Three Dog Island Page 16

  “The last time someone said, ‘it’s not rocket science’ to me, it was Josh.”

  Charlie chuckled. I couldn’t help thinking that Joe would have rolled his eyes. He never had been able to follow my peculiar thought patterns.

  “Hi, it’s Jenny.” Josh always waited to hear my voice before picking up, but usually I was only three words in when he answered. I kept talking for a couple minutes, rambling on about this and that, nothing important.

  “He’s not answering?” Charlie glanced over at me. “Don’t worry, lass, he’s probably in the shower.”

  I nodded. Good explanation.

  “How will Manny handle it if he has to hang out in his car for two days, watching these guys?”

  “Don’t worry, he’s not alone.”

  “Who’s with him?”

  “His grandkids.”

  “What?”

  Nadia and Aidan. Fifteen-year-old twins. They’re practically grown up.”

  “You know them?”

  “They came to a seminar I put on this summer for high schoolers.”

  “And they caught the detective bug?”

  “Aye, that they did. Very sharp. They’ll be excellent detectives.”

  “If you say so, Charlie.” At least they’d be a good cover for a stake out. I waited another couple minutes before pressing the send button again. Still no answer.

  “Do you think you could drive faster, Charlie?”

  Fifteen minutes later we were parked in Charlie’s driveway. I spotted MacGregor’s Land Rover across the street. I dialed home one more time. Still no answer. As much as I wanted to spend the night after the long day we’d had and as much as I would have liked to visit with MacGregor, I jumped in my car. I had to make it to Anacortes before the last ferry departed. Charlie knew better than to try to stop me.

  MacGregor didn’t. He flagged me down as I was pulling away from the curb. I rolled down the old-fashioned window of my vintage 1982 Volvo. “Sorry, I can’t talk now, MacGregor. I’ve got to catch the ferry. Josh isn’t answering and I’m worried something has—”

  He pressed a gentle finger against my lips. “He’s fine.”

  “What?”

  “Sasha called me.”

  “What’s happened? And why didn’t she call me?” And why hadn’t I thought to call her? I really was not my keen detective self lately. I was beginning to think Charlie was right. It was not just these cases I was juggling. It was not even having a teenager and a new dog living with me. It had something to do with my dear friend and old professor who was staring at me, causing me to experience a very-premature hot flash.

  “She did not want to worry you, lass. She knew you couldn’t do anything anyway. She stopped by the cottage and Josh wasn’t there so she called me. I was on my way to the ferry when she called me again. Josh had been out for a long run and had ended up at her house.”

  I exhaled a mighty sigh. “What was he thinking?”

  “He got a bit restless and needed a breath of fresh air is all. But he did make certain it was a good time to run.”

  I glanced at the clock on my dashboard. He must have waited until after the mail had been delivered instead of going before. “Thanks, MacGregor.”

  “You’re welcome, McNair. And now will you please park your car and come have a wee dram?”

  It was tempting. It was so tempting. “I think I’d better head home.”

  “Give Sasha a call before you decide. Besides which, you’ll be hard pressed to make the last ferry out.”

  I dialed Sasha’s home number. She answered on the first ring. My caller ID skills had rubbed off on her. Either that or she really did have caller ID. “He’s fine, Jenny.”

  “What was he thinking?”

  “He just needed to get outside for a while. Poor kid. But don’t worry. He had Rocky with him. I’ll keep them here tonight. I’ll make sure no one sees him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. You relax. Spend the night.”

  “I might have to now. With rush hour traffic, I’m not sure I’ll make the last ferry out of Anacortes.”

  “Good.”

  I laughed. “Okay, but don’t let Josh move until I get home.”

  “Have a good time, Jenny. And say good-night to MacGregor for me.”

  Ahh, so that’s what she meant by spending the night. Before I could protest, she hung up.

  MacGregor was still staring down at me. My flushed complexion could not have escaped his notice. “So, are you going to park Winston now, lass?”

