Last Rite (Maggie Devereaux Book 3)
Page 16
“Oh, my God, Maggie!” came the shout behind her. It was Ellen, reading over her shoulder, her hands covering her agape mouth. “What’s going on?”
“Ellen!” Maggie spun around to face her friend. She folded her laptop shut, but it was too late. “What are you doing here?”
“Never mind that,” Ellen nearly shrieked. “What was that email?”
Maggie’s heart and mind were both racing. “What email?” she tried. It didn’t work.
“The one you just slammed shut.” Ellen pointed at the laptop. “The one that threatened your life.”
Maggie glanced back at her computer. “I’m not sure it was a threat exactly.”
Ellen threw herself down in the chair next to Maggie. “What’s going on, Mags? Are you in some kind of trouble?”
What’s going on? Maggie repeated in her mind. Where could she even begin? The back-story would fill a novel, maybe two. And Ellen would never believe it anyway. Still, she could hardly just deny everything. Ellen had just read the email. But she could try to limit it to that subject.
“I’ve been getting some strange emails,” Maggie admitted. “From someone I don’t know. I’m not really sure what they’re supposed to mean. I’m not too worried about it, though.”
“Are they just spam?” Ellen asked. “Or are they specific to you? What’s the Dark Book? Is that something you know about?”
“Uh, yeah, they’re pretty specific,” Maggie answered. She avoided a direct response about the Dark Book.
“How many have you gotten?”
“Um, three or four, I think.”
“Who are they from?”
Maggie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Ellen frowned. “Well, what’s the email address?”
Maggie shook her head. This wasn’t going to help soothe Ellen. “It’s sarah123@scotmail.com.”
“Oh, my God!” Ellen did shriek this time. “You’re getting emails from Sarah MacKenzie’s ghost?!”
Maggie ignored the other customers who’d turned to look back at their table. “I highly doubt it,” she replied. “It’s probably just somebody playing a joke on me.”
“It’s cyber-stalking is what it is,” Ellen retorted. “That’s a crime. Have you called the police?”
Maggie grimaced. She’d had enough of the police lately. “No. I don’t really want to get the police involved.”
Ellen cocked her head at Maggie’s tone, but didn’t challenge her. Instead, she thought for a moment, then said, “Well, there are other ways to find out what’s going on.”
Maggie allowed a small smile. “Oh yeah?” She definitely wanted to find out what was going on.
“Aye,” Ellen replied. “Stuart has a friend. A real computer whiz. I bet he could figure out who’s really sending you those emails. All that stuff can be tracked, if you know how to do it.”
“Which I don’t,” Maggie admitted.
“Me either,” Ellen said. “But Stuart’s friend, Dougie, does. I’m sure he could do it. And Stuart will do anything I ask him to.”
Maggie frowned. “I’m sure,” she groaned.
Ellen frowned too, but it was still friendly. “I know he’s not the best-looking lad ever. He’s a bit thin, and pale. And he probably only starting talking to me because he figured out I was friends with that cute American girl he saw at the library, but he’s really not so bad, Mags. He was honestly worried when you went missing on that cemetery tour. He said he felt like it was his fault.”
“His fault?” Maggie questioned. Interesting.
“Well, like I said,” Ellen replied, “he’s a nice lad. A bit sensitive maybe. But back to the point, he’ll do anything to help me, and probably more to help you. He’ll get Dougie to do it.”
Maggie shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t need help,” she insisted.
Ellen clicked her tongue at Maggie. “Now, now. Didn’t you tell Iain you wanted someone you could trust? Someone you could count on to help you?”
Maggie shrugged. “I’m not sure that’s exactly what I said.”
“Close enough,” Ellen grinned. “Let me take your computer. I’ll give it to Dougie and I’m sure he can figure out who’s sending you those nasty emails.”
Maggie frowned again and considered the offer. Finally, she opened her laptop again and started clicking things. “Okay, fine,” she relented. “You can take it. I’m not going to need it for a few days anyway.”
Ellen beamed. “Brilliant. I’m so happy you agreed, I won’t even ask why you won’t need it.” She looked at her friend for a moment. “But I will ask what you’re doing right now.”
“Deleting my browsing history,” Maggie answered. “I don’t want Dougie, or Stuart, or even you, to see everything I do on my computer.”
Ellen shook her head and laughed. “Always the mysterious one, eh?”
Maggie smiled. “It’s in my blood.”
