Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Mason strode out of his apartment block, with me falling in beside him. His shadow was long, sliding across the sun-struck concrete.
At the rear of the apartment block was the residents’ gated car park. The late-afternoon light was pooling on the roofs of the various cars. Assuming a sensible silver hatchback nearby was his, I started to make my way towards it.
Mason’s dark brows knitted together. ‘Where are you going?’
I pointed at the vehicle in front of me, with a tartan blanket draped over the back seat. ‘I thought this might be yours.’
He folded his arms and inclined his head. ‘And why might that be?’
I let out a little cough. ‘Well, it’s traditional, sensible.’
‘And the right type of car for a stuffy, boring historian, perhaps?’
‘I never said that.’
‘No, you didn’t, but your choice of car for me most certainly did.’
He took another few steps, until he was standing by the driver’s side of a gorgeous sporty number, in an icy silver shade – all angled headlights and aerodynamic curves, with a sumptuous black leather interior.
As I wandered around it, I saw it was a Scion-FRS.
‘This is yours?’
Mason raised his car keys and pressed a button, making the car click and flash. ‘What did you think was more suitable for me? A push bike?’ He pointed at the passenger side. ‘Aren’t you going to get in, or would you prefer to catch the bus?’
As I eased open the door, my eyes fell on a red doggie blanket spread across the back seat.
‘Sorry it isn’t Egyptian cotton or Christian Dior,’ he said dryly, clambering into the driver’s side. ‘I’ll have a word with Darwin and suggest we swap it for something more extravagant.’
I tried not to laugh. ‘There’s no need for sarcasm.’
We eased out of the car park and Mason slid on a pair of aviator sunglasses. I noticed a light dusting of dark stubble on his chin.
‘So,’ I exclaimed, making him cast me a sideways glance, ‘how are we going to approach this, then? With Mrs Compton, I mean?’
Mason indicated left at the top of the street. ‘Let me do most of the talking, if you don’t mind.’
‘Why?’
He flicked up the indicator again and swung us left past the harbour, which was dotted with tourists and glistening fishing nets and out onto the road fringed with dry-stone walls. ‘Because I’ve spoken to her once already and I think my Australian charm is an advantage.’
‘And you think you’ll have more success talking to her this time?’
Mason’s mouth twitched. ‘I haven’t dialled my Australian charm up to full volume yet.’
‘Right.’ Before I could bite back the words, they fell over each other to escape from my runaway mouth. ‘You should smile a bit more.’
He jerked his head towards me in momentary surprise. ‘Maybe I’ve got false teeth.’
‘Have you?’
‘No, I bloody well haven’t!’
‘Prove it, then.’
Mason looked confused. ‘By smiling, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘What the hell for?’
We were almost at the foot of the hill, where McKerron Castle fought its way to the ceiling of a twisted, cloudy sky. I never got tired of looking at it.
As we negotiated the final ribbon of road leading up to it, Mason turned to me and grimaced. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake. Okay. How’s this?’
I made sure I looked appalled at his Dick Dastardly gurn. ‘Please don’t do that again. It’s a good job there’s no small children around.’
Mason laughed.
‘Oh well. I suppose it’ll have to do.’
‘We’d better be quick,’ he said, pulling into a parking space and glancing at his digital car clock. ‘The castle closes to visitors in twenty minutes.’
We clambered out and he locked up the car. I hurried up behind him and pushed down the sleeves of my aubergine cardigan. Chilly air was skipping in from across the waves.
‘And remember, Watson,’ he warned as he swiped his sunglasses off his face, ‘let Sherlock do most of the talking.’
We entered the gravelled courtyard, our feet crunching over the chipped pink stones. Between the castle ruins and the gaping silhouettes where long, narrow windows once were, streaks of sunlight bounced off the watery horizon and fought their determined way through.
There was a chrome stand in the centre of the courtyard, on which sat a glass-fronted information board. Behind the pane was a welcome-to-visitors sign.
The people of Port Starr are proud to introduce you to the magnificent McKerron Castle.
Built in 1690, it was designed to aid the Port Starr authorities monitor the movement of pirates in and around the Scottish coastline. However, the castle’s haunting beauty did not go unnoticed and in 1710, the Earl of Strath Lee decided to buy McKerron Castle and make it his ancestral home.
I read on further, with an impatient Mason hovering beside me.
‘Despite the Earl turning the castle into his sumptuous retreat, he continued to allow the north-facing tower to be used by locals for monitoring the movement of pirates and illegal goods…’
‘Don’t you already know all this?’ asked an irritated Mason, as he checked the time on his watch. ‘I thought you were Port Starr born and bred.’
‘Yes, I am, but I haven’t been up to the castle for years. And anyway, I bet you don’t know everything about Australian history.’
Mason gave me a look. ‘Would you care to have a wager on that?’ He glanced at his chunky wristwatch yet again, before moving away and taking increasingly long strides towards the castle gift shop. ‘I’m sure you can reacquaint yourself with local history another time.’
‘Hang on!’ I started after him, my shoulder bag jostling against my side. ‘Are you always this bossy?’
He stopped short on the gravel and swung around. ‘I’m not bossy. Just assertive.’
‘Yeah. Right. That’s usually what bossy people say,’ I hissed under my breath.
I managed to catch up with him, just as a chunk of chipped pink stone decided to jump up and wedge itself inside the heel of my trainers. ‘Ouch!’
Mason stopped and glowered under his brows. ‘Don’t you have any awareness of time management? What is it now?’
‘Give me a second. I’ve got a stone caught in my shoe.’
He made a theatrical point of studying his watch again. ‘Look, Poppy, I don’t mean to sound callous, but we need to get a move on if we want to catch Eliza Compton before she heads home for the day.’
