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Kitt is with me.
The men eye her beauty but remain a respectful distance away.
I greet the men, making sure all is in order. Men saddle up to ride their horses down the sides of the road alongside the racers. A few of us follow behind the horses in our cars, judging the race from the best seats.
Eamon rides in the back of the sports car I’m driving, hanging out the window, whooping and hollering on the Bayne boy. Kitt follows suit as she leans out her car window, letting her dark hair fly behind her as we speed down the road.
My Bayne boy wins. The losers gather around me to give me stifled congratulations that will be more genuine after a few pints at the pub, handing me rolls of cash. I parcel out the earnings to the other winners.
Looking down at the fat wad of money in my hand, I glance over at Hammer, a good-natured man with fists like hams and a babyface. “Be right back,” I tell Kitt, leaving her side for the first time today to go and speak with the younger man.
When I return, she eyes me. “It looked like you’d already paid all the other winners. Wasn’t that your prize money?”
“Nah. Belongs to all of us, really. And he’s got a baby on the way. His wife is expecting their firstborn any day.”
“Aww. That’s sweet.” She gives me that shiny-eyed look women save for the rare instances when they think you’re actually in the right. “Let me know when the baby is born. I’d love to send a meal to them.”
“Will do,” I say, knowing full well she’ll be moved on by then.
We head off to the pub where I choose a two-person table in a cozy corner by the fire, leaving the younger lads to their rowdy drinking at the bar.
She goes to order a salad, but I talk her into the burger and chips the place is famous for. She savors every bite, washing it down with a soda. She can’t finish her plate, so I help out, making the last few fried potatoes disappear along with some malt vinegar.
When we step out into the sunlight, bellies full of food, lungs filled with fresh air, DI Collins is waiting by his white car. The blue-and-acid-green stripes and the word POLICE grab my eye.
He narrows his gaze at me. “Cailean Bayne. May I have a word?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Kitt
Eamon’s eighteenth birthday party is the talk of the island. Especially with the weight of the investigation now off the Bayne and Burnes men’s shoulders. We don’t know how or why, all we know is that DI Collins has cleared anyone from the island from being a suspect in the firebombing. It’s going to be the party of the year. Or at least that’s what Fiona and Carol Ann have been telling me via our ongoing text thread.
We must send a dozen messages each, every single day.
Tonight, they’ve told me they’ve got a surprise for me. I pester them with constant messages but neither one will give me the slightest hint of what they are planning. No longer able to take the suspense, I plop down onto my bed to message Fiona solo.
She’s the easier one to break.
Just tell me what ur planning
No!
Besides Carol Ann would kill me
I shoot back a text.
Ugh I’m dying to know!
A moment goes by before she texts just one word followed by an ellipsis.
Just…
How can three little dots hold so much weight? She disappears for a moment. I try to be patient, waiting for her to come back. I tap my fingers on the soft duvet. “What am I going to wear to this party?” I’ve long since been through all my jeans and sweaters, having worn the prettiest one, the green one, to the horse race already.
Finally, Fiona messages.
Look out your window!
