The Scent of Forever

by Julie Doherty

  “Thank you.”

  Ms. Adams verified Ann’s details, took Maggie’s number, then assured she would call with an update later. In the meantime, she reiterated her advice to proceed immediately to Edinburgh.

  “These cases almost always have a happy ending,” she said before ending the call.

  Feeling a measure of relief, Maggie tossed her phone into her purse, then returned to her seat.

  A Scotrail employee puffed into the station carrying his lunch in a paper bag. He noticed Maggie, and then spoke over his nose to the janitor. “Doogie, after ye’re done tying thon bag onto the bin, see to the one at my desk, would ye? It’s honkin’ fae a feed o’ kippers I had yesterday.” A name tag indicated he was a ticket agent named Campbell.

  Maggie felt sorry for the janitor at having to tolerate the public denigration. Campbell could have been more discreet, or he could have worded his request so it didn’t sound so damned condescending. The janitor seemed unaffected, however. He nodded assent, then whistled a tune.

  Is that Mozart?

  “There’s a good man.” Campbell flung open the “STAFF ONLY” door hard enough to bash it against its stop. He crossed the room behind the ticket windows.

  Squeaking wheels announced when the janitor shoved his cart. He swaggered like an executive in a room full of subordinates. He seemed to like his job, though Maggie couldn’t imagine why. When he caught her studying him, his smile created two playful dimples.

  Puh-leeze. I feel sorry for you; I don’t want to have your baby. She looked away to apply lip balm she didn’t need.

  He resumed his whistling and rolled his cart to a recycling bin near William, now next in line.

  Definitely Mozart. Part of the Requiem Mass in D Minor. She expected rock, maybe trad, but classical? No.

  When William stepped up to the window, Maggie forgot about the janitor. She rushed to William’s side.

  “We’re looking for an American woman who’s gone missing,” William said. “We know she made the ferry from Mull. She was expected in Glasgow on Sunday, but she never arrived.”

  “This is Tuesday,” the agent announced.

  “Oh, my God . . .” Maggie rubbed her forehead and looked at her shoes. As if they didn’t know that.

  “Have ye gone to the police?” The ticket agent—whose name tag said “Stephen Moore”—peered over William’s shoulder to check the length of the line. He had no reason for concern. William was last in line.

  “Aye, we went to the cops. Right away, in fact. We’re making our own inquiries, though. We’ve been to the ferry terminal.” He gestured toward Maggie, who offered a thin smile. “This is the missing woman’s friend.”

  The janitor rattled a bulging liner out of the recycling bin and made no attempt to hide his eavesdropping.

  “I’m not sure how ye think we can assist,” Moore said.

  “Scotrail’s website says this station has CCTV. We were hoping to get a look at the footage from Sunday.”

  Moore’s eyebrows shot up, and his neck stiffened. He muttered something to Campbell, who chewed a sandwich at a desk behind him.

  Campbell swallowed quickly, then walked to the window. “I’m sorry, sir.” He picked at something in his teeth. “We only hold footage for forty-eight hours. What time was her train on Sunday?”

  William looked at Maggie, who said, “I’m not sure. She said she’d be back in Glasgow at three-thirty.”

  “Ah.” Moore jabbed a finger in the air. “That means she took the 12:11.”

  Campbell glanced at the clock on the wall behind him and made no effort to look sympathetic when he saw that William and Maggie were nineteen minutes too late.

  “Surely, ye don’t erase them immediately,” William said.

  “We’d have been here sooner,” Maggie interjected, “but we had some car trouble and then ran into construction. When we got here last night, the station was closed.”

  By his expression, it was obvious Campbell didn’t give a shit. “I’m sorry, but even if we still had it, we could nae let ye watch it, for obvious reasons.”

  “Did the police request a copy?” William asked.

  “Canny say, sir.”

  That meant they had.

  Maggie pushed in front of William. “Surely, there’s more than one copy. Please. She’s my best friend. You have to help us. We’re not asking to take the footage. We’d just like to see it. We could be running out of time to—”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.” Campbell had mustard on his shirt. “Ye’ll have to take the matter up wi’ the police.”

  Maggie wanted to reach through the window and hang him up by his wrinkly tie. Instead, she spun on her heels and nearly collided with the janitor, who had inched closer with no apparent reason for doing so. His face was as red as hers probably was, all earlier cheer gone. He looked from her to Campbell, then back again.

  He knows something.

  Hope rose from the pit of her stomach. “Come on.” She tugged on William’s arm.

  William slapped the counter—hard. “Thanks for nothing.”

  He followed Maggie outside to the platforms. “What’s your hurry?”

  A train squealed to a stop. It poured out passengers. Travelers rushed past, anxious to avoid missing the ferry.

  Maggie leaned in so William could hear her over the racket. “The janitor knows something.”

  “What?”

  “The janitor. He knows something. I saw it in his face. He was angry when the agents refused to help us.”

  “So?”

  “Think about it. Who has access to every corner of this office?”

