When You're Close, page 10
Amelia awoke to the gentle sounds of waves crashing against the rugged shores of Huldra Island. The storm from the previous night seemed to have abated, replaced by a calm serenity that contrasted with the island's ominous atmosphere. The room was filled with a muted morning light that highlighted the intricate details of Huldra House's antiquated architecture.
Drawing back the curtains, she took a moment to gaze at the glistening shoreline to the side of the moors. The waves rolled in with rhythmic grace, a testament to nature's ability to find balance even after the fiercest of tempests.
Pushing her thoughts aside, Amelia walked into the bathroom and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade down her body, washing away the remnants of the harrowing events from the day before. As the water droplets trickled down her face, her thoughts wandered again. The island, with all its seductions and warnings, was beginning to get under her skin.
Finishing her shower, she wrapped herself in a soft white towel and approached the vintage wooden dresser. Her hair, a fiery cascade of red, was damp from the shower. She reached for the blow dryer, watching in the mirror as her hair danced in the warm gusts.
But as she began brushing her locks, the mirror presented not only her own reflection but also a flood of memories. Suddenly, she was no longer in Huldra House but in her cozy apartment from what felt like a lifetime ago.
She saw herself struggling, a white cast enveloping her broken arm she'd damaged during an arrest, trying to manage the thick waves of her hair. A knock at the bedroom door, and Mark her fiance entered, his eyes filled with genuine concern. "Here, let me," he'd whispered, gently taking the brush from her.
Mark's touch was tender and patient as he brushed her hair, each stroke filled with love. "You know," he'd murmured, "I've always loved your red hair. To the world, it should flow like a fiery river. But whether it's up or down, you're always beautiful to me." And with those words, he'd leaned in, capturing her lips with his, their love palpable in the space between breaths.
But the memory, as sweet as it was, faded, pulling Amelia back into her room at Huldra House. The absence of Mark, the void left by his tragic departure, hit her all at once. Her eyes, filled with a mix of pain and longing, met her own reflection, showcasing a vulnerability that few ever saw.
A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. With a deep breath, Amelia wiped it away, resolving to keep moving forward. She let her hair fall naturally, choosing not to tie it up.
He'd have liked that, she thought.
Squaring her shoulders and drawing strength from deep within, Amelia dressed in her sharp detective attire. She knew the day ahead would be challenging, but she was ready. The mysteries of the Huldra Island murders awaited, and she was determined to unearth more about this supposed connection between the victims.
Stepping out of her room, Amelia let the weight of her memories linger for a moment longer. The house's corridors, filled with whispers of bygone eras, echoed the melancholy of her thoughts. But with the gentle sway of her red hair and the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her feet, she merged the past with the present, allowing Huldra Island's enigmatic pull to guide her onwards.
Amelia's fingers softly rapped on the wooden surface of Finn's door, the muffled sounds echoing slightly down the ornate hallway of Huldra House. She waited for a moment, listening intently for any sign of movement, but there was nothing.
Casting a glance down the corridor, Amelia decided to wander through the house in search of Finn. The air was cool, filled with the mingling scents of old books, polished wood, and something else; the unmistakable aroma of freshly cooked breakfast.
Following the delicious scent, Amelia reached the kitchen to find Finn, engaged in a jovial conversation with Frederick. Finn's eyes lit up when he saw her, his mouth curving into a teasing grin. "Hope you slept well, Amelia. No sleepwalking mishaps, I hope?"
Amelia shot him a knowing look, fully aware he was referencing their nighttime adventure, but she chose not to indulge him. Instead, she responded with a simple, "Morning, Finn. Morning, Frederick."
Frederick, ever the gracious host, turned to her, his tone warm. "Good morning, Inspector. Would you care for a full Scottish breakfast?"
Her stomach growled in response before she could even muster an answer, which drew a chuckle from both men. "I'll take that as a yes," Frederick said, turning his attention back to the sizzling pans on the stove.
Leaning closer to Finn, Amelia dropped her voice to a whisper, the weight of their investigation pressing on her. "Have you spoken to Frederick about what Nathaniel mentioned?"
