have learned anything?” I asked after a long moment.
“Seems like they would have told us if they had a suspect,” Seamus answered. I sighed. My head was starting to ache from going around and around with the same questions. Seamus leaned over and kissed me goodnight. “Please try to get some sleep, love,” he said sleepily. “We’ve got a long hike tomorrow and I want you to be rested. I don’t want your head to hurt from exertion.”
“Do you ever worry he’ll come back?” I asked.
Seamus squeezed my hand. “He wouldn’t dare. Not whilst I’m around.”
CHAPTER 12
On the first full day of Felix and Chloe’s visit, Seamus and I took them to the world-famous Loch Ness. Like everyone else, they wanted to spot the elusive Nessie in the cold waters of the loch. We enjoyed a boat tour of the loch, which included a trip to Urquhart Castle on the hillside above the water’s edge. Though it was still summer, the wind whipped down the mountains and across the loch, assaulting our face with biting cold. Seamus and I enjoyed the day as much as our English guests because we hadn’t visited Loch Ness in a while, and we had never toured the ruins of the castle on its banks.
Alas, we did not spot the monster of Loch Ness.
Chloe especially was eager to get off the main roads and explore the Highlands that most tourists didn’t get to see. Seamus and I were only too happy to oblige. We took our friends on a long, lazy tour of the back roads and lanes leading away from Loch Ness and toward the interior of the Highlands.
We visited Cannich and then headed further west toward Muchrachd. Felix and Chloe were overwhelmed by the scenery and the raw, rugged beauty of the area. We got out of the car for a few short hikes, and the rest of the time we looked out the windows of the car, admiring the heart-achingly beautifu
l vistas.
We hated to go home that evening, but we were all hungry and we agreed that we would rather have Seamus’s cooking than stop and take a chance on an unknown restaurant. So many little towns offered chippies, but not much more. And as much as I loved fish and chips, I wasn’t sure our guests had that same fervor.
Mum was waiting for us when we got back to Gorse Brae. She wanted to hear all about our day and see the photos we’d taken, and she was excited to tell us of the sales she had made in our absence. For a second night, the five of us enjoyed a wonderful dinner. The talk around the table was boisterous and jovial.
The next two weeks continued in much the same way. We went farther afield on many days, with trips to the Isle of Skye, the Outer Hebrides, John o’Groats, Uig, Ullapool, and the Shetland Islands. Several times we camped overnight when we were too far from Cauld Loch to have a proper visit in just one day.
Felix and Chloe were overwhelmed by the beauty of Scotland. They told us countless times they wanted to plan a longer holiday sometime in the future.
Seamus and I were still tentative around each other during Felix and Chloe’s stay. Chloe mentioned it one evening when Felix and Seamus had joined Callum at the pub.
“You two don’t seem as happy as you were in London,” she said.
“I really don’t believe we are.”
“Is it because of the money?”
“It’s not the money—it’s that Seamus lied about it. He won’t tell me what’s going on. I live with anxiety that there’s another woman, and yet I’m afraid to talk to him about it. He gets angry and withdrawn. To me, this lukewarm marriage is better than knowing the truth and dealing with his anger,” I replied.
“But you can’t do this forever. What kind of a marriage would that be?”
I sighed. “Not much of a marriage, I’m afraid.”
“So are you going to talk to him?”
