Shesighed with sarcastic despair. “I guess that’ll have to do.”
Ifilled the kettle and turned it on before glancing over my shoulder at Rosieand the morose expression on her face. A helpless sense of being washed overme, as I wished I could do more to help her, maybe even make her smile a bit.But what could I do at a time like this? The only thing that could make hersmile, as far as I was aware, was to find the person that took Gracie’s life.
Still,I had seen her smile before, even for just a moment, and I wasn’t about to giveup on making it happen.
“CanI interest ye in some breakfast?” I asked, and Rick raised an inquisitive browat me on his way to the table.
“Idon’t know if I’m really all that hungry, to be honest,” she replied, as shereached for the stack of photographs. I quickly took them away, and her browfurrowed with irritation, and she said, “I’d like to see them.”
“No,”I said, tucking the pile beneath my arm. “Ye wouldn’t.”
“Youhad no problem showing me my sister’s body, or asking me to help you steal itfrom a crematorium, but you have an issue with me looking at some pictures?”
Ricksnorted from the table. “She makes a valid point, mate.”
Ignoringmy friend, I narrowed my eyes at her and replied, “Some things ye never get outofyermind.”
“Andyou think I’m going to forget the look of her face any time soon?”
Ifelt no pride in what I had done the day before. I hated that I had needed toshow her, or that I had asked for her assistance. I hated that she had been asinvolved as she was and had to be,in order forme tosolve the case. But one thing I was certain she didn’t need to see, was theceremonious display of her sister’s body laid out over the rocks ofCoilleFeannag.
Still,she was adamant, and my resolve crumbled with a groan and a shake of my head. Ipushed them back at her and braced myself as she slowly began to rifle throughthem. One by one, she looked through them without so much as a flinch, and itirked me how easily the human mind can be desensitized to matters so dark andgrim.
“Whatis this?” she asked, her voice rasped. She turned the photo of the markingstoward me and pointed.
“Idinnaeken,” I admitted. “We were justdiscussin’ that before ye came down.”
Sheturned the picture back to her questioning eyes and said, “This part looks likea seatbelt buckle.”
Crumplingmy brow, I hurried around to peer over her shoulder. Without a second thought,my arms came down to the counter, locking her in and pushing my chest againsther back, and for just a sliver of a moment, I thought how nice this was andhow much I’d missed it. Then, just as quickly, I remembered what it was I wasdoing, and put my mind back on the right track.
“See?”She tapped one mark on the woman’s thigh. “Right here. And here, this blankspot looks like the holes in the buckle.”
Isquinted my eyes, peering closer at the image that now came through to me, asobvious now as the sun streaming through the kitchen window. “Fuck,” I mutteredbeneath my breath. “I think ye’re right.”
“Idon’t know what this is,” she said, tracing her finger along the stretch ofpurple across her sister’s pale thigh, “but that is definitely a buckle.”
Rosieturned her head, as I turned mine, and in that moment, our eyes, noses, andlips were so dangerously close, I thought I might accidentally kiss her frommuscle memory alone. She smiled, and the pride reflecting in her eyes wasenough to not only stop me from kissing her, but my lungs and heart stoppeddoing their jobs, too. I wondered if maybe I had died, right there and then,just from the impact of this woman’s smile alone.
“MaybeI am a detective after all,” she said, her grin never faltering.
“Maybeeven a better one than me,” I replied, as I found myself returning the smile.
Then,before I could take in another breath and smell the sweet floral scent of herhair, I took the photo from her hands and hurried to the table to show Rick.Because Rosie Allan was in Scotland to solve a murder, not to warm the heart ofa pathetic, lonely Scotsman.
***
Rosiewent upstairs to wake TJ and get dressed, while I mulled over the plan for theday. She was right in wanting to first narrow the search to pubs with a larger,clear front window, but The Whispering Crow Inn was situated on the corner ofGlaswellStreet and Devonshire Road. There were eight pubsalongGlaswellalone, another seven on Devonshire,and while I knew that not every one of them would have a picture window, itwould still take a significant amount of time to investigate them all. Time wasnot on our side, and the more time that passed, the less likely we were to findGrace’s killer.
“Gonnabe a long fuckin’ day,” I muttered to Rick, as hefilled a thermos with coffee.
“Aye,”he agreed, glancing at the list of fifteen pubs. “But I reckon the company ye’rekeepin’ will help the time pass a wee bit faster.”
Lookingup at him, I furrowed my brow and asked, “What’re yeimplyin’?”
“Yethink I’m blind?” He laughed, then tapped the arm of his thick, black glasses.“I’mseein’everythin’that’sgoin’ on, my friend. Ye can’t pull the woolover my eyes that easily.”
Glancingat the door and then back at him, I hissed, “There isnothin’to see.”