Finn shook his head subtly. "No, not yet."
Seizing the opportunity, Amelia turned her attention back to the butler. "Frederick, do you know much about Ivar Ward knowing Lord Carmichael?"
Frederick seemed to ponder for a moment, then responded, "Only bits and pieces, really. There have been so many rumors, especially concerning Ivar Ward and Lord Carmichael being involved in something. But a lot of it is just empty island talk."
Amelia's brow furrowed. "Do you believe they knew each other well?"
Frederick turned, pausing for a moment, his expression contemplative. "There's been a lot of talk, Inspector. Last night at the pub, I did here a few conversations about how Ivar Ward was linked with Lord Carmichael when his Lordship was still on the mainland, but I was more interested in my single malt."
Finn leaned in, his analytical mind clearly at work. "Could their connection have been related to Lord Carmichael's plan to develop the island?"
A faint smile tugged at the edges of Frederick's lips. "That's the buzz at The Fair Folk Inn. It felt like every patron had a theory. But what I found most intriguing was the idea that Ivar Ward, known for his deep superstitions, might've come to the island post Lord Carmichael's demise to meet another involved party. And that this third party might've silenced him."
“That's a lot of might'ves,” Finn said, eating the last of his breakfast.
Amelia's interest piqued. "Who was discussing this?"
Frederick shrugged. "There was so much chatter, it's hard to pinpoint. But I think you'll find more answers if you head back to The Fair Folk Inn. I believe some of the fishermen were talking most since Ivar was a fellow fisherman, and they always feel it when one of them passes away."
“We'll need to see if Kirsty is available to drive us around the island again,” Finn said. “Otherwise, we'll need to borrow a car."
Just then, Frederick placed a plate in front of Amelia, heaped with an array of mouthwatering breakfast items. Amelia could hardly resist digging in, but she knew there was work to be done. The inn, with its rumor-mongering patrons, awaited.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The morning sun hurt Finn's tired eyes as it cast a golden glow on the facade of Huldra House, and the residual storm clouds retreated, painting a serene backdrop against the azure skies. Finn stepped out, squinting against the bright light, with Amelia by his side. They had not been standing there for long when a car's soft rumble grew nearer. Rounding the bend, a familiar figure—Kirsty, her wavy hair catching the sun—stopped before them.
"Morning, Inspector, Mr Wright," she greeted, rolling down her window. "Frederick thought you might need a drive into Huldra town."
Finn offered a grateful smile. "Much appreciated, Kirsty."
The journey commenced, and the car weaved through the winding roads that cut across the expansive moors. Wildflowers danced to the rhythm of the passing breeze, and from the lush green stretches, the distant hills rolled into view.
Lost in the moving tapestry outside, Finn's thoughts trailed back to the stormy night before. "You know, Amelia," he began, his voice thoughtful, "I thought I saw a light out on the moors during the storm."
Amelia turned her head, curiosity evident. "A light? Out there?"
Nodding, Finn continued, "A pinpoint of bright light, almost orb-like. It was fleeting. And then... nothing. I figured I might've just been seeing things, given how tired I was."
Kirsty, her attention divided between the road and their conversation, perked up. "What did this light look like?"
"It was gone in a flash, like I said," Finn elaborated, "just a bright dot that vanished as quickly as it appeared."
Kirsty's grip tightened slightly on the wheel. "Sounds like you might've seen a will o' the wisp."
Finn frowned, unfamiliar with the term. "A what now?"
"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?"
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Aye."
Finn, sensing an opportunity to lighten the mood, added, "Amelia was up sleepwalking last night. When she doesn't get much sleep, she can get pretty...tenacious about the rules."
Amelia gave Finn a sharp glance, but Bruce's stern demeanor cracked into a smile. "Fine," he said, lowering his voice. "But make it quick."
As Amelia jotted down notes, she asked, "Your name again?"
"Bruce McCulloch," he replied. "Fisherman here, but I go back and forth from the mainland in Storn."
