Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
I stared around at the towering Cuillins prizing apart the sky.
‘Why did Elliot Becker insist we meet here?’ I asked.
‘He said he’d explain when he arrived,’ answered Campbell.
Logan looked intrigued. ‘It’s all rather James Bond.’ He was morphing into teasing mode again. ‘If I were 007, would you be my Miss Moneypenny, Darcie?’
I pulled a sarcastic face. ‘You wish.’ Memories of last night with the spray of fireworks and waltzing in Logan’s arms assaulted me; the anticipation of his delicious lips almost on mine running through my head at one hundred miles an hour. I just wanted to keep replaying it. I’d never get tired of it.
The morning breeze was whipping up and there was a blanket of cloud adding to the odd atmosphere that surrounded us as we waited.
Finally, a white Volvo estate car appeared and swept into the car park from the main road. An apprehensive male face peered through the windscreen at us as he pulled the car to a stop.
Once parked up he clambered out clutching a small black notebook.
‘Mr Becker?’ asked Campbell, striding towards him over the swaying grasses. He offered the man a welcoming smile and they shook hands.
Elliot Becker appeared to be in his late fifties, with red hair and a long, quizzical face dusted in freckles.
I blinked at him, as he thrust a finger to his lips. ‘Sssh!’ he cautioned Campbell, his hooded, sky blue eyes darting left and right.
Logan and Campbell exchanged bemused frowns.
Elliot recovered himself. ‘I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but it’s better to be careful.’ He began rifling through his pages of notes; his black handwriting was frantic. ‘Ava kindly gave me the low down on what’s been happening.’
He gave us a serious stare. ‘I’m not from Skye,’ explained Elliot. ‘I moved here several months ago.’ He glanced up at the tumultuous sky. The clouds were moving faster now, scudding the tops of the Cuillins, like they were engaged in some strange game of tag. ‘My wife passed away a year ago and I decided I needed a fresh start.’
We all conveyed how sorry we were.
‘Thank you. I used to live and work in Glasgow. I was a lecturer in Scottish history at the university. I’ve always been fascinated by family trees and ancestry, so for something to do when I arrived here, I decided to begin researching some of the local families.’
‘And that’s how you came across Gabriel Jamieson?’ probed Logan, his voice carrying a flicker of optimism.
Elliot nodded and scanned his notes. His expression became serious. ‘I do apologise for dragging the three of you out here, but it was deliberate.’ He eyed each of us in turn. ‘I’m certain I’m being watched.’
‘By whom?’ I asked, the fresh air whipping up zingy colour in my cheeks.
‘Leyton McPhail. I’ve glimpsed him a couple of times outside my house.’
Pale rays of sunlight were struggling to push through the clouds, glancing off the windscreen of Elliot’s Volvo.
‘And I can confirm that Gabriel Jamieson does possess a letter about the Skye Lovers’ Cross. I was told this by one of the pub workers, who happened to overhear. Apparently, Jamieson stumbled into the Old Dog and Duck several days ago, completely hammered, trying to persuade his ex-wife to get back with him. When she told him she wasn’t interested, he started bragging about a letter and said that she’d soon change her mind about getting back with him, when the money was rolling in.’
Elliot scrolled through a couple of pages of his spidery notes. The stirring wind gave them an extra ruffle. He shook his head. ‘The same pub employee, Lisa McLaughlin, told me that just a few days later, they were getting ready to close up for the night, when Gabriel reappeared, again looking for Chrissie and banging on about some important letter.’ He appraised the three of us. ‘Lisa can’t stand Gabriel Jamieson. Apparently, he conned her late father out of some money years ago, so she was only too happy to talk to me.’ He waggled his notebook and remarked mysteriously, ‘It’s a fascinating story, about the cross and the families who live here on the island.’
He gave a small smile. ‘There was a woman from Skye back in the day called Victoria McPherson, who was rather ahead of her time. She was an enthusiastic amateur archaeologist.’
Campbell’s dark eyes grew larger. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. But in those days, you can imagine the outcry if a young woman strode around a dig in breeches and boots.’
