by Hannah Reed
What a huge relief to find out I hadn’t missed it. “Later this afternoon,” Moira MacBride had said, and I couldn’t have just come out and asked her what time without creating suspicion. As one of the members of the MacBride team, I ought to have known that.
If nothing unforeseen happened, I would be back by two o’clock and could go right there. And wait as long as necessary.
Without warning, that little piece of my conversation with Charlotte Penn popped into my head.
Tuesday afternoon?
I hadn’t caught the implication at the time, when Charlotte Penn said she’d run into Alec in Inverness on Tuesday afternoon. But wasn’t that when the rest of us had been out searching for Vicki? He had told me he’d been out hunting for Vicki, too. Why had he lied? Why pretend to be helping when he hadn’t been? Unless he’d been hunting for her in a much different way than the rest of us.
A man living beyond his means, with cat scratches and an abusive streak, didn’t gain me much momentum in Vicki’s appeal. None of that mattered as far as a judge was concerned. Neither did knowing that Alec MacBride had lied about searching for Vicki. Those new details didn’t help one bit in the family’s persistent efforts to destroy Vicki.
But maybe I was the one hunting this time. And for bigger game.
Alec had shown up at the farmhouse while I was doctoring my own gorse scratches, and right away he’d claimed that he’d had the exact same encounter with the prickly brush. But the ripped skin under his bandages had really been caused by the MacBride barn cat. Alec must have decided right on the spot that claiming an encounter with gorse was a perfect way to disguise them. It was a small inconsistency in the scheme of things, a small variation. What was Alec’s dark secret? Had his encounter with Jasper occurred while tampering with the loft stairs to instigate a serious fall that might have permanently disabled or killed Vicki—or me?
Alec, with his short, stocky stature and his olive skin, looked so different than his sister. Right after his mother’s closing remarks about a father who couldn’t accept a son or forgive her, I’d begun to suspect the reason for divorce number two. I couldn’t bring myself to ask Moira straight out, but I had a hunch that James MacBride wasn’t Alec’s real father. If Moira had had an affair that culminated in the birth of a child, had James disowned the child and divorced the mother?
I’d heard from several sources that James MacBride had been a very private man. He wouldn’t have wanted the entire town to know those details. And his ex-wife wouldn’t have spoken publicly of her indiscretion. Perhaps the bed-and-breakfast had been a gift in exchange for her silence. So who knew about this other than James, Moira, and, presumably, Alec? Had Gavin known?
First things first. I’d concentrate on this afternoon’s court appearance. Focusing on the road was my top priority right this minute. I couldn’t afford to have an accident. And of course, rain was falling again to make visibility difficult, so I had to flick on the wipers.
I’d completely forgotten about having the tire checked, but I didn’t have time to have it looked at. Besides, it seemed to be holding up well enough.
If I’d been paying attention to the here and now, I wouldn’t have been taken by surprise when I glanced in my rearview mirror and found another car right on my tail. Literally. It was shockingly close behind me, a car with tinted windows that obscured my view of the overly aggressive driver behind the wheel.
Crazy Scottish drivers!
Where did the tailgater expect me to pull over? There wasn’t any place on this stretch. I began to watch for a place to turn off and tried not to look behind me again. Eyes on the road ahead. But I couldn’t help noticing that the car hadn’t backed off and loomed large in my mirror. How nerve-racking. I showered the driver with a few swear words that I reserve for a select few, all the while looking for a turnoff to get out of the maniac’s way.
Instead, the scenery instantly changed—as it tends to do in the Highlands—and the full extent of the height of this road was apparent after a hasty side glance over the guard- rail. A valley stretched out to the left of my lane, far below. A panic attack threatened to overcome me. I recognized the signs—rapid heartbeat, spinning sensation, difficulty breathing. I talked myself down from the emotional cliff by looking away quickly.
And that’s when I felt the impact from the car behind me banging into my back bumper, but not with enough force to cause me to swerve. My first thought was rather smug. That will teach the #@*#$ to tailgate! My old Peugeot could take a heap of bashings and wouldn’t be the worse for wear. It had already seen its fair share of vehicular combat. But the shiny black car appeared to be a much newer model.
I slowed down, still searching for a spot to pull off safely.
Crazy Driver and I would have to figure out the damage and exchange contact information. But what if this guy was as dangerous as his driving? If there was any chance our confrontation could accelerate into a show of road rage, stopping wouldn’t be a smart move on my part. Even if he cooperated, I was in a hurry to get back to Glenkillen. How long would this take? Besides, the falling rain had become torrential. Which one of us would have to stand out in the rain while we traded information?
From the moment the other car had come up on my tail, I’d been fighting against a growing suspicion, one that was becoming full-blown. I didn’t have proof yet, but I was almost positive that the other driver was Alec MacBride.
The other car slammed into my bumper again. This time I almost lost control of my car. It swerved into the oncoming lane, which luckily was empty of traffic, then it veered toward the other side of the road, where low-lying hills expanded in the distance.
