The House on the Shore

by Victoria Howard

  “The rescue team from Fort William has arrived. As soon as they’ve set up I’ll send some help your way. Over.”

  Luke glanced at Anna and exchanged a smile. “Thanks. Over.”

  “That’s a relief,” Anna said. “I thought the police would never take Lachlan seriously.”

  “They can’t ignore the situation any longer. Do you know if the mountain rescue team has access to a helicopter?”

  “I think so. Why do you ask?”

  “A helicopter with an infrared or thermal imaging camera can pick up a heat signal, no matter how faint it is.”

  “Even at night?”

  “If the weather conditions are right.”

  Anna leapt to her feet and whirled round to face Luke, sadness and pain turning into white-hot anger. “Then why haven’t they sent one?”

  “Hey, don’t take your frustrations out on me. It’s probably on its way right now. Ewan will be in a better position to pass on information once the mountain rescue team sets up their equipment. In the meantime, try to relax a little.”

  “Relax? How dare you tell me to relax when my best friend is missing?” She fought back her tears.

  Luke clasped her body tightly to his and gently rocked her back and forth. Her fists beat his chest as she tried to struggle free, but he merely tightened his hold on her waist. She shuddered as one deep, tortured sob, and then another racked her body. “About time,” he muttered, and waited for her to cry herself out.

  “I’m sorry. I know…I should be strong. But I can’t…bear to…think of…Morag…lying hurt.”

  Luke pressed his lips against her forehead. “I know, babe, but with so many people looking for her, we’re bound to find her soon.”

  “Do you really think so?” Anna asked lifting her face to his.

  He led her to where they had left their rucksacks. “Yes. Can you keep going or do you want to go back to the hotel?”

  “I’m not giving up, Luke, no matter how tired or upset I am. I won’t give up until we find her.”

  “In that case, rest here awhile and have something to eat.” He offered her a sandwich from his pack.

  Under his watchful gaze, Anna accepted the sandwich and took a bite. It tasted like sawdust, and was difficult to swallow, but she ate it anyway knowing that Luke would insist she return to the hotel if she refused.

  Chapter Thirty

  Back at Killilan House, Alistair Grant paced the floor of his library, his features contorted with a mixture of relief, shock, and anger. Anna MacDonald was alive! His hands shook as he poured a measure of whisky into a glass and took a sip. The amber liquid dribbled down his chin and onto his silk tie. Cursing, he yanked off the tie and threw it on the chair. He glared at the huge portrait of his father that dominated the high-ceilinged library.

  That morning he’d received another letter from his London bankers. The threat of foreclosure was now a reality. Five days remained in which to sign the contract before the bank took possession of the estate. He snatched up the ornate Louis XV clock off the mantel and hurled it at the painting, causing a six-inch tear in the canvas. The clock fell to the floor, an odd discordant clanging came from its chimes. He laughed at the irony of it all.

  “It’s your fault, you old fool,” he screamed. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if you had done as I’d asked and made the estate over to me. You waited until the bank threatened to foreclose. Even when I found the way to prevent them, you refused to sign the contract. You wouldn’t betray the tenants! Instead, I had to wait until you were nothing more than an empty shell that sits and drools all day long to gain control. Well, it’s too late. Your precious family is about to become bankrupt. I hope you rot in hell!”

  The decanter now empty, he slumped into the chair behind the desk, put his head in his hands, and wondered what to do next.

  Anger and despair fought for control. With shaking hands, he opened the desk drawer and removed the keys to the gun cupboard, turning them over and over in his fingers. It seemed the irony was endless. There was no way out, and here he was considering taking his own life.

  Feeling weak and vulnerable, he staggered to his feet, but got no further than the centre of the room when a knock on the library door shattered his self-pity.

  “Mr. Alistair? Mr. Alistair, I’m sorry to disturb you,” his housekeeper said, opening the door. “The police are here to see you.”

