by Amy Vansant
They stood. Luther remained seated and dropped the corner of his paper to wink at Catriona as she followed Broch to the door. She smiled.
Good old Luther.
Outside Sean’s door, Broch touched Catriona’s hand.
“Cat—”
She shook her head and pulled away. “Don’t, Kilty. I don’t want to talk about it. You’re a big boy. You can do anything you want. I don’t have any right to be...cranky.”
“Ah want ye to understand. Ah needed to ken if she’s the wummin in my dreams.”
“Judging by your apparel when I showed up, I’m going to guess the glass slipper was hers?”
He scowled. “Cendrillon?”
Her eyes grew wide with surprise. The word he’d said sounded a lot like a French version of Cinderella. “You know Cinderella?”
Brock looked askance and appeared to mull her question. “Ah dae. Ah mind noo—ah had tae read it learning French with Gavin’s tutor. That’s a real memory—not a dream.”
“Who’s Gavin?” She shook her head. “Sorry, it doesn’t matter. Point is, I guess, that Fiona is your long lost love?”
He shook his head. “Na. Ah dinnae get the chance to ask her aboot it.”
“Didn’t get the chance? How could you not get—” She held up a hand. “No. You’re dragging me into this again. I’m not going to act like a jealous girlfriend. I’m happy if you found your love. I am.” She tilted her head to the side, reluctant to share the rest of her thought.
“Whit is it?” he asked.
She sighed. “I’ll be honest—I thought maybe there was something between us. But it’s not the first time I’ve been wrong.”
He stepped forward. “Yer not wrong. Ah feel it, tae.”
“Then why would you sleep with a woman you just met?”
“Ah dinnae. Ah mean, ah dinnae think—”
Catriona felt her throat tightening. “It’s fine. I have to go.”
She turned away and walked down the hall before she could make an even bigger fool of herself.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Leaving Broch standing in front of Sean’s office, Catriona pulled her phone and called Noseeum as she made her way out of Parasol Picture’s main office.
“My house. Bring a bottle of red,” she said, before Noseeum had a chance to say hello.
“Hello to you, too, Cat.”
She reconsidered how terrible she felt. “Make it three bottles.”
“You know it isn’t even lunch yet, right?”
Opening the exit door, she walked into the California sun, squinting. “You don’t have to come this second. Just soon. And they don’t have to be good bottles. Just easy to open.”
“Should I deduce from this that you’re having a bad morning?” asked Noseeum, a touch of amusement in his tone.
She smiled. “You know what? You’re rich. Bring three good bottles of red wine.”
“What if I had other plans that didn’t involve listening to you moan about your life?”
She shrugged. “Then you’re fired.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you.”
Catriona spent the next several hours scrubbing her apartment. Cleaning was a great way to distract herself from her problems. She tried to get really upset at least three times a year, if for no other reason than to keep the health inspector away.
She cleaned out her cabinets. Straightened her desk drawers. Vacuumed. Dusted.
Whenever she thought she’d done enough, the image of Kilty and Fiona rolling in the stupid, blue, silky sheets she’d seen on the video chat popped to mind, and she threw herself into another project.
She was naked and in the shower scrubbing tiles—slowly succumbing to mold-killer fumes— when someone knocked on her door.
She threw on a robe and answered.
Noseum stood outside her door with a leather wine carrier over his shoulder.
She grinned. “That looks like it holds six bottles. Excellent. You read between the lines.”
He offered her an exaggerated once-over. “Why do you look like you just stepped out of the Amazon and threw on a robe?”
“I was cleaning the shower. Naked. Duh.”
Noseeum entered, his nose wrinkling. “That explains why it smells like a hospital in here. I’m having med-school flashbacks.”
“Sorry.”
“So you’re cleaning...I know what that means.” He looked down at the six-bottle carrier. “It was this, or the two-bottle carrier. Seems I made the right choice.”
“You are correct, sir.”
She relieved him of his gifts. Pulling a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from the carrier, she brandished a corkscrew with practiced ease while Pete retrieved two glasses from her cabinet.
“It’s so nice that you know the drill,” she said.
He shrugged. “What are friends for?”
He poured with a flourish and she raised her glass for a toast.
“To a clean apartment,” she said.
“To my excellent taste in wine saving my job once again,” said Noseeum.
Catriona took a sip and closed her eyes. The wine filled her mouth with a captivating lush fruit, touched by hints of vanilla and tobacco. “Wow, that’s good.”
“It should be. You went right for the finest vintage, as usual.”
“It’s a talent.”
Noseeum toyed with the little paper squares she still had piled on her kitchen island, pushing them into a flower-like pattern. He flipped over a few of the blanks to read the letters on the back.
“Don’t you want to know what those letters are for?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Not really.”
Of course not. If curiosity killed the cat, Noseeum would live forever.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure of your summons?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Oh, you know. Nothing in particular.”
He scowled. “Uh huh.”
She sat on the sofa and tucked her legs under her.
