She had visions of her sisters and her out in the dead of night, digging a hole for the guy.
“We need new shovels,” Mairi said, proving yet again that the Sinclair women were on the same wavelength.
“I’ll see if they have any at the shop.” Isobel picked up her keys and phone from the table and popped them in her second-hand hobo bag.
There had been four messages from the loan shark waiting for her when she woke. She’d ignored them all, but she knew from experience that it was only a matter of time before he came around in person. And she was sick at the thought. There was no money for the next payment and no prospects of getting any. She couldn’t even think about what he would want in exchange for letting the payment slip by.
“You okay?” Mairi’s attention was away from her phone for once, but she was frowning at Isobel. “You’re pressing your hand to your stomach. You aren’t suffering from morning sickness already, are you? Is that even possible?”
Isobel hadn’t been aware that she was holding her roiling stomach. She forced a smile. “I need to get you a book on pregnancy. You really don’t have a clue.”
“And I plan to keep it that way.” Mairi strode off down the hall to get Sophie.
It took a few more minutes to pack all the toys Sophie wanted to take to Mairi’s house, which meant they were running late by the time they left. As they turned into the road at the end of the lane, the women looked out over the water. The sky was a heavy grey that promised rain, and the wind had whipped up the waves. The smell of salt was thick in the air and the gulls circled overhead looking for food.
“Did they come back last night?” Mairi said.
Isobel’s grip on Sophie’s hand tightened at the thought of the boat visitors.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I was out cold for most of the night.”
Mairi’s eyebrows shot up. “With Mr Broodylicious on the sofa? I thought, at the very least, you’d be up all night fantasising about him.”
“Actually, it was the opposite. I was asleep pretty much as soon as my head hit the pillow. Not even an X-rated dream.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. Guess he must be rubbish in bed if he’s that easily dismissed.” She gave Isobel a hopeful look and waited for details.
Isobel didn’t give her any. The truth was that having Callum in the house made Isobel feel secure. She was used to being her small family’s last line of defence. For years she’d slept with one ear open, listening for problems and ready to deal with them. With Callum in the house, Isobel’s subconscious had decided he could take the watch for the night, and her exhausted body had slipped into a deep sleep. For one aching moment, when she awoke, she’d felt like she had a partner, and the weight of her family hadn’t been pressing down on her. And then reality had slammed into her, along with the cold awareness that she was on her own.
Isobel parted company with Mairi and Sophie outside of the village’s only shop. Sophie waved all the way across the road to the garage, where Agnes and Mairi shared the flat upstairs. The sight of her daughter’s wide smile and unique dress sense made Isobel grin. Her daughter was wearing a cheap princess dress, fairy wings, gumboots and a woolly hat.
As soon as they were out of sight, Isobel entered the shop, the chirpy bell signalling her arrival. Her late arrival.
“Nice of you to bother turning up,” Edna McPhee said, as though Isobel was hours late instead of fifteen minutes.
“Sorry.” Isobel stashed her bag under the counter and pulled on the burgundy tabard that Edna insisted was the shop uniform. It didn’t matter that Isobel was her only employee and that Edna herself refused to wear the hideous polyester thing.
“Do you have a reason for being late?” Edna sounded exactly like a teacher Isobel had when she was in high school. She hadn’t liked that teacher any more than she liked Edna.
“Kid problems.” It was the only excuse she was willing to give.
Edna’s eyes became tiny dots under her heavily furrowed brow. “I knew I shouldn’t have hired a single mother.”
“Edna.” Isobel tried hard not to let her irritation show. “I’ve worked here for almost three years, and in that time, I haven’t missed a day. Not to mention, you can count the times I’ve been late on one hand.”
Edna sniffed and patted her bleached blonde hair, which accentuated the lines on her face. “There are shelves that need cleaning.” There would be no apology. There never was. No matter how many digs she made about Isobel’s kids, or the men in her life running out on her.
Isobel did what she normally did. She gritted her teeth, swallowed her pride and worked like a dog for minimum wage, all the while reminding herself that she was lucky to have a job so close to home. Lucky that her sister worked from home and could look after Sophie. Lucky that she could walk to work when she couldn’t afford to fill her car. Yeah, she was so freaking lucky.
“Did you hear about Janice and Clyde?” Edna pulled a bright pink lipstick from the drawer beside the cash register and touched up her already thickly made-up mouth.
“What about them?” Isobel gathered her cleaning supplies and started with the shelves nearest the counter—the ones stocked with chocolate and sweets. She knew from experience that Edna liked her to start her work where she could see her, so that she could give her advice on how to do it properly—while she flicked through magazines and fiddled with her hair. But, as owner of the place, Edna could, and did, do whatever the heck she pleased.
“They had someone sneaking around their property last night. Gave them the fright of their lives.”
Isobel stilled, her dust rag suspended in front of the shelf. Clyde and Janice were the elderly couple who lived on the bluff, along from Isobel’s house.
“Did they see who it was?” She tried hard not to let the fear she felt come through in her voice.
