Page 38 of A Scottish Country Escape

Dexter glowered. ‘You heard Fran just now. There are people around here who have experienced something inflicted by the Carlucci family too.’

I hitched up one brow.

‘My agent is having palpations over Killing Time, and my publishers are getting antsy.’

Our conversation screeched to a halt however, as a figure materialised behind the glass of the front door.

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘Can I help you?’

The middle-aged man possessed an intense air, as well as unruly conker-brown and salt hair and an outdoorsy tone to his craggy skin.

This wasn’t Robert Masters, who would occasionally pop up in the local press, awarding school prizes or hosting events at the local golf club.

The figure standing in the doorway in front of me was dressed in a light-grey sweatshirt and combats and looked like he’d been having a battle with the lawn. He seemed familiar.

‘Hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but we wondered if we could have a word with Mr Robert Masters, please? I’m Elle Cassidy and this is Dexter Grayling. I own the new stationery shop in the high street, Paper Roses.’

His gruff expression shifted between us, like a creepy painting in a haunted house. Then he turned to me. ‘Elle, it’s me. Paul Reid. I used to go to the rugby club with your dad.’

It took a few seconds for me to place him. Then I remembered. ‘Paul! Hi there. I haven’t seen you for a while. How are you?’

‘I’m good, thanks. Been away working in France for a while and then I came back. I got the offer of more gardening work here, so I’m doing some planting for Mr Masters.’

From behind me, I could sense Dexter’s agitation. ‘This trip down memory lane is all very nice, but can we get on with this please?’ he hissed into my ear.

Ignoring his impatience, I carried on. ‘We’ve got no intention of taking up too much of Mr Masters’s time.’

The man flashed a kind smile as he looked at me. ‘I’m sure he’ll be able to chat with you.’ He paused. ‘I heard about your mum and dad. I’m so very sorry for your loss. They were a lovely couple.’

I forced a smile. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you.’

From behind me, I could feel Dexter snapping his head between the two of us. His gaze stayed locked on me. ‘What is it, Elle?’ he whispered. ‘What’s happened?’

I flicked him a glance from over my shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you later.’

Paul changed the subject. ‘Can I ask why you want to speak to Mr Masters?’

Dexter stepped forwards. ‘It’s about a local curse.’

Paul looked taken aback. I couldn’t say I blamed him.

‘It’s about local history,’ I cut across him quickly, with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I know Mr Masters is a former provost of Fir Haven and must have a wealth of knowledge.’ I knew I was babbling, but did my best to sound composed. ‘I wanted to feature something on my new shop website about old businesses that used to be in the area.’

Dexter offered me an impressed glance. ‘That’s right. We only have a couple of questions for him. I promise we won’t take up much of his valuable time.’

Paul stepped to one side, revealing a shadowy hallway slicked with buttercream-coloured paint. ‘He’s getting ready to go to the local bridge club, but I’m sure he can spare a few minutes. I’m just getting ready to head off myself.’

I smiled up at him gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Dexter followed behind me, while Paul vanished down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding on the cool tiled floor.

Paul reappeared moments later and pointed to a door further down the long hall and to the right. ‘Please come with me.’

He led us down the glorious hallway which was like something out of a period drama, boasting more gilt-edged paintings of military men and creamy-skinned women.