“Let me ask you something...”
“Here it comes,” muttered Noseeum, finding his place on the opposite side of the sofa.
“How come you’ve never hit on me?”
He put a hand on his chest. “Me?”
She nodded.
He raised his eyebrows. “Why do I feel like you just handed me a loaded gun?”
“Seriously. I mean, is there something about me that says, nope. Bad idea?”
He chuckled. “For me? Yes.”
She gasped. “Yes? What is it?”
“You’re way out of my league.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh shut up.”
“It’s true. Look at me. I’m a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet.”
“I’ve seen your girlfriends. You’ve had some real cuties.”
He scoffed. “Because I’m rich. But you wouldn’t go out with someone just for their money. Certainly not me.”
“No…but you’re funny and nice and—”
“Whatever. You never asked me out, either, you know.”
She squinted. “I always thought of you like a brother. That would be weird.”
“And I think of you like a sister.”
“Really? Aww—”
He raised his glass to his lips and muttered. “A sister I’d bang the crap out of if given the chance.”
She gasped and slapped his thigh. “Gross.”
Chuckling, Noseeum sipped his wine. “This is about the Highlander, isn’t it?”
Her shoulders slumped. “It’s that obvious?”
“It’s more the way he looks at you.”
She pointed at him, nearly sloshing wine on her sofa. “See? That’s what I mean. He does look at me like there’s something there, doesn’t he?”
Noseeum nodded.
She flopped back and stared at the ceiling. “So I’m not nuts.”
“You’re not nuts. So what’s the problem?”
She sighed. “Fiona.”
“Whose Fiona?”
“Fiona Duffy.”
“The one who stole Owen Crane from his wife?”
She nodded. “Well, the one the tabloids said stole him from his wife. I can neither confirm nor deny. And she and Owen have apparently run their course.”
Noseeum let loose a long admiring whistle. “She’s like—”
“Hot.”
“Uh, yeah.”
Catriona glared at him.
“No hotter than you,” he added, quickly.
She chuckled. “Right.”
“Seriously. She’s just all made-up all the time and you look like—”
“Like I just finished scrubbing my shower.”
“Right. And she’s got that bad girl thing.”
Catriona took a long quaff from her glass. “Apparently, Broch likes that bad girl thing.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“Sure.”
“We’ll just drink until then.”
She smiled. “Perfect.”
An hour and two bottles later, Catriona found herself setting up the karaoke machine she’d borrowed from the studio and never remembered to return.
“Queue me up, Elvis. I’m going old school,” said Noseeum, snarling his lip.
She struggled to tug the machine closer to the wall socket. “You think you’re old school, you should talk to Broch.”
“He sings the old stuff?”
“No. He’s from seventeen forty-five.”
“Huh?”
“He time traveled—” Catriona straightened.
Oops.
Noseeum stared at her, a strange smile on his face.
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t believe that?”
She dropped to her knees to busy herself with the machine and refused to look at him.
“Cat?”
She grunted. “Hm?”
Noseeum squatted on his heels. He put a hand on either side of her face and pointed it in his direction. “Tell me the truth. Do you think that kilted beefcake traveled here from eighteenth-century Scotland?” he asked.
She swallowed. “What’s that now?”
“Come on.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What if he did?”
Noseeum threw back his head and stood. “Then he’s a liar and a lunatic and you shouldn’t have anything to do with him.”
She straightened.
Then Sean is a lunatic, too.
Somehow, she kept her wine-addled brain from saying her last thought out loud.
But is that a good thing?
It would feel wonderful to talk to Noseeum about everything...
Staring into the doctor’s dubious expression, she sighed.
No. Better to make that decision another time. Sober.
She grinned and slapped his arm. “It was just a joke. You know, the kilt, the sexy Outlander thing. It was a joke.”
Noseeum visibly relaxed. “Whew. I thought you’d lost it there for a second.”
The lyrics to Suspicious Minds popped on the screen and Catriona scurried to take a seat on the sofa.
She held up her glass.
“You’re on, Elvis.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ah willnae dae it anymore.
The shame and frustration of his last encounter with Catriona made Brock more determined than ever to end the mystery of Fiona.
It wid be easier if she weren’t in jail.
He would have to wait to speak with her again. In the meantime, all he had left was his illuminating dreamlife.
He knew what he needed.
Pecans.
Broch called a car and returned to the quaint diner where Asher had bought him his pecan pie. He needed more pecans. Perhaps with some persuading, his dreams would reveal the answers he needed, before they ruined any chance he had of happiness.
Entering the restaurant, he spotted Asher in the same booth they’d occupied before.
“Hey!” she said, raising a hand.
“Hey,” he echoed walking to her.
“Sit down. Keep me company.”
He sat.
“You left so fast the other night. Were you sick?” she asked, before taking a bite of yellow pie.
He grunted. “Aye. Ye could say that.”
“But you came back for more? Bold move.”
He pointed to her pie. “Ye came back as well.”
