Jack

by L. L. Muir

  “Oh, there’s trouble brewin’ in that head of yers,” he said. “I can see it from here.”

  If grandpa wanted to get friendly, who was I to deny him? So I got off my stool, grabbed my pint, and walked over to his table. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Nay, lass. Sit down and welcome.”

  I slid into the booth but kept my distance. I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea. But as my eyes adjusted to the shadows, I realized the dark thing hanging on his shoulder was blue and red tartan. The gray at his temples was misleading. He didn’t look much older than me. His eyebrows were dark slashes that puckered close together, despite his smile.

  “Perhaps ye’re in need of aid?”

  “You might say that.” I lowered my voice. “I’m trying to find someone who might sell me a gun, actually. I don’t want to hurt anybody,” I lied. “I just want to protect myself, you know?”

  He hunched forward, concerned. “From anyone in particular?”

  I smiled and shook my head, trying to act as casual as possible. “No, no. Like I said. I just want to be able to…feel safe. That’s all. In Oregon, I always keep a gun in my purse, but you can’t just carry them on planes anymore, right?”

  He dropped his shoulder under the table, and when he straightened, he had a small knife in his hand, which he offered me. “Take this, love, if it will bring ye peace.”

  A knife? It wasn’t nearly as threatening as a gun, but what if a gun wasn’t an option? It was better than nothing.

  He held out the handle and I took it, hefted it. It was much heavier than I expected, and the blade looked razor sharp.

  “How much do you want for it?”

  “It is yers,” he said, and reached under the table again before tossing a small sheath across the table. “This will keep ye from slicing off yer foot, aye?”

  “My foot?”

  He nodded. “Slip it in yer boot, or yer stocking.”

  I realized why he’d been reaching under the table and marveled that he’d offer me part of his very genuine-looking costume. “You have to let me pay you for it,” I said.

  “Come now, dinnae deprive me of a wee bit of good fortune. The fairies are watchin’.”

  “How about this. I’ll give it back to you when I’m ready to go home again.”

  “If I am still about, aye.”

  “You’re leaving?

  “In two days’ time, at most.”

  That wasn’t long at all, so I tried to give it back to him again, but he pulled his hands back like it was a rattlesnake. I rolled my eyes and thanked him as I slipped the sheathed blade into my purse.

  “Not a’tall,” he said, then sipped his drink.

  Into the awkward silence that followed, I started thinking about my mother and Creep Macpherson. Had she come to Scotland without letting me or Savanah know? Had she come alone? And had she met Macpherson in a bar, like this? Like him?

  The man across the table tilted his head and watched me unapologetically, as if to say, this is my booth, I can do what I please. Or maybe it was just the way people were in Scotland. But either way, rude or not, I just couldn’t get it out of my head that I might be walking into the same kind of trap my mother had been caught in.

  I had to get out of there.

  “Okay. Well,” I said. “One last chance to get your knife back.”

  He shook his head.

  “That was very nice of you. But I need to go now.”

  He chuckled. “Off to kill the man, then?”

  I laughed and got to my feet. “Oh, yeah. I’ll be sure to clean your fingerprints off the handle, though.” I got the waitress’ attention and met her at the bar to settle up. And while she counted out my change, I pulled out Macpherson’s address. “Can you tell me if this is very far from here?” I had GPS in my car, but I wanted to head in the right direction, and Fort Williams seemed to be a sprawling city.

  She took a look, narrowed her eyes, then smiled. “That has to be Chatton House, John Macpherson’s place. Just head north. In two miles, turn right at the roundabout and ye’ll drive straight to it. But if ye’re looking for John, ye’ll likely find him along Middle Street, right here, looking for his supper. Ever since he returned from the states, he’s been out and about, poor man. Lost his American wife. Now he’s catchin’ up on gossip and such. Trying not to be alone, I reckon.”

  I thanked her quickly, left her a tip, which she frowned at for some reason, then I got out of there fast before she could ask me why I was looking for her friend.

