AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I better get back to work,” she says, smiling awkwardly as she picks her bag up off the floor. “My break finished 15 minutes ago.”
“Actually, you wouldn’t mind waiting for a bit, would you?” I ask, remembering how much Scarlett enjoys a good mystery. “You might be interested in this too, Scarlett.”
I pull up a seat opposite Dylan’s desk and tell them everything, from the moment I got the first message, to what McTavish told me about his grandad and the land.
“There’s an awful lot of grandads involved in this story,” says Scarlett, who’s been listening intently. “Jack’s, McTavish’s…”
“And mine and Lexie’s,” says Dylan, surprising us both. “Don’t forget them.”
“What?” Scarlett and I ask, almost in unison. Dylan grins, pleased with the effect his statement has had.
“Aye,” he says, matter-of-factly. “If the place you’re talking about is the same bit of land I’m thinking of, that’s where the distillery was originally supposed to be.”
“I’m lost,” I tell him blankly. “Jack’s distillery, you mean? The 39? Because it’s next to the loch; you know that, though — you’ve both been there.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be just Jack’s business, though,” says Dylan shortly, his smile fading. “It was supposed to be a joint effort. The Bay Boys. That’s what I think they called themselves.”
“Wait,” says Scarlett excitedly. “Is this the four men in the photo? Is that what you’re talking about?”
Dylan nods, but I’m more confused than ever.
“Hold up,” I interject. “Photo? What photo? Have I slipped into an alternate reality or something?”
“There’s this old photo I came across in the newspaper archive once,” says Scarlett, who works forThe Heather Bay Gazette. “Four men, all from Heather Bay, who went off to war together. Dylan’s grandad was one of them,” she says, stealing a look at her boyfriend. “And Jack’s was another.”
“And Lexie’s and McTavish’s,” adds Dylan. “The Bay Boys.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, “So they all went to war together; makes sense, I suppose. What does this have to do with a distillery, though? Or Jack? Or McTavish?”
Or me, and my weird anonymous correspondent?
“They were partners,” says Dylan. “Back in the day. They had the idea of starting a distillery together, here in Heather Bay. But then the war started…”
“…and it never happened,” I finish, frowning.
It’s the same story Jack’s told me about The 39, and how it came about. The idea came from his grandfather, he’s always said, who died before he could make it a reality.
But he never mentioned the three other men who were apparently involved.
I wonder why?
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
“Look, you’ll have to ask Jack if you want to know more,” Dylan says apologetically. “That’s as much as I know about it. That, and that my grandpa wasn’t happy about the way it all went down. But he’s not here now to tell us what happened, so I guess we’ll never know.”
There’s a bitterness in his tone I’ve never heard from him before, and, from the way Scarlett’s looking at him, I guess she’s noticed it, too.
“Well, not necessarily,” she says. “I can do a bit of digging back at the paper, if you like, Emerald? TheGazettemight have written about it at some point. I found the photo I told you about in the archive, but there might be something else. Jack’s grandfather was the Laird, after all, so anything he was involved in might have been considered newsworthy.”
“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I protest. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no trouble,” she insists. “I’d quite enjoy it, to be honest. It’d help take my mind off… well, stuff.”
I look at her, suddenly noticing how much weight she’s lost since I last seen her. I guess she could have just signed up to Brian’s Platinum Plan too, but I know she’s had some kind of family drama going on, too, and I suspect it’s more likely to be that. And not just because Brian would definitely have told me if Scarlett was a client; he spent almost all of our run this morning telling me about McTavish’s girlfriend, Mary, and her ingrown toenails, so no secret is safe with him.
Which brings me back to me and my anonymous messages.
“That would be great, Scarlett, if you’re sure you don’t mind?” I say. “But what about these messages, Dylan? Is there no way you can trace them for me? The number just comes up as ‘unknown’.”