  He knew my car’s name? How did he know my car’s name? I pulled back over to the curb and shut off the engine. Enough was enough. If I was going to spend the night in Seattle, I was going to find out once and for all, what was going on here.

  He opened my car door and I climbed out. He made no effort whatsoever to get out of my way, which put me directly in front of him. It was now or never. Now was definitely more appealing than never.

  “So, what’s going on here, MacGregor?”

  “Going on here?”

  “Between us?”

  His smile was the warmest I’d ever seen. It filled his eyes so full that they held the entire sunset in their reflection. He leaned down just a little bit closer, pressing his lips gently against mine. It was quite simply a kiss that conveyed feelings that had been stored for a very long time. And it was the most perfect kiss that the world had ever known. At least to me it was. I had never been kissed like that before. But then I’d never been kissed by Malcolm MacGregor.

  “Do you really need to ask, lassie?” he said, stepping backwards, opening the back door of my car and taking out my overnight bag.

  I stood there watching him as he carried my bag across the street and up his front porch stairs. “Are you planning to stand there all night or are you coming inside then?”

  I shook my head, still staring after him. I wasn’t sure that if I took a step, my legs would support me. In fact, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t.

  It seemed like a surreal five minutes had passed before I could move. But when I did, I knew exactly where I wanted to be. He handed me a glass of red wine—cabernet, I assumed—as I came through the door. He motioned for me to have a seat on the living room couch, but by then I had other ideas. I took a sip of my wine and headed down the hall to his bedroom. Five minutes later I was lying in his bed, making love to the man I had loved the better part of my adult life. It had just taken my brain a while to catch up enough with my heart to know it.

  Chapter 16

  My dreams were so intermingled with my thoughts that it was impossible to know if I had slept.

  “What would you like for breakfast, darlin’?” MacGregor raised himself onto one elbow and gazed down at me. Despite knowing I did not look my best first thing in the morning, I did not feel embarrassed. Tousled hair with a few misguided strands swirling around, swollen lips, puffy eyes. Not exactly appealing. Why did I not feel embarrassed? I supposed that had to do with the look of contentment in his eyes, as if he too were willing to stay right there beside me for the rest of the day, month, year.

  “Breakfast?” I whispered, moving just a wee bit closer. “Sounds lovely.” My hand found a resting place against his cheek. “Another day perhaps.”

  He met me more than halfway. His laugh was husky as he took me into his arms. Why had it taken me so long to get here? How had I not known?

  Four hours later I was riding a ferry across the Strait of Juan de Fuca, my marriage to Joe Campbell a distant memory. It was as though everything I had ever done in my life had been leading up to this moment.

  I glanced at my reflection in a window, wondering if everyone who walked past me knew, if they could read my story in my eyes, hear my memories of the night I had spent making love, see the wonderment at how life can change in the flicker of a moment . . . or the opening of a car door.

  I settled onto an outside bench, savoring the cool scent of the salt air breeze. Most passengers
were tucked into warm seats inside, peering out through the weather-protected windows, sipping their cappuccinos and lattes and nibbling on muffins or cookies. Those brave enough to withstand the chilly October breeze, were bundled up in sweaters and wool or down jackets. I was wearing a pair of cotton slacks, a navy turtleneck and a lamb’s wool sweater. I’d left my wind breaker and my navy peacoat in the car. But it didn’t feel the slightest bit cold to me today. In fact the bright sun gently warmed my face, causing me to smile. Or maybe my smiling had nothing whatsoever to do with the sun.

  I closed my eyes and relived those incredible twelve hours. All but an hour—if that—had been spent in MacGregor’s bed. Once there, it seemed as if we did not want to leave. It had, after all, taken us twenty some years to get there. Other than going to the kitchen for a snack or two, we had stayed in his bedroom. I did not need to see the rest of his house. I had been there enough that I knew the details of Malcolm MacGregor’s home. He did not have a lot of furniture, but what he did have was warm and welcoming. It suited him.

