by Janni Nell
As far as I can work out from the little he tells me, Casper once belonged to an old Germanic tribe. He died fighting the Romans sometime during—I’m guessing here—the first or second century AD. He wasn’t immediately eligible to enter Heaven—he had spent most of his life raping and pillaging, after all—so he was put on guardian angel duty. One day, if he behaves himself, he’ll gain enough credits to enter Heaven.
I felt Casper descending. As he set me gently on the ground, I heard the sound of running water, not from a faucet, but natural, like a stream.
“Hold still,” he said, his voice deep and rich with the accent that no amount of tutoring in English could eradicate.
I felt a damp cloth on my cheeks. He wiped gently around my eyes while I blinked furiously trying to dislodge the gritty particles.
“You’ll have to bend over,” he said, “and bathe your eyes in the stream.”
“I can hardly see, Casper.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll guide you.”
He held me around the waist as I bent toward the stream. I gasped when the cold water hit my face, but the relief of having the dirt flushed from my eyes was bliss.
When I raised my head, only a little scratchiness remained. I could put up with that until my eyes healed.
I got to my feet and looked at Casper. It had been three months since he’d helped me with a case and it was good to see every inch of his six and a half foot frame. His shoulder-length golden hair was as thick and wavy as ever and the strange gold and green of his eyes continued to remind me of nothing so much as the dappled light of an ancient forest.
I wanted to hug him but instead I planted my hands on my hips. “You took your time. I was falling for at least a minute before you caught me.” My estimate of time might not have been entirely accurate. It’s hard to tell when you’re falling toward certain death.
“I came as fast as I could, Allegra.”
Not the sort of thing you usually want to hear from a man, but in this instance I was glad he had.
“By the way,” I said, “your wings are still on.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the golden feathers that matched his hair. Then he shrugged his massive shoulders. The feathers flew into the air, disintegrating before they hit the ground. I had once asked him to explain the physics behind the disappearance and reappearance of his wings. He had tried valiantly but I hadn’t been able to grasp the concept. We were both happier when I accepted it as magic.
“What’re you doing in Scotland?” he asked.
“Didn’t the news reach you on Cloud 9?” He had once told me that was his address. I’m not sure whether he was joking.
“Allegra, you know I only get news of you when you’re in trouble.”
“So now you’ve come back to earth,” I asked, “will you be hanging around for a while?”
“I’ll be here until you solve this case.”
Uh-oh. Danger, Will Robinson. Casper only hangs around when he needs to protect me. Apparently he thought this case was going to involve serious risk, which given my recent tumble from Wilson’s Creag, wasn’t exactly comforting. I’d been seconds from splattering into a million pieces when Casper showed up.
My stomach flip-flopped like a beached fish. “Is there something I should know, Casper?”
“Only that I’m here to help—I mean, to protect you from danger.”
He had told me often enough that he couldn’t help me solve a case, but I lived in hope that one day he might slip up.
“Are you coming back to the village with me?” I asked.
“Am I suitably dressed?”
He no longer wore his tribal clothes of furs, leather and homespun. He was now dressed in the black trousers and knee-length coat I had bought him after seeing one of the Matrix movies.
“Maybe you should wear a kilt,” I said, only half joking.
But he took my suggestion seriously. “Maybe you could buy me one.”
“Maybe I will.” I wondered whether he’d look as sexy in a kilt as I imagined. Then, reining in my imagination, I said, “I’ve got to get back to the village. The police will be there soon.”
“Let’s go.”
I was glad of his company but it did make me wonder what kind of danger I might be walking into.
When we arrived at Mac’s, a police car was parked outside. Inside the pub two officers were talking to Douglas. They turned when I entered with Casper. Judging by their expressions as they took in his sexy black outfit, they didn’t like the look of him and had decided he was the prime suspect.
Douglas also looked at him suspiciously, but it soon became clear he was more concerned about Casper’s involvement with me.
“Is this man bothering you, Allegra?”
“It’s okay, Douglas, Casper is my…partner.” I introduced them.
Douglas reluctantly shook Casper’s hand but his words were aimed at me. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”
A disturbing thrill ran through me at the thought of being romantically involved with Casper, but I suppressed it. Casper wasn’t boyfriend material. One of the conditions of his guardian-angelship was that he make amends for his years of raping and pillaging, which meant no, absolutely no, sex.
I smiled at Douglas and corrected his misunderstanding. “Casper is my business partner.”
“I see.” But he continued to regard Casper suspiciously until the police asked to see the body.
Douglas and I rode in the car with them. Casper said he’d follow on foot, which probably meant he’d fly there when no one was looking. I reminded myself that Casper was quite capable of disappearing and flying there unseen by anyone. Then I occupied my time by staring out the police car window, watching the passing scenery until we reached the track that led to the bleeding rose.
We all got out but the older cop told us to wait by the car with his partner. I guess he didn’t want us to contaminate the scene. This probably wasn’t the time to tell him I’d already touched the body.
The older cop set off down the track. I was prepared for a long wait but soon he marched back up the track toward us. He didn’t look happy.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded
Douglas and I exchanged confused glances. It was Douglas who answered.
