by Amy M. Reade
“I thought you had enough money to live in luxury for the rest of your days without the jewels.”
“Not after Florian lost all that money. He practically wiped us out. Why do you think I sent him for that painting? It wasn’t so we could hang it up and look at it. It was so we could sell it, obviously.”
“You can’t possibly think you can sell those jewels without people knowing where they came from. And that’s if the jewels are still where they were originally hidden.”
“They’ll be there. They have to be. And I hope you’re not foolish enough to think there aren’t lots of people out there who would pay big money for those jewels.” She was practically salivating with greed.
“Even if you find them, which is doubtful, there are other people with a claim to those jewels, too. The government, for example. The jewels belong to the nation of Scotland.”
“Bugger off! The only people with a legitimate claim to those jewels are me and Hagen. That’s because we are the heirs of the man who owned both the map and the painting.” I realized with a jolt that Alice had just answered a question that had been tickling the back of my mind for a long time. How had Hagen known which Leitch painting hid Elizabeth’s map? The answer had suddenly been made clear: as descendants of the man who had owned the painting and the map, Hagen and Alice would have grown up hearing the story. They would have known what the painting looked like.
Alice was still talking. “Thank God Thea is no longer a threat. If Hagen had married her, we would have had to share the money from the sale of the jewels.”
A chill snaked its way up my back. “Did Hagen kill Thea?”
“Of course not,” she scoffed. “The stupid sap loved her. The problem was that he didn’t think things through. Why split the money three ways when we could split it in half and leave her out of it? I liked Thea at one time, but I had no choice.”
Alice had killed Thea. I felt a stab of sorrow for a woman I had never known, who had done nothing wrong but fall in love with a man who had a crazy sister.
“Alice, you can’t possibly think no one is going to find out that you did it.” She didn’t answer.
I was in the car with a murderer. If she killed Thea, whom she had once liked, would she hesitate to do the same to me? I had to find a way out. I tried reasoning with her again.
“You know, anyone who sees me in your car in Cauld Loch is going to know something’s wrong, and they’ll raise the roof to get me away from you.”
“I should have made myself clear. I’m going to Cauld Loch. You won’t quite make it that far.”
I felt a chill start at the base of my skull and spread throughout my body. “Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise.” I could see her grinning in the rearview mirror.
An hour later we turned off the road and went bumping down a poorly paved road to a small dirt lot. There were no other cars in sight.
“Good,” Alice said with a sigh. “I was afraid there might be other people here. It’s deserted.” Her voice had an ominous tone.
“Alice, this is crazy. Whatever you have planned, you haven’t thought it through clearly.”
“By the time they find your body, I’ll be long gone,” she said, her smile sly. “Come along.” She opened the back door and pulled my arm. I tried as best I could to stay where I was, but I couldn’t match her strength. Besides that, she had the advantage of standing up, whereas I was seated. She had the leverage of planting her feet while she was pulling. She grunted with the effort of pulling me as I resisted.
Finally I landed on the ground with a thud. I flipped onto my back and started flailing my legs, hoping to knock her down somehow, but all I succeeded in doing was exhausting myself.
Then I remembered the last text I had sent Chloe. Though I had said the trip was fine, she was expecting me to text every hour. I hoped fervently that she had taken my silence over the past few hours as a sign of trouble. But how would anyone find my car? And even if they found it, where would they go to look for me?
Alice had grabbed my good arm and was pushing me toward a metal gate. I had been here before, but I couldn’t think straight to remember the name of the place.
Then it came to me—Crainskellie Gorge. I had come here to take photographs on one of our trips to the Highlands before Seamus and I moved out of Edinburgh. It was beautiful—and dangerous. Having viewed the three-thousand-feet-deep gorge through a zoom lens, I knew there was no hope of surviving a fall into its depths. The booming sound of rushing water reached us from the bottom of the gorge. Alice propelled me forward in front of her. I struggled against her hold on my arm, but to no avail. We walked down a steeply sloping switchback path with hairpin turns until I glimpsed the suspension bridge over the gorge. There were tall spikes on either side of the bridge to keep foolhardy people from leaning too far over, but as with any dangerous place, if someone really wanted to get around the security precautions, they could find a way.
And Alice knew just where to go to bypass the suspension bridge. Pushing me ahead of her, we charged through the thick brush toward the edge of the gorge, stumbling over hidden rocks and tiny hillocks of grass. I didn’t dare look down—I had seen enough of it when I took photos of it. The raw beauty of the photos flashed through my mind, but it was quickly replaced with images of a body lying along the bottom of the gorge, cold water rushing over it. My body.
I couldn’t let that happen. Alice let go of my arm and gave me a shove toward the edge of the gorge. I moved my arm in large circles, trying to keep my balance. When I righted myself, I took a step backward, keenly aware that Alice stood just a meter away, lunging toward me. Then I dodged to one side and she rushed past me, stopping herself in time to avoid heading over the side of the gorge. The thicket where we were performing our deadly dance was wet from recent rain, and from moisture rising from the rushing water far below us. It was difficult to keep my footing.