  Alistair lurched toward the door. Police? Here? The terrifying thought that he could be about to be served with an order for repossession hit like a blow from a sledgehammer. He had to hold his nerve. He had to! His whisky-befuddled mind struggled over what to do.

  “Show them into the morning room please, Mrs. McTavish. I’ll join them in a moment,” he replied, trying hard not to slur his words. “And give them some tea and coffee or whatever they want.”

  He waited until the housekeeper left, then placed his ear to the door and listened. Once he was sure his visitors were safely ensconced in the morning room, he peered into the hallway. It was empty, but the door to the morning room was ajar.

  He tiptoed across the hall and dashed up the stairs. Safely in his bedroom, he quickly shed his clothes, and took a cold shower, all the while cursing his family’s stupidity. He gargled with mouthwash and, as a final precaution, liberally slapped cologne on his cheeks.

  If not completely sober, he was certainly more alert. He lurched back downstairs into the morning room. Two uniformed policemen sat on the sofa opposite the fireplace. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, officers,” he said, stepping forward, vigorously shaking their hands. “How can I help you?”

  “As you’re probably aware, there’s a woman missing from the village,” the older officer stated.

  Alistair looked away hastily before replying, lest the policeman smell the alcohol on his breath. “So I understand. I believe her name is Morag McInnes.”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “Dreadful business. I don’t see what it has to do with me. I’ve only met the woman a couple of times.”

  “Well, sir, it’s like this. The mountain rescue team is on its way from Fort William. The hotel is a bit too public, not to mention cramped, so we were hoping you’d agree to let them make their base here.”

  Panic rose in Alistair’s chest. Play it cool. Play it cool, he told himself. “I see. And that would entail…what exactly?”

  “They need somewhere to set up the communications centre, and access to a phone line and the like, not to mention somewhere to house their dogs. Mr. Abercrombie, Ewan, at the hotel, has offered the use of the bunkhouse, should they not find her today, so there should be sufficient accommodation for everyone.”

  Alistair leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the leather armchair pretending to consider their request. Things were growing infinitely more complicated by the moment. If he refused, it could arouse their suspicion. If he said yes, having the police and the mountain rescue team under his feet day and night would be problematic.

  The officer cleared his throat. “Sir?”

  “Sorry, I was thinking. I have the very place. There’s a small cottage on the back drive. My former ghillie lived there. It’s been empty for a while now, but there’s a phone, and a small byre that would be suitable for the dogs. I’ll arrange for you to collect the key from the estate office. Now if that is all—”

  “That’s very much appreciated, sir.” The men stood to leave. “There’s just one more thing. If we need to bring in the helicopter, I assume you’ve no objection to it landing here.”

  “No, I haven’t, but I’d rather it didn’t land on the front lawn.”

  “I’ll make a note of that, sir.”

  Alistair chewed on his lip as he stood by the window watching the police car drive away. His legs felt rubbery, and he almost fainted with relief. He fell into an overstuffed armchair and closed his eyes. As close calls go, that was one of the closer kind. For
the time being at least, he was in the clear.

  He was still congratulating himself for handling the matter well, when MacKinnon burst into the room. “Why have the police been here? What’s going on?”

  “Keep your voice down, man, and close the damned door.” Alistair hissed. “I don’t want Mrs. McTavish getting suspicious.”

  “I don’t give a toss about your housekeeper.”

  Alistair ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t, wouldn’t allow MacKinnon the upper hand. “That’s as may be. However, this is not the right time to discuss our business transaction. I’ll meet you at Ardtoe bothy in two hours.”

  Mac’s fists bunched at his sides. “Don’t you tell—”

  “Get out. If you want your money, you’ll leave now!”

  The two men stared at each other in silence, both reluctant to back down. Finally, Mac lowered his gaze and turned to leave.

  “If you’re one minute late, just one minute, I’ll come looking for you.” He slammed the door behind him.

