Chapter 2
Chapter Two
A gush of cold air blew up Quinn’s skirt as she exited the plane.
It reminded her of the famous picture of Marilyn Monroe, only her legs weren’t as slim and she had a lot more junk in her trunk.
Other than that, they were practically twins from the neck down.
Quinn rubbed her bare arms, trying to restore blood flow.
Her sister’s wool parka wasn’t so funny now.
Johnny Smith, the family pilot, stepped out of the cockpit. His normally tan face was pale and held a tinge of green. Beads of sweat didn’t just dot his brow, they ran down like ice cream in a small child’s hand in the Florida heat.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded seconds before launching his lunch over the stair railing.
The white chunks and green liquid made her stomach roll.
Chicken and split pea soup. The nice thing to do would have been to rub his back in comfort, but she wasn’t nice.
Instead of getting closer, she stepped back and covered her mouth with her hand, trying to ignore the retching sounds.
No, no, no, she wasn’t getting sick in some godforsaken foreign town that probably didn’t even have a real doctor.
“I must have had a reaction to the food,” Johnny said, leaning back inside the plane and grabbing a towel for his mouth.
Sure. He had something all right.
“You’re my ride home. We need to get you to bed and get you better.
” Quinn shivered and took his arm to help him wobble down the stairs and into the private terminal.
Her skirt fluttered against her skin, giving the ground crew a free peep of her big white moon and matching-color G-string.
Pervs. At least her legs were tan. “You need sleep.”
Not to mention a gallon of mouthwash and a toothbrush.
Outside the empty terminal, an old white-haired man stood in front of the black Town Car holding a cardboard sign with Quinn’s last name scribbled in a child’s handwriting.
The fine lines around his mouth showed years of laughter.
Warmth and knowledge sparkled in the depth of his blue eyes, the same shade as her favorite faded blue jeans.
“I’d like to check in at the hotel first please and then be taken to the Menzie castle.” She used her best southern charm. Johnny was no help, so she grabbed his bag and hers and helped load them both into the trunk while Johnny slipped inside the car.
“My name’s Angus. I’ll be your driver during your stay.”
Quinn shook his hand. “I’m Quinn Thatcher.
It’s nice to meet you.” Her mother would be pleased she hadn’t rolled her eyes and just gotten in the car.
Her mom was a true southern belle who had married into old money, but she’d never been one of those stuck-up snobs, like some of her chicken-legged friends.
Her mom had taught her girls to be just as pleasing.
Quinn’s pleasing side could use some work.
“Aye, what brings you to our fair town?”
“Business.” She smiled politely like her momma had taught her and had been just as vague as dear old dad when mom questioned him about his late-night drunken escapades.
“Where’s the rest of your things?”
“That’s everything. We’re only staying overnight.” Quinn crossed her fingers, hoping what she said was true.
The limo lurched; Johnny’s hand flew to cover his mouth, and Quinn unceremoniously bonked her head against the seat back. Did Scotland even require driver’s licenses?
“Sorry, lass. We donae drive much around these parts. We prefer horses.”
Oh for the love of God. Quinn silently held her tongue, wondering if every passing mile was taking her a decade back in history.
Johnny settled into his own room, and Quinn left him with medicine and water before heading to the castle.
The emerald sat heavy against her chest as her sister’s words about a curse entered her mind.
Angus drove out of the small quaint town, giving her a picturesque view of heather growing freely in a multitude of purple hues over the passing farmlands.
Her nose twitched in anticipation of her upcoming allergy attack.
No matter how beautiful flowers were, being within ten feet of them started a sneezing fest that would leave her puffy and red for days.
Angus pulled down a long driveway and stopped. The stone castle loomed up into the sky. Construction workers scurried around the scaffolding against the one side of the building. Curse, shmurse. The owner wasn’t hurting.
A ghost dressed in a blue dress stood in one of the towers, looking down. “Uh-uh, I’m not here to deal with you. It’s my day off, lady.”
“Excuse me?” Angus asked.
“Just talking to myself. Ignore me.” Quinn issued her standard answer for the times when she knew she sounded mad. Maybe she was. Regardless, no one had proof…yet.
She slipped out of the car, not waiting for Angus to open her door. His feeble legs looked as though they could use the break. She ducked back inside before shutting the door. “Hopefully, I’ll just be a minute.”
