Page 79 of The Highland Heist
Mrs. MacIntosh’s storytelling instincts were impeccable, pausing long enough to ensure someone asked the question. Frederick obliged with perfect timing. “Not all of us, I’m afraid. I believe you have five thoroughly uninformed visitors as far as this Grey Lady is concerned.”
The innkeeper’s grin widened, her triumph evident as she delivered her answer. “She’s said to be the wife of the former laird, Alistair Blair.”
“The man who drowned in Loch Ness?” Grace clarified.
“Aye,” Mrs. MacIntosh confirmed, lowering her voice. “Her shawl and hat were found floating beside his body, but she herself was never recovered. Some say the kelpies took her. Others believe it was the monster.”
The monster? The Loch Ness monster? Grace’s breath caught. Ghosts and kelpies and sea monsters all in one case. It was almost as if Christmas had come five months early just for her.
“Have you seen this Grey Lady, Mrs. MacIntosh?” Blake asked. “Because I feel as though you are quite the trustworthy sort in all this business.”
“I’ve seen her light at night passing by the windows of the castle when naught a person is within the walls.” The woman nodded to her audience as if to add credibility to her claim. “Most say she’s looking for her husband among the halls because she misses him so.”
“I’m surprised they don’t see her walking the edge of the loch in search of him—or at the very least for her hat and shawl,” Blake murmured, smoothing a hand over his mouth. Was he hiding a smile? “Remarkable how predictable the supernatural can be. Always returning to the scene of their death, as if they’ve read the script.”
Frederick cleared his throat and, if Grace wasn’t mistaken, his lips almost tipped into a smile too. “So this ghost only began her haunts after the death of Laird Blair?”
“Aye,” the woman replied. “On full moons some claim to hear her weeping from the battlements. Her hair’s dark and wild about her shoulders, like the wraith she’s become.”
“No wonder she’s searching for her shawl,” Blake whispered at Grace’s side, earning himself a pointed look.
Grace stifled an eye roll and turned to Zahra, who gazed up at her with unwavering seriousness. Thank heavens someone understood the gravity of the situation.
“But she gave us a reprieve for a month.” The woman continued. “So we thought, she’d found her peace, until two nights ago when she was spotted again.”
A month of silence from the ghost?
And then her sudden return two days ago?Two days?
What did Detective Miracle say about coincidences? “Mrs. MacIntosh, did you ever meet Lady Blair?”
The woman’s gaze sharpened on Grace. “Aye, my lady. Not often, mind you. She wasn’t one to mingle among the common folk once she married the laird, but I’d met her before they married and saw her on occasion after.”
“What did she look like? I mean when she was alive.”
At her periphery, she caught Frederick and Blake watching her. Tony had started taking some of the scones from the countertop.
“Like her brother. Dark hair, blue eyes, and face as pale as if death already had a claim on her.”
Grace’s mind snagged on a detail or a thought. Something lingered among this information she couldn’t quite pin down. “You mentioned knowing her before she married. Were she and her brother from the village?”
“No, but they moved here with their parents years ago when they were but children. Their parents passed on from a horrible carriage accident ten years ago, and the village pitched in to help the pair. But Malcolm Kane left not long after, taking his sister with him. He’s become a well-to-do businessman in Edinburgh.”
And that’s when both Frederick and Blake jerked to attention.
There was the pin.
“Malcolm Kane?” Blake repeated. “And his sister?”
“Moira Kane, God rest her.”
“And has Mr. Kane been back to the village since his sister’s unfortunate demise?” Frederick asked, his very good brain making the connections Grace’s was beginning to form as well.
“Aye, arrived back two days ago from a lengthy business trip.” She gestured toward the door. Again, two days ago? “He stays in his parents’ old home on the edge of the village. A regular at the Loch’s Rest, if you have a mind to try and meet him.”
“I’m always keen to talk business with fellow entrepreneurs,” Blake said, pushing back from the counter. “Especially if it’s about purchasing land.”
“Then he’s the one to talk to. He’s been buying properties near here for six months—places I didn’t imagine folks would ever sell. He seems to be very persuasive.”