  Alistair let out a ragged breath and withdrew his shaking hands from his pockets. He needed time to think, to formulate a plan before they met again. Most of all he had to ensure that no blame for this fiasco could be laid at his door.

  An hour and a half later, making sure his housekeeper was out of the way, Alistair slipped out Killilan House and made his way up the hill towards the bothy.

  It was a steep climb to the tumbledown cottage tucked away on the far edge of the estate. The higher he climbed up the heather-clad hillside, the hotter he became. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. A red grouse catapulted out of heather, its telltale ‘go-back, go-back’ calls startling him and other birds in the vicinity.

  His father’s ghillie used to bring him here as a teenager for the annual deer cull. They spent days camping out in the sparsely furnished croft. He hated it even then, and nothing had changed now, twenty years later. The isolated cottage still gave him the creeps.

  He climbed the last few yards, pausing now and then to catch his breath. He made sure he was early so as to have an advantage over MacKinnon. There was no telling how the thug would behave, seeing as he resented authority of any description.

  Alistair took out his handkerchief, wrapped it around his hand, and opened the door of the bothy. It was empty. Back outside, he squinted against the sun, and scanned the hillside, but there was no sign of the man. He leaned against the doorframe and waited.

  Thirty minutes passed. MacKinnon slunk into the bothy without explanation or expression.

  “You’re late!” Alistair barked.

  Mac shrugged. “It was difficult to get away. One of the shepherds had a problem with a tractor and asked me to give him a hand to get the engine started.”

  “You still took too long.”

  “And I don’t care. What did the police want? If it was about those antiques that went missing from the Manse, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “For God’s sake! Isn’t the money I’m paying you enough?”

  “I told you, it wasn’t me.”

  “Then how… oh, never mind! The police weren’t here about missing antiques. They came to ask if the mountain rescue team could use the estate as a base for their search.”

  “Search? What search?” Mac took a drag on his cigarette.

  Alistair folded his arms across his chest, ignoring the question. A long brittle silence ensued.

  “I asked you a—”

  “I heard you,” Alistair snapped. “Members of the mountain rescue team are combing the village and surrounding area as we speak.”

  Mac chuckled. “That’s a relief. I thought the police had the eye on us. Instead, it’s some stupid hillwalker who’s taken a wrong turn while halfway up a bloody mountain.”

  “This has nothing to do with a hillwalker. It seems as though a woman driving a Land Rover is missing.”

  Mac laughed. “Yeah, well, they’re lying at the bottom of the hill on the glen road. I saw the accident myself. Horrific it was. The Land Rover came down the hill so fast it failed to make the turn. It took to the air and landed in a field.”

  Alistair suddenly felt violently ill. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He gulped in air in a desperate attempt to calm his stomach.

  “What if I were to tell you our intended target wasn’t driving?”

  “Impossible!”

  “I assure you it’s true. I saw Anna MacDonald in the hotel this morning. I even talked to her.”

  Mac grabbed Grant by the front of his shirt. “If this is some sort of sick game to avoid paying me, you’d better think again, your Lairdship. I’ve already got blood on my hands. Adding yours won’t make any difference.”

  He knocked MacKinnon’s arms away, and pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe MacKinnon’s spittle off his cheek.

  “Check it out for yourself. Although I should warn you, the police are setting up road blocks.”

  “But I saw the vehicle leave the road.”

  “That may be so. But incompetent fool that you are, you didn’t check to see who was driving, did you?”

  MacKinnon’s fist slammed into the wall. “I didn’t think there was any need seeing how it was her Land Rover.”

  “God damn it!” Grant’s eyes narrowed in rage. “It’s a fucking disaster. I’m ruined. Completely ruined! Well, don’t expect a penny more from me.”

  “Shut up! I’m trying to think. There has to be a way to sort this.”

  “How? I—”

  Mac’s face was vicious. “I said shut up!”

