by Janni Nell
Casper’s lips had been firm. They had tasted of… How to describe it? It was a taste I’d never encountered before. Sort of sweet—an unearthly sweetness. Maybe they tasted of Cloud 9.
I could still feel the warmth of Casper’s breath pouring into my lungs. Flooding me with life.
I could still feel his hands rubbing my body until my heart thumped and the blood rushed through my veins. The memory of his strong hands brought heat to my cheeks. My breathing quickened. My nipples tingled. What? No, I mustn’t feel that way. It wasn’t allowed.
I rolled over and tried not to think of him. I tried not to think of his lips or his hands or his magnificent physique or his beautiful eyes. I tried not to think of them so hard that, when I finally fell asleep, my sub-conscious rebelled, rewarding me with a kaleidoscope of erotic dreams. I don’t know whether the dreams went on all night but it sure felt like they did.
When I woke in the morning I blushed at the thought of seeing Casper again. My feelings would be obvious. I was sure of it.
Chapter Fourteen
Luckily I didn’t see Casper that morning. I didn’t even have time to wonder where he was. I had other things to do and the first of them was to visit Jason at the boatshed.
He was stacking shelves when I arrived.
I marched right up to him. “I’m sorry about your boat.” I explained what had happened. I didn’t want to mention I’d been attacked by something so I made up a story about running aground.
He shook his head at my stupidity and muttered, “I shouldn’t have let you take the boat out at night.”
“I’ll pay for the damage,” I offered.
Immediately he smiled and mentioned a figure that wasn’t as exorbitant as I’d expected.
I wrote him a check and we parted friends. He even suggested I came to him next time I wanted to hire a boat. I didn’t think that would be any time soon but I thanked him anyway. Then I headed in the direction of Mrs. Ferguson’s cottage. I hadn’t gone far when I saw her coming toward me.
Today she wore a red hooded jacket and carried a basket over her arm, reminding me of a geriatric Red Riding Hood.
“I’m going to visit Dr. Williamson,” she said brightly. “He’s sick in bed and I thought I’d bring some wee goodies to cheer him up.”
Suppressing the image of Dr. Williamson as a wolf in Grandma’s clothing, I said politely, “It’s nothing serious, I hope.”
“Just a cold, but ye cannae be too careful at his age.” It was hard to believe she was talking about a man twenty years her junior. “Speaking of ill health,” she continued, “how are ye feeling after your wee adventure on the loch last night?”
“How did you—?”
She tapped her nose as though she knew something I didn’t. Then she relented and told me the truth. “Jason’s my grandson. He’s my daughter’s child, so he’s not a Ferguson. He told me ye’d hired a rowboat. But ye must be more careful, lassie, it’s not safe to go out on the loch at night.”
“Why not, Mrs. Ferguson? Is there something in the loch?”
She leaned toward me and confided, “I cannae speak from personal experience but from time to time rumors start.”
“About…?”
“Something being in the loch,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What kind of something? A Loch Ness type monster?”
“That’s what the rumors say, but I dinnae believe them.”
“Why not? You believe in brownies.”
“I have evidence the brownies exist.”
I didn’t tell her I had evidence there was something in the loch. I decided to keep that to myself for now.
Changing the subject, and knowing she wouldn’t think I was deranged for posing such a question, I asked, “Have you heard anything about a coven of witches in this area?”
“Ye mean other than that silly story about Lady Justina being a witch?” When I nodded, she said, “There’s a woman in Beag Glen who used to dabble in witchcraft when she was a teenager. She tried to put a wee spell on the loch but that was a few years ago. She’d be about thirty now.”
“What’s her name?”
“Scarlett Gordon.”
Flipping open my notebook, I wrote down Scarlett’s address.
Mrs. Ferguson adjusted her red hood and moved the basket from her left arm to her right. “This is getting heavy. I’d better be off.”
The sparkle in her eyes made me wonder whether Dr. Williamson was familiar with the line, All the better to eat you with.
