Page 28 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

Evan turned his attention to the country lane. ‘You can just drop me off on the next right.’

I clicked the indicator and eased Marlene around the corner.

The hedgerows were bursting with white and lemon buds.

I was so busy appreciating the delicate prettiness of them and the heady waft of the scented air that I almost didn’t see a couple of police officers in the middle of the lane a short distance away. I slammed on the brake and instinctively threw my left arm out to protect Evan.

I apologised. ‘Sorry about that. Blimey. What’s going on here?’

There was a police van parked on the verge and several officers stationed further along.

One of the policemen, who had a short, clipped, blond beard, came striding up towards the car.

I wound down my driver side window. ‘Where are you supposed to be heading to, Miss?’ His accent was lilting and sing-song Scottish, like mine.

‘I’m just about to drop off this gent at his family’s house just up the lane there and then head on to Strath Ross.’

The officer gave his head a slow shake. ‘You’re fine to drop off your friend if it’s just up that side road. But as for heading onto Strath Ross, I’m afraid that’s not possible right now.’

I blinked up at him in confusion. ‘Sorry?’

The officer threw out one arm and indicated further up the sun-spilt lane. The fields shone like waggling, gold fingers. ‘There’s been a serious incident, Miss. You can’t reach Strath Ross at the moment.’

I stared up at the police officer, who was squinting down at me from under his cap. ‘But why? What’s happened? My elderly grandfather’s expecting me.’

The policeman sighed. ‘I’m sorry. But this is a serious situation, and we’ve had to close the road from Loch Crawe to Strath Ross.’

I twisted round to look across at Evan. This was crazy! What the hell was going on? Nothing ever happened in these parts, and we were all grateful for it. The worst situation would be some flooding or a wild forest fire, which would be under control in no time. The sight of these police officers and the police van made me think it was more than some bonfire.

Evan stooped lower in his seat to speak to the police officer. His face broke into a smile of recognition. ‘Hey! Karl. How are you?’

The police officer took a moment to study Evan’s face. His eyes widened. ‘Evan Lord! Bloody hell! What are you doing back in the sticks? Had enough of the city types?’

‘I’m up visiting my folks. How’s Roxy and the kids?’

‘Great, thanks. Starting to get a bit more sleep now that Elliott is sleeping through the night.’

Evan pointed through the windscreen. ‘What’s going on, Karl? Any clues?’

Karl rolled his eyes. ‘You can take Forrest Bank out of the journalist but you can’t take the journalist out of Forrest Bank.’

Evan craned his neck. ‘Hold on. Isn’t that Sacha?’

I followed Evan’s attention. A woman had appeared out of nowhere and was brandishing her mobile and a notebook. She had tousled, strawberry blonde hair skimming her shoulders and was dressed in black cropped trousers, a red strappy top and trainers. She was flitting from police officer to police officer, talking to them and scribbling notes down.

I noticed a change in Evan. His expression was guarded.

‘Do you know her?’ I asked him.

‘Yes. Her name’s Sacha Nicholson,’ he answered. ‘She’s a journalist with Highland News Radio.’

‘And?’ pushed Karl in a teasing voice.

My attention swept from Karl to Evan and back again.

‘And nothing,’ replied Evan, sinking back against the passenger seat.

Karl raised his brows at me.