I shot him a cross look. ‘Thanks for your concern about my foot.’ I hopped over to the nearby wall, tugged off my right trainer and shook out the offending stone.
I finished tying my lace and was pushing myself away from the wall, when my attention fell on a carving in one of the lower, grey bricks. It wasn’t large or elaborate, but the attention to detail was impressive.
I crouched down to take a closer look. It was of two roses intertwined. Their petals were beautifully scalloped, and I admired the way the prickly stems were laced together, as if locked in an embrace.
‘Poppy,’ thundered Mason from behind me. ‘What on earth are you doing now?’
‘Let me take a quick picture and then I’ll be right with you,’ I promised, pulling out my phone. ‘This is a beautiful carving.’ I focused the camera on my mobile and snapped away, deciding that I would sketch and paint these haunting roses.
I stashed my phone back in my bag and offered Mason an apologetic smile. We moved off again. ‘Sorry about that, but I couldn’t resist. There’s a gorgeous carving back there on one of the bricks.’
‘When you’ve quite finished photographing walls, maybe we can go and speak to Mrs Compton. That is, if she hasn’t closed up for the day already.’
I curled my lip. ‘Don’t get in a flap. Look. The gift shop is still open.’
The castle gift shop was situated across the gravelled path on the ground floor, in what looked like it had been some sort of armoury store.
A heavy, glass-panelled door gleamed out of the granite.
As soon as we stepped inside, the chilly sea air gave way to a piped Scottish reel and a wave of central heating.
The surrounding wooden shelves were selling everything from McKerron Castle bookmarks and mugs to giant lollipops wrapped in cellophane and snow globes depicting a miniature of the castle in a wintry landscape.
A pair of moss-green tie-back curtains hung at the main window, and behind the counter lurked Eliza Compton. Her slanting, watery eyes swivelled between Mason and me. She came barrelling out from behind her flash-looking till. ‘I’m afraid we’re closing in five minutes.’
‘We’re not here to visit the castle,’ explained Mason. ‘You might remember that I came to talk about the Scarlet Highwayman.’
Eliza struggled to rearrange her pinched features into polite indifference. ‘I remember you, Mr Cooper.’
‘And this is Poppy Summers.’
Eliza Compton gave the briefest of nods. Then she studied me more closely. ‘I thought I recognised you. You’re Oliver Summers’ girl.’
‘Guilty as charged,’ I answered, noting that she didn’t smile at my attempt at humour.
Mason awarded me a withering look and carried on. ‘We’re here to ask about the Lapley family and their connection to the Scarlet Highwayman.’
Eliza’s elderly jaw quivered above the ruffle of her lemon blouse. She’d turned pale. ‘Like what exactly?’ She dropped her voice to a panicked hush. ‘I’ve already told you about the letters, Mr Cooper. What more do you want?’
Mason studied the woman. ‘It seems that a former resident of Port Starr has been hanging around the area, asking about the Scarlet Highwayman story.’
Eliza scurried back behind the protection of the shop counter. She reminded me of a frightened bird being stalked by a hungry cat. She dropped her head, giving us a clear view of her blow-dried, white layers. ‘Sorry, but I can’t help you. I’ve got to cash up now.’
Mason persisted. ‘Don’t you think it strange that someone who was once part of the Port Starr community suddenly returns to the area unannounced, in some sort of attempted disguise, and begins interrogating people about the Scarlet Highwayman?’
Eliza shuffled a pot of McKerron Castle pens on the counter. ‘I don’t know why the Lapley family would want to help fund the castle. But Shadow Land Holdings is their business; it’s their money and their decision. It’s up to them.’
Mason was undeterred. ‘In fact, what also puzzles me is why the Lapley clan seem so preoccupied with McKerron Castle, when they never exhibited any enthusiasm for supporting Port Starr in the first place.’
‘I’m sorry,’ snapped Eliza Compton, ‘but we need to close. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ She remained behind the counter, her expression brooking no argument.
‘Well, thank you for your time, anyway, Mrs Compton,’ he said, jerking his dark head at me.
I followed after him and Mrs Compton banged the gift shop door closed behind us. As I turned to look over my shoulder, a pair of age-spotted hands were fumbling to turn the ‘Open’ sign to read ‘Sorry – Closed’.
‘That went well,’ I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself. A stiff breeze was building up off the sea, delivering a distinct chill.
Mason’s jaw hardened. ‘What did I say to you about letting me do the talking?’
‘Hang on a second,’ I blustered. ‘You did most of the talking and we still aren’t any further forward.’
‘Well, Agatha Christie, that’s where you’re wrong.’
I flinched in annoyance. ‘What do you mean?’
Mason towered over me in his chinos and white shirt. An optimistic spark lit up in his eyes. ‘When I asked Mrs Compton about a connection between the Lapley family and the Scarlet Highwayman, what was her reply?’
‘That she didn’t know why they wanted to financially support the castle through Shadow Land Holdings…’ As soon as I repeated the words, my voice tailed off and an excited smile broke out across my face. ‘You didn’t say anything about Shadow Land Holdings – but she did.’
Mason was triumphant. ‘Exactly.’ He rooted around in his back pocket for his sunglasses, which he slid back on. ‘She knows far more than she’s prepared to tell us.’
I eyed him. ‘Do you think Alex Lapley’s been up to the castle and had a word with her?’
‘I’d bet on it.’
‘So, what now?’
Mason’s full mouth tightened. I could just make out the faint silhouette of his eyes behind his aviator shades as they bored into me with renewed determination. They looked great on him. ‘We move on to Plan B.’