Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (4 page)

"That's right," said Elizabeth, picking up a diary from the table between them and opening it at the marked place. "She was supposed to come here yesterday at four pm, but she didn't show."

"When did she first get in touch with you?" asked Mark.

"It would be at the weekend," said Elizabeth. "She called me on Saturday morning about an interview. I have to say that I'm incredibly flattered to be asked. Of course, I was somewhat disappointed when she didn't turn up. You might find me a crashing bore but I do rather like talking about myself and my family history."

"Did Kay say where she would be going yesterday?" asked Mark.

Elizabeth shook her head, her locks almost floating. "All she said was that she was staying in the village," she said, "and if I needed to contact her then I was to leave a message there. She left your number as well, in case I wanted to check her validity."

Mark gave a deep sigh. Kay had been promising when he'd interviewed her, and the notes she'd sent through to him had been decent. It seemed to him that it was most likely that she'd just headed off somewhere, though it was highly unprofessional to do so ahead of an interview. By the looks of things, Ruthven would have been a good person to speak to.

Mark finished his glass of water. "Well," he said, "I'm here now, so I'd best get on with finding Kay."

"You're very thirsty, too," said Elizabeth, her voice almost a purr, ignoring what Mark was saying. "Can I tempt you with some wine?"

"I'd love some," said Mark, feeling hot under the collar, "but I really should get on."

Elizabeth looked disappointed. "Leaving so soon?" she asked. "I'm close to being hurt."

"I need to get to the hotel and see if there's still a room free," said Mark.

"You're welcome to stay with me in the castle," said Elizabeth.
 

Mark blushed further. "I wouldn't want to impose," he said.

Elizabeth slowly crawled up the sofa towards Mark, her dress hitching up and revealing a shapely thigh. "It wouldn't be an imposition," she said. "There's just myself, Ivor, my daughters and their husbands."

Mark frowned as he tried to keep his eyes off her leg. "You don't look old enough to have married children," he said.

Elizabeth threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I'm older than you think," she said.

Mark knew that he shouldn't be flirting with the woman, but he couldn't help himself. "Thanks for the kind offer," he said, briefly closing his eyes, "but I'll take my chances with the hotel in the village."

"That's fine," said Elizabeth, looking disappointed, her bottom lip almost pouting.

The last thing Mark wanted was her appearing in his room in the middle of the night, or some mishap with towels outside a bathroom. He needed to focus on the book. And on his marriage.

"I'll get Ivor to give you a lift back," said Elizabeth, as she rang a bell, an air of indifference emerging.

"That would be perfect," said Mark. He felt bad. She seemed lonely and, while she was picking the wrong target in him, he never liked letting people down. "Would you be free to do the interview with me?"

Elizabeth suddenly smiled, her face restored to beauty. "It would be an honour," she said.
 

Mark's mind was racing as he lugged his bike inside the Ruthven Arms Hotel on the village's high street. He leaned it against the reception desk before slipping his rucksack from his shoulders and dropping it to the floor. He felt fatigue hit him as he admired the interior, tired eyes following the large spiral staircase up, the rest of the ground floor a large open space, coffee tables and armchairs tastefully spread out.

He was relieved to get away from Elizabeth Ruthven - she had practically been all over him. He hoped there were still rooms free. The place was deserted, but at least it appeared to be open - the noise from the bar gave him some encouragement. He rang the bell and waited.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the desk - he was nothing to write home about. What had she seen in him? Was she just desperate? He'd never been the sort to attract women, and didn't know why he would start to now - he wasn't getting more distinguished as he got older.

A sprightly, camp man in his late forties appeared from behind a curtain. He was in full Highland dress - kilt, jacket, sporran, the lot. The light from the chandelier in the reception hall bounced off his bald head, shaved practically to the bone. He was very short, barely over five feet in Mark's estimation. He had a brass name badge attached to his jacket - Alec Harris.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked Harris.

"I spoke to you this morning about a colleague of mine who is staying here," said Mark. "She didn't turn up to an interview this morning, so I'm here to track her down. Her name is Kay McGregor."

