Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CAT
I knock on Robbie’s door with my knuckles, three determined raps. There’s movement inside, then the door swings open, and—oh, sweet Jesus. Robbie stands before me, freshly showered, his dark hair still damp. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt that clings to that ridiculous chest of his, faded jeans that hang just right on his hips, and he’s not even bothered with socks. He’s so bloody attractive my brain temporarily short-circuits, and I forget why I’m here.
“What do you want, McIntyre?”
His growl snaps me out of it.
“Can I come in for a sec?” I try not to flinch under his steely glare. “I’ve got news. Something you’ll actually want to hear.”
Robbie folds his arms, looking like a bouncer about to turn me away. His mouth opens—probably to tell me to get lost—but I jump in first.
“Please, Robbie. I promise it won’t take long.” I give him my most hopeful look.
His eyes narrow, and for a second I think he’s going to slam the door in my face. But then he steps aside with a resigned sigh. “Fine.”
I follow Robbie into the living room. The place is rustic and cosy, somewhere that’d be perfect to hole up on a rainy day with a mug of hot chocolate. A thick burgundy rug sprawls in front of the log burner, its deep red echoed by the big squashy sofa and armchair. But this is no granny’s sitting room. Shelves made from rough wood are fixed to one wall, their black iron brackets giving off industrial vibes. On them sit empty vintage whisky bottles, a lamp with an exposed filament bulb, and—because of course—a miniature model motorbike. To top it off, on the wall opposite there’s a framed quote about raising hell, most likely from some heavy metal band.
My eyes flick to the coffee table, where there’s an open file of paperwork. Robbie reaches over and snaps it shut, but not before I spot the Glen Garve Resort letterhead.
I’m dying to ask about it but bite my tongue. Instead I say, “Did you make those shelves?”
He gives a tight nod.
“Very cool.” I sink into the sofa, which envelops me like a hug.
Robbie drops into the armchair and drums his fingers on his thigh impatiently. “So, what do you want, Cat? Make it quick.”
Charming. But after what I did, I can’t really blame him for being frosty.
“Good news! I’ve got the money to pay you now. So it’d mean a lot if you could come back and see the job through.”
Robbie’s expression remains dubious. “Is that right?”
“It is.” I pull out my phone, open my banking app, and hold it out to him. “See for yourself.”
He leans forwards to look at the screen then sits back again, giving nothing away. “Let me guess. You ran to your big brothers for help?”
A flush creeps up my neck. “I did speak to Lewis, and we sorted some things out.”
Robbie rolls his eyes.
“But it’s not what you’re thinking! The money is my inheritance, not some handout.”
Robbie’s expression shifts. Less thunderstorm, more overcast drizzle.
“That said, Lewis did have a few choice words about my recent decisions. I realise it was reckless and selfish of me to hire you before I had the funds.”
“It was,” Robbie says gruffly, but with less bite than before.
“I’m sorry. Really.” I take a breath. “But now that I have the money, will you come back and finish the work?”
He drums his fingers once more, slower this time, thinking it over. “On one condition,” he says eventually. “You pay me for what I’ve already done. Right now.”
“Of course.” I make the transfer and show him the confirmation. Some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders.
“See?” I flash him a relieved smile, glad the crisis is over. “You can trust me, Robbie. I’m in your corner.”
He raises a brow. “Paying me what I’m owed isn’t exactly some grand gesture of loyalty.”
“True, but I sorted things, didn’t I? Besides”—I grin coyly—“I’ve been loyal in other ways. For starters, I haven’t spilled any of your secrets, such as the one about you having metal, you know... down there .”
“Robert MacDonald!” a voice exclaims from the doorway. “Have you got a willy piercing? We’re practically brothers, and yet you’ve never mentioned it!”
I whip around to see David Adefope standing there, dressed in an eye-wateringly bright outfit, carrying a tray with mugs, a cafetiere, and a plate of biscuits. He’s looking at Robbie with a mixture of shock and delight.
“Er... we’re not brothers, David,” Robbie mutters, actual spots of colour blooming on his cheeks. It’s absurdly endearing.
“Not yet ,” David agrees, setting the tray down on the coffee table. “But let’s be honest, it’s only a matter of time before your brother pops the question. I mean, who wouldn’t want to lock this down?” He gestures to himself.
“David? What are you doing here?” I rise and give him a hug.
David moved to Bannock a few years ago. Although I’ve been away for most of that time, we always hit it off whenever we cross paths. Outgoing personalities just gravitate to each other, I suppose.
“I could ask you the same.” He squeezes me then looks between me and Robbie with undisguised interest. “And more importantly, how do you know about Robbie’s... embellishment? Is there something going on between you two?”
“Nope,” Robbie says.
David smirks. “Then why have your cheeks gone all pink?”
Robbie shoots him a murderous look.
“I once dated a guy—before Johnny, of course—who had an intimate piercing,” David says, totally nonchalant, as if dick piercings are just part of everyday chat. “What type is yours? Is it a Prince Albert? An ampallang? A frenum ladder? Or?—”
“We’re not discussing this,” Robbie says.
David pouts for a moment, but then he brightens and turns to me. “Fancy a coffee?”
“I’d love one!”
“She’s not staying.”