‘So, what happened?’ I asked Elliot.
Elliot referred to his notes again. ‘Well, according to my research on her, Victoria fell in love with a married archaeologist who’d come to Skye to look for dinosaur fossils.’
Wow. Not only was Victoria desperate to have her own career, she fell in love with someone else’s husband. She wasn’t boring by a long shot.
Elliot picked up the story again. ‘Arthur Nicholson—the man Victoria fell for—promised her over and over again that he would leave his wife and they would start a new life together, but he never did. With her heart broken, she refused to share her research with Arthur as to where the cross might be.’ Elliot glanced up from his notebook. ‘Instead, she wrote a letter to her older brother, Edward.’
Campbell puffed with frustration. ‘If only we could see that.’
Logan murmured in agreement as he eyed the hills swooping around us. ‘It would certainly make our search much easier. Trying to guess where the cross might be on Skye is impossible; it could be anywhere.’
Elliot’s mouth smoothed into a satisfied smile. ‘What if I told you that I’d been given a copy of the letter?’
We all gawped at Elliot.
An incredulous Campbell half-laughed. ‘How?’
Elliot flicked closed his little notebook. ‘Let’s just say Gabriel needs to be more careful with what he’s photocopying in the library and when.’
I let out an incredulous laugh of my own. ‘You mean he left the letter inside the photocopier?’
Elliot shook his thatch of sweeping red hair, which was being blown across his freckle-dotted forehead. ‘Not exactly. He was up at the photocopier a couple of days ago when I was visiting the library, but the place had a sudden influx of schoolchildren and he got distracted.’ Elliot looked thrilled. ‘He was flustered, jabbing away at the number of copies he wanted and he accidentally pushed one too many. As soon as he stepped away, I grabbed the extra copy.’
Logan beamed at Elliot. ‘Bloody hell! So does Victoria say in the letter where the cross is?’
‘No. She doesn’t say specifically, but there might be something hidden in there.’
Campbell gasped; his face alive with excitement. ‘I don’t suppose you have the letter with you right now?’
Elliot pushed out his chest, pleased with himself. ‘Aye. Indeed, I do.’
I mulled over Elliot’s earlier mention of Leyton McPhail. I swung round to look at Campbell. ‘Do you think he’s helping Gabriel because he’s hoping to find the cross and keep it for himself?’
‘Got it in one,’ he replied, his mouth morphing into a serious line. ‘And he won’t care who he has to trample over to get to it.’
It was then that my mobile let out a series of frantic bleeps.
I apologised to Logan, Campbell and Elliot and looked down at my phone screen. Notifications of likes and comments on my feed flooded the screen.
‘Someone’s popular,’ commented Logan, nodding at my phone.
What was going on? I’d posted a photo of my latest gorgeous breakfast at The Gorse this morning, but I hadn’t been on social media or posted anything else since then. Surely that wouldn’t attract a rush of heart emojis, likes and congratulatory comments hours later?
I tapped at the screen, pulled up my Instagram account first, and my fingers froze.
Bile clotted in my throat.
No. No. Please tell me she didn’t.
There was a new post, which Justine must’ve arranged, with a screenshot of an online article, and the headline read, could social media star be a little treasure?
The piece read;
It seems that self-promotion and publicity isn’t the only thing social media darling Darcie Freeman is good at. For the twenty-eight-year-old London influencer is following in the footsteps of Lara Croft. Sources tell us that Darcie, who’s on the Scottish island doing research for a travel guide she’s writing, is getting closer to locating a precious piece of Skye’s history.
Forget Romancing the Stone, our intrepid social media star is too busy making history!
My breathing started to escape in a series of panicked gasps.
What had she done? More to the point, what had I done? You’ve ruined everything , screamed a desperate voice in my head.
Logan peered at me. ‘Darcie? Are you OK?’
I was struggling to look up from my phone. My chest was rising and falling harder and faster under my fleece
Justine. Why the hell hadn’t she kept her mouth shut?
Why hadn’t I?