36. Ayrsduff
The village of Ayrsduff—meaning ‘dark coast,’ from the Gaelic earre, for coast, and dubh, dark—was on the northwest coast of Scotland, approximately halfway between the Hebrides and nowhere, and accessible only by a single road which was both narrow enough not to allow two cars to pass in opposite directions and desolate enough for that not to matter. Maggie had needed a ride, and needed to only ask once, receiving an immediate and emphatic, “Yes!” Now she found herself riding shotgun through the deepest part of the Highlands in a subcompact hastily rented by one Philip Harmon.
She’d mentioned the Gàidhealtachd of course, but she supposed (and hoped) that her own company might also have been a selling point. They motored along, a bit slower than really necessary as Philip got used to driving on the wrong side of the treacherously narrow road.
“Doesn’t this sort of remind you of the Cascade foothills?” Philip asked, pointing to the grassy, rolling landscape.
Maggie looked around. Philip was right; it did look a bit like the hills that gathered at the base of the Cascade Mountains east of Seattle—and Vancouver, she supposed. “It sure does,” she agreed. “Although they’re covered in pine trees near Seattle.”
“Right,” Philip nodded. “Up by Vancouver too. And you can see the actual snow-covered peaks in the background.”
Maggie regarded their current horizon. Nothing but slate gray sky behind the rolling mini-mountains. It gave the illusion of water being perpetually over the next hill, but Maggie knew from the map that they still had at least an hour before they’d reach Ayrsduff. She wondered if Philip had the same sensation. But before she could ask, she realized that Iain, instead of sharing her observations and feelings, would have been telling her all the things she didn’t notice, invoking feeling she didn’t know to have. It was nice to be with someone like herself, but she missed who she could become when she was with someone different from herself.
Stupid Iain.
She sighed, a little too loudly.
Philip glanced over at her, but only momentarily, his eyes glued to the twisting ribbon of road. “You okay?”
She frowned from the window and smiled to her reflection. “Yeah, sure. It’s just… something about the landscape, I guess. I’m just feeling kinda quiet. I think I’ll just look at the scenery for a bit.”
Philip nodded. “No worries. I understand. I’ll wake you if I drive off the road.”
Maggie chuckled despite her melancholy. “I’m sure that would wake me. Thanks, Philip.”
He didn’t reply. Which was perfect.
*
By the time they reached their destination, it matched its name. The sun was beginning its descent into the North Atlantic, swelling orange beyond the waters of The Minch and Isle of Lewis. Long shadows lined the small town, which would have needed an influx of residents to even warrant being called a village. There were a handful of one-story houses scattered around the main central buildings: the pub (of course), the church, and the hotel. The town cemetery, Maggie was sure to note, was behind the church.
The hotel was
the only building more than two stories, although only barely. At three stories, it was the tallest structure in the town save the church steeple. It was a simple building, with wooden clapboard painted a dirtying white. Its only windows were in front, all facing the water. Above the door hung a simple sign, red with white letters: TAIGH-ÒSDA. Gaelic for ‘hotel.’
“Well, look at that.” Philip slapped his knee. “We really are in a Gàidhealtachd, aren’t we?”
“Tha,” Maggie replied affirmatively in Gaelic. “
Then she grinned and raised an eyebrow. “
“Oh, I don’t know.” He laughed nervously. “Er, that is…
Maggie laughed. “Close,” she said in English. “You just need some practice.” She made a sweeping gesture at the small town. “No better place than this.”
Philip nodded. “Okay,” he agreed. “”
Maggie smiled at the awkward syntax, then shook her head at the irony of finding a fellow Gaelic speaker from Canada, rather than a certain handsome Scot who used to drive her around the entire kingdom but didn’t speak a word of his nation’s ancestral tongue. Her previous melancholy at the thought of Iain was tempered by the rush she always got when she got to speak another language—especially Gaelic.
They parked the car directly in front of the hotel and walked inside. The entry was more living room than hotel lobby, with a reception desk pushed against a far wall on the other side of a sitting area with four stuffed chairs by a fireplace. A dining room was visible on the other side of a central staircase, with a door to the kitchen beyond that. Lots of dark wood and embroidered fabric. Cozy. Definitely a B&B vibe.
Maggie smiled. Nice.
She stepped to one side and pushed Philip gently toward the woman bent over the reception desk. “
He sighed, but then offered a smile and nodded.
The woman stood up to greet them. She was large. Large all around. Tall, heavy set, with lots of layers of clothes and a barely tamed mane of brown and gray hair loose around her head and down her back. She wore wire-rimmed glasses at the end of her pink nose, and an assortment of jewelry, from rings to bracelets to multiple earrings, jingled as she extended a hand and stepped over to them.
