When Painted With Deceit E-Book

frost shana

• Herausgeber: Loch Fuar Publications
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The past is a story we tell ourselves.

When a suave tycoon targets the heart of the town, the future of Aileen Mackinnon's inn dangles on a knife-edge. As a former forensic accountant, Aileen knows this man’s pockets are as deep as his secrets. After all, she’s seen his true colours before.

Detective Inspector Callan Cameron, Aileen's partner in love and crime-solving, finds himself handcuffed by the law, powerless against the tycoon’s machinations. But a sudden crash shifts the gears, plunging Aileen and Callan into a whirlwind of danger and deceit.

Old secrets crawl out of the shadows, testing their bond and pushing them to the edge. What are they willing to risk for love?

This journey weaves through the tight-knit fabric of human emotion, questioning what we hold dear. Embark on this heart-stirring adventure and uncover the truth for yourself.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Story Description

Scottish Glossary

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

The Next Adventure

Read The Exclusive Novella

Author’s Note

More Books by Shana

About the Author

Loch Fuar Publications

Copyright © 2024 by Shanaya Wagh

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, businesses, or events are entirely coincidental.

Website: https://shanafrost.com

WHEN PAINTED WITH DECEIT

First Edition.

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-7384994-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7384994-8-9

Large Print ISBN: 978-1-7384994-9-6

Written By: Shanaya Wagh as Shana Frost

Copyedited by Laura Kincaid

Proofread by Charlotte Kane & Rosie Walker

Cover design by Damonza

To Jackie Kripas

Thanks for being an awesome Sleekit Sleuth!

STORY DESCRIPTION

The past is a story we tell ourselves.

When a suave tycoon targets the heart of the town, the future of Aileen Mackinnon's inn dangles on a knife-edge. As a former forensic accountant, Aileen knows this man’s pockets are as deep as his secrets. After all, she’s seen his true colours before

Detective Inspector Callan Cameron, Aileen’s partner in love and crime-solving, finds himself handcuffed by the law, powerless against the tycoon’s machinations. But a sudden crash shifts the gears, plunging Aileen and Callan into a whirlwind of danger and deceit.

Old secrets crawl out of the shadows, testing their bond and pushing them to the edge. What are they willing to risk for love?

This journey weaves through the tight-knit fabric of human emotion, questioning what we hold dear. Embark on this heart-stirring adventure and uncover the truth for yourself.

SCOTTISH GLOSSARY

Bairn- Child/Toddler

Burn- A small stream

Eejit- Idiot

Kidding me on - You’re joking!

Loch- A Scottish Lake

Wean - A small child

Wee- Little

Yous- Colloquial you

This book is written in English (UK)

CHAPTERONE

‘Salt?’

‘It needs frosting.’

‘What?’ Aileen shrieked, popping her head up from where she was frowning at the curry bubbling on the hob. ‘Frosting?’

Isla McIntyre looked up from the Baker Babes magazine she was flicking through and blinked. ‘What? I think’ – she stabbed a finger down on the glossy pages – ‘it needs more frosting. Maybe in a lighter shade of blue.’

Aileen pointed towards the pot she’d just added a bit of sweet paprika to. ‘I was asking about my chicken curry pot.’

Isla shook her head. The action sent her wild red curls bouncing. She’d tied her hair up in a high ponytail, accentuating her flushed cheeks and cat-like green eyes. It gave her hair more space to bounce, Isla had declared when she’d adopted this new hairstyle. Now, she stabbed a finger towards Aileen. ‘You need a better name than that.’

Aileen groaned. ‘You know I⁠—’

‘Can’t name a recipe that isn’t yet ready. I know, I know. And it will never be ready. What do you want? For everyone to like it?’

Aileen bit her lower lip, staring again at the reddish-brown sauce that made her mouth water. She would be more satisfied if everyone liked it. She wrinkled her nose. ‘There’s something not quite right with it. So, salt?’ Aileen spooned some into a small bowl and set it beside Isla. ‘It’s very hot. Wait a bit before you⁠—’

Isla tipped the sauce into her mouth, made an ‘O’ with her lips and blew. ‘Hot! Hot!’ She shook her head, then chewed again. ‘Oh wow!’