Harris frowned as his eyes looked to a ledger on the counter in front of him. "Ah yes," he said. "She hasn't checked out and she had an open-ended booking, so she's still here, as far as I'm concerned. Her possessions are still in her room."

"Would I be able to have a look around?" asked Mark.

"Her room?" asked Harris.

Mark nodded.

"Well, that would be most irregular," said Harris.

Mark groaned - he figured this wasn't going to be easy. "She was employed by me as a research assistant," he said. "I'm writing a book on the Highland Clearances, and I need to get hold of the material she was producing for me."

"A likely tale," said Harris.

Mark frowned. "It's the truth," he said. He held up his laptop case. "I've got her employment contract in my bag, if you want to check it."

"You carry her contract around with you?" asked Harris.

The truth was that Mark hadn't had the time - or inclination - to clear his laptop case out and it was full of months of paperwork. "Yes, I do," said Mark. "Look, I really need to find out where she is."

"Why?" asked Harris.

"I might need to tell her parents," said Mark. "Or the police."

Harris looked Mark up and down a few times. "Fine," he eventually said in a withering tone. "I will allow it just this once."

"Thanks," said Mark, trying to convey it in a smile. "Also, I'll need a room for myself."

"How long?" asked Harris.

"At least tonight," said Mark. "Maybe for a week or so."

Harris picked up the large ledger and flicked through the pages, finally settling on one. He wet his finger and ran it down the page. "Ah, yes," he said, looking up, "it appears that we do have a vacancy."

Mark felt his shoulders relax - plan B would have been calling Elizabeth. "How much is it per night?" he asked.

"Breakfast is included," said Harris, "but depending on the facilities you require, we have rooms ranging from fifty to eighty pounds a night."

"I plan to do a lot of work while I'm here," said Mark, "so, I need one with a big desk."

"I see," said Harris, running his finger down the ledger - Mark wondered if it was an attempt to get a rise out of him. "In that case, it will be the eighty pounds tariff, I'm afraid."

"Fine," said Mark. He was beginning to wonder why the rigmarole around the ledger if there were a range of rooms available, but he decided to let the man have his little bit of attention.

Mark gave his details and his credit card, allowing extras to be put on - he doubted that there were many other eateries in the area, so meals in the restaurant or room service may be his only options. Harris handed him a key to a room on the first floor - room 106.

"Is the restaurant still open?" asked Mark.

Harris shook his head. "I'm afraid not," he said. "It shut at nine. And there's no room service tonight - our delivery is due tomorrow. You should be able to get a sandwich in the bar, though."

"That'll do, I suppose," said Mark. He pointed at his bike. "Is there somewhere I could park this?"

Harris snorted. "There's a storage cupboard just inside the entrance vestibule," he said. "I could let you store it in there. We had a young American who did the same last summer." He handed Mark a key. "And the business about inspecting young Miss McGregor's room?"

"I'll just get settled in first," said Mark, "if it's all the same."

Harris pouted then nodded his head. "One final thing," he said. He pushed a flyer across the dark oak desk. "Can I interest you in the midsummer ceilidh?" he asked. "It's next Tuesday night, a week from today."

Mark smiled as he took the flyer. "Thanks," he said, "but I hope to be back in Edinburgh by then."

Mark lay back on the spongey bed in the hotel room, staring up at the nicotine patterns on the ceiling. He could see why it wasn't busy - the design of the room belonged to a 70s sitcom, all swirling patterns, doilies and dark wood panelling. There was no duvet, just layers of blankets in a ghastly pattern.

The good thing about the room was that it was huge. The desk took up an entire wall, opposite the bed, and he'd managed to fit all of his stuff on the top - laptop case and rucksack - with plenty space left to work.

He had the bag from Buffy's comic shop with him on the bed. He had been flicking through the
Blade
books that he'd been swindled into buying, struggling to imagine how he could get into them. They were in black and white for starters, and the dialogue seemed so forced and dated, nothing like the films. He glanced at the local horror comic - it looked more promising. He put them back in the bag, deciding to use them as a reward for later, and chucked it onto the desk, next to his laptop. The Esoterica card fell out as the bag flew through the air. He picked it up and looked it over - he still had no idea what esoterica meant. He placed the card on the desk and picked up his mobile.

