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“Know what?” Magenta had a mischievous glint in her eye.
“You know,” Kirsty said in frustration. “Her own double oh.”
Magenta nodded with what looked like fake solemnity.
“I would say so. After all, he is licensed to thrill.”
Kirsty put her hands on her hips and glared at Magenta.
“That is wrong. He’s pimping himself out to sell underwear. He’s giving this town a terrible reputation. We need to stop this.”
She sat on her chair with a groan. Think. Think, she told herself. At last a tiny idea crept into the corner of her brain.
“You went to school with that photographer at the paper, right?”
Magenta’s eyes narrowed.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering if he could work a little Photoshop magic on something.”
Magenta grinned.
“Like what?”
“Well,” Kirsty said with feigned innocence, “maybe it’s time we started posting some images of our own. Ones that show what Lake really looks like. Ones with his huge beer belly and hairy feet. Ones with a double chin and balding head.”
“But Lake doesn’t look...” Magenta grinned. “I get it.” She grabbed her coat. “I’ll go find the photographer.”
As she reached for the door she paused.
“We’ll need some pictures to Photoshop.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got that under control.”
An hour later Kirsty leaned back from the table in her mother’s shop and looked at the women of Knit Or Die.
“You all understand what you’re doing, right?” she said.
They nodded. They were huddled around the table at the back of Margaret Campbell’s shop, looking a little more serious than usual.
“Then let’s hear it,” Kirsty said.
“I’m on the waterfront, taking pictures of the loch in the morning and will get shots of Lake when he runs past for his morning jog,” Shona said.
“I’ve to go into his shop later and ask to take a picture with him. If I can get him with Betty, then even better,” said Heather.
Kirsty nodded to encourage them.
“I’ve to hang out in the street, pretending I’m taking pictures of the buildings for a tourist leaflet we’re making, but instead I take pictures of Lake when he leaves the shop,” said Jean.
“Good.” Kirsty slapped her hands together. “This is going to be a breeze. Once these photos are on the internet that will be the end of his stupid competition. We can’t have him raffling himself off to anyone who’ll buy underwear from him.”
Her mum leaned back in her chair with a knowing smile on her face. It would have been reassuring—only Kirsty had no idea what her mother thought she knew.
“No, we can’t have that,” her mother said smugly.
Kirsty ignored her. She was in the middle of her grand plan and she didn’t need the distraction.