  “The janny.”

  “We’re wasting our time with anybody else.”

  William balled his fists and glared at the ticket office’s entrance. “I could beat it oot of him, if—”

  “There’s a less . . . violent way.”

  “Money?”

  “Pretty sure there’s something else he wants.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  The silence stretched as William struggled to comprehend what she was suggesting. When it finally hit home, he shook his head and took a step backward. “No.”

  “Yes.” She removed the distance between them. “Go to the van and wait for me.” She hoisted her bag to her shoulder, then started for the ticket office. “I’m going to have a word with him.”

  William’s hand clamped on her arm. He spun her around, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let me get this straight. Your brilliant idea is to shag the baws off a man ye only just met?”

  “Yes, and don’t make it sound so filthy.”

  “It is filthy. Doonright mingin’. What aboot your self-respect?”

  She rolled her eyes and shook his hand off her arm. “For God’s sake, now you sound like Ann. It’s just sex, and unless you have a better idea, this is all we have. What do you want to do, wait for the police? Drive around Oban for the next two weeks and hope we spot Ann eating a picnic lunch on a park bench? No, thanks. I’m a grown woman. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I canny let ye do it. I will nae let ye do it.”

  She sighed. “Okay, listen, all I’m going to do is get him to ask me out for a drink. I’ll try to get him drunk, and—”

  William’s head fell back in a robust laugh. “All one hundred two pounds of you will drink a Scotsman under the table?”

  She had to admit it sounded ludicrous. “If that plan fails, I’ll try to buy a copy of the footage. By then, he should be well lit and more inclined to consider it.”

  “And if it’s not for sale?”

  “Then I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.”

  “Even shag him.”

  “Yes, even that. You surprise me, dear William. Men d
o this sort of thing every night of the week and then brag about it at work the next day.”

  “I do nae.”

  He was starting to piss her off. Did he think she wanted to sleep with a smelly janitor?

  “Well, Father McDonnell, when we’re through looking for Ann, I’ll nominate you for Priest of the Year. Until then, go wait for me in the van.”

  “Think ye’re funny, do ye? And just what will Ann think of me when she finds oot I let ye—”

  “She doesn’t have to find out. Now, go!” This was bullshit. She was capable of making her own decisions.

  He looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he waved a hand at her, muttered something about trollops, and stormed off toward the parking lot.

  Maggie straightened her shoulders, then returned to the ticket office. In the restroom, she brushed her hair, added a layer of makeup, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. Satisfied with her appearance, she misted Chanel behind her ear.

  Ready.

  ~ ~ ~

  She found the janitor lobbing bags of garbage into a Dumpster at the far end of the parking lot, where William watched from his van. Of course, her performance would play out under the heat of his judgment! She took a moment to steady her nerves.

  Eff you, William.

  “Mind if I throw this in?” She smiled and held out a balled-up wad of paper towels she’d swiped from the restroom.

  Doug the Janitor didn’t look particularly surprised to see her. His gaze fell on her low neckline before crawling up to meet hers. “Not at all.”

  He resumed his work, looking faintly amused as he threw the last of his plump bags into the Dumpster. “Just toss it there on top of the rest, if you wish.” His speech was slow, polished, at complete odds with his job—and the present subject matter. He had the manners of an aristocrat, not a blue collar worker. He sounded English, not Scottish.

  She tossed the ball of paper towels toward the Dumpster. It bounced off the rim, then landed on the pavement.

  Shit’s sake.

  They nearly cracked their heads together in the race to pick it up. Doug grinned and held up the towels. “Now, I could have you arrested for littering.”

  “This is pretty embarrassing, considering I played basketball in college.”

  “I’m guessing you were absolutely no good at it.”

  She fired an index finger gun at him. “Right.”

  Tiny fires glittered in his eyes. His dimples turned damn distracting. Stained coveralls did little to hide his athletic build. If she ended up sleeping with him, it might not be the worst night of her life.

  “So, listen.” She ran a hair through her hair. “I was wondering where I might go for a drink around here.”

  He leaned over his cart. “It is Scotland. I should think you’d find a delightful pub at every corner.”

  Surely, he knew she was flirting. Was he playing coy? With her?

  “I was hoping you might show me.”

  “And what about him?” He nodded toward William’s white van. “Will he be joining us?”

  Did he want him to? Nah, he didn’t look the type.

  “My best friend would wholeheartedly object to that. That guy’s her boyfriend.”

  A boyfriend. Ann had a boyfriend. Maggie should be teasing her best friend about that, harassing her for every sordid detail, not standing next to a stinking Dumpster in a parking lot. She looked at her shoes and felt her smile fade.

  Keep it together, Mags.

  The heat of Doug’s proximity touched her before his shadow blocked the sun. “Miss Mason, if you want my help, all you have to do is ask.”

  She gasped. “How do you know my name?”

  “Please don’t look so frightened. I’m harmless. In fact, every part of me wants to give you a hug right now, but I’m afraid I can’t figure out how to do that without touching you with these.” He held up his dirty gloves.

