North by Northeast

by Cherime MacFarlane

  Fredrick hung up his end of the line. Edwards very carefully put the phone down. The case was spiraling out of control. "Serial killer?" the detective murmured.

  With the money Day was sitting on they could easily be hit with a massive lawsuit for wrongful arrest if they moved too fast. He needed to prove his case way beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  Several phone calls later, Edwards had a bloody thumb and more questions than answers. Day was no longer in the harbor. The boat had pulled out on Sunday. The harbor master didn’t have any idea where the Sunny Day was bound. Unlike planes, ships weren’t required to disclose their destinations. Canadian waters were a few miles to the north. If he wanted to find Day and his yacht, he would need to contact the Coast Guard and probably the Mounties.

  But what was he going to tell them? That Day was a suspect in a series of murders? Day’s name on three guest lists for three gallery shows didn’t constitute enough evidence to do anything with. He didn't even know if Day had attended the shows. He didn't have a damn thing concrete.

  Edwards grabbed the information he had and headed to the fax machine. If he worked with Fredrick, maybe he could come up with enough to give them probable cause to go looking for Day and his boat.

  The next thing was to send someone over to check with gallery personnel to find out who accepted their invitation and physically turned up for Lori MacGrough’s show. Picking up the phone, he arranged for a uniformed officer to go out to the SeaSide Gallery and dig up information.

  The fax sent and with someone on the way to check out the gallery, Edwards went back to his office. He shut the door and laid open the MacGrough file. The detective spread the paperwork out on the desk. The contact information for MacGrough's attorney in Glasgow was on the top of the pile.

  He glanced at his watch. Edwards wondered what time it was in Scotland. After picking up the phone, he dialed the operator. It was time to place the call and leave a message for the lawyer to get back to him. After Fredrick's comment, Edwards got the feeling he was on the back side of the curve when it came to MacGrough. He needed to get caught up as fast as possible.

  When Edwards was trying to find out if there was anything to use against MacGrough, he’d neglected to gather the information he should have. Edwards was forced to acknowledge he’d let anger and dislike sway his judgment.

  It only took a couple of phone calls to discover he didn’t have a clue how MacGrough arrived in Seattle. He got a break when he contacted Customs. The feds answered that question for him. Customs had the guy coming into the country after disembarking from a chartered jet.

  When he put the phone down, Edwards stared at the file on his desk. The cost of chartering a jet from Scotland to Seattle must be astronomical. The cop shook his head. Glasgow was half a world away. Fredrick was right, MacGrough had way more resources than he gave him credit for.

  The words to Money For Nothing popped into his mind. It seemed the music scene paid far better than he’d ever suspected.

  It was starting to look bad for Day. And if he really had the woman, she was on a boat in the Pacific Northwest somewhere. Worse, he had no idea where the damn Scotsman might be. It occurred to Edwards he didn’t even get the name of MacGrough's hotel. Since Fredrick knew Warren Hale already, Edwards doubted he would get any additional information from the man’s partner. It appeared finding MacGrough might be as big a problem as finding his wife.

  Lurch made the turn onto the Yellowhead Highway, Canadian Highway 16, in Prince George. From what he saw, they were in Canada's breadbasket. There were fields and farms everywhere. The country was rolling hills with tons of rivers and lakes.

  Glen was sleeping. Thud read a book. The drummer had picked up a paperback in a grocery store when they’d stopped to gas up again.

  Arms crossed over his chest, Hamish sat lost in thought. Lurch took a glance at his friend occasionally. He stared through the windshield. But Lurch doubted he noticed any of the landscape they were driving through.

  Plan B was probably rolling around in his head. Crazy! H.M. had to figure out what they were to do if he got bumped off. It was serious shit, planning what needed to be done after your own demise. That was far more serious than Lurch ever wanted to deal with.

  It wasn’t right to depend on MacGrough to plot out plan B. That was expecting way too much, even from a hard-headed, devious Scot. H.M. was a tough bastard beneath his mild-mannered exterior. But Lurch knew that already.

