Misfortune & Meltdown
19
B rynne almost kissed the ground when they got back to the dock. She rarely suffered from seasickness, but the channel between Skye and the Isle of Eigg was very rough and the engine of the fishing boat cut out three times, requiring Geordie to go below and tinker with it while she turned green up on the deck. He insisted on a life vest and hooked her to the railing. His excessive precautions made her nervous, but today was the only day he could take her out. Brynne was thankful when the coroner released Josie’s body for cremation yesterday morning. Now she could return to London tomorrow.
He took the fishing trawler into the middle of the channel and assured her it was the best spot because the currents were strong, and they would whisk her adventurous aunt to all the far-off places she liked to visit. Geordie didn’t strike her as the fanciful type, but she was glad to have his company when she sprinkled Josie’s ashes into the dark teal waters of the Sea of the Hebrides. The winds had their own plan. As she finished shaking the urn, some ashes flew up into her face and hair. She smiled to herself—perhaps that was her aunt’s last kiss before departing.
Three layers couldn’t keep the wind from chilling her to the bone. She was looking forward to a bath and a hot toddy when she got home. As she turned into the lane, her phone started buzzing in her handbag. A signal here meant her rich new neighbor probably bumped up the cellular antennae in the area to ensure he was never without service. The vibrating and pinging didn’t stop, so she pulled to the shoulder and fished it out. The screen showed multiple missed calls and eight text messages.
What on earth?
Jared had texted all eight messages.
Jared: Bree—call me as soon as you get this.
Jared: Where are you?
Jared: All hell has broken loose. Why did you do this?
Jared: What were you thinking?
Jared: They fired me.
Jared: WTF?!
Jared: Now I’m sick with worry
Jared: Are you okay?
There was a missed call from Gage, another from Garrick, and Nigel had called four times.
Since the signal was strong there, she rang Jared.
“Bree, what the fuck! Where have you been? What were you thinking?”
“J, what are you talking about? I’ve been on a boat all morning spreading my aunt’s ashes. What the hell has happened?”
“Oh, my god. Are you serious? The article. They published your article. Why didn’t you tell me you were writing that?”
“Jared, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What article?”
“The article that ran in the Mirror this morning about the club. The article naming clients, revealing what goes on there. Are you saying you didn’t write it?”
“What?! No! I have no idea what you’re talking about—text the link to me. I’ll put you on speaker so I can read it.”
“Bree, listen. This is fucking serious. Gage fired me, and he warned me not to speak to anyone. The club is closed for the next few days. And Nigel is looking for you. He asked me where you were. He looks like he could have a heart attack any minute.”
The phone dinged, and she opened the article.
“Oh. My. God. Who would do this? How did my name get on it? J, I didn’t write this. I would never do such a thing. You know that, don’t you?”
She continued to read and started shaking, her heart thumping in her ears.
Jared broke into her scattered thoughts. “Babe, this looks really bad. You work at the club, you work at the paper. If you didn’t do it, it’s a perfect frame job.”
“I need to call Gage back.”
“You need to call Nigel first—explain to him you didn’t write it.”
“Okay, right. I’ll call him. I have a ton of missed calls. Let me listen to the messages.”
“God, if you have a message from Gage that sounds anything like mine, it will flay you alive. Just know he thinks you betrayed him.”
“I’ll call you after I speak to them. I have a flight booked tomorrow and should be home by two o’clock.”
“Okay. Good, I will see you tomorrow. But call me later.”
“I will. J, I’m sorry he fired you. That’s ridiculous. We had nothing to do with this. I’ll sort it out.”
“I know. Don’t worry about me. I’m okay.”
Brynne accessed her voicemail. Nigel sounded like a man losing his grip on reality. She had never heard him swear, but his messages were littered with fucks and shits and a few Christ-almightys.
She had to leave a message. God damnit!
“Nigel. It’s Brynne. Please call me. I was out on a boat and missed your calls. I did not write that article. I don’t know how this happened or who put my name on it. It was not me. Please call me.”
Next, she listened to Gage’s message. If she could describe the devil’s voice, it would sound like his. Ferocious, dark as pitch, flames licking at the edge of every syllable. My god, he hates me. She burst into tears.
It took her a few minutes to catch her breath. How could he believe she did this? She had to explain this was a mistake. A horrible mistake. She dialed his mobile; it rang once and then a message played: “The caller you are trying to reach is not available.”
A sense of dread settled in her stomach. Had he blocked her number? She tried texting.
Brynne: Gage, please call me. I did not write that article. I would never do such a thing.
It wasn’t delivered even though she had four bars. This cannot be happening . In desperation, she tried calling the club. Garrick answered.
“Garrick, it’s Brynne Lar—”
Click.