* * *
I went to Beag Glen immediately.
Scarlett Gordon lived in a fisherman’s cottage at the opposite end of town to Jenny Clark. She was still in her pajamas when I called at eleven in the morning, but, despite her disheveled appearance, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen.
A mane of tangled auburn hair cascaded past her shoulders. Dazzling green eyes sparkled with something I could only describe as joie de vivre. Her figure was perfect and her age was, as Mrs. Ferguson had said, around thirty.
Assuming because of the pajamas that she was either a shift worker or having a sick day, I said, “I’m sorry to disturb you.” I introduced myself and asked if she’d answer a few questions.
“Why not?” she said happily. “Giorgio and Kate have just had their first kiss so I’m ready for a break. Coffee?”
I didn’t ask who Giorgio and Kate were but I did accept the offer of coffee.
Scarlett led me into a sitting room that had a glorious view of the loch and told me to make myself at home. When she had gone to make the coffee, I checked out the room.
There was a very white lounge and two armchairs littered with pink and orange cushions. They were grouped around a TV and DVD player. I was checking out the DVDs—all popular movies, nothing unusual—when two things happened. My toe began to itch and I noticed a closed door. Naturally I opened it.
Inside was a sparsely furnished study. I moved to the desk, which was littered with a computer, sheets of scribbled-on paper and several empty coffee mugs. I glanced at the scribbled-on paper but the writing was so bad I couldn’t read a thing. I was considering turning on the computer when I heard Scarlett call out.
“How many sugars did you say?”
I hurried back to the sitting room and closed the study door.
“I don’t take sugar,” I called as I wandered over to one of the glass-fronted bookcases. There were several well-thumbed copies of novels by Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, a few Agatha Christies and a lot of romance novels. Looking closer I saw that no fewer than eighteen of them had been written by Scarlett Gordon.
I pulled one from the shelf and opened it. The heroine was a witch. Interesting. I was rapidly scanning the pages when Scarlett returned neatly dressed in jeans and a sweater.
As she handed me a cup of freshly brewed coffee, I asked, “How long have you been writing?”
“As long as I can remember,” she said, “but I only gave up my day job three years ago.” She crossed her long legs and blew seductively on her coffee. After taking a sip she asked, “How can I help you?”
“I’m interested in witchcraft,” I said, making it up as I went along. “I’m doing a comparison between witchcraft in the US and the UK. Wanda Appleseed—have you heard of her? She’s very well known in California—has been assisting me with the US research. I was wondering—”
She interrupted me. “I haven’t heard of Wanda Appleseed, and I’m not interested in assisting with your research. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re wasting your time with me.”
“One of your heroines is a witch,” I pointed out.
“You’re familiar with my work?”
“Yes,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask me any details about her plots.
“If you’re familiar with my work, you would know that I’ve written not one but three books about witches.”
Is there anything worse than being caught out in a lie? I sipped my coffee and wondered how I was going to g
et out of this with my dignity intact. Deciding that was impossible, I dropped all pretence.
“There’s a rumor you put a spell on the loch when you were a teenager.”
“So that’s what this is about.”
“Is it true?”
Scarlett hesitated. She seemed embarrassed. Finally she said, “Aye, it is true. I was very young and very silly. I knew nothing about witchcraft. I still don’t really—except for the research I’ve done for my books—but that’s theory. I have no experience of practical witchcraft.”
“What kind of a spell did you put on the loch?” I asked. Maybe, if her spell was causing the paranormal activity, I could find a way to reverse it.
“Och, it was all very silly. I liked to go fishing back then. The spell was supposed to increase my catch. It didn’t work.”
She sounded absolutely plausible and yet I was certain she was lying. I sipped my coffee, wondering what to ask next.
We were interrupted by a noise from another part of the house. It sounded like a toilet flushing.
“What was that?” I asked.
She wasn’t happy to admit it but she had no choice. “I have a houseguest.”