My mind was entirely focused on staying alive, and when Alice hurtled her body toward me again I reached my hand out to try to push her toward the edge of the gorge again. But she stopped and swung her arm at me instead, trying to use her brute strength to push me to my death.
She lunged at me again and I slipped backward toward the gorge, grasping at a clump of long grass to keep myself from slipping over the edge. She stood closer to the gorge than I then, and suddenly there was a shout from above us. Several years as a nature photographer had taught me never to lose focus in order to get that perfect shot that might only last a second or two, and I was able to ignore the shout at first while I watched Alice, waiting for her next attack. But Alice hadn’t had such training and she lost her focus. When she jerked her head to see who was calling, she lost her balance and fell backward, plunging over the side of the gorge.
I let out a scream of—what was it? Terror? Relief? Probably both. It was a long minute before I was able to collect myself enough to make my way toward the sound of the voices and away from the edge of the precipice. By the time I reached the path, the people who had shouted were rushing toward me, their faces betraying their horror and shock. I sank to the ground, sobbing, as they approached.
In bursts of words, I tried to explain what had happened. They had already alerted the authorities, they said, and the police should be here in short order.
They were tourists. They had seen me struggling with Alice at the top of the gorge. Through my tears I thanked them again and again for shouting and distracting Alice from her deadly quest.
When they asked if there was anyone I could call, I gave them Seamus’s mobile number. He was the one I wanted, and they phoned him straightaway.
When the police arrived they set about the laborious process of retrieving Alice’s body from the bottom of the gorge. It was going to require a helicopter, they said, so it would be a little while before they could reach her.
An ambulance had accompanied them to the gorge, but I refused to go to the hospital again. After all I had been through, I c
ould certainly handle the bumps and scratches that had resulted from this last encounter with Alice. I sat in a police car while they questioned me, and I told them everything that had happened since I left London. I relayed the confession Alice had made in the car, and they promised to notify the authorities with the news.
They took me to the nearest police station to clean up and call Seamus. He was tearing up the road to get to me, he said, and Eilidh was with him.
I started crying again. I would soon be in the arms of my husband and my cousin, safe at last. The fear and the threats from Alice were over. Hagen would probably be released and the murder charge dropped, but he would face charges for attacking me in Gorse Brae, causing another concussion.
When Seamus saw me he cried like a bairn. He held me for a long time while Eilidh stood close by, watching and wiping the tears streaming down her face. My own tears had started the minute I saw them come in the door, but they were happy tears.
My car was still at the rest stop along the road where I had left it. The police sent a tow truck for it and promised to have it at the station by the following day. Seamus and I could drive up to retrieve it then.
I was never so happy to get in the back seat of a car. Eilidh sat in the front so I could stretch out on the back seat and rest, but I was too revved up. I wanted to talk.
Seamus told me he had gotten a call from Chloe. She was worried about me since I hadn’t answered any of her texts, and she knew I wouldn’t forget to text if I could. She knew something had happened. But since Seamus had no idea where I was, there was nothing he could do but wait. “It was fair agonizing,” he said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“Chloe called the police in London and told them everything,” Seamus said. “She told them Alice and Hagen were brother and sister, which had somehow escaped the notice of Scotland Yard and the police in Cauld Loch.”
“And apparently there was no reason to suspect that anyone in Hagen’s family would kill Thea or the police would have looked into that possibility. Since they were sure Hagen had done it, they had stopped looking for suspects,” I added.
“I don’t understand, though,” Eilidh said. “If Alice and Hagen really don’t have the painting, where is it?”
None of us had an answer.
CHAPTER 20
There was something therapeutic about getting back to work. Back to the shop and the gallery, the studio, and my photography. I spent the next several days enjoying the peace and quiet of the cottage, waiting on the customers who came through the door and working on my photos. Seamus was back in the house, but for all we had been through together, he was still sleeping in the guest room. I had never been so happy to see him as I was at the police station after my encounter with Alice, but that didn’t erase what he had done. We were slowly moving toward a real and lasting peace, but I didn’t feel we were ready to live as man and wife again.
The day came when Seamus received a phone call. He found me in the kitchen when he was done talking. He at me somberly and said, “It’s Rose’s time. I need to go say goodbye. Do you still want to come?” I didn’t know what to say. “I think maybe you should go,” he said.
I was surprised. I didn’t think he would want me there.
“Why?” I asked.
“For me. For moral support.”
I couldn’t say no.
We were on the road to Edinburgh in no time, with Eilidh minding the shop for us. We didn’t intend to be long.
When I met Rose I was shocked by the sight of her. I had been with my father when he passed away, but he had died just a day after having a heart attack. He hadn’t lost any weight and he wasn’t gaunt or bony. He looked just like himself. But Rose—even though we had never met, I knew her illness had changed her from the inside out. She lay back against a dingy pillow, her long hair stringy and splayed across her shoulders. Her collarbone jutted against her nightgown, and her hands, white and almost translucent, lay on the bed against her side, almost lifeless.