The car righted itself and I was back in control, speeding up as though I could outrun him, because at this point I had to assume it was Alec and this was a full-fledged attempt on my life. Exactly as Vicki’s had been, I was entirely certain now. There was no question about it. I heard the back tire blow before I felt it, the temporary patch picking a fine time to fail. I kept my foot on the accelerator anyway, until the car slowed in spite of my best efforts. Rather than risk the steep ledge to my left and being in a helpless position where my car could be easily pushed over the edge, I yanked the steering wheel to the other side, and shot across both lanes, bouncing down into a gully.
The car came to rest.
I stayed inside and hurriedly locked all the doors, keeping the motor running in case of a miracle.
I craned to see what was happening behind me. That’s when I realized that I couldn’t see the road, which meant my car couldn’t be seen from the road, either. Not good. Awful news, really. The black vehicle came to rest beside me.
From the driver’s seat, Alec MacBride gave me a wide grin. I probably gave him wild eyes back. Stay calm, I told my banging heart.
He must have followed me to Inverness, watched me meet up with the club manager, then continue on to his talkative mother’s house.
Alec got out of the car with a golf club clutched in his right hand and came to stand in front of my car. I could see him clearly even through the sheets of rain. I jabbed my foot on the accelerator, hoping to run him down, but the car barely moved, the back tire and rim battered and mangled beyond all hope.
“We had an appointment at the farmhouse this morning,” he said loudly, so I wouldn’t miss a word. “Instead you managed to get the car moving and you passed me going the other way. Here’s for being such a bad girl.”
He swung and the golf iron connected with the windshield. Spiderweb cracks rippled from one end of the glass to the other.
“And this is for not taking any of the warnings I sent your way. The fire, you dense woman; the fall. What’s wrong with you stupid Americans? You were supposed to go back where you came from.”
So he’d started the fire to get me out of town. Only Vicki had stepped in and offered me a place to stay. And the fall had been intended for me
. That one had almost worked. I’d considered going back to Chicago after the hospital stay.
Alec paused to grin at me again, cocky and confident. And again raised the club.
The next blow sent shards of glass raining down on me where I’d scrunched behind the wheel. My only choice now was to make a run for the road. The tire iron was in the passenger seat, where I’d thrown it earlier. To think that I could out-bash Alec with a tire iron against his longer club was beyond foolish. But leaving it behind would be even more insane.
I didn’t hang around for strike number three, instead grabbing the tire iron, leaping from the car, and making for the road. But Alec had anticipated my next move and circled around to the back of the car to block my way.
I brandished the tire iron.
He laughed.
I had no choice but to turn and run toward the hills.
He might have had more upper body strength, but I planned to outrun him. I pumped my arms, the weight of the tire iron a distinct disadvantage, but I didn’t care. I was afraid to look back over my shoulder.
Ahead, slightly to my right, lay a field of waist-high gorse. I almost veered away from it, but then suddenly realized that Alec was dressed in shorts, while I had on long trousers. A small advantage, but I’d take it.
I stole a glance back. He was right behind me, in better shape than I’d expected. I ran directly for those branched thorns, flinching as I entered the thicket, not caring that the gorse’s claws were pulling at my clothing, some of the longer thorns piercing my skin right through the fabric. I kept going. The mass of thorns began to slow me down, but I didn’t stop pushing forward, ignoring the stabs.
Suddenly I was grabbed from behind. I whirled around to fight off Alec. Only he wasn’t what was holding me back. I’d been completely entrapped around my waist in the dense thicket of gorse. Like an insect in the gooey grasp of a Venus flytrap. Like an ant on the slippery slope of a pitcher plant.
But so had he.
Alec had braved the gorse to chase me, but he hadn’t gotten far, at least not far enough to reach me. He swung his club in frustration. I leaned away. It missed me by several feet. We both were working the thorns, hoping to break free, slowly moving forward inch by inch.
“Where’s your little weapon?” he asked, referring to the tire iron I had lowered and hidden inside the gorse’s yellow blooms.
“Accidentally dropped.” I panted, trying to catch my breath. “Why did you kill the sheep shearer?”
“You know why.” His lower legs were entombed in wickedly long thorns. He was bloody.
“How are you going to explain those?” I said, indicating his open wounds. “Or my smashed car window?”
“Everyone will just assume you were assaulted by some derelict passing on the road, a robbery-turned-murder.”
I forced myself to slow my breathing. “James MacBride had a new will, didn’t he?” I punted, about to put words in his mother’s mouth that she hadn’t actually spoken. “One you were specifically excluded from. Because you weren’t his son. Your mother had an affair during her marriage to your father, and you were the product of that.”
“She actually told you?” His face contorted with rage while he worked to bend away the thorns in his path. “How dare she! The woman was sworn to secrecy. Nobody was supposed to ever know that.”
“Who else did know? Gavin Mitchell?” I kept going fast. “The old will had been filed with the solicitor before you and Kirstine were even a twinkle in anybody’s eye. Not much you could do about the existence of that one. But Gavin Mitchell had witnessed the new one, at your father’s deathbed, hadn’t he?”
“I should have inherited half of the estate along with Kirstine. Instead, I found a copy of a new will on the old man’s bed stand after he died. He made a big mistake in leaving all his earthly belongings to Kirstine and Vicki. He forced my hand.”
