Page 30 of When You're Close

"A will o' the wisp," Kirsty repeated. "Some folks claim it's just marsh gas from rotting matter that ignites spontaneously. But there's also talk of them being something...more."

Amelia tilted her head. "Connected to the Hidden Folk, perhaps?"

Kirsty's eyes twinkled mysteriously. "Some believe so. I remember an old story saying it was a glimpse of the lanterns the hidden folk carried when they were out and about... Or their wraith. If you indeed saw one, consider yourself lucky. Whether it's gas or not, I've been on this island most of my life and never witnessed one."

Finn wasn't sure what he saw, but he wasn't so ready to attribute the supernatural to it.

The moors gradually gave way to structures, indicating their arrival in Huldra town. Kirsty expertly parked the car outside The Fair Folk Inn. "I'll wait out here. Take your time."

With a nod of thanks, Finn and Amelia alighted, the inn's familiar ambiance beckoning them inside. The day was only beginning, but there was much to uncover.

Finn and Amelia entered The Fair Folk Inn, its warm, dim lighting providing a stark contrast to the bright morning outside. The familiar scent of wood and ale filled their nostrils, and the murmurs of conversations created a low hum. At the bar, Bill the landlord busied himself wearing again his white apron, but upon spotting the two, he straightened up with a grin that spread across his stout, rosy cheeks.

"Look who's still here!" he exclaimed, a playful note to his voice. "Glad to see the fair folk haven’t driven you off just yet."

Finn smirked, catching the wink Bill sent his way. "We're a tough lot."

Amelia, always the investigator, got right to it. "Bill, was the inn busy last night?"

Bill raised an eyebrow, glancing at the assorted patrons around. "Aye, it was packed. Surprised me, really, with the storm and all. But I reckon people are spooked. Could be the tales of the Fair Folk wraith or perhaps the thought of a killer in our midst. There's a comfort in being surrounded by others, a semblance of safety."

Nodding in understanding, Amelia leaned in a bit, her tone dropping to a whisper. "We've been hearing that the two victims might've known each other. Any truth to that?"

Bill hesitated, his jovial demeanor wavering for a split second. "Heard whispers of that, yes."

“Do you know who might be able to tell us more?” Finn asked in a low voice.

“No, I've no idea,” Bill said, loudly as if for everyone in the pub to hear. He glanced around, then subtlety—though not subtly enough—rubbed his nose with a nod toward a corner of the inn.

Finn followed his discreet cue to a man seated in the back. The man's fiery red mustache was in stark contrast to the dark background, and he was engrossed in puffing on a pipe. A worn fisherman's jumper hugged his frame, suggesting a life spent by the sea.

With a silent nod of gratitude to Bill, Finn made his way towards the man. The journey through the inn was short, but with every step, the weight of the island's mysteries pressed upon him. As he approached, the man's sea-blue eyes lifted, landing on Finn with a mix of curiosity and caution.

"Mind if I join you?" Finn asked, gesturing to the seat opposite the man.

The man took a long drag from his pipe, exhaling slowly. "Depends on the company," he responded, his voice deep and raspy.

Finn smirked, "Let's find out, shall we?"

Taking that as an invitation, Finn pulled up a chair, with Amelia not far behind, sitting down next to him.

As Finn and Amelia sat opposite the red-mustached man, there was a palpable tension in the air. The man stared at them as blankly as a silent ocean.

Finn decided to break the ice.

“My name is Finn, this is Inspector Winters,” Finn said. “We were just wondering if we could sample some of that excellent local knowledge... Mr...?”

“Name's Bruce McCulloch,” he said through gritted teeth.

"Let's focus on the local news. I love a good, what you call it? Blether? Do you know anything about Ivar Ward and Lord Carmichael?" Finn inquired, keeping his tone non-threatening. Around them, the pub was a hush of quiet voices.

Bruce McCulloch looked uninterested, puffing on his pipe. "All I know is that they're dead."

Amelia leaned forward. "Did you know either of them personally?"

Bruce hesitated, the smoke from his pipe swirling around him. "Look, I just want to be left alone."

Amelia, ever the detective, swiftly took out her ID and flashed it at him. "You know it's illegal to smoke that pipe inside a public place, right?"

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