AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘What?’ The words snapped out, louder than intended.
She gave him a little knowing smile, then turned her back and started busying herself around the kitchen.
For the first time, in a long time, Callan felt unnerved. And he couldn’t quite work out why.
CHAPTER FIVE
LAURIE WASN’T QUITE sure why her stomach was churning, but it was. She frowned at her reflection in the floor-length mirror. Red Capri pants probably weren’t the most appropriate for a cliff-side clamber but that was the trouble with travelling light. Thank goodness Marion had found her a pair of wellington boots, and they even matched her trousers.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her jacket and headed along the corridor towards the stairs. The phone in her pocket beeped and she pulled it out. Work.
Her stomach sank like a stone. Funny how a simple text could have that effect on her. A missing file. On a Saturday. She glanced at her watch. If she’d been in London right now she’d probably have been in work too. How sad was that? She couldn’t help but glance at the mysterious woman in the portrait at the top of the stairs. Was it possible that her glare was even more disapproving than normal, and even more focused on Laurie?
She wondered if this castle had any ghosts. She’d need to ask Callan about that later. She tapped out a quick reply with a number of locations for the missing file.
As she reached the bottom of the curved staircase Robin, the Murder Mystery Weekend co-ordinator, rushed over, clipboard in hand. ‘Ms Jenkins, I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. Was something wrong?’
Yet another person with a disapproving glare. She shrugged. ‘Sorry, I was busy.’
He frowned. ‘You do realise that in order to get a good idea of who the murderer is, you have to take part in all the activities.’
She bit her tongue to stop the words rolling off that she really wanted to say. It wasn’t his fault Angus McLean had made this a stipulation of his will. This was just a guy doing a job.
She gave him her sweetest smile. ‘Some of the activities just aren’t for me.’
He looked horrified. ‘But you have to take part. You have to speak to as many of the other characters in order to build up an idea of who the murderer is.’ He eyed her haughtily. ‘And they need the opportunity to speak to you too.’
She sighed. ‘Listen, you and I know that I’m not the murderer, so it doesn’t really matter whether the other “characters”—’ she lifted her fingers in the air ‘—speak to me or not. As long as I tell you at the end who I think is the guilty party, everything will work out fine.’
‘Ms Jenkins, you’re really not entering into the spirit of things. It spoils things for all the other participants too.’
She was starting to get annoyed now, and feel a little guilty, which made her even madder. She straightened herself up to her full five feet five inches. ‘Well, I guess since the other participants are my new-found family, it’s up to me whether I want to spend time with them or not.’
She turned and strode away as best she could in the ill-fitting red wellies. Callan was leaning against the wall next to the door with his arms folded across his chest and an amused look on his face. He pulled the main door open and picked up a jacket. ‘Ready?’
There was a little spark of something in his eyes and if he said something smart right now she would take one of these wellies off and hit him over the head with it.
‘Ready.’ She barely turned her head as she walked straight out of the door and onto the gravel courtyard.
This place was driving her crazy.
She spun around, hands on her hips, and Callan nearly walked straight into her.
‘What kind of person was Angus McLean?’
He started. ‘What?’
‘What kind of person was Angus McLean? Was he some kind of sick sadist that would try and pitch his unknown relatives against each other for some kind of pleasure? Did he actually think anyone would agree to this?’ Now the words were coming out she couldn’t stop them. ‘Was he sane? Did a doctor check him over after he wrote that mad will?’
Callan hesitated for the tiniest second, then obviously thought better of getting into an unwinnable fight with an angry woman. He put his arm around her shoulders and steered her in the direction of the stairs, leading down to the impeccable gardens, fountain and maze. Her feet moved without her even really realising it, the weight of his arm behind her just making her flow along with his body. Before she knew it she was guided along to the bench in front of the trickling fountain.
Callan nudged her to sit down and she did. With a thump.
It was as if all her frustration was coming out at once.
Callan waited for a few minutes, letting them sit in silence and listen to the peaceful trickle of the fountain.
It was a beautiful setting. The bronze fairy was spouting the water from her mouth, through her hands. The water flowed down into the round pond with a mosaic bottom of blue and green tiles. The sun was high in the cloudless sky and the temperature was warm in the shelter of the lowered set of gardens.
Eventually Callan spoke, his voice deep and calm. He was leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees. ‘Angus McLean was completely sane. Frank Dalglish, the solicitor, was worried there might be a legal challenge to the will and made sure that Angus was examined by a doctor.’
‘Oh.’ Laurie’s brain was spinning, questions firing everywhere, but Callan’s voice had a real weight to it. He was completely sincere. And she realised he probably wasn’t amused at her outburst. She could smell his aftershave again, the one that seemed to play with her self-control and turn her brain to mush. Or maybe that was just the sight of his muscled arms?
‘He was no sadist. And he certainly wasn’t sick. Angus McLean was one of the best guys I’ve ever met.’ He leaned back against the bench and ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it up. She liked it better that way. He shook his head. ‘Truth is, Laurie, I don’t understand any of this any more than you do. I spent twenty-five years around Angus McLean. I never suspected for a second that he had children. I could never understand why he wouldn’t sell me the place. He kept telling me he wanted to keep it in the family—but as far as I knew, there wasn’t any.’
He was upset. He was hurting. No matter what her thoughts were on Angus McLean she had to try and remember that this was someone who had been dear to Callan. His experience was totally different from hers.
Something registered in her brain. She looked up at the castle.
It was hard to believe but as a potential inheritor of Annick Castle she hadn’t even given a moment’s thought to how much it could actually be worth.
She gulped. The figures dancing around her brain made her mind boggle. She turned to face him. ‘How on earth could you afford to buy a place like this?’ She held up her hands. ‘I have no idea how much Annick Castle would cost, but what kind of job do you have?’
She couldn’t even begin to understand how someone could make enough money to buy Annick Castle. Her question probably seemed cheeky, but she was the kind of girl who usually said what came to mind. And she wasn’t going to stop just because she was here.
‘If I tell you will you be able to reply in one hundred and fifty characters or less?’
It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. She couldn’t help it; her mouth fell open.
‘You? You own Blether?’ She couldn’t believe it. The Scottish equivalent of Twitter, with a slightly longer letter count, had started as a rival company six or seven years before. It had taken the advertising market by storm. Those ten little letters made all the difference, but still allowed short, sharp messages.
He gave a rueful smile and nodded. ‘Guilty as charged. I owned an Internet search engine before that. Blether came about almost by accident.’
She was stunned. Everyo
ne knew exactly how successful the company was, but she’d never really heard anything about the owner. ‘How so?’
‘I was annoyed one night and came home and spouted off to Angus about it. He told me to stop bellyaching and do something about it. He challenged me to make something bigger and better.’
She shook her head. ‘And the name?’
He shrugged. ‘How could it have been anything else? Blether—the Scots word for people who talk incessantly.’ He raised his eyebrows at her. ‘You should be able to relate.’
Her reaction was automatic; she elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
They sat quietly for a few more seconds as she tried to take in everything he’d just told her. He must be worth millions—no, probably billions—and here he was, sitting at Annick Castle for a crazy Murder Mystery Weekend. It just didn’t make sense.
‘So, your background is in computers, then?’
He shook his head. ‘It should be, but it isn’t. I did pure mathematics at university.’
‘You did?’
