Finding Fraser(41)

“Aye, she’s a bonnie one, isn’t she? But she left long before breakfast. Did she no’ leave ye a message?”

I stared at Mrs. Henderson’s face, and a terrible feeling of unease began to sweep over me. “Just a sec,” I said, and took the stairs up to my room two at a time.

“Got all the time in the world, luv,” she called up the stairs after me.

And there, with the warm light of a Scottish morning shining brightly through my window, I saw what the darkness and my exhaustion had hidden from me the night before.

Everything I had brought with me was gone.

Everything I hadn’t carried in my pack, anyway. My laptop. My travel cash cards. Even my contact lenses. My little coil notebook and pen still lay where I’d dropped them on the pillow.

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. What kind of depraved thief steals someone’s contact lenses?

After a few moments of anguish, it was clear there was no use standing and staring at my empty room. I trailed back down the stairs.

“Mrs. Henderson,” I said slowly. “All my stuff is missing from my room. I think it’s been stolen.”

“Ach, nonsense, girlie. It was yer partner ‘at gathered it all up for yeh. She said ye’d decided to stop hiding and let the world know the truth.”

“I don’t have a partner, Mrs. Henderson. I came here alone, remember?”

“Aye, and a sad-faced thing ye were, too. I was delighted to see ye perk up when yer friend arrived.” She leaned across the desk and whispered, “There’s nae shame in it, luv. She’s a dear one, that Susan. The two of yeh make a sweet couple. She told me all about your plans to return to California and set up a bed and breakfast there.”

“We are not a couple!” I spluttered, and a light came on in Mrs. Henderson’s eyes. She nodded understandingly.

“Aye, I see the way of it then, luv.” She touched a finger to the side of her nose. “I were young once meself—had more one night stands than I’d care to have Mister Henderson know!”

“Oh my god,” I said, slowly. “It was not a one-night stand. I just went out sightseeing with her. We talked about the Battle of Culloden all day!”

“Weel … as you say, o’ course, as ye say,” she said, still smiling. “Our customers allus have the right to complete privacy, o’course. But ye know we are verra broad-minded here. No prejudices at all, for anyone.”

“I’m not gay!” I practically yelled. I realized my fists were clenched and the kind lady had actually been quite startled by my outburst.

For the first time, her face darkened. “Aye, there’s no call for homophobia, either,” she said warningly. “I’ll hold no truck with that sort of thing under my roof.”

“Mrs. Henderson,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Let’s just take the whole sexuality thing out of it, okay? I believe Susan stole all my things. Did you allow her the key to my room?”

Comprehension was beginning to dawn on the woman’s face, but I could see where it was still at war with what she had clearly believed was a sweet little love story unfolding under her roof.

“My laptop and my cash card were in my room. I need them to pay your bill, Mrs. Henderson. And they’re missing.”

She stood up and brushed her hair back nervously. “I—I, well, she said you wanted discretion, and I saw the two of you head off to the battlefield together. It just made perfect sense— two dear young American girls, and yerself clearly lookin’ for love. You tol’ me so when you arrived! And she was just so …”

“Convincing,” I said. I slumped in a plaid chair that looked far more comfortable than it turned out to be in reality. “You thought she was American, I thought she was Irish. I wonder which is the truth? You did give her the key, then?”

I looked up at the horrified expression on the hostel-keeper’s face. “I think I need to go talk to the police, Mrs. Henderson.”

She nodded. “Aye. I can see that’s the way of it, now. Try not to fret, luv. The station’s not far. Gi’ me a quick moment to lock up and I’ll walk wi’ ye there.”

She shook her head sadly, pushing one arm through the sleeve of her coat. “Tis allus worse when they love ye and leave ye,” she said.

I followed her out through the door. “There was no loving, Mrs. Henderson, okay? NO loving.”

“‘At’s what they allus say,” she said, turning her key in the lock. “Accordin’ to Mister Henderson, anyroad.”





11:00 am March 16

Inverness Police Station, Scotland