Chapter Eight Tales By the Moonlight
Finlay
Finlay climbed into Callum’s faded Jeep.
The paintwork had rust freckling its surface.
Scratches and dents etched its flanks, telling tales of countless adventures.
There was a crack in the windshield and one side mirror was missing.
Worn tires clung to rusted rims, while a frayed canvas top flapped listlessly.
“My truck developed a flat, so I had to use this, my good ’ol lad.” Callum laughed.
Finaly eyed the man suspiciously, recalling what Mrs. Keith had said. Should that make Callum a suspect?
Isla suspected Beatrice, and her reasons seemed logical. It was the only reason he called Callum today.
Because now, there was a good chance it was Beatrice, not Callum.
They just needed to prove it. Isla was working on a plan, and they needed to take things slow. Move more cautiously now that Beatrice knew they were onto her.
But Finlay was still going to ask Callum about the call after their meeting with Dugan Stewart. Isla had told him about their discussion. She had insisted he saw Dugan, so Finlay had Callum reach out to him.
They were all going to see the old buildings that didn’t have state ties. Dugan would be waiting at an old bar. He had given Callum the directions.
“Where is this place?” Finlay asked. They have been driving for more than twenty minutes.
“We’re almost there,” Callum said. “Ye ken, the council tries to keep the noise away from town.” He let out a shaky laugh.
Away from town? Finlay chuckled. “And this bar, you don’t think it closed up because it was too far away?”
“No, there was a fire,” Callum answered.
“Mmm.” Finlay sighed, deciding to be patient.
When they arrived at the old bar, Dugan stood by a vintage sedan. He was wearing a button-down shirt and pants with a long coat. The bar had a vast parking space. Callum parked some distance from Dugan’s sedan.
Finlay stepped out of the car and onto the cracked asphalt of the old bar’s parking lot.
The building loomed before them, its wooden exterior charred and blackened from the fire that had ravaged it.
The windows were boarded up, and the door hung crookedly on its hinges as if it had been broken and never repaired.
Callum nodded toward the building. “This is it, lad. The old bar.”
Finlay raised an eyebrow. “It’s quite a fixer upper.” His voice was just above a whisper. They walked toward Dugan.
“Ah, Mr. Fraser! Good to see you, lad.” Dugan’s gruff voice filled the air as he ambled toward them. His weathered face creased into a warm smile. “Callum,” he acknowledged. The three men exchanged pleasantries.
Finlay eyed Dugan’s sedan. His eyes widened as he recognized the machine. “Blimey, Mr. Stewart. What a beauty! Is that a 1962 Studebaker Hawk?”
Dugan chuckled, running a hand over the car’s sleek, curved hood. “Aye, it is! Ye hae got a good eye, Finlay. I’ve spent years restoring her to her former glory.”
Finlay circled the car, taking in its gleaming chrome accents, rich burgundy paintwork, and retro-styled tailfins. “She’s stunning! The lines, the curves… it’s like a work of art.”
“Aye,” Callum agreed with a grin.
Dugan beamed with pride. “Thanks, Finlay! I’ve always had a think for classic American cars. There’s something about the style, the power. It’s just timeless.”
Finlay nodded, still admiring the Studebaker. “True,” agreed Finlay. “So, shall we?”
“Of course, welcome to the old bar,” Dugan said, sweeping his arm toward the building. “As ye can see, it’s been through a bit of a rough patch.”
Finlay nodded sympathetically. “It’s a shame. But I’m not sure it’s the right location for us. It’s a bit far from the town centre.”
Dugan chuckled. “Ah, but that’s where ye’re wrong, lad. This place has potential. Let’s look around.”
Callum followed Dugan. “Come on, lad. It might be something.”
With a small sigh, Finlay followed both men. Dugan took them to the back and around the building. “The owner used to run Drive-In Theatre, thus the huge parking lot.” Dugan explained. “He left for the States after the fire, wanted to start afresh.”
As they walked back to the front, Finlay paused by a broken glass window and peered into the charred husk of the bar.
Soot-stained bottles lay shattered on the floor, their labels long since peeled away.
A twisted, rusted beer tap hung like a skeletal finger, pointing towards the blackened remnants of a once-polished bar.
The air inside was heavy with the acrid scent of decay, a haunting reminder of the inferno that had ravaged the place years ago.
“We can go in,” Dugan suggested.
“We should,” Callum concurred.
“No. I don’t see a need.” Finlay stealthily pulled his head out of the broken window and dusted his palms on his butt. “I’d prefer something close to the town centre.”
