Chapter Two The Bringer of Bad Luck #2
“You! What are you doing here?”
Finlay raised his hands in retreat, heading for the door.
Then, he halted, attempting to try his luck.
“Look.” He turned in Isla’s direction. “How long are we going to continue this banter and…” He waved a hand dismissively.
“We got off on the wrong foot, and I apologise.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “We can start afresh and get to know each other. I promise you, lass, I’m not the bad guy. ”
“As long as your mission is to bring your so-called future to Lochraven, I’ll pass,” Isla said, her fingers curling into mocking quotes.
What a stubborn… He trailed off, cautioning himself.
Finlay turned to Eryn. “Eryn, there’s a saying, don’t judge the book by the cover, eh?”
“Yes?” Eryn answered reluctantly, like she didn’t want to get in the middle of their banter. Finlay didn’t mind her hesitation—he would take whatever he got. “And yet, Isla here has judged me front and back without even looking in. Come on, Isla, I don’t want to be the villain in this story.”
Isla bit her bottom lip, and Finlay’s eyes were drawn to it. Her lips were reddish pink. He had noticed something unique about Isla. She always had two of everything. Her hair was a mixture of red and burning orange, almost like fire. Her green eyes had gold flecks.
She was uniquely created. “Have a seat.” Isla gestured to a table and chair by the glass window. A wee reading section for their customers.
Finlay moved with a renewed assurance. “Thank you.” His eyes held a fleeting glint of pleasure. He had done it. He had convinced her to listen. “How’s your pup?”
“He’s fine. With my gran.”
Eryn approached them with a cross purse. “I have to go now. I have dance practice.”
“Sure, Eryn. Enjoy your practice.” Isla smiled warmly at Eryn.
Finlay waited until Eryn was gone before he continued, “I have heard great things about your grandmother. And yourself too.”
Isla chuckled. Her intent gaze made Finlay shift uncomfortably. There was something about the way she stared at him that made him feel like a germ under her microscope. She could flush him out any moment. A shiver worked down his spine. He toyed at the edge of his collar, clearing his throat.
“The two percent is that real?” she asked.
“Very real,” he answered. “My family was cheated, and I’m becoming a developer because I want to change the narrative.”
Isla nodded, still saying nothing.
“And it is why I am considering leaving the homes and focusing on old or abandoned buildings like the St Albert church.”
“The boarding school?”
“Yes,” Finlay answered. “It seems it is historically protected. And I really don’t know how to get around it—"
Isla laughed dryly, cutting him off. She shook her head, a sneer plastered on her face. “I knew you were up to something.” She stood up abruptly.
“I don’t mind paying you for your time,” he quickly added.
“I am not a reed to be bent by every wind.”
Finlay narrowed his eyes at her. “I-I… dinnae ken what ye mean.” His words were heavily accented.
“Gold cannot be bribed, arms cannot be coerced, and the brave cannot be intimated,” Isla quoted in a stern voice.
His expression turned quizzical, his eyebrows arching upwards. “I still dinna understand.” He flashed a brief, awkward smile before quickly looking away.
“Not everything is about money, Mr. Fraser,” Isla clarified, crossing her arms over her chest.
She wasn’t going to help him. That he knew. “Ye’re really not going to help me?” He rose to his full frame, wanting to intimidate her.
“No, Jafer,” she retorted, looking up at him. Her chin jutted up in the air, a defiant gesture, daring him.
Jafer? She just likened him to a villain “Jings, alright Ursula, thanks for wasting my time.”
Her eyes widened at his comeback. She let out a frustrated groan, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Just go already.”
“Ye don’t have to say that twice,” he bit out, storming out of the bookshop. If there was one thing Finlay knew for sure, it was that Isla MacLeod hated him, and he didn’t mind reciprocating the energy.
I’ll do it on my own, he declared inwardly. He never needed help. Never got so much help in the past. He could do it.
He would speak to the council leader himself.
Without Callum. Without Angus. And certainly, without Isla!
Finlay boarded a taxi back to his cottage. As the taxi drove through the streets of Lochraven, Finlay let himself enjoy the view. Blackwood and Fraser developers could turn this town into a little tourist attraction. Big hotels here and there.
A resort, too. He snickered at the mental picture.
Too bad they couldn’t see the dream. The future.
Pfft!
A vibration in his pocket cut off his train of thoughts. It was from a strange number.
Hello lad,
This is Angus. I apologise for leaving abruptly. I dinnae ken ye were interested in that particular property. I promise to explain everything to ye, if ye are still interested.
A smile spread across Finlay’s face. Take that, Isla. He didn’t need her after all. He began typing a reply.
I’m headed home. We can meet there and talk privately. Here is my address: 4, Thistle Cottage, MacPherson Lane.
He hit the send button and slid the phone into his pocket.
After a few more minutes, Finlay’s phone chirped again. Angus was calling.
“Hello?” A grin formed on his lips.
“Hello?” he repeated, sliding out his pocket watch to see the time. He wondered if Angus had beat him home, but it wouldn’t be surprising—Lochraven was Angus’ home.
“Are you there? I’m about three minutes out.”
Silence.
Finlay’s smile disappeared. The silence was starting to feel weird. “Angus, can you hear me?”
No answer.
Instead, he heard a beep. That was strange. Finlay shook his head slightly as if to shake off the eerie feeling that accompanied the call. The taxi driver took a left turn leading to his street, and soon he was in front of his cottage.
After paying the taxi, Finlay strolled into his front yard. He decided to call Angus to let him know he was now home, so he dialled the number. A chirping sound resonated around him.
What the hell? He followed the sound, feeling his heart quicken. Perhaps Angus was bored of waiting and decided to have a look around.
“Angus, lad, I—"
Finlay staggered backward, falling on his butt. “No.” He pressed a fist to his mouth.
Lying unmoving in his backyard was Angus, with his eyes open. In a pool of blood. His phone, a few inches from his body, was vibrating and chirping in the grass.
“Oh my God!” Finlay rocked back and forth, cradling his head in his hands, overwhelmed by the gruesome discovery.
The blood. It was so red. Spreading fast from Angus’ neck area, dripping into a manhole. He had been killed. Finlay scrambled to his feet. The killer could be anywhere.
His head whipped from left to right, eyes darting desperately for any sign of movement.
He had a feeling the killer might be watching.