Aileen rolled her eyes. ‘How do you know if it’s wow? You just burned your tongue!’

‘Not entirely. And it smells delish. You need to stop perfecting what’s already perfect.’ Isla snapped her magazine closed. ‘That being said, I need to get back to the bakery. They should be swamped by now.’

‘You need a break.’ Aileen reached for the cabinets where she stored her Tupperware. She’d save some of the curry for later, and perhaps… aye, she could get this to Callan for his lunch. Isla was heading into town, wasn’t she? ‘You’ve been baking well into the morning to perfect your new menu, while still finding new ideas for said menu, expanding your bakery next door, while running your current bakery, meeting the tourist demand and taking care of a bairn. I’m exhausted even listing all of that.’

Isla waved Aileen off. ‘Daniel’s helping with the expansion. I only nip in when he lets me. It’s a big surprise apparently. And he’s got Carly most of the day now, except…’ Isla peered through the kitchen doors into the empty dining area where they’d set up Carly’s pram. She’d been watching a cartoon on the tablet but had fallen asleep.

Carly was almost three now. She talked, walked and did many cute tiny-human things.

Isla sighed at her daughter. ‘My husband is a godsend.’

‘And you are superhuman,’ Aileen said while clicking the lid of the container in place. ‘Do you mind if I come with you? I want to drop this off for Callan. He can give me a ride back later, once I’ve been to the grocer’s. I need to buy a few spices, and I fancy getting out for a bit anyway.’

Isla stopped packing her things and narrowed her eyes at Aileen. ‘I don’t think you want to get away. You want to see your boyfriend. And to think three years ago you told me you couldn’t stand the man! Now look at you. I mean, you’re living together. Don’t you see enough of him already?’

Aileen bit the inside of her cheeks, knowing a blush was creeping up her neck. ‘You told me to ask him!’

‘No, you decided to ask him,’ Isla shot back. ‘After Daniel realised the man hadn’t been in his flat for two weeks! I’ve never seen two more boneheaded people. You love each other, spend every moment of your free time together, live together – you didn’t need separate addresses. What were you? Victorian eejits having a secret love affair?’

It had made sense, and Aileen had been building up the courage to ask him to stay. She hadn’t lived with a man before; hadn’t lived with anyone for a long time. Then Isla had told Aileen how good it was when you lived with the man you loved. And that had been it. She’d demanded Callan move in, and he’d argued with her on why he needed to move in, which of course didn’t make any sense, but it was them, and they didn’t do anything without arguing about it first. Later that very night, Aileen had driven them to Callan’s flat, and they’d moved his things into Dachaigh.

Since then, it had been absolutely bloody brilliant. Even if Callan could be a bit ornery at times… she loved him for it.

For the first time in her life, Aileen understood why Isla sighed in that dreamy way when she spoke about her daughter or husband. Aileen and Callan didn’t have any future plans, not concrete ones. But without a life plan, and standing at the age of thirty, with a business that was slowly turning a profit, Aileen was happy, content.

She sighed. ‘I want to see him. And I want to get his opinion on my curry. An opinion I hope will be better than adding frosting.’

Isla hooted out a laugh and woke Carly up. ‘Oops! Well, Dan’s putting her to bed later. And after that long nap, I pity him.’ Isla walked up to her daughter, cooing at her.

Aileen packed up the container in a bag, wrapped a dinner roll in foil and made sure the curry was stacked upright before plopping the bread into the bag.

She hand-combed her brown-hair and pinched her cheeks to add some colour to them. Callan had seen her in worse shape but… Well, she stared into her eyes, as dark brown as her hair. He thought her eyes held fire in them. All she saw were two brown orbs, nothing alluring like Callan’s electric blue with their special glint of grey.

Aileen shook her head. That man was blind in love with her.

It took them ten minutes to load Carly into the car and lock up the back door of the inn. Aileen’s part-time housekeeper was in. She’d promised to keep an eye out, but they were fully booked, so they would have to refuse any walk-in guests.