“There’s nothing funny about a dead man covered in bite marks.”
“No,” agreed the cop. “And there’s nothing funny about reporting a body that isn’t there.”
“There bloody well is a body,” said Douglas. “It’s beside the rose. Isn’t it, Allegra?”
“It was there,” I said cautiously, mindful of the fact than when dealing with the paranormal you should expect the unexpected. “Let’s take another look.”
“Do that,” said the older cop. Apparently he was no longer bothered about us contaminating the scene.
I hurried down the track. When I reached the rose, I stopped dead. A part of me had hoped that the cop had somehow missed the body, but now I could see for myself that McEwen’s body had disappeared. Worse yet, where his body had lain was a pile of dead fish. No wonder the cop was angry.
I heard movement behind me. Douglas appeared, followed by the two cops.
Douglas stared open-mouthed at the place where McEwen had lain. “What the—? Where is he? Where did the fish come from?”
“Obviously someone’s moved the body.” I glanced at the cops, willing them to begin an investigation into the disappearance of McEwen’s body.
But the older cop wasn’t buying it. He said sarcastically, “If there ever was a body.”
The younger cop consulted his notebook. “Three people saw the body. Mr. Douglas McGregor, Mr. Hamish Livingston and Ms Allegra—”
The older cop stopped short of rolling his eyes.
“It’s a hoax,” he said to his partner. “A pathetic attempt to create the myth of another Loch Ness monster. A tourist attraction.” He turned to Douglas and me. “You must think we were born yesterday. You’re lucky we
don’t charge you with…”
I didn’t hear his final words because he had already turned away. We were probably lucky he hadn’t thrown the book at us.
The cops stormed off down the track but they didn’t get far before Casper appeared directly in front of them. The older cop had to stop abruptly to avoid bumping into him.
I caught sight of a single gold feather on Casper’s shoulder but luckily the cops didn’t seem to notice. Or, if they did, they didn’t realize its significance.
“I suppose you were in on this too, laddie,” muttered the older cop.
Casper started to answer but the cop had already stormed past him. Moments later I heard their car start and drive away. I guess they figured that after all the trouble we’d given them we deserved to walk back to the village.
“There really was a body,” I said to Casper. Then I pointed discreetly to the feather on his shoulder. He flicked it off.
Douglas was bent double studying the pile of fish near the rose. “Where the hell is McEwen? His body can’t have disappeared into thin air.”
“This is a paranormal investigation,” I reminded him. “Much stranger things could happen before it’s over.”
Slowly he straightened up. When he faced me, I saw acceptance in his eyes. From now on nothing would amaze him.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
“I think I’ll have another talk with Mrs. Ferguson.”
As I turned to retrace my steps down the track, Douglas said, “What does your partner think? So far he’s been acting like a silent partner, but he must have an opinion.” He might as well have challenged Casper to a duel.
Once Casper might have risen to the bait, but as a guardian angel he was forbidden from brawling except under the most extreme circumstances.
Casper said, “Allegra does all the thinking. I just help her out occasionally with physical stuff.”
But Douglas wouldn’t let the matter rest. “You must have an opinion. Or are you afraid to speak up?”
“I think,” said Casper, bending ever so slightly to Douglas’s will, “that the paranormal is involved.”
“Aye, tell me something I don’t know.” Douglas kicked a tuft of grass.
It was time I took control of the situation. “Let’s get back to the village. I want to speak to Mrs. Ferguson.”
When we reached the village, I asked Casper to come with me to Ferguson Cottage. Douglas wasn’t thrilled to be left out of the loop but he accepted the inevitable. He even made up some lie about having work to do at the pub.
Mrs. Ferguson made us tea, which Casper likes a lot more than I do. He takes it with too much sugar and lots of milk.
“Delicious,” he complimented our host. “It’s the best tea I’ve drunk in years.”
Mrs. Ferguson took a sip from her own cup. As she returned it to its saucer she said, “I’ve heard a rumor that Angus McEwen is dead.”
“Drowned,” I confirmed.
She nodded. “I had a very bad dream last night. About drowning in the loch. It was worse than the other dreams I’ve had. I probably dreamed it as it was happening.” Her voice was astonishingly calm. “You’ll think me awful for saying this, but in a way I’m glad it’s over. The dreams will stop now.”
I couldn’t blame her for being relieved. There was nothing she could have done to prevent McEwen’s death, and if her sleep was now more peaceful I didn’t think anyone in the village would have wished it otherwise.
“Mrs. Ferguson, was there anything in your dream that indicated how McEwen drowned?”
“Only feelings,” she said, “nothing concrete.”
Casper said, “Feelings are good.” He had certainly come a long way from his days of raping and pillaging. “Please tell us about your feelings, Mrs. Ferguson.”
“Very well, dear.” She had apparently taken a liking to Casper. “My feeling is that evil has come to the village of Furness.”
“The village, not the loch?” I asked, remembering the seething water I had seen last night. Had I unknowingly witnessed McEwen’s death?