  Alistair swallowed. He’d been a fool to confront MacKinnon. To hell with the estate and the family name, he should just cut his losses and run. Then what would he do? Find a job? Doing what? The knot of hatred for his father tightened round his heart. He watched MacKinnon pull a flask from his hip pocket and take a swig.

  “I don’t think getting drunk is the answer to our problem,” he said, breaking the silence.

  Mac gulped down more from the flask and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Right, your Lairdship. I’ve had a drink and a think, and I have an idea. This is what we’ll do—”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The unrelenting sun beat down on Anna’s back as she searched the undergrowth beneath the old birch, pine and spruce trees along the granite-strewn riverbank. Luke and the dogs where somewhere off to her right, out of sight, searching nearer to the road. Hot, tired, but determined to carry on, she lifted the bottle of water and drank heartily. It slipped from her fingers when someone called her name.

  Squinting into the sun, she stared at the person standing on the bank a short distance away, but couldn’t see who it was. Ignoring the weight of her rucksack, she scrambled over boulders and pushed aside clumps of nettles in her frantic efforts to reach them. Twice she fell, but managed to struggle to her feet. She clawed her way up the bank and stopped on the edge of the field to catch her breath.

  It was then she recognized the figure.

  “Hello, Alistair. Have you come to help with the search?”

  “I’ve brought you a message from Ewan.”

  She wiped the sweat from her eyes. “Why didn’t he call on the radio?”

  “He tried, but the battery must be flat. I volunteered to come and give you the message.”

  “I see. Here, help me take this off for a minute,” she replied, turning so he could pull the rucksack from her shoulders. “Oh, God, that’s better.” She rotated her shoulders to ease the pain that had settled there. “So, what’s the message?”

  “You’re to search the other side of the river. Apparently, a hillwalker reported seeing a woman matching Mrs. McInnes’ description crossing the old footbridge over the gorge. He said she was acting very strange, as if she was disorientated.”

  “Are you sure?” She gazed at the mountains that towered above the far bank of the river. “That’s awfully rough terrain. I think the walker must be mistaken. Morag would never take to the hills.”


  “I know, my dear, it does seem strange. There could be any number of explanations as to why she might have taken that direction. I’m only relaying the message.”

  “Even so—”

  “Every lead has to be followed. You know that.”

  “Okay. I’ll sit here for a moment and I get my breath.” She examined a deep scratch on her arm and wondered whether to put an Elastoplast on it. “Would you mind passing me my pack? Thanks.” She rinsed the dried blood off her arm, smeared on some antiseptic cream, and took a bite of a high-energy cereal bar. “Are you coming with me, Alistair?”

  “I have to get back to the house. I am doing my bit. The mountain rescue service is due to arrive any moment. I’ve said they can use Sandy’s old cottage as their base. It will be a while until they get their comms—communications sorted out, so I’m acting as go-between. I’ll join the search tomorrow, if it continues.”

  “I’m glad they’ve finally arrived, we need all the help we can get. This heat is unbearable. I just wish it were a little cooler. I guess I better make a move.” She took a long drink, picked up her pack and tucked her hair into her baseball cap. “Be sure to tell Luke I’m searching the other bank if you see him.”

  “I will.”

  Aware that Anna was probably still watching, he resisted the temptation to wave. He continued walking, his steps measured and unhurried. Safely back in his car, he pulled the two-way radio out of the glove box and changed the frequency.

  “I’ve passed on the message. Over. Anna’s heading up the gorge.”

  He started the engine and returned to Killilan House.

  Under normal circumstances, Anna would have enjoyed the walk along the tumbling, foaming river, thundering through the deep gorge, but today she gained no pleasure from her surroundings. At nearly two hundred feet deep and a mile and a half long, the gorge was a dangerous place even in summer. Signs warned walkers to take great care on the narrow path. The moss and fern strewn walls rose sheer for seventy feet, the floor a mass of smooth granite boulders. Close under the banks, small pools of brown water formed, topped with a peaty froth. The air was heavy with the pungent scent of bog-myrtle.