  He’d replaced the rhythm guitar player who wanted out of the band. Lurch found out quickly why the guy didn’t want to stick around. It was a wonder Bushmaster held together as long as it did. Lurch understood if it hadn’t been for Hamish, the band would have split long before Vincent Slaughter was murdered.

  Between Warren Hale and Hamish, they somehow got two albums out and almost completed the last tour. Lurch figured he would have a difficult time getting gigs until Hamish asked him to play with him on his solo album.

  No-nonsense when recording or touring, Hamish was always willing to listen and, more importantly, he was loyal and fair.

  The man had stepped up to lend a hand to all three of them. No one outside of the band and Lori knew the lengths he went to so Glen’s stepson would grow up without the cloud of Vincent’s murder hanging over his head. Only a handful of people knew the boy’s mother had killed Vincent. WarLoch Productions managed Glen and made sure the bassist had time in Rio with his wife and family.

  Thud, in the back seat, had done something. Lurch thought he’d figured out what; it might have resulted in the drummer being sued. Thud would have lost everything he got as part of the huge selling farewell live album recorded in Seattle. No one had ever clarified the matter, but Lurch was sure Thud planned to make a bootleg tape to bail his ass out of the hole Vince had left him in.

  The fast food franchise deal could have bankrupted Thud when Vince backed out and left him hanging. Somehow, Thud and Hamish convinced Warren that it was a great thing, having the last live recording. They parlayed it and the Bushmaster wake album into a bunch of money that helped all of them.

  And the person responsible for guiding all the mess into something good for everyone, including Warren Hale, sat next to him. WarLoch Productions, Hamish, and Warren, managed the lot of them, and none of them worried about being cheated.

  Now, his best friend in the world was trying to figure out a plan to rescue his wife if he got knocked off trying the first time. Lurch knew for sure it was something he couldn’t even begin to contemplate doing.

  Lurch caught movement in the passenger seat. His friend took his eyes off the rapidly disappearing Canadian prairie, unfolded his arms and reached down to pull his knife out of his boot. Another quick glance and Lurch saw he was inspecting his fingers. Hamish began to clean under his fingernails with the point of the knife.

  From the corner of his eye, the rhythm guitar player watched H.M. toy with the sharp little dagger. Hamish balanced the point of the knife on the tip of the middle finger of his left hand. The middle finger of Hamish's right hand was stabilizing the dagger he was staring at.

  Hamish didn’t take his eyes from the knife when he spoke. "Two things, Lurch, if it comes tae plan B. First thing is, ye three watch out for her. Ye be there for her if I cannae."

  "Hamish..." Lurch began, glancing over at his friend.

  "Nae! Let me have my say here. Second one is, if tha bastard gets killed, tell anyone who asks I did it. Then if ye have tae, it all falls on me. That way plan B can be pulled off, hurting none of ye lot."

  "Jaysus," Thud breathed from the back seat. "What tha bleedin hell have ye dreamed up for tha cute hoor?"

  "Aye, Day is ah cute hoor," Hamish responded.

  Lurch looked in the rear-view mirror at Thud. "How the hell is he a "cute whore"?"

  Hamish translated. "A "cute hoor" is cute, as in ah devious, slimy an conniving thief."

  Glen straightened up. "I think I need to wake up to hear this. I believe I got the first part. We’re dis
cussing plan B?"

  Hamish pulled his finger out from under the knife point. As it dropped toward his leg, he caught the blade between the thumb and first two fingers of his other hand. "Och! Well now, Plan B."

  Hamish folded his fingers around the handle of the knife and turned it first one way then the other. "If it becomes necessary tae implement Plan B, disable tha steering. Use something small, an blow it. Dinna let him get tha boat out of tha canal. Tha three he has working for him, an we ken there are but three, are gonnae be sleepin in tha bow. Somethin small will take all three out if ye catch them asleep."

