This was clearly no accident. It hadn’t occurred to me that a broken gate could be intentional vandalism. Was this the beginning of the MacIvers making good on John’s threat? People didn’t mess around here.
Nervous and edgy now, I unloaded the lumber and tools and traded out the large driving gloves for thicker work gloves, both of which had belonged to my father. I needed to get my own, but for now I liked wearing his—even though the too-long fingers hampered my efforts. I sat back on my haunches in front of the gate, inspecting the saboteur’s handiwork.
A camera or a phone had not been on my list of materials; I hadn’t thought about needing evidence for a police report. It was time to buy a cell and stop relying on the house phone, but for now I had to fix the gate.
Someone was determined to make things harder than they were. Didn’t I have enough of a challenge with a straight-up battle for Glenbroch? I rough measured the gap and pulled out a handsaw and one of the boards I’d brought. The dull blade took ages to cut one board, and I had several boards to cut and nail in. The original boards, old and cracking, needed replacing altogether. More nails bent than stayed in the weathered wood. I would have to come back and do a better job at some point.
Hours must have passed by the time I stood up and stretched my aching back, surveying my work. Not an elegant job, barely adequate in fact, but it would prevent escapes for now. From the other side of the gate, trees rustled, rousing me from my thoughts. I instinctively grabbed for the hammer. Was the person who’d done this coming back?
The rustling grew louder. Branches snapped and crackled. I tightened my grip on the hammer and brandished it in front of me. Coppery-red hair burst through the thick clutch of bushes and two massive beasts stepped from the trees. Shaggy Highland cattle. Good news. Sort of.
They stared at me, blowing ominous snorts in my direction. I let out a breath too, but fear swelled thick in my chest. These guys could do serious damage if inclined, although what little I’d read indicated they should be relatively docile. My experience with Brodie, the ram, left me skeptical.
Both sexes had horns—one fact I remembered reading. I edged closer, trying to discern if one or both were bulls. They were both ladies: a small relief.
The girls stood watching me, flicking their tails, twitching their ears. I eased close enough to see they were tagged with Glenbroch IDs. They were not supposed to be on this side of the fence. How many of Glenbroch’s cattle were wandering around on the neighbor’s land?
I was as far out of my element as I had ever been in my life—and I’d been in some challenging situations. Being in way over my head was even more reason not to waste time. I opened the gate wide and managed to herd the two females back through to the Glenbroch side. That was a start. I’d figure out how to round up missing livestock in the vast Highland hills later.
To get my bearings for the return trip, I pulled out my map. It would be much longer in distance but less demanding to return on a stalking road through the neighboring property, which connected to the road around the end of the glen and back toward the house.
That was the road that ran past Maggie’s house—the road Bethanne had been zooming down the other day. And she hadn’t mentioned a reason for being out here. Had she done this? A shiver punctuated my bad feeling about Bethanne, which had just ratcheted up from annoyed to disturbed.
I pulled into the steading with enough time to clean up before tea and made my way to the garden. Bethanne looked up from among the vegetable plantings. Was it only my suspicion or was there genuine disappointment in her eyes that I’d made it back?
“Bethanne, I repaired the gate. It had been deliberately cut,” I said, scrutinizing her face for a reaction.
She straightened up and pulled off her work gloves. “How would you know that?”
“I can tell if a gate has been broken or cut.” I frowned and folded my arms. “You have no respect for me, do you?”
Bethanne brushed past me without responding.
“Answer me. Did you have anything to do with cutting the gate?”
Wheeling around, she took a step toward me. “Why would I be doing such a daft thing? What would I possibly get out of that?”
“You’re not answering me! Did you have anything to do with it? You were driving out that way the other day.” I didn’t trust someone who answered questions with questions.
She only stared at me.
“What was the name of the stalker who called in?” I demanded, certain now that there had been no caller.
Bethanne crossed the distance between us, quick and aggressive, her face flaming red. “I grew up here in this glen, and I’ve worked on this estate for years. You don’t belong here and you never will!”
