Chapter Ten Digging For Trouble #2
Shakespeare, sensing their intent, growled softly as they approached the house.
Isla placed a calming hand on his head, and Finlay pushed open the creaking gate.
They slipped inside, Shakespeare leading the way.
The air inside was thick with dust and the stench of decay.
Finlay covered his mouth, his eyes scanning the dimly lit space.
Isla moved swiftly, her gaze locked onto a bedframe in the corner of the room, where Shakespeare was sniffing and pawing at an old, broken compartment.
His tail wagged excitedly as Isla squatted to examine the bedframe.
With a soft gasp, she pulled out a small compartment, revealing a stack of yellowed photographs.
Finlay and Isla’s eyes widened as they recognized the subject of the photographs. It was Beatrice, the council leader. In some photos, she was a toddler; in others, she was a teenager.
Isla’s eyes met his, a question burning in their depths. “Finlay?” She raised some folded papers from the compartment. “Cryptic letters,” she announced, handing it to him. Finlay collected them, examining the words, and found that they were written in a code he couldn’t decipher.
“Beatrice’s biological father is James Buchan.” He was the skeleton in the casket. “Have you ever wondered who killed him and put him there?”
“Mrs. Keith mentioned a contractor. I think she said his name was Fargie or something,” Isla said.
“We need to speak to her. You will go tomorrow.”
“Me?” Isla asked, and then her eyes widened slightly with realization. “Okay, I will.”
What if… Finlay shook his head, unable to complete his thoughts. Isla seemed to catch the subtle look of suspicion on his face. “What is it?” she asked.
“Just a thought, but what if Malina killed him and then killed herself?”
“Or maybe Dug—"
Shakespeare, growing restless, suddenly darted out of the room toward the back of the house. Isla raced after him, calling out his name, but the dog vanished into the underbrush. Isla sprinted after him with Finlay behind.
As they emerged into the bright sunlight, Finlay saw Isla and Shakespeare disappear into a hidden well. His heart racing, he rushed toward the well, peering into its depths.
Isla’s voice echoed up, faint but determined. “Oh my god, Finlay, it’s a tunnel! We can get out this way!”
Without hesitation, Finlay leapt into the well, landing awkwardly on the damp earth. As he stumbled forward, Isla’s hand grasped his, guiding him through the darkness.
“I’m here,” she giggled.
They emerged, blinking, into the bright sunlight, finding themselves at the front of the church. Finlay stared at Isla, his mind reeling with the implications of their discovery.
“You know, I once heard Moira talking about underground tunnels,” he said.
Isla shrugged. “I don’t know much about it, but I know it’s been shut down for years due to smuggling. But I will ask Gran. It was used during her time.”
A weighted silence settled over them, their gazes entwined in silent, unspoken emotions. Finlay’s heart raced. “Would you come home with me?” Finlay blurted out. “Um… I mean, like… I bake, and I… ye., oh my, I dinnae ken how to say it right.”
“Aye, I’d be delighted,” Isla replied, her voice tinged with a gentle Scottish lilt. She raised her eyes to his, her gaze sparkling with a hint of shyness as a warm blush spread across her cheeks.
He stretched his hand toward her, and she placed her hand in his.
Finlay slid the tray of freshly baked shortbread fingers into the oven, the buttery aroma filling the air. Isla sat at the kitchen table, Shakespeare by her side, as Finlay poured her a steaming cup of tea.
“I’m very confused about what we discovered in Buchan’s house.” Isla frowned.
Finlay waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t be. We’ll figure it out together,” he said, loving the word together.
He placed a plate of chicken in front of Shakespeare, and then he sat next to Isla. “We deserve one free night. Tomorrow, we shall continue.”
He placed his baked treats on the dining table. “Try the shortbread,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s still warm from the oven. My mom thought me to bake. She is English and still lives in Birmingham.”
Isla’s cheeks flushed as she took a bite, the buttery flavour melting on her tongue. Finlay watched, mesmerized, as she closed her eyes in appreciation.
