***
The Whispering Crow was bustling with activity when Rosie and I arrived once again. Guests greeted local friends with hugs and kisses, while others sat in the plush and welcoming lobby before the crackling stone fireplace, with books and laptops in tow. The scent of coffee and freshly baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with something faint and sweet, and I embraced the cozy atmosphere with one final deep breath, before approaching the desk and the unfamiliar woman sitting behind it.
“Ah, good evenin', sir,” she greeted us with a bright, cordial smile. “Would ye be needin' a room? Our Lovers' Suite, perhaps?” She looked between Rosie and me with a knowing nod of her head.
Without bothering to mention that the Lovers’ Suite was still occupied, for all intents and purposes, I replied, “That willnae be necessary.” Then, taking out my badge, I continued, “Inspector Brodie, and this is my informant, Miss Allan.”
“Oh!” The woman eyed my badge with surprise, gripping at the pendant around her neck. “Isla mentioned ye'd been around. Such a shame about that nice, young girl. Those woods are just full of treacherous things, aren't they?”
I nodded solemnly. “I tried leavin’ a message for ye the other day. Did ye get it?”
Her brows pinched together, then she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry about that. I never think to check my voice messages.”
“Not a problem. Do ye remember Grace Allan?” I asked, eyeing her with suspicion as I tucked my badge away and straightened the lapels of my coat.
She nodded solemnly, as her golden curls bounced against her shoulders. “I'm only here once a week, mind ye; I have other inns I tend to. So, I only saw her once or twice that I can recall. But she was a sweet girl, always smilin' and sayin' hello.”
“Did ye ever see her with anyone?”
She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes, as if by doing so she could peer into the past. “I dinnae think so, no. She always seemed to be alone, the poor thing.” Then, with a shake of her head, she brought herself back to the present, smiled and gestured at us to follow her through a door behind the desk. “Come with me, ye can take a look at whatever ye need.”
“We appreciate it,” I muttered, before glancing at Rosie, who hadn't bothered to look at me or talk since our conversation this morning.
The woman pulled a large book from a shelf behind a small desk and laid it out. After asking what dates we were specifically looking for, she flipped through the pages, scanning one long-fingered nail over names and lines, until finally she stopped and pointed at the upper left corner of the page.
“Here ye go,” she said, then headed toward the door. “Take all the time ye need. And if ye need anythin' else, please dinnae hesitate to ask for me. My name’s Agnes.”
“It's appreciated, Agnes. Thank ye,” I replied, regarding her with a polite smile.
Then, with another nod and a shake of her bouncy curls, she left us and closed the door behind her. Rosie immediately sat at the desk to scan the pages, when I stopped her with a hand over the jotted lines.
“Rosie. Can I just say somethin'?”
She shook her head. “Let's just do what we came here for, okay?”
“Please?”
With a disgruntled sigh, she lifted her head and glared at me. Her eyes were heavily hooded, bloodshot, and supported by deep circles of purple. It had been stupid of me to not fully see the depth of her exhaustion before, and instinctively, I reached out to lay my palm against her cheek.
“Christ, ye need to sleep.”
“Is that what you wanted to say?” she asked, brushing my hand from her face. “Because believe me, I'm aware. I totally plan on sleeping for a month when I get back home, don't worry.”
I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “No. No, that's not—”
“Wait,” she interrupted in a rush. “What was your partner's name?”
Dropping my hand, I narrowed my eyes at her curiously and said, “Finley. Why?”
“Finley, what? Just Finley? The guy doesn’t have a first name?”
Shaking my head, I blinked rapidly as I struggled to collect my thoughts, still desperately wanting to say what I had to tell her. “Ah, no, it's Brian. Brian Finley.”
She shoved the book toward me and thrust a finger at the page. I bent over to look at the scrawled signature, and as my eyes slowly began to widen, she asked, “You mean, like this Brian Finley?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ALEC
With my heart hammering in my ears, I stared at the name, clearly written on the page, just below Grace Allan's young and bubbly signature. I opened my mouth to speak, but with my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth, I couldn't release so much as an incoherent stutter.
