Page 99 of A Secret Scottish Escape

I snapped my mobile shut and flicked on Dad’s hall lamp for when the dirty stop out eventually made it home.

Autumn was still several weeks away and the trees would soon be shifting and twisting into shades of amber and russet. There would be that familiar, earthy tinge to the air too, which reminded me of pumpkins and fireworks.

My pink and white Converse trainers took me back up the lane.

Dad had been surprised but delighted when I told him of Ed’s decision to re-join the band on the big night, and had insisted on putting all of them up at his place when they came for the show. Yes, even Ed.

It would be cramped, it would be beer-fuelled, and testosterone would be raging, but it was agreed by all that it was a good idea.

As I rounded the corner of the lane, the roof of my cottage poked through the tangle of tree tops, but all I could see in my mind was Mask. I fought to ignore the zinging sensation in my stomach. I would get home, rustle myself up a nutmeg-flavoured hot chocolate and work through my emails.

I let myself in and reached for my table lamp in the hall. I kicked off my shoes and watched them skitter across the carpet. Having thrown on my pyjamas and savoured the swirls of cream lacing the top of my mug of hot chocolate, I settled myself down in front of my computer at the rear of my sitting room.

I’d just finished replying to a Glasgow newspaper with background information on the members of Battalion when my phone screen lit up with a mobile number I didn’t recognise.

I heaved a frustrated sigh and answered it.

It was Wendy Goodman, owner of the River Lawn Bed & Breakfast. “My Australian guest that you’ve been concerned about,” she babbled in hushed tones. “I think there’s something going on with her.”

I sat up straighter in my swivel chair. “Wendy? Are you OK? Slow down.”

“I overheard her by accident,” she gulped, her breathing heavy in my ear. “She was in her room tonight, talking to someone on her phone.”

I waited until Wendy was a little more composed. “Was she walking about Mask?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Could you make out what she was saying?”

Wendy paused before speaking again. “She said she was going to head up to Coorie Cottage tonight to confront him.”

I blinked. “Confront Mask? About what?”

“I’ve no idea.”

I jumped out of my chair and began to pace. “Do you know what time she was planning to go up there?”

“She said around eight-thirty. She still has a hire car.”

My imagination screeched into overdrive. Oh hell. Maybe she was some crazed fan after all, who thought he was ignoring her.

Although Mask had said his first album Belle Raven had never been released, if she was an ardent fan of his, she would most likely know that, which might explain why she was going by that particular name.

“I don’t have a mobile number for him,” I said, beginning to panic. “And even if I did, the phone reception up there is awful.” I swung around, my hair flying loose. “Is this woman still in her room?”

“Yes, I made an excuse about having to check she had clean towels.”

I whipped my wrist up to check my watch. It was 7.45 p.m. This woman was intending to be at Coorie Cottage in forty-five minutes’ time. I knew that if I was quick and threw some clothes on, I could be out the door in five minutes and on the road.

Something told me I had to get there before she did.

Chapter Forty-Nine

As I got ready to head out, Wendy’s departing words circled my mind. “Don’t you think you ought to notify the police, in case things kick off?”

I suspected Wendy might have been binge-watching too many gritty crime dramas, but I appreciated her concern and knew she was talking sense. Nevertheless, I shuddered at the thought of police cars and sirens wailing into the night and swarming all over Coorie Cottage.

While I pulled my shoes on with one hand, I scrolled through my contacts to locate local policeman Tom Bateman’s number with the other.