“Can I meet her? Him?”
“I’m afraid not. He isn’t well.” Suddenly she brightened as though she’d had a brilliant idea. “Actually you’re probably taking a bit of a risk being in the house. He’s quite ill and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to catch anything.”
Well, no, but I wanted to meet her houseguest no matter how sick he was. Unfortunately I sensed that wasn’t going to happen. Sometimes you have to accept that certain people aren’t going to help your investigation—not willingly anyway. Scarlett Gordon was one of those people.
Getting to my feet, I thanked her for her time.
She said, “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
Actually Scarlett, you’re delighted you couldn’t help, and maybe a little bit relieved.
As I left her cottage, I glanced at the front windows hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious houseguest, but the windows were all heavily curtained.
On the way back to Furness, I stopped at the Beag Glen pub for lunch and a soda. There were a few people inside but none of them were interested in talking to a paranormal investigator.
When I left the pub I noticed a shop that sold kilts. Remembering my promise—or was it a threat?—to buy one for Casper, I went in.
There were dozens of different tartans on display, all representing different clans. Casper didn’t belong to a clan so I simply chose a color combination I liked and hoped he’d like it too.
I chose some accessories—a tartan is nothing without accessories. Long socks and garters with little red ribbons (sorry, stockings with garter flashes), a sporran (leather, not fur), a black belt with a silver buckle, a white shirt (big and blousy—so sexy) and black brogues. I decided against a bonnet. Casper had little enough hair since Anne MacDuff had attacked it with her scissors. I didn’t want to cover his remaining crest of gold.
As I was leaving the shop with my purchases I, quite literally, bumped into Jenny Clark.
“Allegra? What’re you doing in Beag Glen?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “How’s the paranormal investigation going?”
“Okay,” I said noncommittally. There was no point advertising the fact that I was stumped. I was still trying to look noncommittal when I noticed that Jenny was nervously chewing a fingernail.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I want to apologize,” she said. “I’m really sorry I took you to Leith’s Cairn. I didn’t know he was going to attack you. He’s never attacked a woman before.” She really knew how to rub it in. “I’m sorry about Casper too. I’m glad he wasn’t badly hurt.” Jenny looked uncomfortable. “This is very strange, but sometimes I feel—” She covered her mouth as though to stop words that shouldn’t be spoken.
Very gently I said, “Do you feel compelled to bring Leith a heart?”
She bit her lip. Tears pricked her eyes. “It’s very wrong of me isn’t it? I try to fight it but sometimes it’s as though I’m not me. Does that sound crazy?”
It sounded perfectly logical to me. Especially if the shade of Vanora was hanging around.
“Can I give you a lift home?” I offered. “I’d like to talk some more about Leith and Vanora.”
“Do you think you can help?” she asked.
Not unless I can find someone willing to give up their heart.
But I didn’t say that. I said, “I’ll do what I can.”
When we reached her cottage, I went inside with her. While I lit the fire, she made coffee. We were sitting comfortably beside the fire, when she said, “I get these compulsions to take people to the cairn. Like when I took you and Casper.”
“We asked to go,” I reminded her.
But she wasn’t going to let herself off the hook. “I knew how dangerous it was. I struggled to tell Casper before we left the cottage but I couldn’t. Even when we reached the cairn it took a huge effort to tell him not to go too close. I’m afraid that if I don’t control these impulses I might help Leith commit murder.”
“You must keep away from the cairn,” I said. “I think the shade of Vanora has joined Leith there.”
“But Vanora wasn’t murdered here. She was murdered in England near Everington Hill. How could her spirit have moved so far from the place of her death?”
“The desire to be reunited with Leith. Love is a very powerful motivator.”
“So you think I should keep away from the cairn?”
I nodded. “But the best thing would be to leave Beag Glen altogether. Vanora would have no use for you if you no longer lived near the cairn.”
“But where would I go?”