  His home was always neat and clean for visitors. I assumed he had someone come in to clean on a regular basis. The only clutter was magazines and papers. Piles of paper were at home on the coffee table, the kitchen counter, bookshelves, his desk. Of course he had out-of-control piles of paper. He was a professor after all. A physics professor at that.

  Other than that, everything in his home seemed to have a designated location, not excluding the bottle of single malt whisky that stood front and center on the small bar adjacent to the kitchen. An elephant’s foot—that wasn’t really an elephant’s foot—umbrella stand was stationed by the front door, inhabited by miscellaneous umbrellas of all sizes.

  The walls were covered with paintings and photographs. Most of the paintings were original Roddy Carmichaels, a friend of his who had moved to Australia. They were a bit too abstract for my taste, but the photographs more than made up for the sober paintings. There were pictures of his teams and mates from high school, college, and his days as a University professor. There were several shots from rugby days in Scotland, his teenage years as a runner, soccer player, and a high jumper. My favorite, of course, was the photograph of him in full highland dress, wearing the MacGregor tartan.

  And there were the scenic photographs, many he had taken himself. Some were of the Sound outside his window and the Seattle skyline, but most were of Scotland—Edinburgh, the Borders, the Highlands, the Western Isles, Ben Lomond, Ben Nevis, the Lochs.

  Trophies of rugby and highland games adorned his built-in shelves, along with collections of Robert Louis Stevenson’s work, Sir Walter Scott’s, Stuart MacGregor’s novels and poems, Ian Rankin’s suspense novels, and Robbie Burns’ poetry collection.

  His office was more dedicated to technical publications and physics. And then there was his dark room. I had seen it once when he showed me some photographs he had taken of Charlie. It was just a hobby, he had said, but having seen it firsthand, I knew that whatever MacGregor put his mind to, he mastered, and it became more than just a hobby. He worried it to death, as Charlie would say.

  The details of MacGregor’s house were imprinted on my memory. Not from this last visit but from the few times I had seen it in the past. Why did I remember it so well? I wondered. An artist’s eye? Or the eye of a love-struck student who had only a wisp of a notion that she was love-struck.

  My cell phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket. “Hi, Charlie.”

  “You sound happy.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Have a good night?”

  “How did you know?”

  “He didn’t come straight over and tell me about It, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  No, he was way too discreet for that. But all Charlie had to do was look at his twinkling brown eyes to read the events of the night.

  “I saw your car parked outside and since you didn’t spend the night in your old room, I figured you’d spent it . . . elsewhere.”

  “Is there a reason you’re calling, other than to find out how my night was?”

  “None that I can think of. Give me a wee minute and I’ll come up with something.”

  “At least you’re honest. But fair is fair, Charlie. Are you smitten with Catherine all over again?”

  There was a long pause before he said, “You’re very fond of your step mum, aren’t you?”

  “She’s a lovely person, Charlie.”

  “But is she the right one for me?”

  “Not for me to answer. Sounds like you’re considering it though.”

  “Aye, I am that. I dinna ken, Jenny. I think there was a good reason we parted ways.”

  “Well, let me know if you decide to un-part ways. And if you spot anything fishy in that police report you have.”

  “Oh, aye, the one about Mark Simpson’s partner. I’ll read through it again and let you know.”

  I closed my phone and went back to daydreaming about Malcolm MacGregor. It seemed like only minutes until the ferry docked at Gael Island. I had not even noticed when we passed through the other islands and they unloaded and loaded cars off and on the ferry in that magical way they have.

  I was the third car to disembark. I drove straight to Ned’s ferry, anxious to see Josh. I was surprised to find Burt operating the ferry.

  “Were you over on the mainland?” he asked.

  “I was. Went to see my dad and . . . a friend.” I deterred him from asking more questions by jumping in with one of my own. “Is Ned at the dentist, finally getting his bridge fixed?”

