Chapter Six Behind You
Finlay
Finlay watched as Isla carefully unfolded the decrypted letter, her eyes scanning the pages with curiosity.
They were in the bindery room at the bookshop.
Mr. Hamish was sitting in a chair with the letter on the table in front of him.
He leaned back with a satisfied smile. “Ah, the Caesar cipher.” His breath was laced with a faint scent of pipe smoke.
“A classic. Used by the Romans, and still effective today, if a bit straightforward,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
Finlay raised an eyebrow. “Straightforward?”
Mr. Hamish nodded. “Aye. Aye. The Caesar cypher simply shifts each letter by a fixed number of positions. In this case, three positions. So, ‘a’ becomes ‘d’, ‘b’ becomes ‘e,’ and so on.”
Isla’s eyes widened. “And you figured this out just by looking at the letter?”
Mr. Hamish chuckled. “Well, my dear lass, after decades of decoding messages for the military, one develops a bit of a knack for these things. Besides, the key was hidden in plain sight.”
Finlay whistled softly. “Nice catch.”
As Isla began to read the decoded message aloud, Finlay’s eyes met Mr. Hamish’s, and he could sense a flicker of surprise there.
The message was a letter from a sister to her brother, confessing that her daughter was not her husband’s child but another man’s.
The wife’s words were laced with guilt and a desire to make things right.
Dear Brother,
I’m writing to you with a secret I’ve kept hidden for far too long. I’m unsure where to start or how to say this, but I know I must be honest with you.
My child is not my husband’s. I’m so sorry for the pain and confusion this may cause, but I cannot bear this secret anymore.
The truth is, I fell out of love with my husband. I was young, carried away by love, and failed to make the right decision.
I’ve carried this secret with me for years, feeling guilty and ashamed. But I want to make things right. I want to find a way to heal and move forward.
That’s why I’m turning to you, brother. I need your support and guidance. I need someone to talk to, someone who will listen and understand.
Please keep my secret safe for now. I’ll tell you more when the time is right.
With love and gratitude,
Sister
As Isla finished reading, the room fell silent. Finlay could feel the weight of the secret settling upon them, a burden they had unwittingly taken on. He glanced at Isla, wondering what she was thinking, and saw a mixture of emotions playing across her face.
“Well,” Mr. Hamish said finally, breaking the silence. “It seems we’ve uncovered a rather delicate family matter.” He stared at Isla and Finlay expectantly. “Are ye not going to tell me where ye found this?”
“It belonged to a friend,” Isla answered.
“Mmm.” Mr. Hamish eyed them suspiciously. “Okay, then. I guess my work here is done.” He rose to his feet. “And my book?” he asked Isla.
She nodded, walking to a shelf by the side to collect it. “Nice, thank ye very much, lass.” He grinned. “Have ye yet visited Mrs. Keith?”
Isla shook her head. “Soon.”
“Poor woman. She was close to Angus. First, it was the skeleton, and now this…” He shook his head.
“Close how?” Finlay asked.
Mr. Hamish leaned in. His voice took on a conspiratorial tone, barely above a whisper.
“People say she is the reason he never married. And he is the reason she divorced her husband. Over the years, the romance dwindled, but they remained good friends.” He paused to catch his breath.
“And only because Angus lost his sister.” Mr. Hamish frowned.
“A dark time for him, a tragic death. May they find peace on the other side.”
Finlay’s eyes locked onto Isla’s, a silent understanding passing between them. They had stumbled into something much bigger than themselves.
After escorting Mr. Hamish out, they returned to the bindery in silence.
“Tragic death,” Finlay murmured. “Do you think…” He trailed off.
“That she eventually told her husband? Who knows? But you know what I think?”
Cocking his head to the side quizzically, he replied, “That somehow it is connected?”
Isla nodded. “I don’t know how, but it seems like there’s something that we are missing.”
“Well, I disagree. I believe Angus was killed because of the St. Albert church, and we need to find out why and who before the angry Officer Rory pins it on me.”
“That too,” she agreed. “Mr Hamish said he and Mrs. Keith were together. So maybe we can start there.”
Isla drove them to Joan’s house, a friend of Mrs. Keith’s. The woman had told Finlay where she would be staying after moving out.
Finlay knocked on the front door. The house was a storey building with a white picket fence. It looked different from the houses in Lochraven. It had a subtle Georgian design.
