Finding Fraser(40)

I lay there as the sun rose slowly behind the thin white curtains in my hostel room window, thinking about the silhouette of the Highlander, standing in the moonlight.

What the hell was it that I had seen?

Something niggled at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Still, I knew in my heart the search wasn’t over. Maybe the so-called ghost was telling me I was on the right track? Gerald certainly thought so. Wrong ghost, wrong circle. But if he did find the right one, the chances I’d ever hear from him again were pretty slim.

Feckin’ slim, as Susan would say.

I flexed my knee again under the covers. Maybe the bike ride had done it good after all?

The thought of the bike suddenly had me sitting bolt upright in bed. I hadn’t returned the bike! And not only had I not returned it, I had left it propped, unlocked outside the pub we’d been to the night before.

I threw on some clothes, grabbed my wallet from my pack and bolted down the stairs.

“All right, Emma?” called Mrs. Henderson, the hostel-keeper.

“Back in a minute,” I gasped to her, as I ran past.

It was only a block to the pub, and miracle of miracles, I saw the bike almost right away, leaning against the wall just where I’d left it. I dropped my hands to my knees for a minute when I got there, panting and bathed in the feeling of relief washing over me. After I’d caught my breath, I rolled the bike over to the store, determined to be kind even to the man who’d made remarks about my size relative to the little green bicycle the day before.

I pulled the bike into a stand at the front door and headed inside.

The bike-renter guy sat atop a high stool, doing some kind of puzzle in the newspaper.

“Hiya,” he said, looking up. “Brought me bike back, have yeh?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I returned last night after you’d closed.”

He strode over toward the cash register. “Nae worries, nae worries. Didja have a good ride?”

“Yes. We made it to Culloden, and then I carried on to Clava.”

“Ach, the stones at Balnuaran. Lovely, aren’t they?” He leaned on the glass counter-top. “I’ve heard they’re a wee bi’ haunted. Didja see a ghost, then?”

“I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth,” I said quietly, but he was hitting buttons on his cash register, and the ringing may have drowned out my response.

“Righ’ then—it’ll be fifty quid altogether, with the VAT, an all.”

I was sure I hadn’t heard him correctly. “Fifty quid—that’s fifty pounds, right?”

“Righ’ you are, little lady!”

Hmmph. Suddenly I was a little lady? I decided to let it drop, and deal with the more worrisome issue first.

“I think there’s a mistake, somewhere. My friend should have paid for me yesterday when she dropped her bike off. They were twenty pounds each, to rent for the day?”

“Aye, they were, plus tax, o’course. But your friend left her bike as promised, and said you’d be coverin’ the costs when you returned.”

The skin of his neck had gone an interesting shade of red when Susan’s name came up, but I didn’t have time to think about anything but the fact that the last of my cash was going to have to go to this man.

I looked through my wallet. “I’m sorry—there must be some mistake,” I repeated. “I gave her the cash to pay you yesterday. I’ve only got forty-five pounds on me—will that do until I can find her? I promise I’ll bring the rest back when I do.”

“Aye,” he said, slowly. “I reckon that’ll be awrigh’, but … well, be as quick as ye can, aye? Me boss is in—ah—a bit of a mood t’day, and I’d rather stay on her good side, ye ken?”

I handed over the last of my cash and hurried back to the hostel. Mrs. Henderson sat at her place near the front door. She lifted her head as I walked in.

“Ah, there ye are, dear. Ready to pack up and head on wi’ yer partner, then?”

I held back an impatient sigh. The last thing I had time for was a leisurely discussion of how she had mixed me up with another patron.

“No— no, I don’t have a partner, Mrs. Henderson. I’m here on my own, remember? Listen, have you seen Susan—ah—Susan O’Donnell this morning? She’s staying in one of the other rooms here. I need to find her to straighten something out.”

“The other American girl? Well, o’course I seen her. She checked out this mornin’ bright an’ early. I thought ye were off after her.”

“No— not an American. This girl is Irish. Susan O’Donnell. Short, dark hair, about this tall? The one I …” Surely Mrs. Henderson had seen us riding off together the previous day?