“What was that noise?”
“What noise?”
“Unlock this door. Now!”
“It’s just a linen closet, ma Laird. There’s nothing else in there.”
“I dinnae care. Open it. At once, curse you.”
“As you wish, ma Laird.”
The key went into the lock once more. The door swung open. The Laird stepped inside, holding the torch close to his chest for fear of burning his daughter. “Morag,” he called out. “Where are you?”
She wasn’t there. There were only shelves of neatly folded cloth. She was gone.
“I heard her,” the Laird said, throwing sheets onto the floor. “She’s here somewhere. Morag! Where are you?”
More voices began to call out in the keep. A bell rang out in the courtyard. Soon the castle would be swarming with people, all of them calling out Morag’s name.
For the moment there was only the Laird standing alone in an empty room, certain that his daughter was mere inches away from him. He could feel her presence and yet the stones could not lie.
She was not there.
She was gone.
Chapter One
Jessica Abrahams was glad of the bills on her desk. It gave her something to look at. She hadn’t had a single case for weeks.
Overdue. She set that one down and looked at the next.
Second notice. Third notice. Final demand.
She sighed, tearing that last one open. It was the old familiar wording. Court proceedings, attachment of earnings, must insist, please submit immediate payment.
All she needed was one decent case. One decent easy to solve case and she’d be able to clear all her debts. Shame no one was hiring private investigators anymore. She wondered if it was the summer heat. It was the hottest it had been in years. Was everyone laid in dark rooms, curtains closed, praying for rain?
The only mail she’d had all week had been bills with a couple of thank you notes mingled in here and there.
She leaned back on her chair and looked around the office. Was there anything she could sell to keep her going?
There wasn’t much. The computer that had to be crank started, the clock that hadn’t worked in months.
What else? There was the desk. Could she sell that? But then how would it look if a potential client walked in and saw her sitting on the swivel chair with the foam bulging out of it in three separate places?
She stood up and walked over to the open window, looking out at the city. Cars crawled along the streets far below, the sunlight reflecting off metal, making her wince at the brightness. There was the slightest breeze but not enough to shift the stifling air inside the office. She ducked back inside.
She added the bills to the tottering pile on the ‘to do’ tray and then opened the rest of the mail.
Thank you for reuniting me with my lost son. I don’t know what I would have done without your help.
She smiled, pinning the card next to the others on the notice board. That case had earned her five thousand, enough to keep her going until a couple of months ago.
The money hadn’t lasted forever and she was behind on her rent once again. If things didn’t pick up, she was going to have to get rid of the office and start working from home again. She didn’t want to do that. It meant nowhere to meet clients.
One decent case was all she needed. She had a grand total of one on the go and it was one she was never going to be able to solve. The case of her next door neighbor.
Footsteps in the corridor, getting louder. A client? Please, God, let it be a client. The footsteps stopped right outside.