“Oh, my God, Alec, look at the room numbers,” Rosie said, her breath catching in her throat with a blend of morbid excitement and adrenaline.
I glanced again at the book, to see Grace had stayed in room twelve, and when I saw that Finley had been put into number fourteen, I closed my eyes to the page and shook my head.
“Fuckin' hell,” I croaked, reaching up with both hands to grip my hair. “Fuckin’ hell! how is this happenin’?”
“He's gotta be the one who did it, right?” she asked, bolting up from the chair. It slid from beneath her and hit the bookshelf against the wall with a jostled clatter. “Right?”
I nodded, turning in a slow circle around the small office. “Aye. It certainly seems that way.”
“So … so, you have to go get him, right? You have to arrest him?”
My stomach was struck with pang after agonizing pang at the thought of arresting my partner, but hadn't I already realized this could've been a possibility? I had known from the start that someone in law enforcement had committed the crime, or at least someone with the power to manipulate the case. That was the very reason why I had set out to investigate the case on my own. But now, faced with the reality that I hadn't imagined it all, I edged dangerously on the verge of vomiting.
“Alec?”
“I-I-I have to be tactful about th-thi-this, Rosie,” I told her, stopping my spin cycle to look at her. “I cannae ju-ju-just approach him and tell him he's uh-uh-un-under arrest.”
The hope and triumph that had just been in Rosie's eyes was suddenly extinguished with compassion and unnecessary defeat. She cocked her head and released her breath as she nodded.
“If you can't do it, or if you just don't want to, then we can go to your office and—”
“No,” I interrupted harshly, and her mouth clamped shut. “We don’t know if he acted alone or if there were others. No, I have to do this, and I have to do it alone.”
Rosie's face fell with disappointment before turning angry, and I braced myself for the backlash.
“What?” she whispered loudly, to where it almost wasn't a whisper at all. “I have not come this far for you to make the fucking arrest without me, Alec. Don't you dare do that to me!”
With a finger pressed firmly to my lips, I demanded that she quiet herself. Then, in a low growl, I told her, “He may still not ken I'm workin' with ye, and I willnae make him or anybody else aware of that now.”
“But we can’t be sure he doesn’t know. You don't remember those pictures on her phone? He knows I'm here already, so what difference does it make?” she shot back, with a fire in her eyes that called to me in flickers of lust I was finding difficult to ignore.
“Rosie,” I growled through gritted teeth, planting my hands firmly against the desk and bringing my face within inches of hers. “We dinnae ken that he's seen us together.”
“We're together right now!” she growled back, low and agitated.
“I understand,” I replied slowly, forcing a calm I didn't feel. “And if ye're gonna say we havenae been as careful as we shouldae been, I'd agree. I'd do things differently if we could go back and do it all again. But it would be foolish to assume that he specifically has seen us. I don’t wanna offer that to him until we know for sure.”
The lass was as fiery as they come, and Lord, I would have been glad to meet my death within the flames, as she held my gaze with a firm grasp. But eventually, she relented with a brief nod and crossed her arms, turning away to survey the shelf of books and trinkets.
“So, what's the plan, then?”
The office walls closed in on me and forced every ounce of oxygen away from my lungs' reach, as I imagined apprehending the man I'd called my friend. I wondered how he'd react, if he'd attempt my own murder, and it saddened me to think that just recently, I couldn't imagine him killing anyone at all.
With a sigh and a shrug, I raked a hand through my hair and muttered, “Well, before I do anything, I guess I'm gonna go get a drink.”
***
I told her I was going to take her back to Rick's house, and that's exactly what I intended to do. But before I drove out of town, I pulled into a car park, with a quick decision to make an impromptu visit. Rosie regarded me with a curious glance as I turned off the car and got out, gesturing for her to follow.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, as I led the way to the large, glass entrance.
“Sayin' hello,” I muttered, praying to God that it wouldn’t be my last time.
I held the door open for her and together we stepped inside the clinical lobby, where the harsh sting of bleach bit at my nostrils as I signed in at the desk. Then, I led Rosie down a long, boring corridor of white walls and beige tiles, to a brown door with only a small window in the center.