Dugan nodded with a smirk. “And I’ve got just the one to show you.”
He led them to an old hospital building three streets away from the town square. Finlay’s eyes widened as he took in the sprawling structure.
“It’s a big space,” Callum said, nodding at Finlay. His eyes burned with a fervent glint, almost as if he wanted to take the decision out of Finlay’s hand.
“Aye, but ye will hae to talk to Beatrice and the council. This belongs to Lochraven,” Dugan said.
Finlay strolled into the entrance, scanning the lobby. “You don’t suppose you could talk to her on my behalf Mr. Stewart?” he suggested, remembering how Beatrice had dismissed him.
“I prefer not to influence her political decisions, but I believe you can handle it. You convinced the council to let you speak to the people before, didn’t you?”
That was Benjamin Blackwood, not me. “Yeah, just that the last time I went to her about St. Albert church, she rebuked me.”
“Well, I apologize on her behalf, but some of these buildings have been added to the agenda of Lochraven, so they might not be available to developers or external parties,” Dugan explained while Callum nodded in agreement.
Finlay hesitated. “I’m still not convinced. What makes you think this is the right spot for us?”
Dugan leaned against the wall, a sly glint in his eye. “What does your company need a place in the town centre for?”
Finlay explained their plans to create a resort to increase tourist attraction and benefit the vendors. “I call it Haven Raven. Just think of all the revenue it could generate for the town and the people.
Dugan listened intently, nodding along. “Ah, I see,” Dugan said, stroking his chin. “The church has a big farm at the back, so I understand why ye chose that location. It works perfectly with yer plan.”
“Aye, it does.”
“Well, I think I might have a solution for ye. What if we were to use the old bar as a resort instead? It has a parking space and ye could have stalls where vendors to sell their goods.”
Finlay’s eyes narrowed as he considered the proposal. “I’ll have to think about it,” he promised.
Dugan grinned, clapping Finlay on the back. “Then I’ll leave you to think on it. But…” He trailed off. “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll speak to Beatrice about the church.”
Finlay’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, Mr. Stewart, but I don’t want to be the one to make—"
“No, not at all.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Send me yer plans. I’ll take a look and get back to ye. But remember, no promises. This is not my administration.”
“We understand.” Callum grinned, unable to stand still. He paced back and forth in long strides, excited by the news.
Finlay stretched a hand toward Dugan. “Thank you so much, Dugan. I really appreciate everything.”
With a nod, Dugan turned and ambled toward his sedan.
Finlay and Callum head back to where his car was parked, just when Dugan pulled out of the parking lot. “Now you have options,” Callum said, climbing into the driver’s side.
The bar or the church. But Finlay wanted the church. He had his reasons.
Reasons known to him alone.
“I will take it up with the bosses,” he replied, fixing his seatbelt as Callum kicked the engine to life.
Finlay peaked at Callum from the corner of his eyes as he drove him home. The radio was switched on, and a song was playing, which Callum was singing along to jauntily. Occasionally, when they stopped at the traffic light, he waved and greeted some passerby.
Unable to remain quiet, Finlay asked the question that had been eating him throughout the day. “Callum?”
“Yes?” he responded. Finlay remained silent. “Ye know what, lad? Tomorrow, I’ll speak with some residents at the retirement home. Some of them hae strategic properties in the town.”
“Callum,” Finlay called, but Callum jabbered on.
“I bet we’ll have at least five interested parties ready to sell.”
“Callum,” Finlay called again.
Callum glanced at Finlay. “And they never hear the town’s gossips so—"
“Callum!” he called in a much louder voice. Callum stopped, hitting the brakes. Finlay sighed, adjusting the seatbelt across his chest. “I paid Mrs. Keith a visit, and she told us you called Angus. What was it about?”
Callum didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he diverted to the right, parking on the side of the road. “Ye don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m only asking a simple question. Given that we may be working together long term, I need to know.”
“I called him because ye asked me to. I was following your instructions, Finlay.”
And he left in a hurry? “Give me details, Callum. You must have heard the rumours going around town.”
“Okay, fine. I tried to convince him to help us, but he refused. Then I told him I would go straight to Beatrice like he advised, but he told me he would handle it.”
Haud on a minute. Finlay stared at Callum. “Let me get this straight. Angus told you he was going to Beatrice?”
“Aye,” Callum answered.
“Thank you, Callum,” he murmured, pressing a fist to his forehead.
Soon, they reached Finlay’s house. “Finlay,” Callum called. “I don’t believe what the police or people say about you. And I hope you can allow me to earn your trust.”