“So you killed the only living witness to the new will. It would be much easier to murder your half sister later and let a court find in favor of you and your sister than to kill both of the women over the new one. That would have made you the obvious suspect.”
“I hadn’t planned to kill Vicki. Without your constant interference, she might have just been charged with murder, spent her life in prison, and Kirstine and I would have gotten what was owed us. That might still happen.”
I nodded as though I agreed. “So you picked up Gavin when he left the pub and drove him to the MacBride barn, where you stabbed him to death before he had a chance to deliver the will to the solicitor. Then you moved his body and left clues for the inspector that ultimately led back to Vicki MacBride. The pretend meeting you orchestrated between the two under surveillance cameras was a nice touch. And Vicki practically gave you that win when she lied.”
“But you had to show up at the very beginning and insert yourself into the equation by cozying up to the authorities. I saw how you were trying to get in good with the inspector.”
We’d both been inching along. Each time I’d manage to get free of a few thorns, others reached out and grabbed me.
“So you ran Vicki off the road,” I continued, “before continuing on to Inverness to beg your mother for more money, a loan until the inheritance came through. She was smart to say no to you. Finally.”
“The inspector would have had her under arrest by then if it weren’t for you. I had to do something to hurry the process.”
“Yes, you needed money to continue your lifestyle. So the plan changed. You’d eliminate the problem another way.”
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” he said, reminding me of poor Jasper’s brutal past, making me hate Alec even more. A feeling that increased when he continued. “Which reminds me. Jasper has used up eight of his lives. I’m going to take the last one after yours. I regret that we didn’t get to know each other better first.”
His smirk made me want to slap it off his face. I felt my blood boiling with a rage that only comes with the thought of animal abuse. I was afraid for myself, but I was beyond angry to hear about his plan for Jasper.
I managed to pry off some of the thorns embedded in the fabric of my trousers. He must have done the same, because at that moment he lunged toward me. He was closer now. The club began to rise, but became entangled in the gorse. Alec glanced at the club end and began to pull it out.
For one brief second I saw a narrow window of opportunity.
I raised the tire iron over my shoulder.
And let it fly with as much force as I could muster.
The iron connected with the side of Alec’s face. His head jerked back as though I’d thrown a punch. He stopped struggling to free the golf club and looked at me with an expression of complete surprise. I stood motionless with renewed fear. Now I was weaponless, while he had two. I was out of ideas.
Then he grimaced before leaning forward and cupping his head in his hands.
This was my only chance.
I lurched toward him, reclaimed the tire iron, and hit him with every ounce of strength I could muster. He went down face-first in the gorse.
“That,” I muttered under my ragged breath, “was for calling me a stupid American.”
I considered hitting him again, but I didn’t want to kill the man, so instead I struggled back the way we’d come, finding the path back easier, keeping an eye on my back in case he rose. I ran away as fast as I could.
I must have looked a sight to the occupants of the first car that happened along the road. Ripped clothing, scrapes and scratches, wielding a tire iron. No stranger in his right mind would have stopped for this madwoman.
Except the first vehicle that came along wasn’t filled with strangers.
A familiar police vehicle screeched to a halt, and its emergency lights began flashing.
Inspector Jamieson, Sean Stevens, and Leith Cameron, followed by Kelly, poured out o
f the doors.
“Help!” I managed to stammer.
The three men surrounded me. The inspector relieved me of the weight of the tire iron. I’d never felt safer in my life as they dragged me from the middle of the road. Words wouldn’t come; I was positively shocked into silence. With Leith holding my arm, I stumbled into the gully and past the two cars until Alec’s prone body came into view. I would have crumpled to the ground if Leith hadn’t had me firmly in his grip.
After that, Inspector Jamieson used his mobile phone to call for assistance, as we hurried down the slope and gathered near the gorse patch.
“Wha’ did ye do tae the poor man’s face?” Sean asked.
“Keep yerself quiet,” the inspector told him. “Can’t ye see there’s been a struggle here?”
“How . . . did . . . you . . . find me?” I asked, still shaky.
The inspector answered. “I went tae the farm fer a wee visit and found ye gone. Sean, here, following along as usual, found the phone out o’ order and traced the problem tae a cut line. Highly suspicious, that was. Then Leith here pulled up as we were heading out and insisted he join us in our search.”
Sean was bursting to take over the story, and interrupted to say, “So next we went tae the pub and Dale told us ye went tae Inverness. We wouldn’t o’ thought anything o’ it, except for the cut phone line at the farm.”
“We decided tae come tae yer rescue,” Leith said, staring at Alec, then glancing at the tire iron in the inspector’s hand. “But apparently ye didn’t need our help.”
“Thank you for looking for me,” I said, still shaky but with deep gratitude that they were there to support me at the end. “But ten minutes sooner would have been nice.”
“Don’t ye try tae get up,” the inspector warned Alec when he began moving.
“He has a golf club,” I told them. “And he isn’t beyond using it.”
The inspector addressed him again. “Ye just lie still. An ambulance is on the way.”
Alec slumped and stayed on the ground, moaning.