  His kindness threatened to unleash days of restrained sorrow and worry. She turned away in an attempt to corral her stampeding emotions.

  “Don’t cry.” His voice was calm and soothing. “I can help you, but not here, and not at a pub. Just about everybody in Oban knows who I am, so we’ll need to meet someplace private. Please, Miss Mason, do turn around. I don’t want to touch you with my filthy gloves.”

  She wiped away a renegade tear, sniffled, and did as he asked.

  “There now.” He took off a glove, revealing a fine hand. He pulled a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket. “Dry your tears. Meet me at 360 Highland Court at 6:30. I’ll tell you how I know who you are, and I’ll do all I can to help you.”

  Chapter 29

  Maggie scrunched her hair to accentuate its waves before spraying it into place. In the mirror, she saw William fidgeting on the couch behind her. Disapproval—or was it concern?—lay like a heavy pall on his face.

  “It’ll be all right, you know,” she said.

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I don’t like it. Not one bit. How did he know your name? Neither of us mentioned it.”

  Maggie took a sip of water from the complimentary bottle left by the hotel staff. “I was thinking about that while I was in the shower. He must have looked up Ann on the Internet. Her disappearance was probably a hot topic at the station after the police left. He—or they, more likely—got curious. We run in the same circles, Ann and I. Where you find one, you’ll find the other. There are lots of pictures of us together at events. Plus, we’re friends and prolific posters on social media. It wouldn’t be hard to work out, unless you’re an idiot, and I don’t think this guy is an idiot.”

  She didn’t mention there was something off about Doug, like why did he, a janitor, whistle Mozart? And what about his posh speech and swagger? And his monogrammed handkerchief?

  William’s phone beeped. “It’s a text.”

  Maggie’s heart leapt to her throat.

  “Liam says the cops were questioning folk on Iona. Your congressman’s aide must have made her call.”

  Maggie checked her watch. “It’s noon at home. She’ll probably update me at the end of her workday, about ten our time. I doubt I’ll be back by then. If I hear anything, I’ll text you.”

  William rubbed his forehead and suddenly looked old.

  She faced him. “William, seriously, it will be all right. He seems okay to me. Besides, give me a little credit. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

  “It is nae that alone.” He blew out a slow breath. “There’s something ye do nae know.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “I have to be in Inverness by Friday night.”

  She set the water bottle on the dresser. “That’s way up north, isn’t it? Ann wouldn’t be anywhere near there. I think we should stick to areas between Oban and—”

  “This has nothing to do wi’ Ann. I . . . I have an appointment I canny miss.”

  “But that only gives us a few days. I thought you loved her.”

  He looked shocked. “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to. When you ran into that hotel in Glasgow, it was written all over your face.”

  He shot up from the couch, then moved to the window, where he stood with rounded shoulders and his hands in his pockets. Though he’d purchased new socks and boxers, he still wore the same jeans and tee shirt he’d brought from Iona. Ferries weren’t cheap, and he’d taken two in order to reach Ann before she flew home. Yesterday, he added the price of emergency van repairs to the mounting cost of finding her. A man of low means didn’t do those things for a woman he didn’t love.

  “Do you?” she asked.

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you love her?”

  His voice turned velvety. “I want her back. I canny think beyond that right
now. It’s too . . .” He spun on his heels to return to the couch, which would serve as his bed for the second consecutive night. “Och, if only she’d stayed. I would nae have to choose.”

  “Choose between her and what? An appointment? What’s so important in Inverness that it can call you off the search for her?”

  “Someone I love very much.”

  Maggie stepped toward him, ready to slap him. “You son of a bitch, you better not be married, or so help me, I’ll rip your b—”

  “I am nae married. I have a wain.”

  “In English, please.”

  “A child. A son. James.”

  “Whoa.” She made no attempt to mask her surprise. “Does Ann know this?”

  “Aye.”

  “Can you call? Maybe get a babysitter for the weekend? I can help you pay, if it’s a matter of—”

  “It is nae that simple.” He took a deep breath, then relayed the details of his divorce and the fight to recover his son. “I have my first unsupervised visitation this weekend. What will it say if I do nae show up?”

  “That you’re not reliable.”

  “Aye. I canny let that happen.”

  “Ann wouldn’t want you to.” Maggie sank onto the bed. “God, William, what are we going to do?”

  “The only thing we can do. I’ll sit here worrying my baws off and hope that Doug the Janitor of 360 Highland Court gives ye what we need.”

  She dropped onto the couch beside him. “I’ll do my best to see that he does.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Maggie did not expect a meandering gravel walkway through a manicured garden. Or the eighteenth-century manor house at the end of it.

  She checked her paper again.

  3-6-0 Highland Court.

  Yes, this was the right address, and those were the numbers on the ornate sign at the head of the walkway. She crunched up the last few feet of path, then pulled the bell handle, hoping Doug would hear its ring over the music blaring inside.