David just winks. “I’ll grab you a mug, Cat.” He vanishes into the kitchen.
No sooner has he left than my gaze zeroes in on the plate. “Oh! Tunnock’s wafers. My favourite.” I snatch up one of the shiny red and gold parcels, peel back the wrapper, then sink my teeth into the glorious chocolate, biscuit, and caramel goodness.
“Help yourself,” Robbie grumbles.
David reappears with another mug and pours coffee for us all. “So, Cat... I noticed some knickers in Robbie’s garage. Were they yours by any chance?”
“Er... blush-coloured and lacy?”
Robbie, who’s grabbed a wafer of his own, nearly chokes. David nods.
“Aye, they’re mine,” I say, entirely unbothered. I take another bite of the Tunnock’s.
Robbie takes a swig of his coffee, looking anywhere but at me. David’s got a glint in his eye and is clearly ready to dig for more juicy details, but—feeling a sudden pang of sympathy for Robbie—I jump in before he can strike.
“So, are those papers about the case?” I nod at the file on the coffee table.
The atmosphere in the room shifts. David looks to Robbie, but neither speaks.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Connecting the dots, I ask, “David, did Johnny give you those papers to bring over?”
“He did,” David admits. “Said they might be helpful.”
My curiosity flares, and I lean forwards. “So, what’s in here, then?”
“Doesn’t involve you, Cat,” Robbie says.
That stings a bit, but I don’t back down. “I believed you were innocent from the start,” I remind him. “And I’ve been doing my own digging, trying to help.” I glance at David. “I even set up a cork board at home, to track suspects and motives.”
He nods approvingly. “That’s what I call commitment.”
Robbie snorts, and David fixes him with an unamused look then folds his arms. “Stop trying to scare her off, Robbie. You need to let people help you. I know you’re not half as scary as you pretend to be, and I reckon Cat knows that too.”
“I do.”
Robbie stares at me—a bit suspicious at first—but then his face softens, only for half a second. Blink and you’d miss it.
“Okay. I’ll let you lot help.”
David puts down his coffee and claps his hands together with delight. “Brilliant! Let’s get stuck in.” He opens the file, and we all scoot closer, studying its contents. It’s a collection of records—keycard data, rotas, maintenance logs, that kind of thing. Bits and pieces that Johnny must have thought might help us figure out what really happened.
“This is great!” I exclaim. “If I’d known we were going to be working on this, I’d have taken the cork board with me. Probably makes more sense for you to have it anyway, Robbie.”
He doesn’t bother to respond to that. Instead he jabs a finger at the keycard records. “According to these, I accessed the rooms in question when the items went missing, even though I didn’t.” His lips form a grim line. “But how am I supposed to argue with them?”
“Whoever framed you must have messed up somewhere,” David says. “We just need to keep looking.”
We examine the maintenance logs and the staff rotas, sipping our coffees. Occasionally David or I ask Robbie to decipher some abbreviation or other.
“Well, according to these, Samantha was working on all three days,” Robbie says after a while. “Then again, a lot of people were, so that doesn’t mean much.”
“It means we’ve got reason to keep her as a suspect,” I say. “That’s something.”
Robbie and I give David a quick summary of why Samantha is at the top of our list. When we’re done, he nods. “Definite motives there.”
“Aye, but still a complete lack of proof.” Robbie flips to the next page, and as he does, a folded note slips out and flutters to the floor.
I grab it and scan it.
Robbie,
I hate that I can’t be there for you right now, but I hope something here helps. Know that I’m on your side. Be careful and stay strong.
Johnny
P.S. Destroy this note after reading it. It’s safer that way.
I hand the note to Robbie, who reads it then slips it into his pocket.
“Johnny asked you to destroy that.”
“Aye, I’ll get rid of it soon.”
I wonder if he’s in no hurry to let go of the only scrap of contact he’s had from his brother lately.
We top up our coffees and pore over the paperwork some more, but there’s no dramatic breakthrough. No dazzling clues. Just more frustration.
Eventually Robbie snaps the file shut and rubs a hand over his jaw. “Nothing. It was a great idea Johnny had, sending us this stuff, but we’re no further forward and I don’t know where we go from here.”
He practically deflates in the armchair, his usual scowl replaced by something almost vulnerable.
“Any bright ideas?” I ask David, willing him to come up with something—anything—that might lift Robbie’s mood.
“Funny you should ask. As it happens, I do.”
I sit up a little straighter. “Well, go on, then.”
“You and I, Cat, are going to go on a spa day.”
I blink at him. “A... spa day?”
“Yep, at the resort. And while we’re there, we’re going to do a bit of... investigating.”
The penny drops, and a grin tugs at my mouth. The look on Robbie’s face, though, suggests he thinks we’ve both lost the plot.
“No offence, but neither of you is exactly MI5 material. If you get caught poking around for my sake?—”
“None taken,” David cuts in breezily. “And Robbie, sometimes in life you have to take risks for people who matter. Right, Cat?”
“Right,” I say firmly.
Robbie glances between us, and for just a second, I see it—the surprise that we’d bother sticking our necks out for him. And that’s what gets me most, the fact Robbie MacDonald doesn’t even realise he’s worth fighting for.
Well. We’ll just have to show him he is.