“I must have been in watching the movie. You know—the one about the massacre on the battlefield? I thought she’d left to give me some space, because … well, just because,” I said. “So it wasn’t just me she stole from?”
The special constable shook his head. “She pretty much cleaned out the pockets of everyone in the place,” he said. “She’s good, I’ll give ‘er that. No one felt a thing.” He nodded at his colleague. “She lifted a wee trinket for herself, too—a Celtic cross on a necklace, was it?”
“An anklet,” said Garda. “I’m surprised she took so little, but there wasnae much time, aye?”
“She didn’t want to go back inside for lunch,” I said, walking through it again in my mind. “I went in, and bought us both lunch—she’d given me such a good tour and I felt bad when I saw how little she’d brought to eat.”
I looked over at Sergeant Garda. “You’re right. I even bought her lunch. I am a feckin’ eejit.”
Dosanj’s eyes widened, and Garda held up both his hands. “Now jes’ a minute, lass—I niver said …”
I smiled weakly. “You didn’t say I wasn’t.”
He shrugged. “Did you keep the paperwork from the cash cards, at least?”
“I wrote the pin numbers and everything all down. I knew I was supposed to keep the information separate from the card in case I lost it. But I had it in my …”
“Let me guess,” Garda interrupted. “In your sponge bag wi’ the contact lenses?”
I nodded miserably. “Do you think I could put a stop-payment on it online?”
The senior officer shrugged. “You can try, of course. We have Internet access at the outer office desk. But if she’s cashed it out already, you’ll be out of luck.”
He stood up. “I’m right sorry, Miss,” he said, formally. “We’ll do the best we can to catch her. This is a small country, and as a rule the Americans stand out, particularly in this season. With luck we’ll nab her. But the truth is, she’ll likely head south and become a thorn in the side of the Yard.”
“They’re welcome to ‘er,” muttered Dosanj. He held the door open for me, and I left without another word.
Filthy Fiasco…
1:30 pm, March 16
Inverness, Scotland
Last day in Inverness. I’m sorry to report my trip is at an untimely end——in an unfortunate incident, I have been robbed of my cash, my contact lenses and all my faith in human nature. I’m typing this at an Internet cafe, as my laptop was taken, too. There’s nothing for it but to see if I can move up the date of my ticket home.
Thanks to you all for your support. This trip would not have been the same without you.
- Emma
Comments: 0
I typed the last word, and logged off with a sigh. Forty-five seconds to spare on the hour-for-a-pound deal they had for out-of-season webheads like me. Just me, actually, since there was no one else in the place, except the granny who had taken my money. When I walked in, she had barely looked up from her book to accept my coin.
“Good book?” I had asked, automatically.
She crinkled her eyes at me and held up the cover. THE SCOTTISH PRISONER.
“Ay loveth the short ones,” she lisped, a result of there not being a single tooth remaining in her head. “They keep me fired up for when the next good thized ‘un comes along.”
I slung my pack over my shoulder and headed for the door. Inverness had its own small airport, and I needed to catch the bus out there to talk to an airline person about trading in my ticket. The granny at the door didn’t lift her head as I left. She chuckled and muttered to herself as I opened the door.
“‘… I swallowed a gnat.’ Ach, Jamie my boy—I do love ye so.”
“You and me both,” I said sadly, and headed out onto the muddy street.
I had to put the cab fare to the airport on my credit card. So, yeah, yeah, I knew there was a bus I could catch. Right from downtown Inverness straight out to the airport. But after spending my last pound coin on Internet access, I literally did not have any cash on me. I’d have had to go to a bank machine for a cash advance on my credit card, anyway. And if I was going out, I might as well go in style.
Fortunately, the taxi driver had nothing to say. He grunted when I asked to be taken to the airport, and sped off so fast that my head snapped back and bounced off the headrest in the rear seat.
Tiny beads of sleet spattered the window as I slumped against the door, watching the river Ness wind away into the distance. Flowing away. Like my money. Like my once-in-a-lifetime trip to Scotland.