14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Steph
W hen I’m on a conference call with my key production team, I’m hyper-focused, and especially after just hearing that all my staff are unscathed from the storm, I find myself feeling renewed, and my thoughts are clearer than they have been since all this drama unfolded. The fever is gone, and all that is left of the virus that arrived as quickly as it departed, thankfully, is a minor sniffle. I’ve multitasked all my life, especially as I started this business, and doing more than one or two things at a time is nothing to me.
So, when Malcolm was looking for me to hand over my clothes, while I was on the phone, I never gave it a second thought. He’s seen me naked before, right? And modesty is not really part of who I am. Hell, Moira and I had a working vacation once, and I changed out of my bathing suit as we walked out of our cabana, because I was on a call. My earbuds were completely unscathed. Moira did scold me for it, though, because the men were following me around like lost puppies after that. But I believe half of that was because I was stealing all the attention from her. In the end, I was the one that got laid on that getaway, not her. Not that I’m bragging, more just proving my point.
Moira is always telling me how I should be more aware of my surroundings, but as stated earlier, when it’s about work, I’m only focused on that. In retrospect, when Malcolm came back inside after doing a circle check of his grounds after the hurricane, he wouldn’t look me straight in the eye. It’s like he was looking in my direction, but he couldn’t look directly at me. “Are my clothes dry yet?” I ask him, feeling like I’m ready to shower and dress, and get home, so that I can check my place for damage, and cross a few things off my to-do list that have been put on hold temporarily.
“Err...let me go check.”
“Have you got a spare toothbrush? My tongue feels like it’s growing fur. I’ve never gone without brushing before and that cough syrup was laced with sugar.”
“Honey, actually. Aye, there’s a spare in the bag from my dentist under the counter.”
“Your dentist still gives you a new toothbrush at each visit?”
He smiles. “She’s got a wee crush on me, I think.”
“Well, why shouldn’t she?” I play along.
His shy grin makes my heart flutter. “I’ll go get your things.”
“I’m just going to go shower.”
“Aye. If you use my ensuite, there should be clean towels on the rack.”
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” He nods, walking away from me. It’s so strange but yet it makes so much sense, how much the dynamics between us have changed. After last night, it’s almost like we’re two completely different people around each other. I’m guessing that after the sexual tension was released from our tryst in the shower yesterday, and then the storm and me getting sick last night, all that angst between us is gone. At least, that’s how I feel. I no longer want to jab his eye balls out with a blunt object. Based on his changed demeanor, I would say that he likely feels the same.
As I’m in the shower, I hear a tap at the door. “I’m just setting your clean clothes on the bed. Feel free to change in there, lass.”
“Aye, thank you.”
The feeling of his hands on my body comes back to me, and I find myself wishing that he would violate me in the shower and reciprocate what I did to him yesterday. But he closes the door and takes his leave. The way he held me in bed last night, keeping me warm, caring for me, normally I’d think that he was soft for doing that, but I know that Malcolm is anything but soft. In fact, I can recall exactly how hard the man is, in all the right places. But I digress. I dry off and dress and find him in his office, on a call. He’s just ending it as I approach. “You look much better. All the color is back in your face.”
“I feel like a new woman.” I change the subject. “All is well at the office?”
“Aye, just the awning needs to be repaired out front. Nothing the building manager can’t deal with. I’ve called my landscaper as well. He’ll be here tomorrow with his team to clean the place up. Stores are opening and it looks like by tomorrow it should be business as usual.”
“That was one hell of a storm.”
“It was, lass. We were very lucky.”
He gives me a small smile and I reciprocate. “I should head out now. I’ve got a million things to do. Your robe is hung on the back of the bathroom door. Thanks for everything.”
He rises from his desk chair. “Are you dying? Are you hopping on a plane to Tokyo? What is this?” He chuckles.
“Not at all. I just...I know that we’re busy people, Malcolm. There’s no sense beating around the bush.”
My purse hangs from my shoulder. The phone inside it rings and I pull it out. It’s Moira. I put it on speakerphone, feeling like there are no secrets between Malcolm and me anymore. It’s an odd yet comforting feeling. I’ve always been very reserved about my business and my personal life, but somehow, I don’t feel that way around him. I suppose it’s because he treats me the same way, not keeping me from things when he’s on the phone. “Moira, did you survive the storm?”
