Chapter Four Written Trouble
Finlay
The thing about small towns was that word spread fast. Everywhere Finlay turned, he could hear the whispers.
He was the one who found him.
Angus was killed at his house.
He is the tenant.
Finlay was outside of the town council office. He had asked Callum to help fix a meeting with the town council leader, Beatrice Stewart. She hadn’t hesitated. Given the circumstances, it seemed proper. He was about to go in when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
It was Benjamin Blackwood. His boss and partner.
“Benjamin.”
“Finlay.”
Silence.
“Are you safe?” Benjamin broke the silence.
“Yes.”
The low hum of the printer resonated from Benjamin’s side of the line. Finlay knew he was already in the office at their headquarters in London. Benjamin was all work, no play.
“What’s going on? Someone died?”
“He was supposed to be our planning officer but got spooked about the St Albert property,” replied Finlay.
“What do you mean spooked?”
Finlay glanced at his watch. Five minutes to his appointment with Beatrice. “I’m meeting the council leader in five. Let me call you back.”
“Okay, mate, I’ll be expecting your call.”
Beep.
Finlay slid his phone into his pocket, smoothing down invisible crease lines on his dark grey pants. He walked into the council building in long strides. The receptionist alerted Beatrice of his presence, and he was led to her office.
“Good morning, Beatrice.”
Beatrice’s glasses reminded Finlay of Isla and how she always had her glasses stuck in her curls.
“How are ye, Mr Fraser?”
“I’m fine, I guess.”
She nodded. “People still interested in yer offer?” There was a subtle mockery in her tone, but he let it slide.
“It’s not the best time. But there are other projects one could embark on while we ride the storm.”
Her face scrunched up in confusion. “Other projects?”
“Aye. I have noticed some abandoned old buildings like the incomplete boarding school. The one that was previously a church.”
“Any reason for yer interest in that particular building?”
Finlay shrugged. “One, the location and the revenue it could bring to Lochraven if it’s converted.”
Beatrice grunted.
Her reaction surprised Finlay because when he came into town, she had been neutral about his mission but welcoming.
“I think you should focus on privately-owned properties. If the town wants to give or sell off her property, I’d be the first to inform you.”
Finlay rubbed his sweaty hand over his knee. He had expected Beatrice to support whatever would benefit the town. “Look, let me show you the plan for this building—"
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fraser, I have another meeting to attend to.”.
Regardless, Finlay reached for copies of the building plan and placed them on the table.
“Mr Fraser,” Beatrice said in a warning tone.
He sighed, raising his hand in surrender. “Just look at it. Whenever ye are free, just look at it.”
Finlay got to The Binding Room at eleven. It was a full house. Eryn and Isla were present, and so was an older woman he assumed to be Moira, Isla’s grandmother. Even the busybody dog was there.
When Finlay entered the bookshop, the dog had scrambled on all fours, barking at him like an intruder. He never understood why the dog barked at him. Pets loved him. Cat and dogs. In fact, he had a Siberian husky while growing up.
But he vowed never to own another pet after she passed. Just thinking about it was heart-wrenching.
“Hello, doggo.” He waved.
Woof!
Finlay retreated his outstretched hand.
“His name is Shakespeare, but I call him Shakes,” Isla said.
She was wearing a fitted white, long-sleeved dress with a full skirt.
Around her neck was a chain necklace with a sapphire gemstone.
Her glasses were tucked into her ponytail as usual.
“This is my Grans.” She gestured to the older woman.
Her copper hair was faded with white, greyish strands.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. MacLeod.” He bowed like a medieval gentleman.
Isla’s grandmother giggled. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her excitement, extending the other to him. “Call me Moira, braw lad.”
Finally, a non-troublesome MacLeod. Finlay took her hand and kissed the back.
“Umph.” Isla shot him a stink eye, which he ignored. He turned to Eryn, who was staring at him. “Good morning, Eryn.”
“Good morning,” she replied uninterested.
“Isla has told me so much about ye,” Moira said.
“What!? Gran!” Her cheeks reddened, and her gaze fell to her feet. She dragged her fingers up her left arm, avoiding Finlay’s gaze.
It was the first time he had seen her nervous. He snickered, feeling elated. His ill encounter with Beatrice has been long forgotten. “What has she said about me?”
“Oh, that ye hae a sweet mouth, and ye are a bonnie lad.”
“In a negative sense,” Isla snapped, still blushing tomato red.