The house presented a serene and symmetrical facade, its soft, ivory-hued stone glowing with a warm, gentle light.
The sash windows, with their delicate glazing bars, sparkled under the sunlight.
An elegant fanlight above the entrance added a touch of refined sophistication, as did the ornate doorcase adorned with intricate carvings.
The roof, a gentle slope of slate tiles, blended seamlessly into the surrounding landscape.
During the drive, Isla had mentioned to Finlay that the house was the only one of its kind in town. Joan had migrated to Lochraven many years ago.
The door opened, revealing a woman with caramel skin and curls. She was slim and tall, wearing a floor-length, long-sleeved dress. A crimson gemstone necklace glinted on her neck. Her eyes were bright and friendly when they saw Isla, but they hardened when they travelled to Finlay’s.
“Can I help you?” Her tone was brusque, but her words were laced with a slight British accent.
“Good afternoon.” Finlay was the first to speak. “Yes, you can. We’re here to see Mrs. Keith.”
Mrs. Keith’s friend opened her mouth to speak and then paused as if contemplating what to say.
“Is she home?” Isla pushed. “It’s really important, Joan.”
“I am home!” someone yelled from the inside. It was Caitlin Keith.
Joan murmured something incoherent under her breath, and the corner of her lips curled downward in a frown.
Mrs. Keith’s head poked out the halfway-open door.
She pushed the door fully open, revealing herself.
“Mr. Fraser!” she exclaimed fondly. “Ye came to see me. How kind of ye.” She gestured for them to come in.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Keith,” Isla greeted.
“Oh, lass. Don’t mind me, Mr. Fraser here reminds me of someone.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “I can’t seem to remember,” she laughed. “Go in and have a seat.”
Finlay and Isla walked in, but not without catching snippets of Joan’s protest.
“How can you just invite them in?” she complained.
“Why won’t I?”
“People are saying he killed Angus,” Joan continued.
Oh God. Do people already think that? Finlay couldn’t believe his ears. He knew the police suspected him but not the people of Lochraven. Realizing how impossible it would be to continue business here, he promised himself, I must get to the bottom of this.
He had to find out who murdered Angus.
Who stabbed him in his backyard and left him for dead.
“Hey.” Isla lightly touched his arm, and he jumped. “Hey, are you okay?”
“How can I be?”
“It’s only rumours. Don’t worry too much,” she advised, rubbing down the length of his arm. Isla’s touch soothed him; he didn’t want her to stop. He looked down at her, and she smiled at him.
Amongst everyone, she didn’t know him, but she believed him. Isla and Moira. Why does she believe me?
He made a mental note to ask her.
Mrs. Keith walked into the living room while Joan disappeared into the house. She probably didn’t want anything to do with them because of him.
Because she believed the rumour. Finlay’s mood plummeted. What if we are on a wild goose chase?
What were they even doing? Perspiration dribbled down his body.
He looked around at the living room. Soft, honey-hued light spilled from the tall, slender windows, illuminating the plush, cream-colored sofa and the rich, dark wood of the antique furniture.
A gentle fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting a wavy glow across the elegant, high-ceilinged room.
The air was thick with the scent of old books and polished wood, and the faintest hint of lavender lingered like a whispered secret.
What the heck are we doing playing detective?
Unable to hold back, he asked, “Isla, what are we really doing?”
“Shall I get ye anything? Tea? Water?” Mrs. Keith interrupted them, strolling from the foyer to the living room.
“Please don’t bother,” Isla answered.
“We’re fine,” Finlay answered, but with a slight Scottish accent.
Mrs. Keith waved a hand dismissively. “I shall serve ye tea. I heard it’s going to rain soon,” she said, heading to the kitchen. “And how’s that scardey nosy muckle of yers?” She paused, smiling at Isla. “Still barking at umbrellas?”
Isla chuckled. “Unfortunately, so.”
“Ha!” Mrs. Keith laughed, marching toward the kitchen.
When they were alone, Finlay turned to Isla. “Why? I don’t understand how you believe I am innocent when the police and the whole town think I am guilty.”
“I can list the number of people who don’t think you are guilty.”
He rolled his eyes at her.
“Fine. Callum, Eryn, my gran, me, Shakes.”
“Shakes?” he repeated, and she nodded. “Your dog barks at me like I’m a thief or something.”
Isla raised her hands mid-air, turning slightly in his direction.
