Archie needs to get out of his basement and into the real world.
I call him on my mobile."All that information is interesting.But you were meant to show me where the lass is now and where she will be later."
The laddie sighs dramatically."Ye dinnae appreciate my skills, but I'll ignore that fact for now."
I growl, putting on my most intimidating voice."Archie---"
"Aye, all right.Dinnae get yer trousers in a bunch."
I can hear him typing furiously on his keyboard, followed by the sound of him swiveling his chair around.Then Archie clears his throat."There it is, ye grumpybod ceann.Check your email."
"Thank you," I snarl, and then hang up.
The next morning, I resolve to make use of the information Archie provided.It's nothing less than a tactical dossier, suitable for a full-blown MI6 black ops mission.Thanks to Archie, I now know that so far, Gretchen has been stopping by Tam's bakery around 7:16 a.m.in the morning---for the two days she's been here, at any rate.She always orders a raisin scone, dry, and makes it a takeaway order so she can walk the village.The lass also chats with strangers.She's nothing if not consistent, a trait I find endearing.
But of course, on the day when I've resolved to approach her again, she changes her routine.The lovely lass is not at Tam's bakery or any other eating establishment in the village.As I stare blankly at the café's window, I blow out a steaming breath through my nostrils.This café was the first place where I saw and met her.But now she apparently vanished.Just my sodding luck.
Why do I give a toss if Gretchen Carver left the area?She isn't the only woman in Scotland.But she is the only one I want to shag.How bizarre is that?I must've caught a strange new virus that causes a man to become obsessed with one woman.
Since I've lost the lass, I leave the café and shuffle down the street, letting my mind wander.Unfortunately, it always wanders back to Gretchen.I have one option left to cure me of this illness.I ring my brother Neil.
"Halò, Kirk," he says cheerfully."If you're wanting to do a stunt on the wharf again---"
"No, that's not why I rang you."In the background of the call, I can hear water splashing and birds crying, which means he's on his boat."Listen, Neil, I need advice.About a woman."
"Love advice from me?"He laughs hard enough that I wish I could punch him."Kirk Balfour never asks for my help with women.Now, if you need tips on how to cook salmon..."
"Haud yer wheesht, yecacan.This is a serious matter."I glance around, making sure no one can hear this conversation."I met a woman.And then I lost her.She's here in Loch Fairbairn.At least, I think she's still in the village, and I must find her.Archie gave me her location at one precise moment.But now she seems to have vanished from the face of the earth."
Neil bursts out laughing again."This is brilliant!Never thought I'd see the day when Kirk Balfour fell for a woman so hard that it knocked the sense of out him.Ye never had much sense to begin with, Mr.Daredevil."He pauses briefly."But I can see you're in a bad way about this lass.Here's the secret you should know..."
My brother says nothing for so long that I begin to tap my feet in a staccato rhythm."Neil, ye dafty---"
"I'm the dafty?You're the one who forgot that this village has a newspaper."
"How does that help me?"
My brother adopts a tone of false urgency."Go ask Iona Knight, who used to be Iona Buchanan until she married a Brit.She runs the Loch Fairbairn newspaper, and that lass has better instincts for tracking people down than any New York reporter.If Iona can't find your lass, nobody can."
I already knew about the newspaper, of course.At least, I used to know that.
Bloody hell, I'm losing my mind.To save face, I tell Neil, "I know the village has a newspaper.Ye didnae need to remind me."
I hang up my mobile without saying goodbye.Neil won't care that I've been surly.
Now that my memory has returned, I make a beeline straight for the offices of The Loch Fairbairn Daily News.When I waltz into the front office, I don't see Iona anywhere.But I do see the door to the back room hanging open.
I knock on the open door."Iona?"
There's no answer.So I call out, "Iona, ye there, lass?"
"One moment.Who's calling, please?"
"Kirk Balfour."
She moves into the doorway, smiling as she sees me."What can I do for ye,gràidh?"
Iona's use of the endearmentgràidhmakes me scratch my cheek and wince."Well, ah, I'm looking for a particular American lass.Her name is---"
