CHAPTER 48

  

The storm that had been teasing us with cold winds finally broke that night. I sat alone in the car as the rain beat down on the windows.

One of the items in Lane’s new bag had been a warmer coat for me, much more appropriate for the Scottish weather than anything I had brought for the summertime trip. I was still chilled, but at least my teeth weren’t chattering.

Since Lane and I were wanted by the police, Rupert was the only one who could safely reveal himself at the inn. Even more importantly, someone in that inn thought they had killed Rupert, so they should have some sort of reaction when they saw him alive.

Lane didn’t trust Rupert at all, so he wanted to be there, too. I didn’t trust Rupert’s health, so I agreed Lane should be there to help Rupert with the murderer.

We couldn’t tell this to Rupert, of course, so Lane made up an excuse to go off with his friend in Aberdeen to get some more help, when in truth he would be applying his disguise and appearing back at the inn as a traveler at the same time Rupert went to the inn.

I was waiting in the car a short distance away. It had been close to an hour. What was taking so long?

We decided the best time to go would be around dinner, so everyone would be gathered together. But that time was long past now. Where were they?

I was almost fed up enough to walk over to the inn myself, taking whatever consequences came with that decision, when I heard a noise. It wasn’t the storm. It was a branch breaking under a foot. I jerked my head around, unsure of which direction the noise had come from. It was impossible to see anything through the storm.

The passenger-side door yanked open. Before I could move, a man lunged into the car and pulled the door shut.

The unfamiliar, dark features came close to my face as he grabbed me and wrapped his hands around my arms. The grip was tight. I shifted my lower body and lifted up my left foot to bring it down on that of the attacker. Before I struck, I realized I knew the touch of those long fingers.

“Where is he?” a familiar voice asked frantically. “And why wasn’t your door locked? There’s a murderer on the loose, you know.”

I looked into his face and didn’t recognize Lane except for his touch and the sound of his undisguised voice. It was especially dark that night with the rain falling steadily, but I could see the outline of his features, and it didn’t seem possible that this was the shape of his face. Even the scent of his breath was different.

“What do you mean where is he?” I asked, in shock.

“Your ex,” Lane said.

“Rupert’s at the inn. Why aren’t you?”

“No, he’s not. That’s where I’ve been. He never came inside.”

“That can’t be.”

Lane swore.

“Where did you leave him?” he asked. “And when?”

“Almost an hour ago, right here. I saw him walking toward the inn.”

“But not going inside?”

“I closed the car door before he got all the way there. The rain was coming down sideways.”

Lane ran his fingers through his wet—now brown and frightfully curly—hair, and I got a better look at his face. It was rounder, less angular, than the face I knew. And his eyebrows…they were bushier. In place of his usual glasses he wore circular wire-rimmed spectacles. He noticed me staring.

“Later,” he said.

I looked away from his face so I could focus on the matter at hand. My gaze wandered to his midsection, which was somehow different as well.

“I don’t know how anyone could have gotten him,” I said.

“That’s what worries me. I think he couldn’t face them. He ran.”

A fist banged on the window next to Lane. He covered my mouth with his hand before I could make a sound.

The knock came again.

Lane motioned for me to stay quiet, then rolled down the window of the car.

“All right?” said a Scottish voice coming from Lane’s mouth. “Right fierce storm.”

“Ye’ve no need to pretend to me,” Angus said.

“Surely I don’t know what ye—”

“Ach,” Angus said. “There’s no time for that, man! I mean ye no harm. Somethin’ is amiss.” He pulled open the door behind Lane.

“Wot are ye—” Scottish Lane asked.

“Ach,” Angus said again, slipping into the back seat “The others cannae see. No one looks, do they? It’s in the eyes.”

I wondered if it was the first time Lane had ever been found out. And by an eccentric old man, no less.

“Evenin’, Miss Jones,” Angus said, leaning over the seat to see me. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating his grave face.