She turned and stormed off toward the steading. My fists balled in frustration, but I said nothing. I’d let her be, for now. In the meantime, I needed to call Calum and get a copy of her contract.
After scrounging dinner for myself, I headed to my office. Clearing the surface of the large desk and spreading out the paper titled “Task List,” I added two more notes to the list: sort out how to round up missing livestock; deal with belligerent employee.
Upon reading the long list over again, I added one more: find out who is sabotaging me.
I called Calum and filled him in on the vandalized gate. “Are the MacIvers capable of this?”
A long pause made me look at my phone to see if I’d hung it up by accident, and then Calum spoke. “In recent years, John hasn’t been one to get out into the more remote areas of his land. Or anyone else’s for that matter. I suppose Ben could have done.”
“That’s funny. Bethanne said if I didn’t return by tea, she’d notify Ben. That’s too much like calling the kidnapper to help find the hostage.”
A sharp exhale came through the phone. “I shouldn’t be speculating. It stirs up trouble. I meant to say Ben is more likely than John, not to say I believe either of them could do such a thing. They’re not easy to deal with in business, but I can’t see them being involved in this.”
“Well, maybe they’ve never hated someone as much as they hate the MacKinnons—and me—now.”
“John blusters, but I don’t think he would do this.”
“And I think you’re wrong, Calum. I don’t think anything is too far past them.” He didn’t know what had happened between Ben and me. If he suspected, he didn’t pry, and I wasn’t about to confess. “By the way, I need to see a copy of Bethanne’s employment contract.”
“I don’t advise you to think about breaking it,” Calum warned, “but when I get to the office in the morning, I’ll email it over.”
The rest of the day passed without further unexplained events. As night fell, I crouched down in front of the fireplace in my bedroom, puffing through the blow poker, watching the flames flare with each gust of oxygen. The kindling caught and then the growing fire took hold of one end of a log, then another. Sitting back on my heels, I let the scent of the burning wood and the feel of the heat warm and comfort me, but my thoughts spun loose and dizzy. The lighthearted discussion with Kami about haggis, men in kilts, and castles seemed like a lifetime ago.
I didn’t sleep well, waking amidst dreams of broken gates, hairy cattle, and endless stone walls that closed in around me. At least in these dreams I was on dry land.
By half nine the next day, there still had not been a knock at the door. I double-checked the time Ryan had given me when he had asked me to meet the electrical inspector in his stead. The inspector should have been at Glenbroch thirty minutes ago.
Pacing the floor, I punched the number for the inspector’s office. The man who answered put me on hold and returned to inform me the appointment had been canceled by the estate owner—Ellie Jameson!
I convinced him I hadn’t called and he made a new appointment. The new date was three weeks out—three weeks too late. An inspector couldn’t get to me sooner, he claimed. The delay would throw the renovation off schedule and off budget. This couldn’t happen.
Ryan would need to reassign the crews whose work depended on the electrical green light and he probably wouldn’t be able to bring them back until the work had passed inspection. Once he had the go-ahead, it might be a couple more weeks until he could pull them from the other jobs they would have started in the meantime.
This was not good. I suspected John’s hand in all of this, from beginning to end. My teeth ground together as I tried to get a handle on my growing anger, their ache reminding me to relax, breathe.
Options weren’t good. Gerard had designated funds that Calum had said came from the sale of his US property, and put a line of credit in place for unforeseen expenses, but I couldn’t afford a loss against the renovation budget and first season profitability. I needed to avoid digging a hole into the red, which could end up giving me an impossible mountain to climb to meet the agreement’s requirements by April.
I headed to my office, eager to see if an email had come back from the Aberdeen marketing team. They had promised to give me their quick-hit thoughts today. I powered up my laptop and opened my email, but nothing was there. I stared at the screen, then began punching buttons, finally deciding to reboot. My email inbox and sent mailbox still showed empty folders. My contacts were gone.