He tried connecting to the hotel Wi-Fi, but it didn't look like it had one. He had a bar of mobile signal. He tried a video call to Sarah but it cut off. His mobile network barely existed this far north.

He gave a sigh then tried the old-fashioned way - the landline in the room. As it rang, he wondered how much Harris would be charging per second. Still, if he didn't check in with Sarah he'd be for it when he got back - assuming he was actually allowed back home.

"Hello?"

Sarah sounded irritated. Even so it made Mark feel slightly more calm, hearing her familiar voice in this strange place.

"Hey, it's me," said Mark, in his best placatory tone. "Just checking in."

"You woke Beth," said Sarah.

There was silence on the line for about ten seconds - Mark could picture Sarah scowling at the handset. He couldn't hear Beth in the background - if she was truly awake, he'd know about it.

"I'm sorry," said Mark. "I thought you'd like to know that I got here safe and sound."

"Thanks," said Sarah, then let out a deep sigh. "Beth's been a nightmare today."

"Yeah, well, I'd much rather be there with you," said Mark.

"Would you really?" asked Sarah, her voice cold.

Mark closed his eyes and suddenly felt alone. Everything that he had was built around Sarah and Beth - she had been so cold over the last few months. He felt everything crumble.
 

"It's late," said Sarah, "I need to get to bed."

"Okay," said Mark. "Look, there's no sign of Kay, so I reckon that I'll be here for at least a few days, maybe a week."

"Right," said Sarah, sounding even more hostile, if that was at all possible. "Thanks for letting me know."

"I love you," said Mark, to the dialling tone.

Kay's room was identical to Mark's but flipped through 180 degrees. The desk was tidier than his would be by first thing in the morning, just a stack of papers at one end alongside a notebook and a pencil case. Her suitcase lay open on the far end of the desk, half full of dirty clothes, the remainder hanging up. Mark couldn't understand when anyone would find enough time or motivation to hang up clothes in a hotel room.

Harris stood sheepishly by the door, eyes dancing back to the corridor, clearly fearful that Kay might return any moment.

Mark looked through her notes - they were in chronological order. The top sheets related to her movements over the previous few days - there were some on Lady Ruthven, plus some notes about places to visit further north, mainly centred around Wick. He pored through the rest, which seemed to be prints from newspapers, rather than the interviews she'd written up.

Mark looked around at Harris, but he'd slipped out of the room. Mark pocketed the few useful pages of notes. Harris returned as he pulled his hand out again - Mark acted calm, trying to deflect him from what he'd just done. "I thought you said Kay had left a laptop?" he asked.

Harris nodded. "Well, I assumed so" he said. "I didn't actually check. I mean, she used to carry a laptop bag around with her so I just assumed."

"Did she have it the night she disappeared?" asked Mark.

"We don't know that she's disappeared," said Harris.

"Fine, but she's not here," said Mark. "Was she carrying the bag with her the last time she handed you her key?"

Harris nodded. "She was, yes," he said.

Mark swore under his breath. So she hadn't left it. His last hope had been that Kay had left her laptop unlocked, with pages of immaculate notes ready for him to take back to Edinburgh. No such luck. "Guess I'll just have to find her, then," he said. His stomach rumbled - it was a long time since those biscuits and even longer since the panini. "What time is the bar open to?"

Harris checked his watch. "You'll have another couple of hours at least," he said. "Now, if you wouldn't mind leaving the room..."

Mark sat at a table in the middle of the bar's lounge area. He had a pint of some Highland ale and was beasting his way through a cheese and pickle sandwich - the classic Scottish half-a-pound of grated cheese, an inch of butter and a scraping of pickle, all on white bread. Nevertheless, it hit the spot.

The large TV in the corner played the aftermath to some football match - Mark didn't follow the sport or have any interest in it, but seeing something familiar helped settle his travel grumpiness slightly.