Finlay settled into the chair opposite Moira, enjoying their conversation. “Sweet mouth? Bonnie lad? I don’t believe it.”
“Dinnae be daft, ye’re a right catch,” Moira teased.
Finlay ached his brow at Isla. “You hear that, Isla? I’m a catch.”
“Sure, Jafer,” she said, rolling her eyes at him.
“I know, Ursula.”
“Aye! Aye! Captain Hook.” She mimicked a poor salutation.
“Okay, Morgana.”
Eryn let out a groan. “Oh, for the love of God. You two, get a room.”
“Eww!” Isla exclaimed with a grimace.
Finlay waved a hand dismissively. “Thank you, Eryn, but I’ll pass.”
“You wish,” Isla muttered under her breath.
Moira raised a hand to stop them before they could utter another word. “Let’s hit pause, shall we?”
“Sorry,” Finlay murmured, eyeing Isla.
“Do you have it?” Isla asked, changing the topic.
Finlay unzipped his bag and pulled out the deed. He placed it on the table. Isla and Moira peered down at it. She trailed her fingers on the paper, feeling the texture.
“It’s not fake,” she murmured, raising the document toward the direction of the morning sun.
Bucha.
That was all that was signed. Like the signee had been interrupted. “Gran, look at this?” She pointed to the signature.
“Buchan,” Moira whispered. “If you want to know more about him, you should check the council archives. All transfers of ownership are documented there.”
“This is the same Buchan that was in the box?” Finlay asked.
“James Buchan, he was the last of the founding family,” Moira said. “He had no children of his own, so he sold most of his properties.”
“Except St. Albert?” he asked.
“Aye. His father was a preacher. After he passed, James didn’t want to continue the ministry,” revealed Moira.
“The land the church is built on is the biggest in town.” She turned to her granddaughter.
“Take him to the History and Library Centre. And ye two be careful,” Moira said in a firm tone.
“Finlay, I don’t ken if Isla told ye, but I make very nice scones if ye don’t mind joining us for dinner. ”
“Gran,” Isla groaned.
It was a fifteen-minute drive to the History and Library Centre.
Isla led the way while Finlay quietly followed behind her.
The ride had been awkward. And Finlay knew it had something to do with Moira’s revelation and invitation.
One that he planned to honour. It seemed only logical that he spent time outside of the home where Angus had bled out.
Being around people made things easier.
Tucked away on a quiet street was Lochraven History and Library Centre. The faded brick and weathered stone gave the library a gentle, worn appearance, a testament to its lifelong existence. Inside, narrow aisles wound between shelves that stretched towards the ceiling.
Behind the counter was a younger, slender lady. Her brunette hair was weaved into cornrows. She was wearing a leather jacket, something he had only seen in London or whenever he travelled to the United States.
“Nice jacket,” he complimented when they reached the table.
“Thanks,” the lady said with a small smile before turning to Isla. “What brings you here, Isla?”
“Mmm.” Isla briefly tapped her fingers on the countertop. “I’m helping him with some research on old buildings.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. You should get all you need in the Council Archives. It is down the left aisle at the back.” She slid an access card toward Isla.
“Thank you,” Isla said. “Let’s go.” She lightly touched his arm.
It was the second time she had touched him, and each time made him want to hold onto her.
Her touch burned yet soothed him. He watched her go, eyeing her ponytail, bouncing up and down as she walked.
His fingers itched to feel the wildness of her hair.
He clenched his hands into fists, pinning them to his side.
Focus, Finlay.
At the back of the library was a section demarcated with a glass wall.
A gold sign reading Council Archive was fixed above the entrance.
Isla flashed the card on the sensor. She walked in, and Finlay followed her lead.
“We are looking for anything that’s from forty years back,” she said, heading to the deeds section.
She pulled out a folder from the shelf. “Think I got it.” She turned the book to the back with both hands.
“Let me,” Finlay said, taking the book from her. His fingertips brushed hers, and their eyes connected. “Um… sorry,” he apologised.
Isla waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. Check for St. Albert or Buchan,” she suggested, shifting closer to get a good look at the book.
“I see St. Albert…” He tapped on it, and his eyes flickered to the page number. He leafed through the pages, stopping when he was in the right place.
It read: Transfer of ownership of the Buchan land at Ravenile Street to Dugan Stewart.
Finlay turned to Isla. “Beatrice was pretty aloof when I mentioned the St Albert property.”
“Really?”