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That might be Lexie, answering my message. I wonder what time it is over there?
I pull the phone out and look eagerly at the screen, actually feeling the color drain from my face as I read the message:
UNKNOWN NUMBER: The land is rightfully McTavish’s. Jack knows.
It’s not Lexie, then. Or, who knows: maybe itis? Going by the list of suspects I made last night, my mystery correspondent could be pretty muchanyoneat this point, and Lexiedoeshave a connection to the whole “allegedly stolen land” thing, through her grandfather, so…
God, this is ridiculous. I need to put a stop to it before I drive myself completely insane.
“Who is this?” I type back furiously, the blood pounding in my ears. “Why are you contacting me? Why won’t you tell me who you are?”
Before I can think twice about it, I hitsend… and almost instantly hear a loud ping from somewhere in the library.
What? Does that mean that whoever I just messaged is here right now?
I rush out from behind the shelves, my heart racing in a way that would have made Brian really happy if I’d managed to achieve it during our run earlier. Brian himself is still standing by the magazines, and Samantha is waiting to check out her books. I see Frankie’s blonde head bobbing behind a shelf, and Jimmy and Edna are sitting at a computer, Jimmy pecking carefully at the keyboard with one finger.
I stand there uncertainly, wondering what on earth I’m supposed to do now. Short of locking the library doors and demanding everyone hand over their phones so I can inspect them, I have absolutely no idea how to find out who received the message I just sent. It could be literally anyone in here (Well, I mean, probably not Edna the sheep, although I wouldn’t put it past her…) — or it could be no one at all. Itcouldjust be a complete coincidence that someone’s phone went off at the exact moment I hit ‘send’ on my message. The library is crowded. It’s not too big a reach to imagine one of the many people in here right now might have got a message thatwasn’tfrom me.
Is it?
I spin around on the spot, frantically looking for something that will tell me what to do, but there’s nothing at all. No one looks guilty. No one’s looking at their phone, while cackling like a James Bond villain. No one has a sign over their head saying “IT WAS ME.”
“Can I help ye, Emerald?”
Bella McGowan’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I turn to face her, trying desperately to arrange my face into the pleasant smile of someone who is absolutely not here trying to hunt down a crank caller . Bella’s wearing a pair of bright red Doc Martens, and her hair is dyed purple this week. She’s looking at me as if she’s afraid I might be about to burst into tears at any second.
Which I very well might, actually.
“Bella,” I say, trying to sound normal. “I was… I was looking for a map. Of Heather Bay. But an old one; from the 1930s — or earlier, maybe.”
“It’s okay, lass,” Bella says, smiling kindly. “He’s already got it. He just left, in fact. If you hurry, you might catch him.”
“Wh-who?”
I already know the answer to this question, but I ask it anyway, hoping I’m wrong.
“Well, your Jack, of course! He was just here with his sister, looking for the very same thing. I suppose you two must have got your wires crossed? Ye’ll have a lot to think about with a wedding to plan, I suppose.”
I nod silently as Bella rattles on, talking about cakes, and whether we’re going to have sponge or chocolate.
“Did you give him the map, Bella?” I ask urgently. “Or is it still here?”
Bella blinks at me from behind her glasses.
“I shouldnae really have done it,” she says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “We’re no’ supposed to let these old documents be checked out. But he was that charming, so he was. And heisthe Laird, so I suppose I can trust him not to destroy it by accident, can’t I? That would be more likeyou, Emerald!”
She laughs merrily, but I can’t bring myself to join in, because her comment about Jack destroying the map has taken me to a whole new level of paranoia: one that makes my previous attempts seem woefully amateurish.
Isthat why he took it? So he can get rid of the evidence? Or am Iactuallygoing insane now?
“Are ye sure ye’re all right, lass? Ye look like ye’ve seen the Loch Keld monster.”
I drag my attention back to Bella, who’s watching me warily.
“Sorry, Bella,” I tell her. “I was miles away. Um, I best be on my way, actually; I’m supposed to be meeting Rose to go over some of the wedding plans.”
This isn’t actually true — I just want to get Bella out of the way, so I can search the library from top to bottom and try to work out if my mystery messenger could be in here. But even though I do two full circuits of the small building once Bella’s gone back to her desk, all I find is a couple of bored teenagers sneaking sips from a can of shandy in non-fiction, and Doreen from the post office flicking through the steamy romances.
