“Five pound fifty.”
Oliver choked on the whisky.
At the other end of the bar, a young man in a suit wiped down the counter with a flannel. Oliver couldn’t see where he had come from.
“I can start a tab or add the cost to your bill.”
“The bill’s fine.” He wasn’t paying anyway. He finished the glass and poured another. “Oliver Holcombe. This your dad’s place, then?” He looked out the windows. The falling rain made it difficult to discern the edge of the car park and the wilderness that lay beyond.
“James Caskie. And it’s my place, actually. You might want to take it easy on those.” Caskie checked his phone and, face pinched, dropped it back into his pocket.
Oliver hadn’t checked his since the tire blew. She’d probably left three or four voice mails by now, he thought, but when he checked his notifications, there was a single email: Groupon Getaways.
“I didn’t hear you pull up,” Caskie said.
“My car copped it on the main road. Transmission, I think,” he lied. “Had to walk the rest of the way in.”
“Glad you made it in before nightfall.”
“My phone doubles as a torch.”
“Not the dark that should concern you.”
A shutter flapped against the window.
“Shit.” Oliver grabbed a cocktail napkin and blotted spilled whisky off his hand.
“Care to see your room before you have another?”
Oliver bit his tongue and followed Caskie into reception, wishing he still held the tire iron instead of this glass.
Maeve
Maeve’s good jeans, soaked from the rain, chafed her thighs. She never had the chance to get changed. Not even Hollis had asked if she wanted to get out of her wet clothes before he questioned her. The worst part was feeling like she’d wet herself, and she pretended this was why she was uncomfortable as Hollis explained what catfishing was to Ellie.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Ellie cooed.
“It’s not a big deal, god,” Maeve snapped.
“Do you have his email or phone number?” Hollis asked. “I can have someone try and track him down.”
“His email. And his Skype username. Kit_Snow0273.” She reached for her phone, praying for her hands to stop shaking. Her phone case was damp from being in her pocket and she went to rub it on her jumper, but this was just as wet. “Sorry. Sorry, I—”
“Here.” Hollis handed her one of the cloth napkins from the table.
Maeve wanted to thank him, but he had already turned away. They were all drifting away from one another. Lorna toward the windows. Hollis toward the door. Ellie leaned against a far wall. The table behind Maeve kept her from drifting all the way back to the kitchen entrance. Only Oliver remained anchored to his chair in the center of the dining room, but Maeve got the impression he would sink through the floor if he could. Having embarrassed her, Oliver had shifted his attention once again, leaving Maeve to roil in a mix of relief and disappointment. She stayed nearer to him, both hoping and not that he would notice her again.
“Go on then, Drummond,” Oliver said. “Storytime. Who lured you here? Or maybe you’re the one who brought us all together?”
Hollis’s confidence slipped like a glove from a pocket. Pain creased his face, but Maeve could see he was going to answer. Lorna interrupted before he could.
“Someone’s leaving.” She stared out the window.
“Who else is here?” Maeve asked.
Everyone answered at once. “Caskie.”
Hollis led the charge into the front hall. By the time he flung open the front door, Caskie was nothing more than a pair of red taillights cresting over the hill of the drive.
As the others lingered in the rain, sharing shouts and curses, Maeve retreated inside, taking the warmth of the fire for herself. The burning peat sounded like soft wind through the trees, and she enjoyed that brief peace for all of a few seconds before the others joined her in the foyer. All four argued at once among each other, seeming to forget Maeve was there. So Maeve remained the only one by the fire and the only one to see the letter propped on the mantel.
As soon as it was in her hand, they noticed her again. Noticed that she had found something.
“What’s that?” Hollis asked.
“I’m not sure.”
He took it from her and opened it himself.
“Dear guests,” he read. “Due to a private family matter, I must return to Skye tonight. Prepared food is available in the kitchen refrigerator. See note for reheating instructions. Apologies that the normal caretaker is unavailable. Once on Skye, I will arrange for a housekeeper to arrive via private boat tomorrow morning. Thank you again for choosing Wolf-heather House. Yours faithfully, James Caskie. Note: In the earlier confusion caused by Mr. MacLeod’s absence, I neglected to distribute the gifts from your benefactor.”
“Your benefactor?” Lorna peered around Hollis’s shoulder to read the note.
“He must mean those.” Ellie pointed to the reception desk.
On the floor by the desk was a pile of brown-wrapped paper packages, each tagged with a name. No one said anything. No one wanted to.
“Those look like—”
“Shut up, Maeve,” said Oliver.
Hollis crossed the room first and grabbed the package with his name. He wasted no time in tearing off the paper. A two-liter bottle of Strong-bow Cider. Lorna went next. A cassette tape of Take That’s Everything Changes.
“I haven’t listened to that in ages,” Ellie said. “Not since . . .” But she paled and didn’t complete the thought. Oliver went next.
“Smallest of the lot,” he muttered. He tore the wrapping off in small pieces: a purple Sharpie.
When neither Ellie nor Maeve approached, Hollis handed them their packages. Maeve waited until Ellie went first: a joint.
On their own, each of these items was innocuous. But seeing them together filled Maeve’s mouth with a bitter taste. A memory echoed in her mind—thumping music, sticky glasses, sickly sweet alcopops, the smell of pot, and the haze of low lighting. By the looks on their faces, she could tell the others shared the same memory.
“Open yours, Maeve,” Hollis said.
Something rattled inside. Maeve’s clumsy fingers struggled to pull the string and tear the paper. An unmarked black box. She took off the lid, and they waited for her to reveal what was inside. After a long breath, she held it up.
“It’s a key.”
But the key mattered less than the Scottish Rugby keychain hanging from it.
“Well, it can’t be—” Maeve started, but a gasp from Ellie interrupted her.
“Of course not,” Lorna said. “It’s impossible.” Her words lacked their normal conviction.
“We should find the door that goes with that key,” Hollis said.
“The house is so big,” Ellie said. “It could be any door.”
“Two,” Maeve said. “It must be Room 2.”
“But why . . .” Then Ellie looked again at the gifts. “Oh yes. Of course.”
By silent agreement, they made their way upstairs.
Maeve hung back, letting the others lead her down the hall with its dark walls and carpets. She kept imagining the dim lights might flicker to reflect the mood, but they remained steady and sure.