  Once again, he balanced the dagger on the tip of his index finger, Hamish tapped the handle with his middle finger and flipped it up to grip it, ready for use. "If ye can blow tha steering an tha crew at tha same time, then it's three against one. He will come out shootin, ye can bet on it. If I think I've nae choice, an I have tha chance, I'll go for his gun hand. Prb'ly if ye blow tha steering an bow quarters, he'll havtae come on deck tae assess tha damage. Go for Lori while he's otherwise occupied. Then blow the whole bleedin mess of shite tae hell an gone."

  The other three men were silent. Hamish turned in his seat to look at them, still holding the knife at the ready. "Tha prize is Lori; she comes first. Further, ye lot need tae be free tae take care of her. Any questions here?"

  "Nay, Hamish. We understand. Lori comes first." Thud cleared his throat. "I swear tae ye that if — mind, if — Plan B has tae be implemented there willna be sufficient pieces of tha cute hoor tae need ah casket for. Hell will receive him as mince. And believe me, boyo, I can do it."

  "Thank ye, Thud. That relieves my mind. I ken this is a great deal tae ask of ye all but..."

  Lurch sighed. "We got it, and will make it happen if it needs to. Rest easy on that score MacGrough. If she were mine, I'd feel the same way. If I ever find one that fits me as she fits you, believe me, I'll do anything to keep her. So now, let's forget about Plan B 'cause Plan A is gonna work."

  As the three watched, Hamish retreated into himself. The dagger went back into his boot, and he stared out the window of the Jeep.

  He remembered the look of her in the rose-colored dress covered in sequins. It was the first time he saw her. Lori took his breath away. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and clear out with her. Instead, he moved Vince aside to, oh, so politely, introduce himself. Her dark hair gleamed in the light. He saw only Lori. Her hazel eyes took possession of his heart at first glance.

  He could lift her with one hand. Her diminutive curved body fit him like a glove. She barely reached his shoulder. A lush flower, she was interested, he was sure of it but skittish. The looks she was giving him seemed to be made up of assessment and anxiety. He talked her into agreeing to let him take her to lunch.

  So, the following day, after their first meeting in the gallery, he went to Brighton and picked Lori up at her flat. It surprised her when he arrived in a limo. On the drive to the restaurant, he kept the conversation centered on Lori and her art.

  The French-style bistro he took her to in London kept her a bit off balance. Lori suspected it had all cost him a pretty penny, it had. But, God, she was so worth it.

  During lunch, they got on the subject of camping. Lori wasn’t sure about going camping with him. But he wheedled and pled being thoroughly burned out. Hamish found if he went about it carefully, he could talk her into accompanying him.

  The day after their lunch date he again picked her up. Then they were off to Gatwick airport. A chartered plane took them to Prestwick airport, outside of Glasgow. He got the motorcycle out of storage in the garage he rented. After riding to the center of the city, they went walking around George Square.

  He took Lori to his favorite tearoom in a sunroom attached to an aging hotel. It was a place he and his mum had occasionally gone to for a special treat. Hamish wanted to share it with Lori and create a memory of their own.

  After they had tea and several lovely pastries, they toured the museum. With a chuckle, Hamish recalled how amazed Lori was to find there really was a Black Knight. The armor was there on display at the museum.

  The Berlin pub was their next stop. Again, he got her to do something she wasn’t sure about. Convincing her to try the steak and kidney pie had been a test of his tact and patience. She enjoyed the fare, and the beer he insisted must be ordered as well. One could not have steak and kidney pie without the proper beer.

  After eating, they sat in the sun on a bench, enjoying being together, just the two of them, in the square. When she wandered off to view the war memorial, he stayed on the bench, content to feel the warm sun on his face. He knew she would return soon. Hamish relaxed there with his arms stretched across the back of the seat and his eyes closed.

  When she walked back, he felt her presence as she put him in shadow. Lori leaned down and kissed him. God, how he wanted to grab her, pull her onto his lap, and kiss her until neither of them had breath left. Instead, Hamish returned the kiss without touching more than her lips. He could feel the kiss as if it were yesterday.