Life was good.

Aileen buckled herself in and struck up a conversation with Carly about the unicorn on her left shoe. The bairn had developed a new love of ‘ooni-corns’ and babbled on and on about them.

‘She’s been asking for a stuffed unicorn. Haven’t you?’ Isla said as she turned left to exit Dachaigh’s car park.

Carly said, ‘Aye! Birthday gift.’

Aileen chuckled. ‘Your birthday’s ages away. By then you won’t want unicorns anymore.’

‘No! I love them! They fly.’

‘Fly?’ Aileen turned to Isla, who shook her head.

‘Her nursery teacher showed them a picture of a Pegasus the other day. She didn’t like that it didn’t have a horn, so my brilliant daughter used a Sharpie to draw on it.’

Aileen laughed. ‘Well!’

‘God, Aileen. It was the teacher’s copy. And Carly pulled it out of their class library and sketched on it when the teacher wasn’t looking. I’m not sure if that’s smart or deviant.’

Aileen looked at the girl in the back seat, who was trying to peer out the window to look outside. With her strawberry curls and twinkling eyes, she looked ever the innocent. And she was. Aileen loved the bairn to bits. But she’d seen her ‘negotiate’ with Callan and win, so Aileen never stood a chance of saying no to the girl. ‘She’ll be alright. It’s better to be bold than a doormat wanting to please everyone.’

Isla hummed as they raced across the stone bridge towards the market square. ‘You’re not⁠—’

Aileen caught the glint of metal and heard the drone of an engine before she saw the car. ‘Watch out!’ she cried.

A car – a shiny navy convertible – hurtled towards them. It was a vintage model, only it made a horrendously loud noise, like that of a new race car. Its headlights, a sort of hooded pair of eyes, flashed at them.

The driver didn’t slow down, honking as he barrelled his way towards them instead.

Isla cursed and swerved to avoid it.

Aileen pressed a hand against the dashboard, trying to grip it, knowing there was nothing she could do but pray Isla had control of the car.

They continued off the road, heading for the ditch that ran alongside them.

‘Oh shit!’ Isla yanked on the handbrake as her left foot hit the clutch and her right the brakes.

Aileen braced herself as the car skidded closer to the ditch. Time slowed, the sound of gravel under the car’s tyres grating in her ears.

Instinct had Aileen pushing into her seat, as if her backward momentum could halt the car in its tracks and save them from plunging into the ditch.

A wail pierced the air. Carly.

Their journey forward didn’t seem to slow down.

Isla cursed when the car’s tyres kissed the verge, and they tilted downward.

Hell!

* * *

Forms. They were the absolute bane of his existence. If he’d once thought Aileen’s clashes with death would send him to an early grave, papers were what he’d be buried in.

Callan stared around his office. Somewhere underneath all that paper was a paper-producing machine. Why else would that spot on top of the printer he’d left vacant yesterday now be stacked with two box files?

Callan plopped into his chair and massaged his forehead, still staring. It was a privilege, having an actual office. When he’d worked in a large city, where you constantly had to rub arses with other colleagues, having your own space had been a rarity.

It could well be possible that his office was supposed to be shared by at least two other coppers, so either the state of this place had driven someone away, or they were understaffed.

‘Late night?’

Callan sat up at the sound of his boss DCI Rory Macdonald’s voice coming from the doorway. Rory had trimmed his usually candy-floss-like white hair to a close crop like Callan’s, although Callan’s hair was the colour of his clothes: black. While his was a maintenance choice, Rory’s latest grandchild had developed an affinity for pulling hair, so Rory had chopped his hair short to protect it – so short, in fact, that Callan could make out his pink scalp.

‘Thinking,’ Callan said. ‘We had three almost hit-and-runs yesterday. We’ve very little to go on, but the driver – male, Caucasian – spent some significant time driving around town, nearly hitting three people and driving over a few hedges.’

Rory walked into the office, picked up the pile of papers on the visitor’s chair and dropped them to the floor with a clap. ‘If we had an actual HR department, they’d have flagged this office as a health hazard.’

