Part 28 (2/2)
He didn't move from the doorway. If she was going to make an exit, she would have to walk by him.
”Well, thank you again,” she murmured a bit awkwardly, striding toward the exit. She pa.s.sed him, painfully aware of his presence. She was afraid that he was going to reach a hand out, stop her.
But he didn't. Instead, he caused her to pause with his words.
”'E's trying to talk to ye, miss, ye know.”
She felt almost as if she had been physically gripped. And so she turned back to him.
”What?”
”The laird. Not everyone is able t'see him. But ye.. .y've got the way, y'know. The touch.”
He came closer to her and whispered, ”Aye, y'must take care, grave care. Don't be lettin' 'em all know it. There's those out there, always, who would do evil. But the laird.. .the laird would tell ye things.”
She felt every hair on her body stand on end. Her smile was about to crack.
”I don't know what you're talking about,” she said firmly, and turned.
Her footsteps were slow, but, by the time she neared the castle, she was nearly running.
As she entered the main hall, Ryan was coming down the stairs. ”You went to see Wallace. Isn't it great, the old boy bounded back like a trooper!”
”Right. It's great.”
She started up the stairs, anxious to hurry past him.
His hand fell on her arm. He stared at her quizzically. ”Where are you going now? Kevin just shouted up to say that breakfast was ready.”
”I--I just want to wash up,” she said. ”I'll be right back down. Don't wait for me, though. Everyone just eat, okay?”
Almost jerking free, she ran past him. She went straight to her room and found her purse. She dumped the contents on the bed, heedless of any mess. She dug into her wallet and found the card she had carried with her always, swearing that she would never use it.
She looked around, glad to realize that she'd remembered to plug her phone into the wall with the European adaptor on Sat.u.r.day.
She punched in the country code for the United States, hesitated, looked at the card and then dialed.
”I've heard about the great discovery old Doc Darrow has made,” Robert said, greeting Bruce as he came into the pub. ”Congratulations!”
Bruce took his friend's hand and shook it as he slid into the booth. They were in Stirling, on Robert's suggestion that they meet there.
”Might be a bit absurd to feel so elated about something so long ago, but...” Bruce said with a shrug. ”Sure, I'm happy. It's a fine thing to discover that your heroic ancestor wasn't a wife killer.”
Robert grinned.
”Why Stirling?” Bruce asked.
”Didn't want to make you come to Edinburgh. I had some business here, and I don't really want our man Jonathan to know that I'm meeting with you so often. Don't want to step on his toes there, you know? We need too much cooperation.”
Bruce nodded. ”Well, then fine. So?”
”Want to order first?”
”Sure,” Bruce said, glancing around with a slightly arched brow. The pub was rather dingy, considering that Stirling offered a lot of really fine establishments. Actually, Bruce considered the city a true gem of the country.
”They have the most delicious fish and chips in the world here. Full of fat and cholesterol,” Robert said. He grimaced. ”Service is slow today. The old fellow who owns the place has lost another waitress. They all quit on him. He's a b.l.o.o.d.y b.u.g.g.e.r, he is. Still, the fish and chips make it worth the wait.”
”How long a wait?”
Robert grinned. ”Not too long for me. He knows who I am.” To prove his point, he lifted a hand. A fleshy man in an ap.r.o.n made his way over.
”Aye, then, what'll it be, Detective Inspector?”
”Fish and chips for me.” He looked at Bruce.
”Fish and chips, and a stout,” Bruce said.
”I'll be puttin' a rush on it,” the man said, and he shook his head. ”La.s.ses these days! Dependable as s.h.i.+te!”
”Lost another one, did you, George?”
”Came in Sunday mornin', took off Sunday afternoon, haven't see the lights o' her eyes since!” Muttering, he walked away.
”Someone should just tell him one day that he's a nasty b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Robert said.
George came back swiftly, nearly throwing a pint of stout down before Bruce.
”So?” Bruce said, when he was gone.
”Actually, I didn't dig up much. It's rather the coincidence of things that made me call you so quickly,” Robert explained. ”First, our Glasgow fellow, Thayer Fraser. The man has a record.”
”Anything serious?”
”Some busts for drugs when he was young. Clean slate for the last several years. Played with a band, the Kinked Kilts, and his last gig was at a piano bar.”
”As he said,” Bruce murmured.
”He worked some shady places,” Robert said. ”Suspect, but not criminal.”
”That's all on the man?”
”Aye, so far.”
”And the others?”
”What I've gotten in from checking legally accessible records is rather strange. Apparently they're all exactly what they appear to be. I've found the college records from NYU, and some references to work. Not one of the Americans has a police record of any kind. But, as a point of interest, two of them are natural computer whizzes.”
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