Nauseasettled in my gut like a stone, and I blew out a heavy breath as I dropped intoa chair. Alec scrubbed a hand through his hair, pushing the strands into evenmore disarray.
“There'sno blood on the stone,either,” he continued, with afresh air of heated frustration and anger. “Not a fuckin' drop.”
“Yousaw it?”
Henodded, training his eyes on me. “I answered the woman’s call with Finley, andwe went into the woods together. He seems as suspicious as we are, but …” Hepulled in a deep breath and shook his head.
“Youcan't trust him.”
“No.Ihavnaeruled him out yet.”
Hisshoulders sagged then, and his chin dropped to greet his chest. I imagined Icould see the weight and loneliness he carried, the heaviness of being forcedto handle this case by himself. Gracie would have hated that. She was a giving,selfless person who never liked a single drop of attention to fall in her direction,and now, she had it all.Every lastbit.
“Istill want to see the stone,” I reminded him, and he lifted his head to meet myeyes.
“Nottonight,” he replied firmly. “I've already been there today.”
Fierypersistence spread up my spine and down my arms, reaching my fingertips, andcurling my hands into tight fists. “Yousaid you'dtake me. You can't just expect me to sit around here doing nothing when there'sso—”
“I'lltake ye tomorrow,” he cut me off, raising his voice. “We'll go when it's dark,to keep anyone fromseein' us, but Iwillnaego back there tonight and risk raisin' suspicion.”
Myhands loosened against my thighs, and I released a long-winded breath, as Inodded and said, “Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”
Sighing,he replied, “If ye reallywannaedosomethin' tonight, ye're welcome to come with me to theinn. But that's all I'mdoin'.”
Withouta moments’ hesitation, I stood up and crossed the floor to the doorway, as Isaid, “Well, then, I guess we're going to the inn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ROSIE
TJwasn't happy to be left out of the action, but I didn't give him a choice whenI told him that I was leaving with Alec to go back to the inn. Knowing thatsomeone out there had tampered with Gracie's belongings, I couldn't find asingle reason to risk his safety by bringing him with us. But there was no wayI could miss out on looking further through her things, especially while theystill held onto her scent. I imagined, that if I closed my eyes and held one ofher shirts to my nose, I'd be able to convince myself that she wasactually there, and on the car ride to The Whispering Crow,I realized I was looking forward to it.
“Yecan change the station if ye'd like,” Alec grumbled from beside me, bustingthrough my foolish reverie.
Ihadn't been paying attention to the radio before, but now, I listened to VanMorrison's “Into the Mystic,” and my mouth spread into a small, melancholicsmile.
“Mymom loves this song,” I told him, reaching out to turn the volume up.
“Hm,”he responded, nodding.
“Everyweekend, she would open up all the windows in the house and put Van Morrison onwhile she cleaned. She'd turn the volume up so loud, the neighbors could hear, andshe'd give Gracie and me cloths to polish the furniture and dust the TV.” Iturned toward the window and smiled at the burnt orange sunset. “We would danceand sing and turn it into a game. I mean, when we got older, we realized wewere only doing chores and it stopped being a good time, but back then, we hadso much fun.”
Emotionwrapped its cold, bony fingers around my neck and squeezed until I parted mylips in a silent gasp. “God,” I said in a choked whisper. “Gracie had to be, Idon't know, only three or four back then.”
Itried to recall what she sounded like, as a three-year-old girl, but couldn't.My eyes filled with tears at the cruel reality that all of life is fleeting,and that every second passed is another we can never get back. I hated how ourparents had rarely taken pictures of us as kids. Especially when we werepolishing and dusting the furniture, while listening to Van Morrison.
Ina hurry, I reached out and began to jab at the buttons on the console, in adesperate attempt to find something to listen to that wouldn't rekindlememories I'd rather keep buried.
“Itdoesnaehelp any to not think about her,” Alec said,as I settled on The Beatles' “Blackbird.”
“Iknow. I think about her all the damn time,” I replied, turning my gaze to thepassing trees, cobblestone roads, and old buildings that have seen far morethan I ever will. “I just don't want to think about her right now.”
Hegrunted a sympathetic sound, before saying, “Then, let's think aboutsomethin' else. Ye said ye always wanted to come toScotland.”
Isniffled a laugh because Scotland always made me think of Gracie. It was one ofthe many things we had bonded over in adulthood. But still, I appreciated hisattempt to make me feel better, and replied, “Yeah, I've always been in lovewith Scotland. Or, I should say, theideaof Scotland.”
Alecguffawed, made a disgusted sound, and asked, “God, why?”
