Ilaughed as I sent my reply and waited for those three dots to reappear, butthey never did. I looked up at TJ, now sitting at the kitchen island andwaiting expectantly for me to let him know what his aunt had been up to.
“Iguess she got distracted,” I muttered disappointedly, sliding the phonehesitantly onto the counter.
“It’salso like, after midnight over there,” he reminded me with a shrug.
“Yeah,that’s true,” I said, quietly watching the phone, just in case she came back tome.
“Buthey, at least you know she’s okay,” he offered, letting the boy who still caredout for a moment. I nodded and found mysmile, becausehe certainly had a point. Shewasokay, and I grabbed a hold of thatfact as I busied myself with making dinner.
Yetthe longer I let it settle and the more I climbed down from my brief conversationwith Gracie, I moved back toward the pit of my anxiety. As we ate our dinner ofpasta and Italian bread, I read through the messages again, suddenly startledby the stiff demeanor and vagueness in her responses. But nothing bothered memore, in the silliest of ways, than that trivial, little “haha.”
Gracewas a “laugh my ass off” kind of girl. She teased people who left the joke witha bland “haha,” and now, while I was relieved that shewas still out there, I began to question just how fine she really was.
CHAPTER THREE
ALEC
Anangry autumnal sky opened to drench the Highlands in a battering rain, boomingwith a wicked crack of thunder and waking me from an already restless sleep.
“Bloodyhell,” I groaned, thrusting both hands into my hair and gripping the strandstightly between clenched fingers.
Onthe other side of my bedroom door, I listened to the noises of the house Ishared with my best pal and roommate, Rick, a shabby fool of a man who made aliving as a funeral director and mortician. But contradictory to the spookynature of his profession, the man loved gardening and early mornings, and Iwinced at the sudden shattering of glass coming from somewhere in the house.
“Fuck,”he exclaimed, and I bolted from my bed to pull on some pants and hurry from myroom. I soon found him bleeding from his hand and dripping onto the kitchenfloor.
“Whatthe hell did ye do now, man?” I asked urgently, grabbing a rag from thecounterand wrapping it around his bloody fingers.
Rick’sgaze dropped to the shards of glass on the floor at his feet. “Ah,y’know, just thought I’d pour myself some juice to havewith my breakfast,” he replied sardonically, squeezing the towel with his otherhand, as I rushed to retrieve the bandages from the bathroom cabinet.
“Andwhat happened? The glass spontaneously combusted inyerhand?” I asked, before ordering him to sit at the table.
“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbled.
Ishook my head and set to work wrapping his sliced fingers that had barely begunto heal from the last incident with a pair of pruning shears. To say the manwas accident prone was a huge understatement. He really was a damned walkingtime bomb, that’s exactly what he was, and if I hadn’t parked my sorryarseon his front door months ago, I was sure he would’vebled to death by now.
“Keepin’ ye young, though,” he jested, waggling his bushybrows. “We both know yewouldnaebe able to boltouttayerbed like that atyerage if itwerenaefor me.”
“Hm,”I grunted with a short nod, knowing there was likely a truth in his words.
Therewas no denying that my life had grown pathetically stagnant since returning toFort Crow. The work I’d done in Edinburgh had kept me sharp as a tack and on mytoes, but now, the layers of rust were multiplying by the day and the oldscrews were in desperate need of oiling. God forbid something other than lostpurses and missing cats were to happen. At this rate, I wasn’t sure it wouldever get solved.
“Allright, lad. Good as new,” I announced, standing up and collecting the unusedbandages and ointment.
Rickwiggled his fingers to test their mobility, and said, “Well, it’s good to knowye’d be a brilliant nurse if the whole detective thingdoesnaework out.”
“Ye’rea funny man,” I muttered sardonically, as I trudged my way to the shower.
“Iwasnaejokin’,” Rick calledafter me, just as I closed the door.
Ibrushed my teeth, while staring at my reflection in the old, cloudy mirrorabove the sink. The version of myself I’d left back in Edinburgh would’ve beenashamed of the bloke staring back at me. This man was scruffy, a bit rougharound the edges, and quite the contrast to the clean-shaven guy my ex-wife hadforced me to be in the city. I could blame the single life on my lack of carefor my appearance, but I think it was more likely to be attributed to simplynot giving a shit.
Mymobile rang on the cluttered shelf below the mirror, among the bottles ofmedication, shaving supplies, and a random pile of cotton buds. I grabbed itbefore the nearby pill bottles could vibrate off the shelf and answered it,immediately putting it on speakerphone.
“InspectorBrodie.”
“Brodie,it’s Finley. How’re yedoin’?”
Imumbled an incoherent reply around my toothbrush, and when my partner askedwhat the hell I’d just said, I spat a frothy wad of toothpaste into the sink.
