Secrets in the Mist (The Lochraven Romantic Mystery #1)

Chapter One A Box of Misfortune

Isla

The early morning mist swirled round Lochraven, enveloping the cottages, croft houses, and bothies.

The drizzling rain tapped against the glass windowpanes of The Binding Room, a timeworn bookshop that had been in the MacLeod family for ages now in the meticulous hands of Isla, a petite twenty-eight-year-old with wild copper curls and emerald-green eyes.

The soft hum of the rain was a soothing melody to Isla’s ears as she sauntered into the bindery with a weathered leather book in both hands.

Inside, the bookshop was warm—the vanilla-like scent of aged paper and earthy leather binding wafted in the air.

The space was lit with candles in glass shades, casting an eerie glow that made the bookshop look like a portal to a medieval world.

There was a door at the back of the bindery, one Isla had never opened.

She was too busy authenticating and restoring books to explore.

She’d been saving the adventure for her free time.

Her Gran, Moira, had told her it was a scrap room filled with old, worn-out printing machines.

In fact, she had once unlocked the door to peek but never ventured in when she heard the squeaking warning of what she assumed was a mouse.

Tall shelves, crafted from rich, dark wood, stretched towards the ceiling, their rows of books standing like sentinels, guarding the stories and knowledge within.

In the corners, dusty tomes seemed to lean in as if sharing ancient whispers, their worn covers creaking softly in the stillness.

The floor, polished to a warm sheen by generations of footsteps, seemed to whisper tales of its own.

Isla’s slender fingers moved deftly as she carefully lifted the worn leather cover of the 18th-century tome. It was brought in by Hamish Mackenzie, a former military cryptographer.

Stealthily, she opened the cover, her eyes narrowing.

Something didn’t feel right. She sniffed the air, her nostrils flaring slightly as she took in the scent of aged paper, leather, and…

something else. A faint tang of acidity wafted up, making her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

Isla’s gaze dropped to the pages, her eyes scanning the yellowed paper with a practised intensity.

As she delicately turned the pages, her fingers detected a subtle stiffness. This slight brittleness didn’t feel consistent with the book’s age. She frowned, her mind racing with possibilities.

Has it been exposed to moisture? she wondered, pursing her lips as she inspected further. Perhaps it had been subjected to harsh chemicals during a previous restoration attempt.

Hasty footsteps approached from behind. Isla turned to see her grandmother, Moira. She let out a gush of air as relief washed through her body. “Gran, come take a look at this,” Isla called out, her voice low and concerned. “I don’t think Hamish knows this book has been incorrectly restored.”

“Isla dear.” Moira sauntered toward her granddaughter. She smiled softly, running her fingers through the pages of the book. “Mmm, ye’re right,” she agreed, wiping the dust from her fingers on the back of her dress.

“I have to tell him,” Isla said, setting the book down on the worktable. Isla wasn’t so worried about the damage of the book. She knew she could restore the book’s integrity.

A shadow appeared behind her, and then she felt Moira’s hand on her elbow. “Well, I came in here to tell ye it’s almost time for the council meeting.”

Isla’s eyes grew wide. She had lost track of time. She was too busy with her work at the bookshop. Gran had recently retired, and it was all Isla until Moira convinced her to hire an extra hand.

Still, she didn’t trust her intern, Eryn, to handle book restorations. Only Isla knew the nitty-gritty of it. A gift was what Moira called it. “Oh my, it escaped me?”

“I thought they were going to cancel it because of the weather, but the rain has stopped and…” Moira trailed off, looking down at her silver chain watch. It was her everyday wear. “And I heard the announcement. Ye should go. I hear it is something important.”

Isla didn’t know the rain had stopped; there were no windows in the bindery. Just faded white vents high up the wall.

“Sure, Gran.” Isla reached behind to untie her apron. Recently, Moira started taking her to these meetings, and Isla had always enjoyed them. Most of the meetings were centred around improving Lochraven or organising an upcoming event.

Isla hung her apron on the wall rack, combing her fingers through her hair, attempting to bring it to order. She adjusted her reading glasses, which were always fixed in her wild strands, and then grabbed her cross purse from the wall rack.

On her way out, a familiar woof caught her attention.

It was Shakespeare, her golden spaniel. His honey-gold coat glistened in the candlelight.

His fur was longest around his neck, forming a luxurious ruff that framed his gentle face.