“No.” Edna leaned forward, folding her arms on the counter and leaning her sagging bosom on it. Although Isobel didn’t know Edna’s true age, she did know the woman was old enough to have the need of a decent bra. Unfortunately, this wasn’t something Edna knew. As far as she was concerned, the only thing of importance in buying a bra was that it showed enough cleavage. If that cleavage was around her waist, that was neither here nor there. “Whoever it was ran off when Clyde let the dog out. He said he shouted after one of them, but the blighter just legged it out of there.”
“That’s terrible.” Isobel made a big deal out of dusting every item she removed from the shelf. “Did they call the police?”
“No, they thought it was teenagers messing around. You know, like your boy Jack.”
Isobel ignored the snide comment as she tried to control her breathing. It couldn’t be a coincidence that her neighbours got a visit from someone right after she’d removed the body from the beach.
Edna had obviously lost patience while waiting for Isobel to react to her dig about Jack. “They should have called the police, because Marty Jackson told me that the Redfern family had someone try to break into their place last night too.”
Isobel’s hands began to shake and she had to cling to the shelf to stop them. Slowly, methodically, she moved the duster over the now-empty shelf. There were five families overlooking the cove. Clyde and Janice and the Redferns were two of them.
“Hugh Redfern called the police and they checked the property.” Edna lowered her voice as though conspiring, instead of sharing local gossip. “There were tool marks around their front door lock and their garage had been broken into. But Hugh didn’t notice anything missing, so he thought it might have been teenagers messing around as well. Although how he would know if anything was missing with the state of his garage, I wouldn’t know. Linda Redfern keeps a filthy house. I don’t know what that woman does all day long, but it isn’t clean.”
Isobel thought she might vomit. There was no mistaking the intent of the men lurking round her neighbours’ properties. They had to have been looking for the body she’d removed. Or worse, looking f
or the person who’d been watching them.
Isobel got to her feet, on legs that were weak. “I need to make a call,” she said. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Edna jerked straight. “Where do you think you’re going? You just got here. Don’t think I’m paying for your time when you aren’t working. I’m docking this from your wages.”
Isobel wasn’t interested. Her attention was on her phone. She pulled the piece of paper with Callum’s number out of her pocket and started to dial as she left the shop. Her concentration on her phone, she walked around the corner to the little car park, hoping to find a private corner.
“Hello love,” someone called, making her stop dead. “I was wondering when you were going to come out of the shop. Thought I’d have to send Raymond here in to get you. Ain’t that right, Ray?”
Isobel felt the blood drain from her face as she backed away from the car that Eddie Granger was climbing out of. The loan shark was smiling at her with lots of teeth and cold, flat eyes. He wore a black suit and black shirt. The jacket gaped over his pot belly, and Isobel inanely wondered if it was even possible to button it shut.
“You didn’t answer my messages, Isobel.” Eddie swaggered over to her. “Ray here was worried. Ain’t that right, Ray?”
“Aye.” Ray looked like the type of man who’d rather hit someone than talk to them. He was a genetic mutant of a man. Short and stocky with far too many steroid induced muscles for his body shape. His eyes never stopped moving, assessing. He wore jeans and a Celtic football shirt. There were heavy rings on every finger, and Isobel didn’t have to ask, to know that they would act as knuckle dusters when he punched. And she got the impression that Ray very much liked to punch.
“We need to have a word about what you owe me,” Eddie said as he stepped close. Too close. Isobel had to suck in her stomach to stop any part of her body from touching his.
She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “I still have three days. You’ll get your money.” How, she didn’t know. She mentally went through everything she owned, looking for something to sell, and came up empty. She had absolutely nothing of value.
“I know money is tight,” Eddie said with saccharine sweetness. “I’m a thoughtful guy. I don’t want to put you under any undue pressure to get the cash in time. I’m willing to negotiate.” His eyes slid down her body, lingering over her breasts, and he licked his bottom lip. “I’m willing to let you work off the debt.”
Isobel fought the urge to shudder. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll have the money.”
Eddie grinned, showing stained and broken teeth. “You hear that, Ray? I’m kind.”
Ray didn’t answer; he was too busy looking around. Whether he was keeping an eye out for a threat to his boss, or looking for something to hit, Isobel couldn’t even begin to guess.
Her attention was dragged back to Eddie, when he ran a fingertip down her cheek. Bile rose in her throat, burning and making her want to gag.
“See, here’s the thing—as I said, money is tight all round right now.” He gave her that fake sympathetic smile. “I can’t let you just pay the interest anymore. I’m going to need the whole amount on Saturday.”
Isobel gasped. “I can’t. I don’t have that kind of money.” She didn’t have any money.
“I understand; I do. Times are tough. I’ve tried to help you out by letting you pay what you could, but I can’t do that no more. I need the rest this weekend.”
Isobel’s mind raced. What he was asking was impossible, and he knew it. He was enjoying this; she could see it in his eyes.
“Thirty-four thousand by Saturday.” He looked at her and his eyes hardened. “Best get one of your sisters to look after the kids, because when I come back here, I’ll be collecting, one way or another. And it will take a lot of paying off to square with me.”
His fingertips trailed down her throat, over her collarbone and across the swell of her breast.