I stood off to one side of the room while Seamus bent over and kissed her forehead. Rose’s family was in the room, and apparently they were still fond of Seamus, for they cried and smiled at him when he straightened up from her bed. Then he motioned to me. I took a tentative step forward and Rose’s mother nodded at me, encouraging me to approach the bed where Rose lay in her last minutes.
I cleared my throat. I hadn’t really thought of what I was going to say.
“Rose, you and I have never met, but my name is Sylvie. I’m Seamus’s wife.” Her eyelids fluttered. I thought she could hear me.
“I just want to let you know,” I said, choking on a sob, “that I’m going to take good care of him. You don’t have to worry about him. And if your family needs anything, he will be there. He’ll help them. I promise.” I stroked her hand, the hand of a woman I was just meeting for the first time, and felt a wave of grief wash over me.
I took a deep, quavering breath and walked over to Seamus. I looked up at him, my face streaked with tears, and he smiled at me. “That was beautiful, love. Thank you.”
After we had both shared our sadness with Rose’s family, we waited outside for one of them to tell us she was gone. When she died, I was sure it was with a feeling of love and peace surrounding her.
It was over the course of the time I spent in that room with Rose and her family that I realized what was important, what was holding me back. Yes, Seamus had deceived me. Yes, I felt betrayed. But what was money for Rose in the face of life and death? We could make that money back. Seamus had known all along what was important, and I had lost sight of it. It was time to start restoring our marriage. We would still have to talk things over, still have to make changes, but I was ready to be married again. And I knew Seamus was, too.
We talked about it all the way back to Cauld Loch. It wasn’t the excited talk of two people in love, but rather the calm, reasoned, and hopeful talk of two people who had learned from their experiences and were ready to apply the new knowledge to their married lives.
When I rang up Mum to tell her that Seamus and I were back together to work things out, she cried with relief. So did Greer, and so did Chloe. I had been surrounded by the well wishes of my family and friends since Seamus and I separated, but I felt them most now.
Later that night Seamus and I decided to go to the pub for a late dinner. I was pulling on my coat when Seamus suggested we invite Eilidh and Callum.
“Good idea. I’ll ring them up and tell them to meet us there,” I said.
“Nay, let’s surprise them. They don’t know all we talked about on the way home from Edinburgh, so let’s stop over there and tell them the good news. They’ll be so happy to know I’m not going to be underfoot anymore,” he said with a laugh.
He offered me his hand and we left the house after setting the alarm and making sure we had left several lights on.
We walked up the path to Eilidh and Callum’s house and Seamus rang the bell. There was no answer. He rang it again.
We heard footsteps and I noticed something moving out of the corner of my eye. The curtain next to the front door had twitched. Someone was looking out to see who was at the door. I glanced at Seamus.
The door opened a crack and Callum stood facing us. He didn’t invite us in.
“Is something wrong, man?” Seamus asked, concern in his eyes.
“Nay, everything’s all right,” Callum answered.
“Can we come in?” Seamus asked.
“I’d rather you didn’t just now.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Seamus asked. “We just thought we’d come by and invite you two to a late dinner at the pub. We’re celebrating.”
“We’ve already eaten,” Callum said. “But thanks for asking.” He moved to shut the door.
“Now, listen here, Callum,” Seamus said sternly. “I know you. Heck, I’ve even lived with you. And I know there’s something wrong. Now let us in. We can help, whatever it is.” He pushed the door open with h
is big hands.
The living room was a mess. Two large pieces of canvas and small bits of paper lay scattered about the floor. The remains of a wooden frame had been tossed near the sofa.
Seamus’s eyes wrinkled in confusion. “What’s this?” he asked. He walked over to one of the pieces of canvas and turned it over.
A woman’s painted face looked away from us. She was bending down to pick tiny purple flowers that dotted the field in front of a church.
It was the Leitch painting.
“My God, man,” Seamus breathed. “What have you done?”
Callum slumped down onto the sofa, his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Seamus. I’m so sorry,” he said over and over.
“You’ve had it? All this time?” Seamus asked. Callum nodded.
“How did you get it?” Seamus asked. I was afraid to hear the answer, and I know Seamus was, too.
“I don’t think I should say,” Callum said. “You don’t want to know.”
“Did you kill Florian?” Seamus asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Callum nodded again. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident,” he insisted. “I was following him and I must have scared him and he went off the road.”
I looked at Seamus. Someone had tampered with Florian’s car. Either Callum was lying or there was someone else involved.
“Callum? Was it really an accident?”
Callum hung his head. “Eilidh’s going to leave me,” he said. “When she finds out what I’ve done she’s going to leave me.”
“Where is Eilidh?” I asked, my voice tense with uncertainty and fear.
“At the market. I sent her there so I could have a look at the painting and the map.”
“What were you planning to do with the map?” Seamus asked.
“I was going to find the jewels and sell them. I need money, Seamus. My job doesn’t pay enough, and I don’t want Eilidh to have to work. But if she doesn’t make more money we’ll be broke. We’ll lose the house.”