Finn's interest was piqued. "Did you know Ivar on the mainland?"
Bruce took a deep breath. "Knew him a bit to talk tae. A lot of people don't know this, but he spent a summer here when he was a bit younger, working. But after that, he didn't want to be on the island again, so it's strange he'd be here at all. The funny thing is, a few nights ago, I saw him in Storn outside a pub. He was in a pretty heated argument with someone. It stuck in my mind."
Amelia's eyes narrowed. "Who was it?"
"Couldn't get a great look," Bruce admitted, "but I'd swear it was.... McGregor. Works with the Ferguson Estate, he does."
Finn's eyes widened in recognition. "We met him. He drove us from the airstrip to Huldra House."
"Why were they fighting?" Amelia asked.
Bruce shook his head. "Don't know. But Ivar, he's usually pretty calm. The sees him like that...it was awfully strange."
Finn leaned forward. "McGregor is on the mainland now, isn't he?"
Bruce looked thoughtful. "Told ye that, did he? Last I heard, he was staying at an old fisherman's cottage on the West side of the island sometimes, when he wasn't back on Storn. Old Miller's Cottage, it's called. Ye might have missed him though."
After thanking Bruce, Finn and Amelia left the inn. As they stepped outside, the sun cast long shadows on the town's cobblestone streets. Kirsty's car awaited them, and she looked up inquisitively as they approached.
"Know where Old Miller's Cottage is?" Finn asked.
Kirsty nodded, "Yes, why?"
“We need to question McGregor if he's there,” Amelia said.
"Oh, right," Kirsty said. "I better phone my husband if we're going to be out longer than I thought, I'll let him know."
Kirsty left the car and stood on the cobbled street, talking into her phone.
“Why did she leave the car?” Finn asked. “It's hardly top secret government information.”
“Not everyone likes their business out and about,” Amelia said. “Can you imagine living in an island community? Everyone would know everyone's business. It would be galling. They probably get used to taking their calls outside to minimize gossiping as much as possible.”
Kirsty returned with a smile and got back into the car. “Right, where to, again?”
“Old Miller's Cottage,” Amelia replied.
Kirsty buckled herself in as Finn took a breath, the exciting possibility of a real shift in the case afoot.
"Let's get moving," he declared, "and pay McGregor a visit. I hope he doesn't see us coming."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Finn was deep in thought as the car rumbled along the single track roads of Huldra Island. The car ride was filled with a tense silence as the moors stretched out around them. Kirsty's car hummed, providing a gentle comfort amid the looming uncertainty. The western side of the island held an untouched beauty, the vast stretches of moorland, the hills rolling into the distance, and the sea's whispers hinting at untold mysteries.
Out beyond that was the deep blue. Finn stared towards it, knowing that thousands of miles away in the vastness of it all, his homeland sat. For a moment, he felt a real pang of homesickness. He thought of his job with the FBI at Quantico, he thought about his friends, most of all, he thought about his life in America, and how with his relationship with Demi and the investigation into his handling of a hostage situation looming, it was all built on shifting sands.
"There it is," Kirsty's voice broke the silence, pointing towards a distant structure nestled in a secluded nook.
Old Miller's Cottage looked like something straight out of a historical novel. Its stone walls bore the marks of time, testifying to years of relentless winds and sea sprays. Its thatched roof seemed ancient, but still functional. But what caught Amelia's eye was the smoke spiraling from the chimney.
"Looks like someone's home," she observed.
Kirsty took a deep breath. "I've had a few run-ins with McGregor in the past," she began, her eyes on the winding path ahead. "He can be... fiery. Not one to take lightly. But for some reason, he seems to have a soft spot for me. I can go talk with him if you like?"
Finn arched an eyebrow. "Might be good to have you with us then," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. "An ace up our sleeve." Finn was now formulating some new ideas in his mind.
Amelia nodded in agreement. "It's settled then. All three of us approach together. We'll see if McGregor is more amenable with a familiar face around. It's not like we're turning up to put him in cuffs."
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