“I’m gonna enjoy collecting from you, Isobel Sinclair.” He turned towards his car then looked back at her. “Saturday.” He nodded at Ray. “Drive the message home. But restrain yourself. I have plans for her.”
“No,” Isobel said as she tried to press herself into the wall and disappear entirely.
Ray took a step towards her. His smile was serpentine.
CHAPTER 11
CAMPBELTOWN ONLY HAD ONE PAWNSHOP, but it was doing a thriving business, which said a lot about the state of the economy in the area. Although anybody could have guessed that people were struggling, by the amount of empty shops on the high street. As far as Callum could see, the only businesses doing a decent trade were the second-hand shops, the pubs and the pawnbroker.
The shop was crowded with goods people had either sold, or had pawned and then were unable to buy back. Callum took his time perusing the stock, paying particular attention to the camera equipment. He didn’t see anything particularly high-end, which made him think that the things Isobel had brought in had already been sold. As he pretended to shop, Callum kept a close eye on the guy working the counter.
He was in his fifties, and what muscle he may have had, had turned to fat. His grey hair was sparse, but he’d grown parts of it out to form a comb-over. He also had the same ingratiating smile that lying politicians wore. Callum didn’t need to listen to him fleece his customers to know he was a conman—it was written all over his arrogant face. He was exactly the kind of man that Callum detested: the kind who thought it was okay to take advantage of the poor and desperate.
When a young woman, carrying a baby and selling her old laptop, was given the absolute minimum, Callum decided he’d had enough. As he passed the woman on his way to the desk, he put a hand on her shoulder.
“Wait outside,” he said. “He owes you some money. I’ll make sure you get it.”
She looked startled for a moment, before her eyes welled up and she nodded. Callum watched her scurry from the shop. Her clothes were hanging on her frame, but the baby looked fat and healthy. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the woman was sacrificing for the child. Which made what the pawnbroker had just done even more repugnant.
“What can I do for you?” the man behind the counter said as he assessed Callum. His eyes lit up when he came to the conclusion that a man looking like Callum wasn’t there to sell anything, which meant he must be there to buy. Callum could almost see the man salivate, and would bet he’d just added twenty percent to everything in the store.
“A woman came in a few weeks ago selling camera equipment,” Callum said. “I need to know what she sold to you and if there is anything left.”
The smile appeared again, but the eyes were calculating. “Are you with the police?”
“No.” Callum smiled back and watched the man pale. There was nothing ingratiating or friendly about Callum’s smile. It was all about the promise of pain. “I’m with a security organisation. Tell me about the equipment.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” the man said. “I get a lot of items through my business. How am I expected to remember everything?”
“I suppose some financial encouragement would prompt your memory?”
The man inclined his head and looked pleased that Callum understood.
Callum understood, all right. “I have other ways that will prompt it.” He reached to the small of his back and pulled out the gun he’d tucked there. He placed it on the counter in front of him.
The owner took a step back, his tongue flicking out in a nervous gesture. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I have cameras in here.”
Callum reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and produced what looked like a small TV remote. “I jammed the feed.” He put the jammer on the counter beside the gun.
The owner’s eyes jumped to his. Now he looked nervous instead of smug. It was a huge improvement. “Who are you?”
“I’m the man asking the questions. Camera equipment, brought in by a woman called Isobel Sinclair.” Ca
llum saw recognition flicker in the man’s eyes. “Do you have anything left?”
The owner’s attention kept straying to the gun. “You won’t shoot me. This is all a bluff.”
Callum pulled a silencer out of his other pocket, picked up the gun and slowly twisted it on. “I have absolutely no problem with taking out your kneecap. To start.”
The owner shuffled back again—from the green sheen of his face, he understood that Callum was perfectly serious. In fact, Callum was hoping the guy would prove difficult, as he’d enjoy putting a bullet in him.
“There’s no need for threats. I know who you’re talking about now. Everybody knows the Sinclair girls.”
“Go on,” Callum ordered.
The owner licked his lips. “She brought in a bag of stuff. Camera bodies, lenses, extra memory, that sort of thing.”
“What kind of lenses?” Callum said.
“BLAH mil.”
Long distance. “Did you look at the camera memory? Was there anything on it?”
“Nothing.” The man shook his head. “It was blank. Like it was brand new.”
“Do you have anything left?”
“No. It sold fast.” He couldn’t quite keep the smug look off his face, and Callum would bet he’d made a good profit from Isobel’s haul.
“Who bought it?”
“I don’t know, and they paid cash.”
From the way he said it, Callum assumed that he’d asked for cash so that there was no record of the transaction and he wouldn’t have to pay tax on it. This guy was scamming everyone.
“And there’s nothing left from the bag Isobel brought in? Nothing?” Callum saw a flicker of guilt in the man’s eyes and didn’t give him a chance to lie. “Get it for me. Now,” he barked.
The owner reached under the counter, pulled open a drawer and rummaged around a little. He came up with a little black box that fit in the palm of his hand. There were wires protruding, and a serial number and make on the back. But Callum recognised it instantly. Everything within him stilled.
“Do you know what that is?” he asked the guy, keeping his voice even.
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