Her voice is a little strange, hesitant, but I’m guessing that she’s just a little shaken up by the storm. “Aye, and you?”
“Aye. I was sick as a dog last night, but it came and went just as fast.”
“Good. Are you at home?”
“No. I’m at Malcolm’s. Is everything okay?”
“They will be. I got some news just now.”
“Oh?”
“The police found Callum. He insists that he didn’t kill granny. He says that she must have gone into cardiac arrest while he was there.”
“Really? Well, I’ve got a pillowcase with his handprints on it that could prove otherwise.”
“He knows about that. The police asked for surveillance tapes from the nursing home. Apparently, they’re grainy, but it looks like he was trying to help her, not kill her.”
The guest chair is behind me. I find myself needing to use it. “You’re kidding me.”
“No. I’m not.”
“If the bloody police knew that he didn’t kill her, then why were they searching for him? And why didn’t they tell us?”
“They had to go through the channels to see the tapes, Steph. It took until now for them to view the footage. Callum went back home to Scotland as well, so it wasn’t an easy thing finding him. And they were searching for him because, as you know, up until about five minutes ago, he was a suspect in a potential murder. But now that the tapes have proved otherwise, it’s over, Steph. He’s innocent. Callum walks.”
I’m numb for a moment. And then something occurs to me. “You think he paid them off to say that?”
“With what, Steph? He hasn’t got that kind of money. Why do you think he was looking for me?”
I watch Malcolm’s face. An exaggerated ‘v’ is between his brows, and he’s rubbing his temple with the pad of his thumb in thought.
“So, Dougall Harris was right.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s a free man. And he’s back in Scotland.”
“If he knew that he was innocent, then why didn’t he show up to granny’s funeral?”
“I don’t know. He never cared for granny. And he couldn’t stand half the family. At least the half that didn’t like my da, anyway.”
“So, now what? We just continue on?”
“Aye. Nothing is going to bring granny back. She was an old woman. And at least we know now that, while her parting wasn’t exactly painless, it was done naturally, and not by the hands of Callum, her own grandson.”
I swallow, digesting all this. I shake my head. Malcolm looks at me and I look at him, and something clicks. It’s his eyes. They’re so fucking honest. He’s concerned, shocked, deep in thought, and he cares deeply, and somehow, I don’t think it’s just because of the potential threat that Callum was posing to his family anymore, either. “Moira?” He starts.
“Malcolm.” She responds evenly.
“Does Declan know this?”
“Aye, I had the police on speaker when they called. Dougall knows, too. He’s on the phone with him right now.”
“I think we should still keep eyes on you and Steph for now. He might not be finished. Until your da is out of prison, that is. You both are still unsafe. And I wager even more so, now that your granny is gone, seeing as I bet my bottom dollar that she left everything to you, lass.”
“Aye, she did. She told me so herself a long time ago. And either me or Steph would know if she changed her will, since we were the only two that ever ran errands for her or with her.”
I nod at that.
“It’s settled then.” Malcolm says, and I’m not sure what that means. He’s already got eyes on me and Declan on Moira.
“How long do you think this will go on?” I ask him.
“Until the feeling in the pit of my stomach goes away, lass.” He says, leveling with me.
“I’ve got to go, Steph. I’ve got to head to the ER. I was there all night, too, doing damage control.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and Malcolm looks at me. “I’m going to have someone in Scotland keeping watch on that little fucker, too. I want to know if he moves and has the balls to come back here.”
“I’d like to see those tapes personally.” I scoff. “I don’t believe that story as far as I can throw that little shit. He killed my granny. And until I see that he didn’t with my own two eyes, I don’t believe it.” He nods, but I can tell that his wheels are turning. “Are you okay?” I check.
“If he came out all this way just to find Moira through your granny and yet he found everyone and still did nothing, he has unfinished business. No two ways about it.”
I shrug, playing devil’s advocate. “Maybe he choked. Maybe you guys threatening him the night before granny died spooked him. And maybe he knows that you’re powerful people and he can’t penetrate you or anyone around you.”