“Ready?” I asked her, and she responded with a curious peek through the window and a slight nod.
The door opened with a creak, and the scent of canned stew instantly washed the lingering bleach from my nose. Dad stood at his small kitchenette, slowly stirring his everyday supper, when he turned at the sound of our entrance.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, allowing Rosie to enter before closing the door. “How're ye?”
“Alec? Are ye home from school already, laddie?”
With a quick glance at Rosie, I watched for the recognizable flicker of heartbreak and understanding, and just as I'd expected, it came with a slow exhale and a gentle parting of her lips. Now, she knew of my father and his dying mind, and I couldn't explain why that made me glad.
“Aye,” I replied, approaching him with a smile. “Stew tonight?”
“Oh, ye ken I love the stuff,” he said, grinning the way he always did when I was able to visit. “Can ye stay?”
“I can for a while,” I said. “I'd love to eat with ye. But first, I wanted to introduce ye to someone.”
Dad looked further over his shoulder into the drab room we'd tried to spruce up a bit with artwork and my mother's quilt over the back of the sofa. He spotted Rosie, standing at the table with her hands gripping the back of a chair. Her smile was shy, as if she were a schoolgirl meeting a boyfriend's family for the first time, and I swore I could've loved her if I was given the chance.
“And who is this?” he asked, his smile widening further than I'd seen it in a long time.
“This—” I began, before being interrupted by Rosie's own introduction, as she said, “Mr. Brodie, I'm Rosalynn, Alec's friend.”
She walked over with her palm extended and Dad accepted graciously, bowing to kiss the back of her hand. He stood up straight, wearing a grin, and grasped her fingers between both of his shaky hands, and said, “It's lovely to meet ye, lass.” Then, he glanced at me with a wink and said, “She's a bonnie one, isnae she?”
As my eyes met hers, I watched as her cheeks pinked beneath the harsh fluorescent glow of the overhead light, and I gave my head the slightest bob as I replied, “Aye, Dad. That, she is.”
He grunted an approving sound, then hurried to microwave two more cans of stew. Rosie helped to collect the bowls and spoons, while I cleaned his morning coffee cup from the table. Then, before we sat to eat, Dad excused himself to use the toilet, granting Rosie the opportunity to ask the question that'd been burning against her lips since we'd arrived.
“Why didn't we go straight back to Rick's?”
With my eyes on the bathroom door, I fought against an unexpected wave of emotion, and said, “Because if this is my last chance to see my father, I want him to remember me bein' happy, even if he only gets to keep that memory for a little while.”
***
Later, after enjoying a meal with my father, I brought Rosie back to the house and changed into more comfortable clothes. A sweatshirt and pants would be easier to move in, if a fight should occur, and I’d be more likely to keep up with Finley, if he should run.
I caught a glimpse of the mirror beside my bedroom door and asked my reflection aloud, “Imagine this is the last outfit ye ever get to wear. Are ye okay if ye die wearin’ these clothes?”
He had nothing to say to that.
Rick came down the hall from his study, just as I closed my bedroom door, and stopped me from approaching the staircase.
“What is it?” I asked, as I made sure I had my mobile and keys.
“Ye dinnae have to do this,” he said, with his concern for me written plainly in his eyes. “I told ye, call Edinburgh or Inverness. Go somewhere that isnae Fort Crow. You dinnae have to be the one to—”
“Everythin' is gonna be fine,” I insisted, pushing the sleeves of my sweatshirt to my elbows. “Finley's known me for a while. He's not gonna—”
“But ye dinnae believe that, do ye? Ye're as afraid as the rest of us are, and Alec, that's fine. Ye're allowed to be scared.” He swallowed and shook his head. “Ye dinnae have to be the fuckin' hero, mate.”
His fear rattled at my heart, making it race with every warning he wasn't saying. I made an attempt to calm myself with a deep breath and a casual smile, as I put my hand on his shoulder and gripped tightly.