‘Aren’t we lucky we haven’t got one then?’

Rory rolled his eyes as he took a seat. ‘Find the man. We can’t afford to have eejits on our roads, not at the start of the tourist season.’

‘The start? They’re bloody everywhere, like ants. Dachaigh is booked full. It feels like I’m always running into some eejit or the other.’

Rory laughed. ‘That’s what happens when you move into an inn. Now that we’re on the topic of inns, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’

Callan frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair. It wasn’t every day his boss walked into his office to talk about Dachaigh. ‘Is there an issue?’

‘No.’ Rory shook his head. ‘I’m talking about the Cartwrights. Have you heard of them before?’

‘Er, should I have?’

‘Not unless you like holidaying in fancy hotels. Cartwright Hoteliers is a well-known company in the hospitality industry. They’re chiefly in the tourist business and have many successful hotels – several five stars in big cities.’

Callan figured out where Rory was headed with this. His heartbeat picked up. This couldn’t be good for Dachaigh. Aileen would be gutted. ‘The Cartwrights want to build a hotel in Loch Fuar?’

Rory scratched his chin. ‘They approached the development trust with an idea for a luxury camping site near the distillery. We discussed it of course, thinking about the impact on Dachaigh. But the Cartwrights are known to create this entire experience for their guests, and they’re famous. Famous enough to get more tourists to Loch Fuar. It would help other businesses.’

Oh no. No. This would help others, but Dachaigh was still growing, barely pulling a profit. He wasn’t relaying this news to Aileen. Not when all her hard work was just paying off. ‘Rory, I think you should send a letter to Aileen or have someone else talk to her. I⁠—’

Rory waved Callan’s comment off. ‘Let me finish.’ He scratched at an invisible stain on his trousers. ‘As I was saying, the Cartwrights reached out to us asking about the crime rates and safety around the distillery, particularly after what happened there a year and a half ago.’

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. ‘You just said they want to set up near the distillery. Why ask about the crime rates now?’

Rory shrugged. ‘I don’t pretend to understand business or how hotels are set up. They wanted to know if we could provide extra security. Now⁠—’

‘We are the police, not a private security company.’

‘Stop interrupting me, will you?’ Rory crossed his arms across his chest, shaking his head at Callan. ‘I told them we couldn’t provide around-the-clock security. It’s not what we’re here for. At the same time, I don’t want tourists to go AWOL in the bog or trespass on the wrong property.

‘I want you to create a policing plan that we can work on to include the distillery in our patrols more than we already do. The Cartwrights are investing in twenty eco-friendly sheds for their glamping site. Do you know what glamping is? I might take my wife there for a night or two actually. But,’ Rory forged on when Callan opened his mouth to speak, ‘it’s a heavy investment for them, so it’s only right that they want to cover their bases.’

Callan pulled his notepad out. ‘What’s the timeline like?’

Rory spread his arms wide. ‘When you’ve got all the resources money can either buy or expedite, time is hardly a limitation. The email from a woman called Scarlet said they should be set up for summer. This summer.’

Callan wasn’t sure how long it took to put up sheds. And he wasn’t sure how sheds would fare against the winds that often threatened to uproot the evergreen firs. But he wasn’t an engineer. Still, summer sounded a bit too soon. He shrugged, just as his phone rang.

‘It’s Robert,’ he told Rory, and answered PC Robert Davis’s call. ‘What?’

‘There’s been another almost hit-and-run. He almost hit Aileen, and⁠—’

Callan instantly popped out of his chair, reaching for his coat. ‘Aileen? Is she okay?’

‘They’re—’

‘Where are you? I’m on my way,’ Callan barked before giving Rory a brief explanation and hurrying out of the office.

That eejit driver hadn’t hurt anyone so far, but he had sent a pedestrian diving into a bush. If he’d hit another car – Aileen would be in a car if she’d left Dachaigh – it could prove fatal.

Rory’s curse bellowed after Callan as he reached the reception area. ‘Find the goddamned bastard today! Are they hurt?’