  Poor man? Poor man! How about a little pity for the daughters from whom he stole their mother?

  Literally.

  In a little metal can, carefully packaged for an international flight.

  Chapter Six

  Jack quickly reconciled with the waitress and fled out the pub door, anxious that he might lose track of the woman who now had his skean duh. He might have let her go and thought nothing more of the wee blade if she hadn’t joked about the need to wipe his finger prints from the handle. It might have been a typical joke for an American, but he hadn’t taken a full breath since.

  Thankfully, the cheerful blue of her jacket and her multi-colored hair were easy to locate, though she hadn’t gotten too far thanks to the suitcase she dragged behind her. Jack ran to catch up despite the folks stopping to stare. Had they never seen a bloke in a kilt before? It was Scotland, for pity’s sake.

  When he was within twenty feet of her, he slowed and kept pace. She suddenly stopped and looked at the house to her right. After a moment’s pause, she went inside.

  Jack continued up the walk and noticed the B&B sign in the window. The lass was done pulling her luggage, apparently. But that didn’t mean she was finished for the night. And he’d be a fool if he didn’t keep a watch on that house.

  Though Jack was no judge of time anymore, he supposed it was less than half an hour before the woman emerged from the Bed and Breakfast. Perched on a bench on the far side of the road that faced Loch Linnhe, he nearly missed her, owing to the fact that she’d changed into a warmer, darker coat.

  The bright white trainers gave her away, however. And it was still light enough to recognize the colors in her hair—blonde, red, and brunette all on one head, but in tiny stripes that ran from the top of her noggin down to curl, in unison, beneath her right jaw. The other half was tucked behind her left ear.

  One hand held her phone out before her. The other one held tight to her purse which was already tucked beneath one arm—as if something important were hidden inside…

  She struck out north again and he crossed the street to trail after her. And as he went, he hoped that Soni would let him know, quickly, if his intended quest was something else entirely. With nothing else demanding his attention and no one else in clear need of help, however, he chose to carry on.

  Besides, he felt a certain rightness in following this woman, and not because she was looking for trouble. They couldn’t be a decade apart in age. There was nothing particularly alluring about the way she moved. So what was it that had captured his interest?

  Perhaps that impertinent smile she’d given him at the first, when she thought he might be of use to her…

  He lost sight of that hair and quickened his step. When he reached the spot where he’d last seen her, he moved to the window of Sonny’s Bar and peered inside. The woman stood at the counter, speaking with the barman, who shook his head and pointed vaguely to the north. When she turned away, Jack noted that smile again.

  A nice lass…with murder on her mind? Well, what man could resist that?

  He chuckled and ducked back around the corner of the building, giving her time to get on her way again, before following once more.

  Hunting the huntress… He only hoped he didn’t lose track of her at the wrong moment, or a certain John Macpherson might come to harm.

  Following simple instructions given with a difficult accent, I crossed two more streets, turned right for half a block, and looked for a logo with
a giant meat cleaver before I found The Stables Restaurant and Grill. Macpherson had been at Sonny’s Bar while I’d been chatting up that strange Scotsman at the Ben Nevis. The bartender at Sonny’s knew for a fact that ‘John’ was meeting a friend at The Stables for supper.

  Stables…and a meat cleaver. Made me wonder.

  The deepening blue-gray sky made the street look like a scene from a movie where monsters and villains might slip out from between the buildings. But I was only interested in one monster.

  A rogue tendril of a breeze pushed my hair into my face and swirled around my ear, then it pushed a dozen dried leaves ahead of me, like a little parade escorting me to my fate.

  For the past twenty years, I’d carefully chosen my own destiny. But now, I felt driven toward it. Maybe God wanted me to confront Macpherson. And if nothing else came out of it, at least he might be discouraged from victimizing another ill woman. And for a bonus, to satisfy my need for revenge, the man would hopefully be exposed to the locals.

