Page 107 of A Secret Scottish Escape

Dad eased himself out from behind his drum kit. “I think we’re getting there.”

“Yeah,” muttered Jack, idly plonking at his keyboard. “A certain someone has exacting standards.”

The other band members all turned to look at my dad and I laughed at his surprised expression. “Power going to his head, then?”

“Just a bit,” smiled Ed.

I surveyed them all and clapped my hands. “Right. I hope you’re all hungry, as I’ve made enough sandwiches and filled rolls to feed the Loch Harris pipe band.”

As I watched Dad and the rest of the guys stride out of the garage towards the cottage, all denim and faded T-shirts, I knew that on opening night they would do not only me but also The Conch Club proud.

Chapter Fifty-Four

After lunch, the air was still carrying the promise of more showers and the burgeoning steel sky was testament to that, but from inside the garage came snorts of laughter and then Battalion cranked up their guitar playing. There was a series of sharp drum thrashes and then Mikey’s gravelly voice erupted, singing lyrics about love at first sight.

It was obvious they were like a bunch of kids enjoying themselves.

I shouted out from Dad’s cottage doorway that coffee and tea would be on the way soon and my message was greeted with enthusiastic shouts and thumbs up.

In the meantime, I took the opportunity to check out my emails on my phone. I found myself distracted by Faith’s update on ticket sales for opening night (thank goodness I’d hired that huge marquee for the inevitable overspill.) There was also a positive response from a magazine features editor about my suggestion to cover the story of the former soldier who rescued abandoned dogs from war-torn countries.

Then I scrolled down further to deal with a reply from the lighting hire arm of the marquee company, asking me to confirm what style of lights I would prefer.

I sank back on Dad’s sofa and tapped through their online catalogue until I located my preferences of the silver star-shaped lights for the boathouse itself and the heavier white carriage lights to decorate the jetty.

I had only just dashed off an email to the dog rescuer, requesting to interview him, when my mobile rang.

I didn’t recognise the number.

My body hardened when I realised it was Shelley Fraser

“How did you get this number?” I prickled, pushing myself upright on Dad’s couch.

Her tone was light. “I dropped by your cottage just the other day but you weren’t at home. Then I tried your nearest neighbours. They were very helpful.”

Clem and Norrie.

“I think they assumed I wanted to speak to you about publicity for your new business.”

Yes, and I bet you failed to put them right on that score, I concluded darkly. I set my shoulders. “I rang the local paper. Apparently you aren’t employed by them.”

There was a pregnant pause down the line. “Well, not yet,” she blustered. “But I’m sure I will be if I can successfully follow up on the juicy stuff.”

I bet she would too.

My voice was dismissive. “Look, I really don’t know why you’re contacting me.”

I could hear her smug smile. “Well, you seemed rather chummy with Mr Buchanan.”

Chummy?

I took a thoughtful breath. I had to keep my emotions in check when dealing with her. “We’re acquaintances, that’s all.”

“Right, and you are aware that Angela Burrows is making extremely serious claims about Mr Buchanan?”

My brow furrowed. “I was there, remember? I did hear what she said.” It took a moment for my brain to catch up. My optimism grew. “Hang on. Angela Burrows? Is that the name of the woman you were with?”

Shelley Fraser sounded flustered and annoyed at herself for revealing more of her story than she had intended to. Her tone was dismissive as she tried to recover herself and focus on me. “What do you know about Rafe Buchanan’s background?”