“Look, I have thought about it. The time you spent with me and in the taxi, I don’t think it was you,” she answered, then her eyes flickered to the doorway leading to the kitchen and then returned to him.
“Look, this will sound crazy, but I have this feeling that Beatrice Stewart…” She trailed off.
“Beatrice?” Finlay asked in disbelief. “Like seriously?”
“I meant what I said. It does look like motive if Angus knew the donation was fake and undocumented. Plus, at the police station, Rory told me Angus suspected you had that deed, so he was coming to take it from you. What does that tell you?” She stared at him expectantly, but Finlay was blank.
He shook his head. “Still not getting it.”
Isla groaned, rolling her eyes at him. “That if Angus had gotten the deed, he would have exposed her, so may she… um… stopped him.”
“Stopped him?” Finlay repeated with wide eyes.
“Yes. And then sends you the note because she suspects you have the deed.”
Finlay stared at her, speechless.
“It’s only a theory.” She shrugged. “Until proven,” she added in a stern tone. “You should give me the deed. It will be safe with me.”
Fire. That’s what we are playing with here. “Isla, maybe we should just—"
Mrs. Keith walked in with a tray, cutting Finlay off. The tray held three little white cups and a matching jug.
“Here comes my black malt tea.” She placed it on the centre table and then poured it into the cups.
“How are you, Mrs. Keith?” Isla asked.
“I’m good.” The woman smiled, and then her eyes flickered to Finlay. “Did ye grow up in town?” she asked Finlay.
He shook his head with a polite smile.
“What about Galloway?”
“No, Mrs. Keith, I grew up in England. But I schooled in Edinburgh.”.
She smiled sweetly at him, her eyes tender with emotion. “I’m sorry. I just feel like I have met ye somewhere.” Then she laughed. “It was why I quickly sold my house. It felt right, and I felt I could trust ye.”
“That’s so sweet, Mrs. Keith, thank you,” Finlay said, his eyes darting from Mrs. Keith to Isla. It lingered for a few seconds, enough to make Mrs. Keith clear her throat.
She eyed them suspiciously but said nothing. Unlike Elliot and Rory, Finlay thought. “Ye must forgive Joan. I don’t believe the rumours, Mr. Fraser. Don’t let bother ye.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Keith. Do people think you killed Buchan?” Isla asked.
“At first, but then I told the police I had acquired the land with an incomplete structure. I showed them the documents, and that exonerated me,” she explained.
“But there was a contractor who helped finalize the deal…” She trailed off.
“I think his name was Farlan, Fargie, or something. He left town more than thirty years ago, and the police have yet to find him,” she said with a small sigh.
“Ye were close to Angus, Mrs. Keith?” Isla asked. Finlay stared at her from the corner of his eyes. She was so fierce, smart, and brave.
He decided to follow her lead even if he was wary of their actions. Someone out there still sent him a threatening note. The killer.
“A long time ago, lass. Then ye were probably a wee bairn or perhaps not yet born.”
“Did he ever tell you about our business?” Finlay questioned.
Mrs. Keith remained silent for a few seconds. She sipped from her cup of tea before setting it down. “No, uh… I dinnae ken.”
“He was supposed to be Finlay’s planning officer, but he changed his mind,” Isla said.
“Oh.” Mrs. Keith picked her cup up and sipped her tea.
“Yes,” Isla confirmed.
“I do know one thing.” She lowered the tiny cup and saucer to her thigh. “Angus was here, and he told me he finally understood what…” She hesitated, shaking her head.
Finlay shifted forward. “Mrs. Keith?” She looked up at him. “What did he tell you?”
“He… you know, we, the older ones, don’t like to talk about it because she was a very nice woman.” Her voice caught as she paused, a fleeting moment of vulnerability.
Finlay and Isla shared a look.
“So? What did he say?” Isla pressed but in a polite voice.
Mrs. Keith looked up from her tea, and then her eyes flickered to Isla and then to Finlay.
She stared at him fondly, inquisitively, and with melancholy.
“He said he finally understood what happened to his sister, and he was going to expose the truth. I begged him to calm down, but he asked if I still had the deeds to my house, which I still did. He took some photos, he was happy and angry… I don’t know how to explain it.
But then he received a call from Callum Reid and rushed out.
” She stared at the wide eyes of her visitors.
“That’s how I know it couldn’t have been ye, Mr. Fraser. ”
Then who could it have been? Finlay thought, knowing neither of them had the answers.