Chapter Two The Bringer of Bad Luck
Finlay
There was a skeleton in Mrs. Keith’s underground basement. Finlay knew it wasn’t a good way to start. The police would come with their tapes and forensics.
But little Miss Troublemaker was already on the phone with the police. “Let’s all just calm down.” He squatted by the wooden coffin. No longer a treasure chest as Miss Troublemaker had deemed it.
Finlay realised he didn’t even know the name of the woman who had challenged him.
She was a feisty lady but confident—that he would give her.
He glanced in her direction, only to see her talking to the townspeople.
Little by little, a scene was forming. Finlay quickly pulled the scroll out of the box and unravelled it.
They were land and property deeds, but one caught his attention. St. Albert Church.
His eyes grew wide. This was the exact property he had come for. He rolled the deed up and slid it into his pocket, eyes flickering from left to right amid the growing chaos.
Tampering evidence? His inner voice chided him, but he turned deaf ears. The St. Albert had been converted to a boarding school, so Callum Reid, a local real estate agent, had informed him.
Isla turned in his direction with her death glare.
Who was this woman?
“Drop that!” she yelled, running towards him. “It’s evidence you… you…you—"
“Bamport?” He cocked his head to the side. She had earlier called him that. She pursed her lips, and guilt flashed across her face. “Don’t you see, Mr. Fraser? It’s a sign for you to leave Lochraven.”
Finlay slid his hands into his pocket, feeling the deed. “I beg to differ. I think my work here may have unveiled something quite significant.”
The wailings of the siren filled the air, announcing the arrival of the police.
“The people voted, Ms…”
“Isla MacLeod,” she bit out in brusque manner.
If the situation were different, Finlay would have considered her name to be beautiful. Or that her hair burned like the setting sun. Or that he found the reading glasses tucked in her hair cute.
No.
He couldn’t see anything beautiful about this temperamental woman before him. “I won, Isla, and you lost. And tomorrow, the town will thank me for digging this up.” He snickered. “I feel like a detective.”
“Tis not the wining that teaches ye how to be resilient, but the ruin,” she said, turning away with her dog, who looked somewhat tired.
He watched her retreat, taken aback by her words. Without thinking, he blurted out, “I see you are prepared to lose with dignity. It will be my pleasure!”
It had been two days since Finlay dug up the skeleton from Mrs. Keith’s house. He discovered that St. Albert Church was now an incomplete boarding school. According to the deed, it was willed to the town, signed Bucha on the bottom of the deed.
This was not going to be easy. Finlay could bet Isla would be happy he was facing challenges. But he had booked a meeting with Callum and a planning officer named Angus.
He was staying in a cottage owned by Flora MacDonald. She also owned the Thistle & Thyme café, where Finlay had eaten the best Scottish fudge since he arrived at Lochraven. Flora was known for making legendary Highland tablets.
The cottage wasn’t what he was used to in London, but it was neat and properly maintained. Flora even promised a cleaner would come in from time to time to help tidy the place. The total package she had called it.
Boarding a taxi, Finlay headed to Thistle & Thyme, where Callum had arranged for them to meet. When Finlay arrived, Angus and Callum were already seated at a table. He waved at Flora, who was working behind the counter.
Callum beckoned on him. “How are ye doing, lad?”
Finlay responded with a small nod before taking the empty seat opposite them.
“This is Angus, and he is the best planning officer ye can get in Lochraven.” Callum pointed at Angus, who extended his hand to Finlay.
“Thank you for coming.” Finlay shook his hand.
“Likewise,” remarked Angus. “It is a surprise people still want to sell their properties after that coffin ye found.”
About that… Finlay was yet to hear back from the police. They had told him they would reach out, but it had been radio silence. “You dinna… um…ahem.” He patted his chest. “Any idea who it is?”
“Gavin Buchan,” Angus answered.
Buchan, as in Bucha, he thought, recalling the signature he had seen on the deed.
“Err… he went missing a long time ago. I bet the case will be closed, and ye can get right back to work, Mr Fraser.”
Why the rush? As much as Finlay wanted to get back to his business, he still wanted to know what had happened. And he wasn’t heartless. “Mmm.” He nodded at Callum, and his attention returned to Angus.
The signature on the deed and the skeleton couldn’t be a coincidence. It seemed like someone killed him and put him in a box to hide something.
Coffin. “But it was found in Mrs Keith’s house. Is she…” He trailed off, unable to believe a sweet-looking, frail old woman could kill a man.
Perhaps, given the state of the skeleton, she killed him when she was much younger. “I doubt it. Ye see, the house wasn’t hers. She bought it,” Angus explained.