“I’ll wait as long as you need, lass. I’m in no rush to get back to my wife’s long list of chores.”
“Thanks.” Quinn shut the door and drew in a deep breath.
Inhaling the nearby ocean air made her feel a little more like home minus the huge jagged cliffs.
Returning the stone had been a brilliant idea back in the States.
A means to an end to get rid of Clarence, but explaining how she’d found it might take a little finesse.
She hoped she’d remembered to pack hers.
Quinn rattled the door knocker to announce her presence. Within seconds, the door flew open and a young maid in full uniform gasped rather loudly and rudely, covering her mouth with her hand. Blood drained from her face, leaving her cheeks as white as her apron.
Maybe Quinn should have checked her hair before getting out of the car. She didn’t normally get that type of reaction. “I’m here to see Laird Menzie.”
“As I live and breathe, I must be dreaming.” The woman gasped again while pinching Quinn’s arm.
“Oww, is that your normal greeting?” Quinn pinched her back for good measure. The sting must have triggered some common sense because it brought a little color to the maid’s cheeks. They flushed a bright red as she rubbed her arms.
“Excuse me, miss. I’m so sorry. I thought you were a ghost.”
Ghost, yes…because everyone could see them. If only that were the case. Quinn might be out of a job, but she’d have a lot more free time. “Sorry to disappoint you. Is the laird around? I really need to speak with him.”
A tight smile slipped onto her lips. “He’s just up the ridge, and he’ll be there most of the day.” She pointed toward the hill. “Would you like me to take a message?”
“No, thank you.” How did one go about leaving a message that she’d found his green rock? Great. Up a ridge. Quinn glanced down at her stilettos. Perfect. “So if I head up that way, I’ll run into him?”
Getting information from this chick was like trying to dig a splinter out from underneath her skin, a sliver of annoyance but necessary.
“Aye, yes, miss. Up the ridge and over the bridge. You cannae miss the lot of them.”
The lot of them. It sounded as if Quinn would have an audience for her explanation. Could her day get any better? She waved and stepped down the stairs. “I’ll go find him myself.”
“I donae think that’s wise, miss.” Her voice was strained with a mixture of worry and amusement. “He’s likely to have the same reaction.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll pinch him too.” Quinn, refusing to be dissuaded from her quest, wiggled her fingers and left the maid standing at the door.
Quinn started the climb up the grassy hill. With each step, her perfect white heels sank further into the brown dirt and her calves screamed in protest.
“I could be on the beach working on my tan,” she grumbled as Clarence appeared at her side. “Nice of you to show. I hope you’re happy and decide to stay.”
The damn ghost had the nerve to disappear again.
Jerk. If she ever figured out a way to blast ghosts into the light, her job would be easier.
She gave up trying to climb the mountain on her tippy-toes to avoid completely ruining her shoes.
She slipped them off her feet and dangled them between her fingers as she walked barefoot the rest of the way to the top.
Ridge her butt. A baby Mt. Everest was more like it.
Okay, so maybe cheeseburgers weren’t her friend either.
She heard shouting that got louder as she neared the stone bridge.
She crossed it to find several grown men and women standing in a circle.
Their plaid clothes reminded her of a picnic without food.
Two kilted men sat tall on horseback, one on a black stallion and the other white, while clanking their swords together, making her ears ring.
One of the horses rose on his hind legs, and the rider lifted the shiny silver sword in the air and waved it around, like Quinn had while trying to get a male stripper’s attention by flashing a twenty-dollar bill.
His hooves landed with a thud against the ground, and a ghastly smell permeated the air.
Did horses fart? Or maybe it had been the rider.
Whoever was responsible, the smell reeked of bad eggs.
Quinn stood unsure and stunned as she watched.
Taking a tentative step toward the crowd, she held her breath from the smell.
Using her shoulders and elbows, she slipped into the surrounding crowd for a better view of the barbaric fight.
“What gives?”
The burly man standing next to her answered without looking in her direction. “The annual reenactment of the Menzie/McDougall battle over the lost emerald. It’s tradition.”
“I bet.” Her lips twitched in amusement. “Which one is Menzie?”
“Menzie is in the green. McDougall is red.”