She tried again, and it kept ringing until the automated voice said the mailbox was full. Her hands started shaking. The phone slipped out of her grip and disappeared between the console and the seat. Tears ran unfettered as she pounded the steering wheel in a total meltdown.
“Fuck!” she screamed in the confines of the little car. She scraped the top of her hand raw fishing the phone out, then searched for Garrick’s email address.
Garrick, please—you must believe me. I did not write that article. I don’t know who did. But I didn’t betray any confidence and would never do that. Please call me back.
She sent it and took a deep breath. How could this happen? Who would do this to her? Margaret hated her, but she knew nothing about the club. That was a dead end. Someone who worked at the club could have provided information, but how did it get published? And why?
She drove to the cottage and stumbled inside, her mind numb. She was hungry but felt sick to her stomach. The cup of tea and toast she made went untouched.
The phone rang, and she fumbled to hit the right button to answer.
“Nigel. Thank god.”
“Listen, Brynne. I have no choice but to fire you. You gave the sub-editor a story that wasn’t vetted or approved. You put me and the paper in an untenable position. MacLeod wants to sue us.”
“Nigel, I don’t know who did this or how it happened, but it wasn’t me. You must believe me; I’ve been in Skye dealing with my aunt’s death.”
“I am sure you regret writing it now, but you should’ve thought of that before you submitted the story for publishing.” He had never spoken to her in that harsh tone. “Margaret will pack your personal things and leave them at security. You should find a new line of work. No paper or magazine in London will give you a job. Gage MacLeod has made sure of that.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, Brynne. I liked you and you did a good job copy editing, but I will be lucky to keep my job after this.”
Click.
Brynne took her head in her hands and started sobbing. How could she prove her innocence if they barred her from the paper? If she was unable to reach Gage or Garrick, she had no way to defend herself at the club, either. What was she supposed to do?
She went upstairs, crawled into bed, and cried herself to sleep. It was dark when she awoke to the ping on her phone.
Jared: Any update?
Brynne: No one believes me. Garrick wouldn’t speak to me. Gage has blocked me from calling or texting. Nigel fired me and there’s no way for me to prove my innocence.
Jared: Oh, babe, I am so sorry. What are you going to do?
Brynne: I don’t know. I can’t think. There’s nothing for me in London. Nigel said Gage told every paper that I’m persona non grata. I will make a few calls on Monday, but I doubt I’ll find a job anywhere.
Jared: Maybe you should stay in Skye for a while? Let the dust settle.
Brynne: You might be right. Eventually I’ll need some more clothes, though. I didn’t bring much with me.
Jared: Why don’t I come up next weekend and bring you what you need? How far is the drive?
Brynne: Oh J, it’s a twelve- or thirteen-hour drive. I couldn’t ask you to do that.
Jared: It’s the least I can do. I feel partially responsible. I got you into the club.
Brynne: That wasn’t your fault! I wanted it and dove in headfirst. Who could have predicted this?
Jared: No one. It makes no sense—who would want to hurt you?
Brynne: I don’t know, but they succeeded in destroying my career. My reputation is mud.
Jared: Hang in there. I’ll see what I can find out. You stay put.
Brynne: Okay. I’m going to cancel my flight and figure out a plan tomorrow.
Jared: Okay, babe. Night. Xo
Six days blurred into one another. Brynne didn’t leave the house, and no one knew she was still in Skye. She was running out of basic necessities and would need to go to the store soon. The rental car was due back too, but she couldn’t summon the energy to do anything. Her meals consisted of toast, coffee, and eggs. All the crackers and cheese were gone. That morning, she found a few tins of soup in the pantry, so she didn’t have to go out. Instead, she lay back on the couch and closed her eyes.
Jared texted each day to make sure she was okay. She hadn’t opened her laptop or looked at her email since Friday when her world imploded.
The sound of tires on gravel had her jumping off the couch. When the garage creaked open and she heard the MG start, she knew it had to be Declan. She checked herself in the bathroom mirror, stunned at the pale face and sunken eyes that stared back. Her hair looked like a rat’s nest. She hadn’t changed or showered in a couple of days. Or was it longer? She should fix herself up or Declan might worry she had lost her mind. Not her mind, just everything else.
She put on a pair of wellies and an old hat and headed out the back door.
He was looking under the hood of the car and jumped in shock when the screen door slammed. “What the hell? Brynne—what are you doing here? I thought you went back to London?”
She shook her head, unable to utter a word. He took one look at her forlorn expression and hurried across the yard. When he pulled her into his arms, she struggled to catch her breath.
“Shhh, there lass, dinnae fash. It’s going to be all right.”
She refused to give in to another bout of tears. Her body stiffened and she pulled back to look at him. “No, it’s not, Declan. But it doesn’t matter.”
“What are you talking about? Josie wouldn’t want you to wallow in sadness for her.”