  “He is, so I get to play here for a while.”

  “Sounds like you enjoy it.”

  He grinned. “I used to run the small ferry between Gael and Waterloo, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know that. What made you stop?”

  He made no effort to subdue his groan. “Marilyn thought I should start my own business.”

  “Ah, well, at least you get to pilot Ned’s ferry on occasion.”

  He nodded and motioned for me to go ahead and board. Three other cars had pulled in behind me.

  I drove straight to Sasha’s. As promised, Josh and Rocky were still there. I didn’t know if I should yell at Josh or hug him, but when the first words out of his mouth were, “I’m really sorry, Jenny,” I decided on the latter.

  He indulged me by hugging me back. Or maybe he was becoming more comfortable with displays of affection. Having no inhibition whatsoever, Rocky wedged himself between us as we hugged. He liked being in the middle where he was sure to get his share of attention.

  Sasha motioned for us to sit down. “This is a switch.” She went to get tea and muffins.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Josh.

  “I’m fine. But how’s my mom, Jenny? Is she okay?”

  I stifled a sigh and a cringe and a look of dismay. “She’s worried about you.”

  “Did you talk to her? I mean, you told me about writing notes back and forth and stuff but did you ever get to really talk to her?”

  “I did.” I pulled out my notebook and showed him the note where she’d written, “Thank you. Tell him I love him.”

  He pulled it out of my notebook and stuffed it in his jeans pocket. “Did she tell you anything?”

  “Not really. She’s too scared. She said if they’re caught, they could all go to prison. Unfortunately I couldn’t convince her to tell me what they’ve done, what they’re doing. She’s afraid it could backfire. If they don’t get locked up for their crimes, you’ll be in even more danger.”

  “How did she look?”

  “Scared. Nervous. But very relieved when I told her you were okay.”

  “You didn’t tell her where I am.”

  “No. I told her it was better that way. I didn’t give her my name either.”

  He clutched his arms against his chest, much the way his mother had.

  “I did give her a friend’s number. A police detective in Seattle. I had her memorize it so if she needs help or wants me t
o call her, she has someone to communicate with.”

  “Thanks, Jenny.”

  Sasha put a tray of tea and banana muffins in front of us on the living room table Due to her easels occupying most of the square footage, the room was scarcely big enough to hold a small couch, a chair, and a coffee table.

  “It may just be good cops who were after you, Josh. Your mom said that Mark posted you as a runaway.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s what he says.”

  “I know. I don’t give him any credibility either. And even if it is good cops spotting you, they’d take you in and call your mother.”

  “And I’d be just as bad off as I am if they’re bad cops.” He took a bite of his muffin. “If I told them what’s going on, they probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. Cops have each other’s backs, you know? Until this whole thing is over and those ass—jerks are behind bars, I’ve gotta stay out of sight.”

  I agreed with Josh, especially because I didn’t really believe they could be good cops. If they were good cops, they probably wouldn’t believe him. And would Mark Simpson risk having a good cop find a boy he was afraid would turn him in? I didn’t think so. All the same, I’d have Charlie pay Jerry Bridges a visit to see if Josh had been posted as a runaway.

  Sasha was staring at Josh with a raised eyebrow. He looked away, trying to ignore whatever it was she was attempting to convey to him.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “You want to tell her or should I?” Sasha said.

  Setting down his plate and cup, Josh looked up at me with the anticipation of a teenager about to be grounded on the eve of his first date with a new girlfriend. “The real reason I went out was because I think someone was spying on me.”

  “What?!”

  “I didn’t know,” Sasha said quickly, assuring me that she was guilt-free. “He just told me this morning.”

  “Someone was up on the front porch. I couldn’t look to see them because I had to stay out of sight. I was afraid they were trying to see in the windows. But Rocky was barking like crazy.”

  “You’re sure it wasn’t a raccoon or something? They come up on the porch looking for food.”