‘No, shaken though. Carly was in the car,’ he said as he stepped outside, then began running towards his own car. To Robert, he growled, ‘Have you told Daniel?’

Robert hadn’t, otherwise Callan’s best pal and Isla’s husband would have already been there.

Callan cut Robert’s call then phoned Daniel. If his wife and daughter had been in an accident, he’d want to be there. And maybe smack the bastard who’d caused it.

‘Callan.’ Daniel answered on the second ring. ‘What’s up?’

‘Isla and Aileen were on their way into town with Carly. Some eejit ran them off the road. I’m headed there. I’ll be outside your shop in five.’

When Callan turned left and pulled up outside the hardware shop Daniel owned, his pal was already there, pacing. ‘What happened?’

‘Not sure. The paramedics are there, and so is Robert. They might need to tow the car. They said no one was hurt, just shocked. This eejit has been racing around since yesterday, but we haven’t found him yet.’

Daniel sprinkled the car with a few of his own curses.

Callan floored the accelerator and was soon out of the market square and headed towards Dachaigh. There was only one road there and back. It didn’t take long for him to spot the police truck in the bright day.

Robert had parked to one side, behind the ambulance. The road was narrow enough that they were blocking it, and not because Isla’s SUV was on the road. It wasn’t. In fact, it was off road, tipping into the small ditch between the road and the land on the other side. The small ditch where the burn ran.

Daniel let out a curse. ‘The front tyres are almost in the ditch! What if they’d drowned in the burn?’

Callan’s objective brain pointed out that wasn’t quite true – the car was just tipped forward thanks to a puncture. And a burn was just a small stream, unlikely to cause much harm.

Yet, Callan cursed at the mud the front tyres rested on. It was the sort that could crumble under weight. Thankfully, the women and the bairn were no longer in the car.

He parked behind Robert. Daniel jumped out and ran towards his family before Callan could cut off the engine.

His best pal drew Isla and a blubbering Carly, who were standing by the ambulance, into his chest, squeezing them close. The paramedics were talking, and the blanket around Carly’s shoulders slipped. When Daniel straightened, he and Isla spoke to the medics while running concerned hands over Carly’s back.

Callan’s chest burned with something. Relief that they were alive and seemingly unhurt, and anxiety as he scanned for his love. He saw her in front of Robert’s car, watching Isla and her family while talking to Robert.

Callan slid out of his car and strode towards her. ‘Who was it?’

‘As I was saying’ – Aileen raised her voice, laced with annoyance, and shot a glare his way – ‘it was a navy-coloured car. Glinting like it had been polished recently. A retro convertible. But with a sports car engine. He – and it was a Caucasian man – came at us like a bullet. I saw him before Isla did. She turned the car – and if she’d panicked even for a second, we’d have had a major accident.’

‘And you didn’t recognise the car?’ Robert asked.

Aileen shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. The only thing that way is Dachaigh.’

‘And the exit to the bypass leading to the dual carriageway,’ Callan said. But no one ever took this exit as the one from town was more convenient. Where had this man come from? Why had he driven here?

‘He didn’t wait after?’ Robert asked.

Aileen shook her head again.

Callan crossed his arms over his chest. He was tempted to wrap them around Aileen, but he felt her reluctance. ‘What else did you notice about him?’

‘He was wearing a hat. It looked like a Sherlock Holmes hat. And a tweed jacket.’

Robert noted it down. ‘It sounds like the man cutting about town running people over. Only now he’s managed to almost— Well, he did run you off the road.’

He’d almost killed them. Callan saw the slight tremor in Aileen’s hands as she wrung them in front of her. That was it.

Callan drew his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘What did the paramedics say?’ he asked, almost in a whisper.

She swallowed, the fight and anger dissolving. ‘They checked Carly over, she’s fine just scared. Isla’s taking her to see their GP to follow up, just in case. Isla was terrified.’

So was Aileen. Still, he asked, ‘How are you?’

Aileen straightened her shoulders. ‘I was just the passenger. I’m fine.’