“Fàilte,” she said. Gaelic for ‘welcome.’ She didn’t follow up with the English too, like they did in some of the more southern Gàidhealtachds, to give the guest the option of which language to respond in. This was Gaelic only. Maggie crossed her arms and smiled, eager to watch the show.
“Uh, hallo,” Philip started uneasily. “
The woman raised an eyebrow. “
Philip frowned, eyes narrowing in concentration. “
This time both eyebrows shot up. A bemused smile played across her lips. She looked to Maggie.
Maggie shook her head, but decided she better step in before Philip got them kicked out of the only hotel in town.
“
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“
The woman approvingly looked at Philip again, then turned to fetch two room keys off the punchboard behind her.
“Two rooms, eh?” Philip whispered to Maggie in English. “I understood that much.”
Maggie didn’t reply, save a beguiling smile. Once she switched to Gaelic, she didn’t like to switch back.
The woman returned and handed them their keys. “
“Tapadh leibh,” Maggie thanked her.
“Tapadh leibh,” Philip parroted, grateful to be able to fire off the rote phrase for ‘thank you.’
They stepped outside to fetch their bags, but Maggie suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the street. “
Philip took a moment to confirm what he’d heard, then another to reply. “
Maggie shook her head amicably. He needed the trip almost more than she did. Almost. She wasn’t just dragging him along on some romantic sunset walk—not just. She was also running reconnaissance. They were walking toward the church, and behind it, the cemetery.
“So,” Philip seemed embarrassed to say, “can we speak English now? My Gaelic is humiliatingly inadequate.”
“
Philip grimaced. “This is going to be an awkward conversation if we’re each speaking a different language.”
“Okay, okay,” Maggie finally relented. “You can have a little Beurla if you want”—the Gaelic word for ‘English’—“but you’re never going to get better if you don’t practice.”
“I have every intention of practicing my Gaelic,” Philip insisted. “Later. When I have to.”
“Fine.” Maggie bumped into him playfully. “But you better keep me around in case you get into trouble.”
Philip nodded and smiled at her. “I’d like nothing more.”
Maggie felt a blush starting. She coughed and looked away. “Yes, well, hmm…”
Philip was smart enough to move the conversation on a bit. “So, why did we come here again?”
Maggie was glad for the change of topic. “Oh, just some research,” she answered without much thought. It was her standard response.
“Oh, yeah?” Philip replied. “On what?”
Oh, crap. Maggie realized she and Philip probably did a lot of the same research. He’d actually be interested in whatever it was she was doing. So much for the comfort of being with someone like herself. She was definitely uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Er, uh… It’s kind of a secret.”
Lame, Devereaux, she knew.
Philip frowned. “I’m not going to steal your ideas, Maggie.”
Maggie’s heart sank. She knew that, of course. In fact, she hadn’t even considered it, which was why she’d gone ahead and said what she’d said. Iain would have just accepted the ‘secret’ reply. Hell, he would have let it go after the ‘research’ explanation. But Philip took it completely differently. Rather than a chance for unspoken trust, it had exploded in her hands, a statement of competitive distress. Damn.
She looked ahead. They were almost to the cemetery. She knew how to get to it. That was good enough for now.
“
*
Dinner started as a quiet affair. There was allegedly another guest at the hotel, but she had apparently gone to the pub for the evening. Maggie expected she and Philip would eat at the pub too, but when they’d gotten back from their walk, Rhona had made some cryptic comment about being relieved they were back before dark. Cryptic, but concerned. Maggie knew there was information behind the sentiment, so she decided to find out what it was, over dinner at the hotel with Rhona. Philip was surprised and tried to talk Maggie into going out to the pub after all, but he soon learned that in addition to being more than a wee bit mysterious, Maggie was more than a wee bit stubborn.
He gave in without too much of a fight and soon they sat down for a dinner of baked fish and sautéed potatoes. It took almost no effort at all to convince Rhona to join them after she’d brought out the food, and Maggie began her interrogation. It was disguised as simp
le tourist curiosity and was, to Philip’s chagrin, entirely in Gaelic.
Maggie had information to gather. Philip would just have to keep up.
The conversation started with the usual chit-chat. When the city was founded. Some high points of local history. A couple of the more famous residents. The importance of the distant town as a haven of Gaelic language and culture during The Clearances. Eventually, though, after dinner was eaten and they were onto the whisky, it was time to get to the point.
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