Brynne shook her head. “It’s not that. I’ve lost both my jobs; someone framed me, and I have nothing to go back to in London.”
They went inside, and Declan whistled in shock. She cringed seeing the mess. Dishes were piled in the sink, the garbage was overflowing, and crumpled tissues littered every surface.
Brynne tried to tidy up, then gave in and shrugged. “It’s been a terrible couple of days.”
They sat on the couch where she had been sleeping, eating, and crying for countless hours, and she told him everything.
He sat silently until she finished. “Listen up, Brynnie, you need to snap out of it. You may not be able to prove your innocence, but you can’t let them win.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’ve got an opening at the inn, in the bar. The best thing for you is to get out of this house.”
Brynne sat there nodding, unable to produce a good reason not to take him up on his offer. Sure, she needed the money, but she had no desire to be around anybody. “I need a few days to pull myself together.”
“Fine—you have until Friday. I’ll expect you in for the lunch shift. You can work alongside Myrna.”
“Okay.” She sighed, letting him win this round.
“I’ll see you there at eleven a.m. And Brynnie, I’m going to leave, and you need to get in the shower. You look like something the cat dragged in.”
She blushed to the roots of her ratty hair, which was sticking out of the wool hat. “I will. I need to go to town for groceries and maybe get a haircut.”
“That sounds like a right good plan, dear.”
He hugged her goodbye. His parting words made her smile. “You have a book to finish and a life to create, Brynne. Josie is tsking from up above and you know she’s saying, ‘No more moping. What’s for ye will no’ go by ye.’”
After a long hot shower, she felt restored, and better able to think. She could stay in Skye for a while and work on the book, but what about after that? Perhaps she was destined to disappear into the woods like the fallen angels? The Highland legends say the faeries hid in the forest after being driven out of Heaven with the devil and the sounds of their cries can be heard in the wailing wind. Brynne remembered when Josie read to her from Otta Swire’s book about the Skye for the first time. She cried when she learned the faerie angels were never restored to God’s favor.
Brynne shook herself free from those melancholy thoughts. If she wasn’t careful, she would be back in bed, buried under the covers. She booked a haircut for that afternoon and made a list for the supermarket.
Gage hung up from his lawyer and went to find Garrick. He decided they should sue the newspaper for defamation of character and libel. It was a long shot, but he hoped other members would follow his lead and intimidate them. Usually newspapers were careful to say “allegedly” when they gave no proof sources. Brynne had called his club a brothel, which was patently untrue. If he had to, he would also sue her for reckless intent to smear his name.
Garrick also made calls all afternoon. He confirmed that five of their members were sending emails to the Mirror’ s owner and threatening to pull their advertising. Gage was intent on a front-page retraction and admittance of negligence by the paper for allowing a false and damaging story to run. He showed Garrick the email he crafted to Roger Knight, which would follow the delivery of his lawsuit against the newspaper.
“I suggested they admit a person inside the paper circumvented the process and was subsequently fired for cause. They can prattle on about the procedures they will change so that nothing like this can ever happen again. Then they can apologize to me and the members whose reputations were tarnished by their incompetence.”
Garrick nodded. “I like that approach. If they feel enough heat, we should get the retraction. And Dominus will live to see another day.”
“I won’t go down without a fight.” He sat on the couch and ran his hands over his face. “I could use a drink. What have you got handy?”
“Courvoisier XO?”
“Perfect. Will you pour me one?”
Gage was never more thankful to have Garrick running the club with him. He was a solid manager, always fair and hard as nails when needed. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen him lose his cool, even with the assholes.
Garrick handed him the tumbler of cognac and clinked it with his own glass. “Slàinte.”
Gage looked at him, his eyes solemn. “Slàinte Mhath, mate. I could not have survived today without you.”
“I’ve always got your back, man. On that score, you never have to worry. Now, tell me what your mother had to say about today’s fiasco?”
Gage rolled his eyes and took a swig of the amber liquid. “I put her off for now. Nobody has figured out my real name, so they cannot link her to the scandal. Thank god I revealed nothing else to that little bitch. I’m glad she wasn’t around long enough to do more damage.”
Garrick sat back and rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, man. Why would she do this? I’m an excellent judge of character. How could I be so far off?”
“You are not the only one she fooled, Garrick. It seems Tink is quite an actress in her own right.”
“She emailed me and insists she didn’t write the article. However, from what we know, no one else had the access to get that story into print.”
“Exactly. She had the means and the motive.” He shook his head, his jaw set. “Enough pondering the why, I will not waste another second on her. I think we should remain closed this weekend and see what our campaign nets. The best-case scenario is we have a retraction on Monday. If not, we go to Plan B.”
“What’s Plan B, boss?”
Gage smirked. “I have no fucking idea.”