“What’s wrong, Angus?” I asked. A clap of thunder sounded, and the rain beat down against the car more furiously.

“Is nae right.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I almost had to yell to be heard over the torrent.

“Didnae yer gentleman notice when he was in the pub?”

“I wasn’t sure if it was only my imagination,” Lane said. “I was most concerned about watching out for your ex through the front door.”

“Wait, Angus, did Rupert go inside?” I asked.

“Rupert?” Angus repeated, pausing from adjusting his rain-soaked coat collar. “The young man who went ‘n crashed his car?”

“The crash injured him,” I said. “But didn’t kill him.”

“Aye,” Angus said slowly, comprehension dawning on him. “No, I havnae seen the boy.”

“You’re talking about how tense the mood was?” Lane said. “I felt it, too. Malcolm and Derwin didn’t seem to pay attention to anyone else, huddled over some charts to figure out how to remove their stone.”

“Their obsession,” Angus said, shaking his head. “When a man is dead, and the two of them is still there calmly talkin’ on and on about gettin’ at their Pictish stones in the ground. Is nae right. Is nae right at all.”

I stared at Angus.

“What did you say?” I asked.

“Wot did I say?” Angus asked, startled, looking over at Lane.

“You said the two of them,” I said, answering my own question. “Their obsession, not his obsession.”

“Aye,” said Angus.

“Jaya,” Lane said, “we don’t have time to stand around debating theories with Angus right now. It’s more important that we find your ex.” He turned to Angus. “He was with us tonight, but he’s missing. And I don’t think he ran off. I think I know where he went.”

“I’m not wasting time theorizing,” I said. “We were right about the motive, but not the person. Derwin is just as obsessed. He’s the one who was spying on people who weren’t where they were supposed to be on the dig. The blinding lights we saw. It was his binoculars. He’s been watching us. And remember he was so concerned about sealing off the cave? That wasn’t so he could prevent someone else finding a treasure he wanted for himself. He was worried the dig wouldn’t be stable if someone was digging in the cave underneath it. Derwin killed Knox and tried to kill Rupert to protect the dig.”

“Wot are ye sittin’ here fer?” Angus said. “Yer friend is in danger. Stay here, Miss Jones. We’ll be back.”

I was too startled to disobey. The sound of the rain filled my ears as they opened the door and jumped out, slamming it behind them. This time I remembered to lock the door.

Sitting alone as the torrential downpour surrounded me, I felt the car sway beneath me. Lightning flashed again, leaving me exposed to whoever might be watching.

In less time than I would have thought possible, they were back. I unlocked the door and they piled in.

“Derwin is gone,” Lane said.

“But you said he was there when you were in the pub,” I said.

“He was,” Lane said. “But he’s not in the pub now, and he’s not in his room.”

“Where’s he gone?” I asked

“To check on his obsession,” Angus said. “On this of all nights, it might not be safe. He’ll need to be sure.”

“And your ex has gone to get the treasure,” Lane said. “If Derwin finds him…button your coat, Jones. We’re going out there.”

Angus was spry, and also well prepared. He had his own flashlight in his jacket pocket, which he no doubt used when he and Fergus walked the long path home on stormy nights. In spite of the harsh rain, he kept even pace with Lane, with me a few steps behind them in my inappropriate shoes for the slippery path, as they hurried to the site of the dig—and the tree with the treasure buried beneath. The frequent lightning helped our search for the path—if not our nerves—and we found our way.

I was out of breath and soaking wet by the time we came upon the site. Not a soul was in view. But a small tarp had been sloppily erected, and the tree had been massacred. Lane swore. Angus followed suit. Loose earth had been dug up from around the roots of the tree in an attempt to gain access beneath them. The digging was haphazard, but had not gone far. A trowel lay at the edge of the tarp a few feet from the tree. Lane went over to it.

“Dunnae touch it!” Angus shouted. “Cannae ye see there’s blood?”