  Afterward, they picked up his outdoor gear and went camping all over Scotland. It had been seven days of companionship and fun. They had not made love. He wanted her to be comfortable with them as a couple. Lori needed to know he wanted all of her. Hamish wanted her to understand how far above groupie status she was.

  He let Lori sketch anything and everything she wished to. While she sketched, he worked on his portable keyboard putting together melody lines. It amazed her that he didn’t feel threatened by her being absorbed in her art. Amusing him was not her sole purpose on their trip, another thing which surprised Lori. Hamish kept her slightly off balance and continued to press his advantage.

  When they returned to London, Hamish and the band finished the album. Lori worked on the painting for the album cover and completed it at about the same time the band wrapped up the album. With everything finished, he persuaded her to join him on a cruise around Greece.

  The depth of passion in her small frame blew Hamish away the first time they’d made love. She matched him as if God had personally shaped her for him. She was his Eve, and he had not given God a bad time over the "woman you gave me", oh no.

  Not entirely sure how he managed it, Hamish again got past her defenses. He coaxed her into allowing the captain of the ship to marry them.

  When they got back to Scotland, Lori floundered into a depression. She was afraid marriage would ruin their friendship. He was terrified she would run, find somewhere to hide, and he would never see her again. Instead, she turned to her art. Thanks be to God, they made it through.

  Vince Slaughter's murder, two years later, put him in the unenviable position of being terrified the police might see her as the murderer. She’d never told him who had burned her so badly that she was scared of commitment. After the matter of Vincent was resolved, they finally had "the talk."

  Hamish told her everything regarding his father and his father's family. She then explained about the married man who lied to her and planned to use her to hurt his wife. The rotter wanted to use Lori as a tool for revenge.

  The move to the MacGrough glen had been so right for them. She stopped taking birth control. They would finally start the family they both felt ready for. They were both willing to do whatever it took to keep their love and marriage alive.

  Lori knew he would do anything for her. He knew she would do anything for him. His ancestors did whatever it took to protect those they loved. He could and would do no less. MacGrough men and women had given their lives for fathers, husbands, wives, all their kin.

  Land and money could be replaced. He never could replace Lori any more than his mother could replace his father. MacGroughs mated for life. It was just who he was. To get what Lori and he had, you gave all you possessed to the other person.

  As much as these men were his friends and mates. As much brothers as any had ever been, they still did not understand. He formulated the best Plan B possible. She was the prize. Anythi
ng, everything he had was hers. Nothing was reserved.

  The stop at the small park near the terminus of Highway 37 was short and sweet. Hamish had his lock picks. Thud got his explosive components. It was then on to Prince Rupert as quickly as possible.

  Hamish was content. Every possible permutation, every scenario he thought of went into the mix. Hamish threw everything he had at it. It was the best he could do, and now it was up to God. He was finished thinking. Soon, it would be time for action.

  He joked with the other three men. He and Thud took pot shots at each other. They had the other two laughing uproariously as they went into broad dialect. The two of them told stupid Irish and Scots jokes.

  Of the three of them, Thud had the best handle on it. One did not grow up in Northern Ireland during the "troubles" without understanding that someone you loved might go out for a paper or to the store and never come home.

  In his case being the odd man out, not part of a gang and into music growing up, was like waving a sign which said: "bully me." His mother saw to it they did not live in the worst places, but he still encountered bullies.

  And his clothing was a problem when school uniforms were no longer required. But new clothes were few and far between. He wore mended socks, repaired clothing, pants which were let down until his mother had to attach something to the edges of the hems to give her something to sew down. All of which contributed to a slightly worn look that left him open to taunts and harassment. He fought if he had to. He learned to defend himself and his mother.

  As a youth, he found he had an ability to sense trouble. His gut told him when to find another route home and when to stay away from a party or place. If he went with what his gut told him, he could dodge problems that found other lads in jail or hospital.

  Yes, he used the manners his mother and grandmother taught him. It kept one from having trouble with the police and the educational system. He learned keeping his temper in check allowed him to get ahead. To give it free rein was to be seen as a troublemaker. All good things were withheld from troublemakers.