“Ahem.” Callum coughed, drawing their attention. “Can we get back to why we are here?”
What’s with him? Finlay wondered. It was probably better he spoke about the box with Angus alone. “Sure, so… um. The incomplete boarding school, Blackwood and Fraser estate is interested in it,” Finlay said. “We found out it was willed to the town, and by Buchan… What a coincidence.”
Angus began to shake his head, causing Finlay to pause.
“It is possible,” Callum said, nudging Angus.
“Is this why ye brought me here?” Angus asked, but Callum remained silent.
“I don’t understand, Angus. Is something wrong?” Finlay asked, genuinely curious.
A chuckle escaped Angus’ lips. He tapped a finger on the wooden table in an unrhythmic pattern. “I thought ye were interested in homes and old buildings.”
“St. Albert is an old building. An abandoned one at that,” Finlay argued, keeping his voice polite. He wanted the St. Albert church. It was his main mission in Lochraven.
“It has a complicated history. I ca-can’t explain it,” he stuttered. “But if ye really want it, then ye should be talking to the council leader, not me.” He rose to his feet.
“Where are ye going?” Callum asked, staring at Angus in disbelief.
Angus smiled apologetically at Finlay and replied, “I’m sorry, lads. I can’t help you.”
Callum shot up. “This is very unprofessional, Angus.”
“Call whatever, I can’t help ye,” said Angus. Then, he turned and walked away.
An awkward silence seeped into their midst. This was not the turnout Finlay had expected.
Callum settled down. “Dinnae fash, lad. I know someone who can help ye do proper research on the property,” said Callum with a smile that made Finlay frown. As much as he appreciated the man for persisting, curiosity ate at him. What is it about St. Albert that made Angus pull back?
“Who-who is that?”
“Moira MacLeod,” Callum answered. “She is a retired history consultant. Ye can always find her at her bookshop. I can take ye there.”
MacLeod… He pursed his lips. Where had he heard that name? Isla!
Isla MacLoed, the little miss troublemaker. “Isla or Moira?”
“Isla is her granddaughter,” Callum said, rising to his feet. “We can go now. The sooner, the better. Or we can go see Beatrice.”
Callum was more enthusiastic about the project than he was. “How about you just write me the address?”
He declined. “I’ll find my way.”
“I don’t mind helping.” Callum shrugged.
Finlay shook his head, maintaining his stand.
Callum sighed, pulling out a jotter and pen from a shoulder bag Finlay had not seen when he came in.
“Ye shouldn’t let Angus scare ye. He’s old school.
” He tore out the sheet of paper and slid it toward Finlay.
“The guy believes in Tam Lin and the Kelpie.”
“Thanks,” Finlay said, tucking it into his pocket. He tapped his palm on the table and rose to his feet.
Callum stood, throwing his bag on his shoulder. “You let me know how it goes.”
It was a fifty-fifty situation, given the fact he was going to seek help from a MacLeod. He turned to leave and hesitated. Do I let Callum accompany me?
No. Something about Callum’s eagerness didn’t sit well with him. He’d rather hone his enthusiasm somewhere else. “Try to convince Angus to come back.” He said instead, “Tell him it has nothing to do with St. Albert.”
“Aye.” Callum nodded, and the two men walked out of the café.
“The Binding Room,” Finlay murmured, looking up at the elegant, old-fashioned lettering on the sign.
The words seemed to whisper secrets, drawing him in.
Above the entrance, a vibrant trampoline canopy shade billowed gently, its bright hues a jarring yet intriguing contrast to the shop’s otherwise antiquated facade.
He reluctantly pushed the glass open, walking into the shop.
A young blonde girl who didn’t look more than nineteen grinned at him.
A happy face at the MacLeods. He couldn’t be happier. There was no sign of little miss troublemaker, so he decided to take advantage of her absence.
“Hello, lass,” he said in his most charming voice.
“How can I help you fine mister?” she said, her voice soft and feminine.
“I am doing research on the history of some buildings in town, and I was told that Moira MacLeod is the best person to speak with,” he explained, resting an elbow on the counter.
“I’m sorry, but she is retired, but you can speak with her granddaughter—"
“No, thank you,” Finlay blurted out. He knew this was a bad idea. He shouldn’t have come.
“She is the historical consultant at the museum.” She paused. “Part-time, but trust me, she is as good as her gran.”
“Eryn?” a feminine voice called.
No. No. Finlay’s eyes closed briefly. It was her. He exhaled the breath he was holding. You are not afraid of a woman, he chanted to himself. Eryn stared at him with a puzzling look.
He better go. He turned around, and their eyes met.