  It seemed so unfair that he had an entire town to console him when all my mother had had…was him.

  The giant cleaver logo hung over the sidewalk on the far side of the street, so I picked my way between cars, waited for another one to pass, then crossed. My stomach burned. I needed food, but I needed blood more.

  Chills inched up my spine to the back of my head. I stopped immediately and spun around, expecting to find someone standing right behind me. But there was no one there.

  “Maybe you’re with me,” I murmured to my mother, wishing it was true.

  I reached for one of the massive brass handles but the door swung open by itself. A couple of women pushed their way outside, then one held the door for me. I was surprised how much effort it took to pull my face into a smile, but I did it. The woman said something I couldn’t possibly understand, then she laughed. I thanked her and hurried through the entryway before I could get pulled into a conversation.

  The treads on my shoe caught on the clean tiles of the floor and I stumbled, gasped, then came to a stop. A dozen heads pivoted in my direction, but everyone smiled when they saw that I was okay. One by one, they turned away.

  A woman came around the end of the bar and smiled. “Do ye fancy a table or a stool?”

  Delicious smells hit me in the face and my stomach growled. “A table, if you don’t mind.” I felt bad taking up so much space in such a small room, but I wasn’t about to rub elbows with anyone while I tried to figure out which one of them was Macpherson.

  The woman handed me a menu and pointed to the empty table in the corner. “My name’s Maggie. Just give us a wave when ye ken what ye want, aye? What will ye be drinking?”

  “Coke,” I said. “I need a Coke.”

  “I suppose ye’ll want ice?”

  I tried to imagine it without ice and shrugged. “Yes, please?”

  She nodded and turned away. I headed for my assigned table and tried not to make eye contact as I went, but it was impossible. One guy was perched backwards on a chair that sat halfway into the aisle, and when I didn’t look at him, he leaned back and looked up into my face, giving me no choice.

  “Hiya,” he said.

  “Hiya,” I repeated, but kept moving.

  “Are ye lost, then?”

  I swung my butt around to sit in the chair with my back to the wall, pretending I hadn’t heard him. The waitress was close on my heels and swatted the man on the shoulder. “Sure but she’s nay lost, Jimmy. Don’t ye know they’ve heard of Alistair’s fine cooking all the way to the states?” She laid a paper coaster on the table in front of me and deposited a tall glass of precious black stuff on it. Five square ice cubes floated on the top, melting quickly.

  I forced myself not to show my surprise. “Uh, how did you know I’m from the states?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps it’s the shoes. Yer food will be ready in a moment.” On her way back to the bar, she slapped Jimmy on the shoulder again, then leaned down to whisper something. The guy nodded and scooted his chair closer to his table, his smile gone, and I stopped worrying about him.

  After the first drink, the inch or so of chilled Coke was gone, along with the ice, and I was down to the room-temperature stuff, but I kept drinking. It eased my stomach pangs, but most importantly, it would help keep me awake. I’d been up for nearly 36 hours and my mind was barely functioning. I kept forgetting that Creep Macpherson was, supposedly, sitting in that very room with me. When I tried to eavesdrop on conversations, however, I couldn’t understand a word, so my mind would wander again.

  I couldn’t very well ask my waitress which one he was. I might as well stand up on a table and shout his name, and I wasn’t clear-headed enough to handle a confrontation, let alone a sharp knife. I just needed to find out what he looked like, then get back to my room for a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, I could stalk him for real and watch for the perfect opening.

  I stared at the menu in my hands and remembered that I hadn’t ordered. Fish and chips stood out in bold print, and I was in no mood to experiment. When the waitress looked my way, I waved and pointed at the large text, which she seemed to appreciate as it saved her another trip to the table. And while I waited for my food, I pushed my drink to the side and rested my head on my hands, on top of the table.

  I vaguely remember a deep voice mumbling from across the room. “Let her sleep.”