When I first met Jenny she had mentioned moving to Beag Glen after winning The Pools.
“Where did you live before you came to Scotland?” I asked.
“In Everington Hill.”
A shiver ran through me. “The same place Vanora was murdered.” Somehow I didn’t think it was a coincidence. It seemed that the shade of Vanora had attached itself to Jenny and brought her to Beag Glen, presumably to help provide a heart for Leith. Why had Vanora chosen Jenny? I didn’t know. Only Vanora could answer that.
Jenny whispered, “I don’t want to help Vanora and Leith commit murder. Isn’t there something you can do? What if I hired you to get rid of Leith’s spirit?”
“It’s not easy to remove a spirit who’s been entrenched for hundreds of years.”
“You could try.”
It was highly unlikely I’d succeed.
“Jenny, I have to be honest with you. I don’t have the skill for that. The best advice I can give you is to build a fence around the cairn to keep people out. Then, for your own sake, you should leave Beag Glen.”
“There’s no other way?”
I shook my head but I knew she wouldn’t follow my advice. She was like an addict with a drug. And there were no rehab clinics for an addiction to the paranormal.
After leaving Jenny’s cottage—I hated that I couldn’t help her—I headed back to Furness.
On the way I reviewed my meeting with Scarlett Gordon. She had lied to me about the type of spell she had put on the loch, and she had refused to let me meet her houseguest. Those things might mean everything or nothing.
Frankly I was no closer to solving this case. I should have been annoyed but secretly I was pleased. When I finally solved the case, Casper would return to Cloud 9. The longer the case lasted, the more time I got to spend with him.
Okay it was crunch time—time to admit how I really felt about him.
I was alone in the car but I didn’t say the words aloud in case Casper was hanging around. To myself I said, “I want him.”
Maybe I didn’t want him bad yet. But I wanted him. And I couldn’t have him. Any physical intimacy between us could set his chances of entering Heaven back thousands of years. If I really cared about Casper, I must n
ever ever let him know how I felt.
But how could I continue to work with him and keep my feelings hidden?
I told myself I was strong. I would find a way.
Chapter Fifteen
When I reached Furness, I called Wanda. It was evening in San Diego so I didn’t wake her, which was just as well because Wanda hates to be woken up in the middle of the night.
“Allegra, I’d love to talk but I’m late for a date with the most gorgeous guy.”
“Lucky you.”
“Can I call you tomorrow?” she asked. “We can have a long talk then.”
“Sure, but I need some information. The case isn’t going well.” I paused while she murmured something sympathetic, then I went on. “Why would a teenage girl put a spell on a loch?”
“What kind of lock? On a door? A diary?”
“No a loch. L-O-C-H.”
“Oh.” Wanda sounded stumped. “Now if you were talking about a lock on a diary, I’d say she was trying to keep secrets—boyfriend secrets—to herself. That’s what I did when I was a teenager. Of course my spells didn’t work. Except for that time—”
I interrupted. “The woman who cast the spell. She said it was to help her catch more fish.”
“Oh bull,” said Wanda emphatically. “Teenage girls think of two things—clothes and boys. They—hang on a minute—” I heard voices in the background. When Wanda returned she said, “My date’s here. Gotta go. Call you tomorrow.” She hung up.
So did I. Wanda hadn’t been much help. Clothes and boys. What did they have to do with a creature in the loch?
I went for a walk to clear my head. It didn’t help much but when I caught sight of Stuart’s cottage further down the street, I started thinking about the naked woman he and his friends had seen. Was she really a member of a coven that was controlling a creature in the loch? If so, what was the creature’s—or rather the coven’s—motive for killing McEwen and Malcolm? Obvious answer: the men had seen something. But what? Possible answer: A ritual.
What kind of ritual?
Hmm.
My head started to ache. In an effort to clear it, I looked at the problem from a different angle. What if the naked woman wasn’t the perpetrator? What if she was the victim? If she was, that would make The Three M’s…