She stared at the tealeaves in the bottom of her cup as though they might provide an answer. Finally she said, “Aye, the village. No need to go poking around in the loch. There’s nothing of interest there.”
“What about something near the loch? I’m thinking McEwen might have desecrated an ancient sacred site.”
“Possibly, but I’ve lived here a long time and I cannae think of any such sites.” She turned to Casper. “More tea, dear?” There was no doubt he’d won Mrs. Ferguson’s heart.
I glanced at him and pointedly raised my eyebrows. He blushed. It was cute. I thought how handsome he looked without his thick unruly beard. I was glad I had talked him into shaving it off.
Casper gave Mrs. Ferguson a shy smile and declined more tea.
“We should be getting back to Mac’s,” he said.
Mrs. Ferguson showed us to the door. She whispered something in Gaelic and then explained, “It’s a wee blessing, to keep you safe.”
We’d probably need it. Or I would. Casper had no need of earthly blessings.
As we made our way down the garden path, Mrs. Ferguson suddenly called out, “Wait!”
We turned back to see her hurrying down the steps.
“I forgot about Leith’s Cairn,” she said. “It’s not exactly a sacred site, but it’s…” She seemed not to know how to continue. Finally she said, “It might be best if Jenny Clark tells you the story. She knows it well.”
“Where does Jenny live?” I asked.
“In the village of Beag Glen. It’s down Loch Road to the east.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Casper. “Now go inside before you catch cold.”
“Go inside? No. I think I’ll put on my walking shoes and take a stroll along the loch.”
I didn’t tell her to be careful. She’d survived ninety-nine years on the planet, she could probably teach me a thing or two about survival.
As Casper and I headed back to Mac’s, I said, “Maybe I should go in alone. Douglas was upset we didn’t include him in our visit to Mrs. Ferguson. I think I should smooth his ruffled feathers.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Casper.
What had I expected? That he’d protest? Refuse to leave me alone with another man?
“Douglas likes you,” he added, seeming amused rather than jealous.
For some stupid reason I found that disappointing.
Forcing a smile—there was no sense in letting Casper see how I felt—I asked, “What will you do while I’m talking to Douglas?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’ll take a look around. Or maybe I’ll take a walk along the loch with Mrs. Ferguson.” He moved into the shadow cast by the wall of the pub. “Gotta fly.”
I had a brief glimpse of golden wings. Then he disappeared.
Chapter Four
Douglas was doing some paperwork at the kitchen table when I returned to Mac’s. He stood up and stretched.
“How was Mrs. Ferguson?” he asked.
“Relieved. She’s convinced her bad dreams will stop now.” I wasn’t so sure, but I kept that thought to myself.
“You want some coffee?” he asked.
I declined.
Douglas seemed uncomfortable but I didn’t realize he was working up to an apology until he said, “I’m sorry I was rude to your partner, Allegra.” The words came with difficulty. “I hope it won’t affect your handling of this case.”
I wondered whether he was really concerned about the case. Somehow I sensed his apology had more to do with the male/female chemistry that had been hovering around us since we’d met.
“Casper didn’t take offence,” I said.
Douglas replied, “Casper likes you.”
Casper had said the same thing about Douglas, but he had sounded amused whereas Douglas sounded really peeved.
He continued, “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and Casper?”
“Trust
me, Douglas, a relationship between Casper and me is impossible.”
“Then he must be gay.”
“Oh it’s much more hopeless than that.”
Douglas looked at me curiously but I refused to elaborate.
Changing the subject, Douglas asked, “Do you want lunch?”
I had declined coffee but lunch was another matter entirely. “I’d love some.”
He seemed surprised that after seeing McEwen’s body that morning I hadn’t lost my appetite, but I assured him I was starving.
“We’ll eat outside,” he said, “as the weather’s so mild.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed about the weather. I would have described it as cool. But at least the sun was shining.
Ignoring the empty chairs, I walked down the grassy slope to the shore of the loch. Three small boats bobbed around on the calm water. They were filled with fishermen who apparently hadn’t been deterred by the news of McEwen’s death. The inhabitants of the village were made of sterner stuff than that.
“Allegra,” Douglas called from the terrace.
I headed back up the slope. By the time I reached him he had set down two plates of what the Brits call a Ploughman’s Lunch, only this had a Scottish twist. There were pickles, cheese and crackers, oatcakes and a small serving of haggis. I sat down and began to eat. Everything, including the haggis, was delicious.
“Douglas,” I began between sips of orange juice, “do you know anything about Leith’s Cairn?”
He stared at me with a look I could only describe as horrified. “Dinnae go there,” he said abruptly.
I waited for him to explain. When he didn’t, I prompted, “Why not?”
He sighed as though he would really rather not talk about it but to please me he would. “Leith the Brave fought for freedom against the English.”
“Like Braveheart.”
“But several hundred years later. And Leith wasn’t captured. He was slain at the Battle of Furness and his heart cut out. Some people think it was thrown into the loch.”
“Does he return to the loch to search for it?” My question wasn’t flippant. Ghosts often do that kind of thing.