His eyes, a deep, soulful brown, shone with kindness and intelligence, sparkling with curiosity.

His ears would twitch with every sound. Shakespeare leapt from Eryn’s arms when he saw Isla.

He moved with a loose, easy gait, his tail wagging in joyful arcs.

Isla picked him up, peppering his furry head with kisses before setting him down. “Want to come, Shakes?”

He nuzzled his head into the crook of her arm, his warm breath a comforting presence as he gazed up at her with adoring eyes.

“Alright, then.” She straightened up and turned to Eryn.

“Lisa’s books are ready. I left them in the bindery.

” She paused. “Don’t forget Mr. Fergus’ son will pick up the wedding cards…

” She trailed off, trying to recollect any further instruction for Eryn.

“Oh!” Her finger shot up. “We haven’t updated—"

“Isla, you needn’t worry so much. I got it covered,” Eryn said. Her lips pulled into a tight-lipped smile. “Trust me.”

Reluctantly, Isla nodded, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I’ll be back. If you need anything, ask Gran or me… WhatsApp me.”

Eryn nodded, and so did Isla before she awkwardly turned away. She picked up Shakespeare and then exited the bookshop to her truck.

The town hall stood tall, its stone facade glistening with raindrops throwing little sparks under the emerging sunlight.

The drizzle had ceased, leaving behind a misty veil that rose from the wet pavement.

As the sun broke through the clouds, its warm rays cast a golden glow on the hall’s tall clock tower, illuminating the intricate stonework and casting long shadows across the square.

Dr Ailsa Campbell’s waves caught Isla’s eyes as she entered the town hall. Ailsa was a local amateur herbalist known for her special medicinal whisky blends. She tapped the empty chair next to her, and Isla hurried over with a warm smile.

Her hair was sleek. The chestnut locks cascaded down her back, the subtle layers framing her heart-shaped face. Something was different about it. “Did you do something to your hair?”

With a playful toss, Ailsa flipped her hair over her shoulder, the soft waves bouncing with the movement. “Och, ye noticed?”

“I think everyone did.” Isla nudged Ailsa with her shoulder, and the two women giggled like teenage girls in sixth form.

“Attention, please.” The nasal yet familiar voice of Beatrice Stewart drew their attention to the front of the hall. She was the town council leader. Many believed she was following in her father’s footsteps.

Beatrice was a plumpy, creamy-skinned woman with freckles and a button nose. Her hair was neatly cut into a bob with a full fringe. She was famously known for her signature blood-red matte lipstick. Isla would stare at it whenever she spoke, itching to smear it.

“One house, please,” she urged in a much louder voice. “Can I hae yer attention, please?”

Isla’s eyes flickered toward Beatrice, and briefly, their eyes connected. Beatrice gave her a small smile before her attention shifted to the crowd. When the audience was quieter, Beatrice began, “I thank ye all for coming.” She walked a few steps forward.

“I ken we all love Lochraven.” She paused, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

Isla could sense something was off. This wasn’t the usual meeting where they came to talk about festivals and parties. She shifted forward, her attention piqued.

Shakespeare let out a small whine, tilting his head to the side as he sensed the change in her body. Isla gently caressed his furry head.

It couldn’t be something serious, she assured herself.

“There hae been some recent development… eh interest,” Beatrice continued. “Blackwell and Fraser Estates approached us with a plan to modernise our town.”

Murmurs erupted in the background.

Modernise?! Isla’s eyes grew wide. This was more than serious. She turned to Ailsa. “Modernise?” She scoffed. “What about Lochraven needs modernisation?”

Ailsa shrugged.

“I hope the council turned them down,” Isla murmured.

“Possible,” Ailsa replied.

“The council and I told them it is not up to us. But it’s up to ye.” Beatrice pointed her indexes at the townspeople. “All of us.”

“Mr Finlay Fraser will explain better. If ye agree, we will vote and reach a final decision.”

A tall figure with broad shoulders rose to his feet in the front row. Isla narrowed her eyes at the back of the man. Whoever he was, he wasn’t from Lochraven. He strode to the front, his footsteps leaving behind a subtle thud. Isla’s curiosity was piqued as she waited to see his face.

Suddenly feeling impatient, her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip as she stretched her neck to catch a glimpse of the stranger. The strange man shook hands with Beatrice before turning to face the crowd.