Chapter Eight Tales By the Moonlight #2
Finlay nodded, “Thank you, Callum, I’m sorry if my words offended you.”
“No problem, lad. I’ll be back with those forms,” he promised, driving away.
Finlay settled on his sofa with his leg stretched out on the centre table. He dialled Isla’s number. It rang a few times before she picked up.
“Hello,” he said.
“Finlay. How was it?” Her direct question stung his heart. Did she not even care about my well-being? He wanted her to care. To ask after him and not just about their investigation.
He swallowed down the hurt by gulping a shot of whisky he had poured himself. Finlay reminded himself that Isla was only helping him because she stood for justice, not because she liked him.
Not because they were friends. They weren’t. He didn’t think she would have changed her mind about his project. But then she told him about Dugan’s offer to show him other buildings.
Could this mean that she is opening up to my project?
Could there be a chance? If there was, Finlay promised himself to seize it. “It went fine. Dugan showed me good options and even promised to speak to Beatrice about the church.”
“Seriously?” Disbelief laced her voice.
Finlay chuckled. He believed he made quite an impression on the man. “I think we got off on the right foot. He was nothing like his daughter. I believe he is a good man.”
“Me too,” Isla concurred. “He asked her not to press charges against me.”
“I believe your theory,” Finlay said. “I think Beatrice had something to do with Angus’ death.” He poured another shot of whisky. “I questioned Callum today about the call, and he told me Angus stopped him from going to Beatrice.”
He gulped down his shot, squeezing his eyes closed as the liquid travelled down his throat. “Angus told him he would go instead. How do we prove it? How, Isla? She is the council leader.”
“Let’s meet at the Heather and Holly’s dance.”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“It’s a little event the town holds every month. I will text you the venue.”
Finlay watched, mesmerized, as Heather and Holly took to the dance floor.
Isla was beside him, nodding to the beat with a glass of whisky.
The town hall was filled with the warm, golden glow of twinkling lights and was abuzz with the sound of laughter and music, but Finlay’s attention was fixed on the two women.
They were performing a traditional Scottish reel, their feet moving in perfect syncopation.
Heather, resplendent in her tartan sash and white gloves, spun around Holly, her blonde hair flying out behind her.
Holly, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of colour, her dark hair and bright blue dress blurring together as she leaped and twirled.
The music built to a crescendo, the fiddler’s bow flying across the strings as the dancers reached the climax of the reel.
Finlay felt his foot tapping along with the beat, his hands itching to join in.
He grinned at Isla, matching her head movement.
As the music finally came to a stop, Finlay joined in the thunderous applause, cheering and whistling along with the rest of the crowd. Heather and Holly curtsied, laughing and flushed with excitement.
“Woah, that was something!” he exclaimed.
Isla stifled her laugh, her eyes glinting with excitement. “I knew you would love it.”
Finlay and Isla made their way over to the buffet table. Finlay’s stomach growled with anticipation. The table was laden with all manner of Scottish delicacies: steaming plates of haggis, neeps, and tatties; trays of bridies and sausage rolls; and an enormous fruit tart that made his mouth water.
He loaded up his plate and made his way to the bar, where he ordered a pint of rich, malty ale to wash it all down. As he sipped his beer and nibbled on a bridie, he felt a sense of contentment wash over him.
He looked at Isla, admiring the shade of hair in the amber lighting. She looked like a phoenix. Finlay felt grateful to be with Isla. But he couldn’t help but wonder if she felt the same.
He handed her his drink. “Hold this,” he murmured and then tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “And how do they say it…” His hands lingered on her ear. “A bonnie lass.”
He took a cautious step forward, closing the space between them.
But his sturdy chest brushed the cups in Isla’s hands.
She stepped back. “Oh, look. You’ve got an admirer,” Isla announced, aching her brows toward a lady with straight, auburn hair.
She was plump, wearing a floral, long-sleeved shirt and denim shorts.
She cat walked over with a flirtatious smile.
“I am Bonnie.” She extended a hand to Finlay.
Isla shot him a smile and handed him his cup, taking the empty plate from Finlay before walking away.
“Isla—” he called, but she held out a hand to stop him.
Isla raised her empty cup. “I’m just going to refill. I’ll be right back.”
She was running away, and Finlay knew it. He turned to Bonnie. She seemed a bit familiar. He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do I know you, Bonnie?”
She laughed. “I was waiting for that. I live next door to you. We greeted you when you moved in.”
“Oh, I remember now.” His eyes scanned the room for Isla, hoping for her return. “I think I stopped seeing you after that day or so.”
Bonnie chuckled. Her smile was infectious, but that still didn’t stop Finlay’s eyes from wandering about in search of Isla. Did she leave the party?
“I left town. I just got back, couldn’t miss this for anything.” She gestured to the merriment and celebration with an outstretched arm.
“Good thing you did,” he muttered.
“Why? Because someone was killed?”
Finlay nodded. The sight of Angus still haunted his nights. And then his nightmare always ends with ‘you are next,’ but written in blood. He shook his head slightly, as if to push the image away from his mind.
“I heard you found the body,” Bonnie murmured, looking sympathetic. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Her small hand wrapped halfway around his arm. “Have they made any arrests yet?”
He shook his head. No, but they intend to arrest me soon.
“You know, I saw him.”
Finlay’s eyes shot wide, but he quickly rubbed them with the back of his hand, hiding his surprise. “Ye-you… ye saw Angus?”
“Aye, at your backyard. Arguing with that real estate agent—"
“Callum Reid?”
She nodded. “Aye, Callum Reid.”
“Bonnie, you should tell the police.”
“I will,” she assured him. “So, what’s it like living in London?”
“Fine,” Finlay replied. He spotted Isla sitting by the drink stand, one arm around her body protectively while the other clutched her cup.
He didn’t like that she was alone. And he needed to tell her Beatrice was not the only suspect.
Lying Callum Reid was now suspect number two.