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Jamie is the younger brother of Lewis McIntyre, Iona’s boyfriend and childhood sweetheart. Iona recently moved in with Lewis into the small hotel he manages, which is just along the road from here. It being a family operation, Jamie stays in the hotel too, and so he’s now a housemate of sorts of Iona’s.
“Aye, well, it’s a pretty popular game,” I say.
“You should look Jamie up and play together with him sometime.”
“Absolutely not!” The words are out of my mouth before I can think better of them. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Jamie,” I hurriedly add, to be polite—even if, truth be told, he isn’t exactly my favourite person. “What I mean is . . . gaming’s my escape, you know? Like books are for you. Down in the pub, I’m constantly nattering with Bannock folk, filling them in on my life and catching up on theirs. Don’t get me wrong, I love the chat, but it’s also nice to have a bit of me-time, a chance to recharge my batteries. That’s why I game with people I don’t know. Playing with locals?” I shake my head. “That just wouldn’t be the same.”
“I get it. Sometimes you need a break from the familiar faces, eh? Well, if ever you change your mind, Jamie’s username is Locked and Loaded or something like that.”
My brain buffers for a moment. Locked and Loaded? That sounds an awful lot like . . .
No. No way. Jamie McIntyre couldn’t be LochNLoad, could he? Surely not. I mean, what are the chances the stranger I’ve been playing with for the last few months is someone from my own Highland town? Minuscule, right? Practically nonexistent.
And yet . . .
I want to ask Iona a few questions to try to get to the bottom of this, but she’s already moving towards the door.
“C’mon, let’s go! We’ve blethered long enough. If we don’t go down now, your da will think we’ve both gone missing.”
“Right, aye, the quiz.” My mind still glitching like a buggy software update, I follow Iona to the stairs. If Jamie is LochNLoad, then that means . . . oh God, I just asked him about his kinks. And he answered!
Da and I live in the flat above our pub, so my “commute” takes all of a few seconds, leaving me no time to ponder LochNLoad’s identity any further. Instead, shaking off my gaming persona and the mystery of LochNLoad, I summon my brightest smile and step out into the lively chaos of the Pheasant.
“Hold the search party!” Scott, one of our regulars, bellows from a corner table. “She’s finally here!”
A chorus of laughter erupts, and heads swivel in my direction.
“About time!” Eileen, another local, adds. “One more minute and I’d have subjected everyone to a quiz about my garden gnome collection.”
“Sorry, all!” I say, navigating through the crowded room. “But you know me: I like to make an entrance. Besides, I had to make sure my material was top-notch—I’ve got standards to uphold. I can guarantee there are no questions about garden gnomes, although I have popped in a few about Scott’s love life. Look out for them in the fiction round.”
As laughter ripples through the pub, I head over to the bar, where Da is pouring a pint. My smile wavers when I notice the pallor of his skin and the slight tremor in his hands, but I quickly plaster it back on. I’m good at keeping up appearances.
“Everything all right, Da?” I ask quietly.
“Never better,” he says gruffly. “Now get on with the quiz before this lot start a riot.”
“Will do. But first, if you’ve not taken Hamish’s order yet, let me serve him while you sit down for a moment. I bet you’ve been run off your feet down here.” Before Da can object, I grab a glass and say to Hamish, probably our most loyal patron, “The usual?”
He nods and I pour him his drink.
“I don’t need you fussing over me,” Da grumbles. “I’m okay.”
“I know you are, Da. I’m just trying to help.”
This isn’t the time to bring it up, but I’ll have to try chatting with Da again about getting an extra pair of hands around here. Just the thought of his predictable response—something about him having managed fine with our current staffing levels for decades, so there being no need to change things now—already has me wanting to bang my head against the bar. I love my da, but he’s proud and stubborn, and he outright refuses to acknowledge he’s no longer as fit and healthy as he once was.
After I pass Hamish his pint of bitter, I grab the mic then step out from behind the bar. “All right, ladies and gents, sharpen your pencils and your minds because it’s time to prove who’s got the brains and who’s just here for the beer!”
There’s a ripple of laughter and then the buzz of conversation dies down, eager faces turning my way. It’s a full house tonight, and the familiar crowd is a welcome distraction from my equally familiar worries about Da—worries typically only Highland Legacy can distract me from.
“You know the drill: no devices, no shouting out answers, and no bribing the quizmaster. Though I might be persuaded by a wee dram.”
As the crowd chuckles, I scan the room and spot Iona at a table with her mother, Elspeth, and—oh, great—Lewis. Not that there’s anything wrong with Lewis, other than the fact he looks rather a lot like his brother, Jamie. Who may or may not be LochNLoad.
Nope, do not think about that! I tell myself. The virtual world is for upstairs. Right now you’ve got a pub quiz to run.
So, waking my phone—where I’ve noted tonight’s questions—I clear my throat. “Okay, here we go. Question one . . .”