“Maybe so, if the man has any sense. But I’ve been in this business too long to know that anyone that needs money always comes after us. Any investigator will tell you in order to find the perpetrator and the motivation for the crime, to follow the money.”
“Aye, while that’s true, I’m not sure that Callum has the smarts to do any of that. Nor does any of that family. Look at Moira’s da. He’s been in jail and tried futilely to fake cancer for his own cause. None of them are all that intelligent, Malcolm. Moira got her brains from her granny and granddad.” I comment, picking up my stuff, getting ready to go. I’ve got another check mark to make on my to-do list, and it’s got a much faster expiration date on it than this.
He sees that I’m leaving. “Nothing I can do to stop you, huh. Not even Callum and the latest on him?”
I purse my lips into a smile. “Malcolm, I’ve already overstayed my welcome. Like you, I’ve got things to do.”
“Aye, fine, lass. But you be sure to take care of that cough.”
Surprising me, he pulls me close, and I let him. “I wouldn’t want to end up in your sick bed again, lad.” I say, almost in a purr, as his eyes search mine. He wants to kiss me and I want to kiss him, but I know that he’s not going to make the first move, so I do. I lean up and kiss him tenderly on the lips. “Thanks for taking good care of me.”
“Anytime, lass. Anytime.”
I’m not sure what’s going to happen to us, but I know in my heart of hearts that there’s something that needs to be rectified before that can be discussed. And I decided that it’s worth discussing. In detail. I kiss him again and then leave, before I change my mind, and ruin everything...again. My mouth tends to work faster than my heart sometimes, and there’s only one way to stop it.
The sign on the door says, ‘communicate with the dead, psychic predictions, palm readings’, and added as an afterthought, scrawled on a piece of laminated paper is, ‘hurricane predictions’, as I sit in the parking lot, surprised that this medium is available following the horrendous storm. I suppose we’ve all got to eat. There is actually a car parked next to me, and as I exit my own car, I touch the hood and see that it’s still warm. Impressive. This patron kept her appointment. Miraculously, the makeshift house appears unscathed, as are most of the dwellings on this block. However, there are a few loose roof shingles on the asphalt, which appear to have come from the slightly rundown shed visible from the side of the house.
I say makeshift house, because, once I go inside, I see that the home is hollowed out to accommodate for a store. Crystals, tarot cards, books about various supernatural things, herbs, special lanterns, you name it, it’s all in the store. The sign at the back of the store says, ‘smile, you’re on camera’, and another sign offers online payment, which I’ll assume accommodates for the lack of staff available to pay for in-store purchases. This medium also ships if you buy online. Quite a wave of the future for a psychic. Off to the side is another door that says, ‘Session in Progress’, and a little emoji that looks like someone trying to shoosh you in church. The whole outfit makes me want to cough really loud and it wouldn’t be a stretch, considering how sick I was last night.
I can hear footsteps upstairs from the tenants that likely pay her mortgage, and muffled speech from the room that begs you to shut the fuck up. Madame Lacy is expecting me in the next ten minutes, but I never show up to any appointments anything less than ten minutes early as a personal rule. After a brief check to ensure that my phone works under this roof, I review her website again, and then I take a quick cruise through Clare’s social media account again, making sure that she hasn’t grown a brain and closed it off to the public...yet.
Who I’ll assume is Madame Lacy, emerges from the quiet room in the back, about eight minutes later, and encourages her guest to look around for a few minutes. After an exchange of final pleasantries, a woman with purple hair and her male friend with a matching coiffure, leave the house, and Madame Lacy approaches me. “Are you Stephanie?”
I nod. “Aye, Madame. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
She waves. The woman looks as normal as my mama, with a cream pants suit, her white hair tied back into a bun, and a faint smattering of blush colored lip gloss washed over her mouth. “I always keep a couple of blocks open daily for walk-ins. It’s not a problem. Won’t you come inside?”
“Aye.” I nod again, following her to the room.