“This so nice, Finlay. She taught you well. I can’t wait to meet her.” She paused, biting her lips. She felt she had over-talked, but her words made his heart flutter. Finlay could picture Isla meeting his mother. “That can be arranged,” he murmured.
Without thinking, Finlay lifted the cup to Isla’s lips. “Try the tea,” he whispered, his voice low and husky. Isla’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, she just looked at him, her cheeks burning.
Then, slowly, she nodded, and Finlay tipped the cup, letting the steaming liquid touch her lips. Isla’s eyes never left his as she took a sip.
Finlay felt his heart stutter in his chest. This was it—this was the moment he’d been waiting for. The world around them floated away, leaving only the two of them.
Shakespeare, sensing the warmth and comfort of the moment, lay down at their feet, his tail thumping gently on the floor.
Just as Finlay was about to speak, to tell Isla how he felt, a loud banging at the door shattered the spell. Finlay’s head jerked up, his heart sinking. “I’ll get it,” he muttered, setting the cup down with a clatter.
As he strode to the door, he turned to see Isla watching him, her face still aglow with the magic of their moment.
Do I really have to answer the door? he regretted inwardly as he twisted the doorknob. He was met with the stern faces of Officers Elliot and Rory, the latter’s expression twisted in disdain.
“Finlay, we need to ask you some questions,” Elliot said, his tone firm but polite.
Rory, however, was less courteous. “Where were ye at 4 pm today?” he snapped.
Finlay’s heartbeat skyrocketed.
Why are they here? Why are they asking me questions?
His mind raced with a possible answer, knowing he couldn’t reveal their break-in at the Buchan’s house.
Isla hurried over to the front door with Shakespeare by her side. “We were together,” she said, her voice steady. “We’ve been working on a project all day.”
The officers exchanged sceptical glances. “We have reason to believe otherwise,” Elliot said, producing a search warrant from his pocket.
The officers began to search the house. Finlay wasn’t bothered. He had a good guess of what they were looking for. The deed he found in the box. It was safe in Isla’s bookshop.
They are wasting their time. He chuckled silently, exchanging a knowing look with Isla.
Finlay followed the police officers to the bathroom, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. As they searched the cabinet, he leaned against the sink, relaxed. He knew he had nothing to hide.
Rory’s voice cut through the silence, his tone sharp. “What’s this?” He held up a small dart and a vial of liquid, his eyes narrowing at Finlay.
Finlay’s eyes widened. “What is that?” he asked, taking a step forward.
Rory’s expression turned cold. “It looks like a poison dart. Care to explain?” His voice was laced with accusation, his eyes boring into Finlay’s.
Finlay shook his head, confusion etched on his face. “I have no idea how that got there.”
Rory’s gaze lingered on him, his expression unyielding. “Save it, Fraser,” he said curtly. “Ye are coming with us.”
Finlay’s eyes darted back and forth, alarm rising. “What’s going on?”
Rory snapped handcuffs onto Finlay’s wrists, his movements brusque. “Ye are under arrest for the murder of Caitlin Keith. Ye have the right to remain silent…” Rory began to read him his rights.
The rest of Rory’s words faded into the background. Finlay froze, his heart skipping a beat. Mrs Keith? “Mrs Keith, oh my God.” He gasped for air. “No… no. No, it wasn’t me. I’m innocent!” Finlay yelled.
Isla’s eyes widened in shock as Finlay re-emerged with hands behind his back. Sensing his distress, Shakespeare barked frantically as if trying to defend his friend.
She grabbed Elliot’s arm. “What is happening, Elliot?”
“Mrs Keith is dead,” he answered.
Blood drained from Isla’s face as a gasp escaped her lips. She stumbled back, unable to breathe.
“Call Blackwood!” Finlay shouted to Isla as Rory dragged away. “Call Benjamin Blackwood, tell him what’s happening!”