The tremors racking her body said otherwise. He squeezed her until her curves melded into his hard body. ‘Robert, write it up, get a tow truck. And ask around for someone driving a blue car. Old with a sports engine. If the guy’s been about today, he’s definitely staying here but not at Dachaigh – I haven’t seen that car in the car park. I’m taking Aileen home.’

Aileen opened her mouth to argue, but Callan pressed a kiss to her head, silencing her. He whispered, ‘We’ll have some tea. Please.’ He needed that because since falling in love, he’d become a sap. And this had scared him more than he’d thought possible. A head-on collision killed people, no matter how fast or slow you were driving. And he was damned lucky to have three important women in his life breathing and alive.

He just needed to catch his own breath now.

CHAPTERTWO

Callan ushered Aileen through the back door and led her to the high chairs around the marble counter in the centre of the kitchen. ‘Sit.’

She slid onto the stool and pulled out her phone. The steel she’d infused in her shoulders deflated and a sigh slipped from her lips. That would be the adrenaline wearing off. She needed a nap.

Callan filled the kettle to make tea, realising how often Aileen fussed over him in the kitchen – after a boring day at work, after a trying day when his right leg would annoy him with pseudo pain, or just when he needed her. And he needed her more than he could ever have expected.

Now Callan brought out the chamomile tea and plopped a spoonful each into two cups. He didn’t drink tea of any kind, but he also didn’t want to waste time brewing coffee. They both needed to calm down anyway and caffeine wouldn’t help.

‘Hell!’ Aileen said.

Callan frowned, turning to her. She stared at her phone, gaping at something, then muttered curses under her breath.

‘Aileen, what’s wrong?’

‘Bloody Cartwright’s what’s wrong. He’s building a glamping site here.’

Callan grimaced, and she saw it. Her eyes narrowed into laser-sharp slits. ‘You knew.’

He placed the tea in front of her and took the other seat at the counter. ‘Rory’d just told me when Robert called.’ He wrapped his fingers around the mug’s ear, buying time. ‘You know Cartwright?’

‘Do I know the man? I audited him four years ago.’

Callan hadn’t expected that. And something else had caught his attention. ‘Four years ago. Before you came here?’

Aileen bowed her head and took a sip of her tea. ‘Aye.’

The fact that she didn’t elaborate spoke volumes. While Aileen didn’t talk your ear off like Isla, when it came to him or anything financial, she always had things to say.

‘Was there an issue with the Cartwrights’ hotel business?’ Callan pressed.

‘I think so.’

‘You think so?’

Aileen pushed her mug away. ‘The former son-in-law was embezzling funds from the company, a few thousand pounds. He was sent to prison. Lost his position, of course.’

‘Which was?’

Aileen waved her hands. ‘I don’t remember. Sorry, it’s just a bit of a shock. To see his name pop up. Er… I think I’ve still got my notes on him. On my laptop. I tend to keep a backup of all my research. Not the sensitive information. That wouldn’t be legal, although most of it wasn’t… sensitive.’

Callan finished his tea. ‘Well, Cartwright’s planning to set up a hotel of sorts in Loch Fuar.’

‘And chase me out of business.’ Her voice had a bite to it.

That’s what Callan had concluded too. But now he had a different idea. ‘Well, Rory said he was planning to set up twenty sheds. There’ll probably be more demand than that and spill over here. Besides, I don’t think the type of people who would normally choose Dachaigh would prefer a flimsy shed that might blow away in a storm.’

Aileen reached over and took his hand in hers. ‘Thank you for that. But any sort of competition is bad at the moment, especially when Dachaigh has barely made it out of the ICU.’

‘We’ll be fine, Aileen. Together, we’ll always be fine.’ After everything they’d been through, he truly believed that. ‘Now, Cartwright,’ he said, bringing them back to the original topic. Digging into that man would serve a dual purpose: help Aileen recover from an almost-accident by focusing on something else and give him more information about the man. ‘Do you think the timeline makes sense? They’re building a glamping site for this summer.’

Aileen raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that their projected opening date? With twenty pods and enough resources, they should be fine. Most of these pods are like flatpack furniture. You just need to assemble them. Summer is entirely doable.’

