“I thought you’d say that.”
“Hey, I’m not precious, just greedy.”
Tabby smiled. “And broke.”
“That too.”
Daisy knew why she was asking. Tabitha’s courier job had some weird rules. If she agreed to deliver something it had to be done on the day specified on the contract. Otherwise they docked her a week’s pay.
Tabby had worked her butt off for the last four days to save up enough for a decent summer vacation but now her cold was too bad and she was taking a rare day off.
“One package,” Tabby said, coughing into her hand. “That’s all.”
Clearly, a late shipment had arrived. She had to get it to the client or she’d lose all she’d earned that week.
Daisy asked her once why the company didn’t just deliver the parcels themselves but she gave her a whole big speech about the gig economy and personal service and a load of other things she didn’t really understand.
What it boiled down to was the job involved taking packages the last couple of miles to the client’s door and being polite while doing it. That was the job. Or in this particular case, Daisy’s job.
“It’s got to be there by noon,” Tabby said, passing a small wooden box across to her. “It turned up here first thing. I was going to go this morning but look at me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Where’s it going anyway?” Daisy asked, looking down at the address handwritten across the brown paper glued to the top of the box. “Jock MacGregor. MacGregor Castle? Seriously? That’s miles away.”
Tabby nodded before slumping back on the sofa, the effort of sitting up becoming too much. She groaned and then blew her nose again. “I’ve taken him a few things before. You just go to the gatehouse and the building supervisor takes them off you to give to him.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“He better be. I’m not losing a week’s pay over one package. Don’t let him tell you to take it to the laird himself. Just hand it over to the super and get out of there.”
“And why’s that?”
“I’ve heard some stories about the guy from the other couriers. The laird is said to be more than a bit eccentric. About as old as the castle and just as rough by all accounts. Gets aggressive toward visitors. Just dump the thing at the gate and get out of there before the place goes all Wicker Man on you.”
Daisy picked up the box, surprised by how warm the wood felt. “Wonder what’s in here that’s so important it needs a personal courier.”
“Keep wondering. Just get there by twelve.”
“Want me to pick you up anything while I’m out?”
“A gun to put me out of my misery.”
“How about some ice cream?”
“Even better.”
Daisy looked at the clock on the wall. Quarter past eight. That gave her plenty of time.
She left Tabitha and took the box through to her room, leaving it on her dressing table as she headed through to the shower.
It was funny, but as she let go, she felt a strange desire to pick it up again, like it belonged to her. She shook her head, ignoring the feeling.
Once clean, she picked out a suitable driving outfit. Black jeans, black boots, plain white tee. No point getting too dressed up just to spend a couple of hours in the car each way.
Once her hair and makeup were sorted she was ready. Google Maps told her the route, two hours twenty to get there. Easy enough.
“Good luck,” Tabby shouted through as she picked up her car keys. “Let me know if the stories about the castle are true.”
Tabby had told her several stories about MacGregor Castle. Tabitha was into esoteric history. Her bookcases were filled with volumes on dream interpretation, tarot cards, U.F.Os, fairies, and in amongst the rest, a couple of out of print books on Scottish castles.