  Chapter Seven

  What seemed like a short minute later, I woke to the sound of a plate sliding on the table. It was a familiar, comforting sound that made me imagine, for a split second, that I was back in Astoria again, at the café. And if that was so, I had no business putting my head down. But as the small room came into focus, I was grateful I could sit on my butt and just be a customer for a change.

  The fish was divine—beer-battered and deliciously crisp. I wondered if it would be rude to ask what kind of flour they used. The chips were battered too, which was rare and decadent. I could feel layers of oil building on my tongue as I ate, but I didn’t care.

  I finally noticed the room. Some of the faces had changed since I’d first laid my head down and I realized I had probably missed my chance to identify the enemy. It didn’t break my heart, however, to think that I just added a day to my stay, not with the kind of food they were serving in Fort William.

  Scotland was about as famous for good food as it was famous for gun violence, but I was thrilled to learn the food was worth the trip.

  At the table nearest the door, a couple of men stood up and shook hands. The man facing me was tall, maybe fifty years old, with salt and pepper hair and a big barrel chest. He smiled and nodded to people around the room, then waved at the bar. “See ye soon, Maggie. Give Alistair a kiss, aye?”

  “Night, John. And welcome home to ye.”

  John!

  The name jolted me out of my oil-induced stupor better than an icy Coke could have done, and I slid out from behind my table while the man finished saying his goodbyes. Before I could take a step, though, I remembered I had to pay my check.

  I rummaged through my purse, looking for my cash, but with the knife and scabbard, there was hardly room for my fingers. And I couldn’t very well take it out and hold it between my teeth while I looked for my money.

  I hurried to the end of the bar, set my purse on it, then searched again. Why hadn’t I brought a bigger purse?

  “Maggie?” It was that deep voice again, the one that had said to let me sleep. I turned to my left and saw John Macpherson’s head leaning back in from the doorway. “Put the woman’s bill on my tab, there’s a lass.” Then the big head was gone again.

  Maggie winked at me. “That’s you, then.” She nodded toward the table. “Did ye want a box for the rest?”

  I shook my head, still not understanding what had just happened. “I do have money,” I insisted quietly, then started looking through my stupid purse again.

  “Nay need,” Maggie said, and reached over to squeeze my hands and stop me from digging. “That’s
just John being John, aye?”

  I didn’t want to hear that. I didn’t want him being nice to a stranger, let alone me. I wanted him to be a big bad wolf that had blown my house down, the wolf that had eaten Granny and was lying in wait, in an old nightgown, watching for the next victim to come through the door.

  Still unable to pull the knife out, to see where my money was hiding, I had no choice but to give up and give in. I thanked her again and slunk out of the place in shame. Though I’d covered plenty of customers’ checks who hadn’t been able to pay their tabs, I never wanted them to be embarrassed about it. But I was embarrassed for more than just someone thinking I’d stiffed them.

  The monster I’d come all this way to eviscerate had paid my bill! And he hadn’t even known who I was!

  As soon as I got outside, I walked around the corner of the building and pulled the knife out. Finally, I was able to dig to the floor of the little bag and found the billfold that held my cash. At the very least, I was going to repay the man, so, when I had my head on straight, I could confront him without owing him a penny!

  I took 30 pounds out, dropped the wallet back in, and stepped back to the sidewalk. I looked up and down the poorly lit street, but the monster was gone. Across the road and up to my left, a car engine turned over. The headlights turned on and I recognized the big man behind the wheel. Macpherson was getting away!

  I pulled the sheath from under my arm so I didn’t lose it, then ran out into the street. The car pulled away from the curb and moved faster than I expected. When the headlights hit me, I held out my arms and hoped to protect my knees with the knife in one hand and my purse and flapping cash in the other.

  He hit the brakes hard, but instead of getting hit by the car, I was struck on my left side, then propelled out of the road. I landed on my right side between two cars, crushed by something large and heavy that knocked the last of my breath out of my lungs.