Rory had said something similar. But the other thing that nagged at Callan had been Cartwright’s query on crime rates. ‘Don’t businesses usually plan and research a possible venue before they decide to open shop there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They asked us about the crime rate in that area. But the query came in after they’d reached out to the council for permission to set up such a site, near the distillery.’

Aileen frowned, her fingers turning the phone on the counter. ‘I won’t say that enquiry is strange. It’s a valid question – they have a reputation to uphold. And it looks like they knew about the… well, the incidents.’

‘The murder and the rest of it was in the news.’

‘Aye, but at least they looked it up and recognised there might be a security issue,’ Aileen said. ‘But it seems to be more of a legal hassle they want to cross off their list at this point. You’re right. Before you open a new store or hotel, it’s a lot of investment, so most sane business owners would at least carry out a threats and opportunities analysis. And also, financial forecasts to make sure they’d recover costs and give them an approximate idea of when they’d break even.

‘However, as the email I received said, they reached out to the development trust last week, and now are planning to launch in summer according to your intel. While that might be an achievable timeline for most companies, for Cartwright Hoteliers that’s tight, especially if they’re planning to do their usual luxury experience thing.’

Callan scratched his chin, thinking. ‘I just don’t want them to take us small-town people for granted.’

It was the wrong thing to say. Aileen scalded him with a glare. ‘Are you always suspicious of anyone who comes here from a bigger city? Or is it just people in the hospitality industry that you have trouble with?’

She was asking him about her first month here, when he’d declared she was just a city girl who would leave Loch Fuar within three weeks. He’d been very wrong then. And his indifference hadn’t lasted very long either, clearly. Here they were, living together.

A sentence popped into his head. Normally, he would have grimaced and tried to wash his mind out with soap, but knowing Aileen was still on edge, he grinned, leaned in and whispered, ‘I know for a fact the lot of you are thieves.’

Aileen raised an eyebrow. ‘Thieves?’

He almost tripped over himself, knowing what he was going to say would be damned embarrassing if his pals ever heard about it. ‘Aye, Cartwright could be an absolute thief like his former family member was. And the other out-of-towner hotelier that I know of – well, I’ve never met a bigger thief than her!’

Aileen rested her chin on her hand and watched him, as if waiting for him to complete that thought.

‘Why, she turned up here, annoyed the hell out of me then stole my heart.’

Her reply was silence. A long moment of silence while Aileen bit her lip, and her cheeks pulsed as if she was trying to say something. Then a hoot burst out of her, and she was laughing. It felt good to see her laugh, even if it was at his expense.

‘That shouldn’t be funny. That was terrible.’

He knew it was. As embarrassing as someone catching him in his underwear. But Aileen had seen all of him, embarrassing bits and all. And if it got her smiling…, what had he said about being a sap?

Callan placed his palms on her cheeks and kissed her, quick and firm. ‘Stop laughing at me,’ he growled.

She didn’t stop. And he joined her. ‘Do not’– he snickered – ‘repeat that to anyone.’

Aileen shook her head. ‘I could, but no one would believe Callan Cameron is capable of saying that!’

‘Thanks.’ He rolled his eyes. His cheeks were heating up, but the mile-wide grin on Aileen’s face assured him that she’d forgotten about the accident and Cartwright.

However, his gut demanded he prod for more information. Who was Cartwright? What was Aileen’s connection to him? Why didn’t she want to talk about him? But as the clock ticked towards tea time, Callan let it slide. He didn’t want her worrying about the what-ifs. Not until he figured out what Cartwright’s game in Loch Fuar was. He suspected everyone, especially people who brought opportunity to his or his community’s door.

There were more questions, of course. Why the tiny town of Loch Fuar? There were better, far more accessible places. And why the tight turnaround time?

Callan didn’t like this. When someone possessed more zeroes in their bank accounts than sense under their curly locks, there was always a cesspit of unethical behaviour lingering in their wake.

But right then, as the spring sun settled in for the night, Callan grabbed Aileen’s hand and pulled her towards the stairs. ‘There are many things people won’t dream I’m capable of. But, well… let me blow your mind.’