She dropped the end of her fork on her plate with a clatter. “It’s been a pretty crazy day. Only lemon meringue was going to get me through it.”
“Ah suppose ye heard...Owen got his laddie back.”
“I know. And Fiona did it. Can you believe it? Wait—” She tilted her head, staring at him. “Didn’t I hear you were the one who found Toby?”
He nodded.
“And you were at Fiona’s in the middle of the night?”
He sighed. “Aye.”
“You said that like air being let out of a balloon. I guess you’re pretty unhappy that your new girlfriend is a kidnapper?”
“She’s nae my girlfriend.”
“You know, I thought you and Catriona...”
He grimaced and leaned back, putting physical distance between himself and her question.
“It’s complicated.”
Asher’s head bobbed. “I’ll say. Everyone’s acting crazy. A day after the kid went missing, Owen dumped Fiona. Maybe he could feel she was guilty. I don’t know.” She shoveled a large forkful of pie into her mouth, looking glum.
The server stopped by and Broch ordered a piece of pecan pie.
“He’s an idiot, you know,” said Asher, shaking her head so hard her long earrings swung and slapped against her cheeks.
“Wha?” asked Broch.
“Owen’s an idiot. He reunited with Amber about five minutes after his breakup fight with Fiona.”
“Ah heard they reunited.”
She scoffed. “Idiot. He left Amber for a reason. They were terrible together. Oil and water. Maybe more like fire and gasoline. And now, just because they went through this Toby ordeal, they think they’re in love again? I didn’t see that coming.”
“Mibbie they are in love,” said Broch as his pie arrived.
Asher slapped her hand on the table. “That’s the thing. They’re not. You weren’t their assistant, watching every fight, every thing. It was a nightmare for both of them and now they’ve totally forgotten.”
Broch shrugged and stared at his pie, terrified to eat it.
“Amber didn’t even show up at the hospital when they brought Toby there. What a bitch.”
“Whit’s that? She didn’t see her child?”
“No. Owen was still there, alone, when he sent me away—” Her shoulders dropped. “It doesn’t matter. It’s his life, right? It’s just that he deserves better than that cheating bitch.”
She took another bite of pie and looked up at him. “You’re a good listener.”
“Thank ye.”
“Aren’t you going to eat your pie?”
“Ah wanted tae take it home.”
“Oh. Don’t let me hold you up. Go ahead. I’ll pay for it.”
“Ye paid last time. Ah hae one of these,” Broch slid a credit card from his pocket.
She waved him away. “Don’t worry about it. Go home. But wait—” She caught the server’s eye and asked for a box. Once it arrived, she nodded to Broch to take it. “Put your pie in there. Don’t carry it out in your hand like you did last time, ya weirdo.”
He nodded and tilted the plate to slide the pie into the Styrofoam container. As he did so, Asher’s phone rang and she put down her fork to answer.
Broch watched her expression grow animated as someone on the other end of the line spoke.
“What? Are you serious? How? Wow...okay... okay...I’m on it. Thanks.”
“Somethin’ wrong?” he asked.
She stared at him, her jaw hanging open for several seconds before answering. “It’s Amber.”
Brock stoo
d. “Did she say why she wasnae at the hospital?”
“No, it wasn’t Amber on the phone. That was Owen’s business manager calling me.”
“Ah dinnae understand.”
She looked up at him. “He told me they found Amber dead.”
Now it was Brock’s turn to drop his jaw. “Dead? Howfur?”
“Stabbed to death. Can you believe it? I have to go. She stood and grabbed her purse. “I have to find Owen. He’s got to be a mess.”
Asher patted him on the arm and scurried out of the diner.
Unsure what he should do, Broch retrieved his phone to call Catriona. It rang until he heard her voice, but when he tried to speak to her, something beeped and the line went dead.
He tried again, with the same result.
After using his credit card for the first time to pay for both his and Asher’s pies, Broch took a car back to the studio.
Passing Catriona’s door on the way to his own apartment, he paused.
It sounded as if people were singing inside.
He raised a hand to knock and then looked down at the Styrofoam box in his other hand, realizing he had nothing new to share with Catriona.
First, he needed pie.
Chapter Twenty-Five
1833 – Edinburgh, Scotland
Brochan walked the long road back into town, the moon so full and bright it was almost as if the midnight sun shone just for him.
Though it was a chilly evening, his body felt warmed by a fire within.
Fiona.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her face, the way she danced, the way she looked at him…
The sound of hoof beats and wooden wheels reached his ears and he turned, hoping he’d recognize the driver.
The evening was fine, but now that he’d been walking a while, he’d decided it wouldn’t hurt to find a ride to town.
A black carriage approached and passed him without pausing. He recognized the gold scroll work on the side.
Fiona’s da.
He turned and stared back the way he’d come.
Och na.
The carriage taking Fiona home had to make a stop before heading toward her home.
Fiona’s father would be home before her and he’d discover she’d gone to the party.