“Ye dinnae have to worry about me,” I insisted. “Nothin' is gonna happen. We're havin' a drink, that's all.”
Rick shook his head again, unable to hide the tears that glinted from behind his glasses. “I've lost too many people, Alec. I don’t wanna lose ye, too.”
“I'm gonna be fine,” I said a final time, hoping he'd believe it if I said it enough. But, in case I wasn't, I pulled him into a hug and gripped tightly to his sweater, remembering all the times he'd been there when no one else was. I considered thanking him, for being the brother I never had and the best friend I always needed, but I thought better of it. It'd only make him worry more than he already was, and I hated to make Rick worry.
“I'll see ye in the mornin',” I told him. Then, with a final clap against his shoulder, I let him go and ran down the stairs, to find Rosie waiting in the foyer.
She stood beside the door; in the very spot we had taken each other just the night before. Her fingers were twisting around themselves like a nervous little bundle of snakes, and when she saw me step onto the tiled floor, she lifted her eyes to mine and bit her bottom lip with a tremendous amount of worry.
“It's almost over, Rosie,” I told her quietly, moving slowly to stand before her.
“I know,” she whispered. “I just …”
She stopped herself from speaking to give her head a hearty shake and pressed her eyes shut. I took her elbow in my hand and demanded she look at me with a gentle squeeze.
“Say what ye need to say.”
Her eyes lifted to the chandelier overhead, as she replied, “I don't want to say goodbye to you, and this feels like a goodbye. Like you're going to walk out that door and not come back, and that's going to be on me. I can't live with that. It's bad enough I have to live with—”
“Stop,” I commanded, giving her elbow another squeeze. “Ye dinnae have to say goodbye, okay? This isnae goodbye. Just wish me luck, that's all ye haftae do.”
Rosie's eyes met mine and damn near broke my heart with a crushing amount of pain and grief. Those eyes reminded me of why exactly I never should have given in to my desperate need to know her better, or be with her. Her heart had already been through too much, and if I were to n
ever see the light of day again, I knew my passing would only add to her pain. Yet, I felt no regret, as I stared too long, waiting for her reply. There was no room for regret with the abundant amount of gratitude pumping through my veins and filling my heart.
“Good luck, Inspector Brodie,” she whispered, but not before hiccupping on a gentle sob.
Unable to help myself, I grasped her face between my palms and thrust my mouth against hers before another sob could pass through her lips. I kissed her hard and deep, tangling my fingers through her hair and tasting her sadness on my tongue, praying it wouldn't be the last time and thanking God that there ever was a first. Then, I let her go before I could make the decision to stay, knowing I'd stay forever and never see Finley brought to justice, and hurried to the door.
“Keep this locked,” I told her, and left before she could beg me not to leave.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ROSIE
I watched from the window as he climbed into the car. The headlights blinded me from his face and that alone left me with an unbelievable urge to cry.
The last time I spoke to Gracie, I had no idea when I hung up the phone that I would never hear her voice again. If I had known, I never would have said goodbye or let her walk into that pub, and maybe, for those reasons alone, it wouldn’t have been the last time at all. But the fact remained that I hadn’t known, and so it had happened.
This was different now. Alec had walked out of this house, knowing he could die at the hands of the same person who’d killed my sister, and I let him go. It was his job, I kept reminding myself, and he had to do what he had to do. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch him pull out of the driveway.
When I no longer saw the headlights through the foyer window, I took my phone through the formal living room, kitchen, and into the den, where there was a worn but comfortable couch and a large flat screen TV. I sat down and grabbed the remote, to find something mindless and consuming that would kill the worry in my mind. But images of Gracie's dead body plagued my mind. I saw her face in every television personality and actor, and soon, her features began to transform and morph. Her hair darkened. Her features became more rugged and chiseled. She grew a blanket of scruff over her jaw and her dress was replaced with a wrinkled shirt and tie. Every piece of her was replaced with every piece of Alec, until he was all there was, unblinking and left to rot. I stared at his lifeless face on the body of a Scottish reporter, until the horror became too much to handle, and I could no longer sit there on the couch.
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