Aileen’s snort turned into a squeak when he slung her over his shoulder and hurried up the stairs.

‘Callan! We’ve got guests.’

‘And they have no access where we’re going.’ He entered the innkeeper’s chambers and shut – and locked – the door behind them. And he worked on making her forget all her worries, even if it was only for the night.

* * *

Aileen stared at her car’s dashboard. ‘Gran?’ she squeaked.

Siobhan often shocked Aileen, despite being miles away in a nursing home. This time though… Competition was the last thing Aileen or Dachaigh needed. So were the damned Cartwrights. She’d audited Mr Cartwright, for God’s sake.

‘You should stay there – a wee romantic weekend.’ Siobhan hummed. ‘Get it on.’

Aileen tightened her grip on the steering wheel, holding back a curse. ‘Callan and I are not spending a night there! In fact, no one is! Gran, this could be the end of us.’

‘Or drive some traffic our way.’ Siobhan’s voice was as bright and cheery as that of a wide-eyed ten-year-old. No one would think the woman was well into her nineties. Or that the business she’d started and run for fifty years was in jeopardy… again.

‘We can’t afford any sort of competition,’ Aileen said, taking the turn a little faster than she should have. She chided herself. She didn’t want to emulate what that idiot of a man had done to her and Isla. He remained, as yet, still uncaught.

Siobhan’s chuckle crackled through the speakers. ‘You forget, lassie, I lived there longer than you’ve been alive. I believe some competition is always healthy. Now, tell me, how are you managing with a man about the place? Apart from your father and uncle, no man has ever lived in those apartments. And, well, your uncle and father left for uni at eighteen, so they weren’t exactly men then.’

Of course her gran wanted the gossip. Never mind the important, urgent matter of the potential threat to their business. Aye, Cartwright would bring tourists to Loch Fuar, but only so many people managed to come up here, and very few of them actually stayed overnight. There simply wasn’t much to do here apart from enjoying nature, and she couldn’t afford to lose any potential customers. Aileen had to figure something out, and fast. But for now, she let Siobhan steer her away from the conversation. ‘Callan was practically always there. All he had to do was give up his flat.’

‘Good. I’m glad to see both your heads are out of your arses.’

Aileen rolled her eyes and sped along the road, wanting to get to the community hall before the meeting began. She’d lost time trying to perfect that chicken curry pot recipe knowing full well she couldn’t afford to be late. Today, they were meeting to discuss the new glamping project and how Cartwright could help the community.

On one hand, she agreed that this new business could be what they needed in Loch Fuar. She didn’t have the wherewithal or the influence to get people to spend hours driving to a small town where shops shut at 5 p.m. and often didn’t open on Sundays.

Idyllic was the adjective that came to mind.

Aileen indicated to turn into the community hall’s car park. ‘Gran, I’m almost there. I’ll call you later?’

Siobhan harrumphed and said she too had to go and find her nurse, Nancy, who’d once again confiscated Siobhan’s stash of chocolates and whisky. The two of them went round in circles like Tom and Jerry more times in the day than Aileen could keep track of.

She looked towards the building in front of her. She’d once helped Callan find a killer after Elizabeth Baines had fallen to her death during a senior citizen’s meetup in the community hall. Siobhan had been at the meeting and urged Aileen to help Callan out. And when the killer had threatened Siobhan, Aileen had involved herself, a fierce protector of her gran.

Aileen sighed at the memory. The killer was behind bars now.

She reached for the door handle to step out when a car pulled up beside hers. She didn’t recognise it or the woman driving it.

Aileen got out and grabbed the boxes of vegetable pakoras and ribbon sandwiches she’d made for the meeting.

The other driver also hopped out of her car and fetched a box from the back seat. Three years ago, Aileen would rather have run for the hills than make conversation with someone she didn’t know. Now, she waved to the woman with her right hand while balancing the containers in her left. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi!’ the woman chirped. ‘I’m here for the business owners’ meeting. Are you here for that too?’

Aileen nodded. ‘I’m Aileen.’

‘Scarlet. Mr Cartwright’s secretary.’