The room is not what I would expect. Aside from a bookshelf, with various weird looking cards, implements, cups, and other strange items that I couldn’t name if my life depended on it, the room looks like everyone’s normal family room. The couch has an afghan covering the back and doilies covering the arms, and the area rug under it matches the rest of the linens in the room. The table in the center of the room has a crystal ball on it, but other than that, you’d never really suspect that this woman predicts the future. “Please have a seat wherever you like.”
“Thank you.”
“You didn’t exactly tell me what you were interested in on the message.” She explains. "So if you’ll let me run through briefly what I offer, that might make it easier for you to decide.”
I lift a hand. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Oh?” She smiles.
There’s only one way around this. “You have a client named Clare Mackenzie, right?”
The hesitation on her face is evident. It’s like I just slapped her in the face. “Are you a private investigator? The police?”
“No, nothing like that.” I scoff.
“Because I only aid authorities with the proper documentation.” She explains, half defensive, half irritated.
“I’m not a cop, Madame Lacy. I’m a business owner.” I’m not sure how much information I should give her. It all depends on how this conversation goes. She could easily stand up and ask me to leave, since I’ve queried something anyone in a regulated field would have instantly rejected, citing a breech of client confidentiality. However, since this woman’s tools consist of a crystal ball, tarot cards, and a Ouija board, I’d say that her standards are slightly lower.
“Then, what can I do for you?” She asks, almost too sweetly. But again, if she was more private or reserved, she would have told me to fuckoff already.
“Clare Mackenzie is trying to fuck over someone I care about. Moreover, she’s trying to sabotage their business.”
I’ve got her attention. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Well, she’s been in to see you regularly for the last few years, right?”
A nod, but her eyes tell me that she’s going to need to be fed more information, or perhaps....
I open my purse and pull out my wallet, handing her two fresh hundred-dollar bills. Since her services run from twenty bucks for a ten-minute psychic prediction, to fifty bucks for a fifteen-minute conversation with a beloved from the hereafter, I’d say that she’s impressed. “Err...yes. About five years, actually.” She’s pleased. “What can I do to help?”
I like this lady. Money is my language, and she clearly speaks it. “Like I said, she’s trying to fuck over a friend of mine, and I’d like her to stop it.”
“And what can I do about that?” She’s slightly confused, but not closing down. She’s open to suggestions.
“Well, nothing dramatic, but you can tell her that if she doesn’t lay off Harris Investments, that bad things will happen to her.” The crisp bills sit in her palm. Madame Lacy’s eyes go to her hand. I’m no fool. “How much do you charge for that.”
“I’m not in the business of lying, you understand.” She says, upping the ante. Shrewd. Very shrewd. I can see why Clare enjoys her company so much. The bitch.
“I wasn’t suggesting that, Madame.” I answer, taking out my phone. “But let’s say that in this case, for ten thousand dollars, you do me this one favor.”
She tries to stop it before it happens, but her eyes bulge slightly. It’s more like a flash. Like I just told her that her favorite pair of shoes that have been back ordered for the past six months, are now in stock. “She’s also pregnant, so you can throw in something about the baby or about the delivery, if that helps. In fact...” I trail off, adding another figure to the etransfer app I have open in my phone. “You add something about the baby, like if she uses it for leverage, that the kid’s coming out a twenty pounder, I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars.”
“And you have this kind of money, do you.” She infers, like it’s a test.
“Lass, I assure you that I have enough money to buy every house on this entire block, if I felt so inclined to do so.”
“Are you some kind of shark? Are you going to have someone come after me for the money later?”
I shake my head no. “No, Madame. I assure you. I’m an engineer with my own business. Any money that I have in my possession is my own and no one else’s. Now, before I transfer you the money, can you assure me that you can hold up your end of the bargain?”
A blink and a swallow later, and she nods. “Yes. I don’t feel right about it, but I can. As long as you promise me that we never had this conversation. My livelihood is all I have.”
“You have my word.” I shake her hand for good measure, and then I transfer the funds to her. When I leave, I feel a satisfied pull in my belly, like I just somehow conquered the world, even if it was just a little white lie to help save a friend from a certain heartache. If Malcolm would protect me, which I know he would, then I feel like it’s okay to go the extra mile and protect him, too.
...and I know exactly what to do next...