Scrambling to understand what had happened, I looked in the computer trash. Nothing. The burn of rising panic spread through me, my fingers punching more buttons, repeating the same actions as if that would help. What had gone wrong with my computer? Retrieving the cordless phone, I called the hosting service. They had no answer for me, except to say it looked like I had deleted my data. For a hefty fee, they could restore it.
“Our records show that the automatic backup plan we offer was declined when the service was initiated. Do you want to buy the automatic backup plan with us now?” the tech guy asked.
I authorized the restoration and backup plan, another knock on my budget. Someone had hacked my account and purposely deleted my data. They would have found my answers to discovery questions for the marketing planning with Ian’s group. It wasn’t full of secret plans or ideas. The team and I hadn’t met yet. My mind flicked to the Land Rover’s empty gas tank and a long sigh escaped. Gates, inspectors, gas tanks, computers—what else had the phantom Ellie Jameson done?
All of it together communicated a message: someone wanted me to know they could get to me any way they wanted, any time they wanted.
Bethanne had attitude, but John MacIver had motive. Regardless of who was involved or why, I wouldn’t be scared off even though the cold sweat running down the side of my face told me that my troubles were only getting started.
Without evidence, it was only my word about the gate, and I was merely a ditzy American who hadn’t backed up her computer, forgotten I’d canceled an appointment, and let the Beast run out of gas. You know, jet lag, being in a new place and all. A bunch of accusations I couldn’t prove wouldn’t make for a particularly credible start to my relationship with the local authorities. It hadn’t crossed my mind to be concerned about having one. Besides, I didn’t get involved with police or courts or any part of the legal system if I could avoid it. Unless I had hard evidence, there was simply no way I was making a police report.
The rest of my morning was consumed with changing my logins, ordering a fire-safe box to hold my laptop when I wasn’t using it, and getting a locksmith out to install a new lock on the library-office and all the doors to my quarters. As I finished a late lunch, the house phone rang. I answered and a woman came on the line, her voice accented by a light Scottish burr.
“Ellie Jameson? I understand you discovered a problem with a gate yesterday, and Jim and his man, Henry, are out of town. Is that right?” the woman said.
“Well . . . yes, that’s right.” Why was I not surprised word had made its way around?
“I’d like to help you.”
“That’s very kind. Not to be rude, but may I ask who this is?”
“I’m a neighbour. I have a border collie who is one of the best around at gathering and guiding sheep and does a fine job with cattle. I believe your sheep are hefted and would still be up on the fells. Some may have been keen to wander through an open gate. Or if someone cut your gate as I heard, that person may have driven some off on purpose. My dog can help gather the cattle and sheep and we can take counts. I realize it may seem odd when I tell you who I am, but . . .”
I said nothing when she paused, curious now.
“I’m Anna MacIver, John MacIver’s wife.”
I swallowed back my surprise. “You’re right, I do find it odd. From everything I know, I can’t understand why you would want to help me.”
“Of course. I was in school with your father and John. They were best friends. I know John set his sights on Glenbroch, but I won’t stand by and let Gerard’s daughter struggle. It’s not right.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
This woman had known my father and her husband had been his best friend, and now was my enemy. She probably had some answers to my many questions. “Help would be great.”
“Good. Shall I come round in say an hour? I’ll call Jim and ask for his counts and where he’s got the cattle grazing and such. Then we can head out and see if we’ve any missing. It will all get sorted.”
“Thanks, I hope you’re right. It’s not the first problem I’ve had in the past few days.”
“Well, not to worry. It can be managed. I look forward to meeting you. Bye now.”
“See you soon.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes from the lane as the time for Anna to arrive drew near. Soon, I caught sight of a strange-looking car driving toward the house. A vehicle that looked like it’d been made for navigating the moon’s surface pulled to a stop and a woman burst from the driver’s side before I managed to step from the doorway. She took hold of my shoulders, peered at me, taking in all my features. With her long, white hair caught up in a clip, she exuded an air of casual elegance. I couldn’t picture this woman as John MacIver’s wife.
“You have the look of him. You’re definitely Gerard’s bairn.” Her blue eyes grew soft and misty. “He was a lovely man, your father.”