“What the hell is right,” she said. “It’s either that or walk. And I live eight miles from here.”
“Well, I could drive you.” He slipped his key in – and it worked.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s weird. Though now that you mention it …”
“What?”
“I probably shouldn’t drive.”
He chuckled. “C’mon. Where do you live?”
She picked up a handful of tux and started heading towards the only other Subaru in the lot. “South Hills. Mt Lebanon.”
“It’s right on my way.”
“Really? Where do you live?”
“The North Side.”
“That’s nowhere close.”
“Depends how you define ‘on my way’. I have to circle the city three times before I can sleep. I’m very doglike in that way.”
His car was white, just like hers.
“Best colour,” she said, pulling up to the passenger door. “Best colour, best car.”
He leaned down to unlock her side. “What the hell?”
“What?”
“Now my key doesn’t work.” He dropped his armload on the trunk again.
“Well, I suppose we could use your key to drive my car to my house.”
“Give me your keys.”
She put them in his hand.
“Cross your fingers,” he said.
She did. And the door opened. Like magic.
MacDuff’s Secret
Sandy Blair
One
Edinburgh, Scotland
Present day
How bad could it be?
That was Sarah Colbert’s only thought when Mr Morrow, the leader of their school’s tour group, had announced he was ill and that she, alone, would be taking their unruly crew of sixth graders on their first tour of Edinburgh. Eyeing her five jostling charges in the Hotel Balmoral lobby she now prayed they’d be better behaved than they usually were in class.
Her gaze settled on the tall lanky heir to Elgin Aircraft Industries standing in the back. “Mr Elgin, where’s your windbreaker?”
