Taylor, M [Shetland Sailing Mysteries 08] Death from a Shetland Cliff by Marsali Taylor

Author:Marsali Taylor
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Hachette Headline Accent
Published: 2020-06-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

lambie hoose: a small stone-built outhouse, generally with only a door and no window; often used to stable young or premature lambs in bad weather

It was the ketling that woke me. It was up on the chart table, paws on the windowsill, and a steady, low growl came from its throat. Under the growl I thought for a moment that I heard the sound of a car engine, then the ketling jumped down and there was silence. I wriggled forwards so that my shoulders were clear of the bulkhead, and raised myself up on my elbows, just in time to see a flash of car headlights. One long beam travelled along the boat, then it cut out. I got out of bed and eased the hatch open. It was too dark to see anything moving on the road, but I thought I could hear a faint rumbling, as if a car was rolling down the road with its engine off. We had visitors.

My jeans and jumper were lying on the couch, ready to put on. I pulled them over my pyjama thermals and thrust my feet into my seaboots, straining my eyes against the darkness outside the window all the while. The flash didn’t come again, but I heard the snick of a car door being closed, then I saw a light moving in the darkness between the road and Tamar’s house. Someone was walking down the path to the house, the bright pinprick bobbing with each step. I looked at my watch. Half past one. I remembered the man who had come here dressed for burglary, who had died at the Skro. Now here was another. What in the name of goodness had Tamar been keeping in the cottage that was worth so determined an effort? I thought of the tub tucked down in my bilges, and decided I’d insist on her putting it to the bank, and telling the whole family that that was where it was.

My phone was on the table, where I’d left it after talking to Gavin. Tamar picked up on the second ring, as alert as if it was day. ‘Cass?’

‘We have a visitor,’ I breathed.

‘Where?’

‘Walking down your path. You won’t have time to lock the back door. Do you want to phone the police?’

‘By the time they arrive, he’ll be long gone.’ She sounded amused. ‘He won’t find what he’s looking for.’

‘I’ll come after him.’

‘Don’t put yourself in danger. Just watch. See who it is.’

I hauled my black jacket on over my jumper, shoved my phone in my pocket, and slid cautiously out into the night, across the gangplank and along the edge of the pier, on the rocks, to avoid the crunching gravel. I could just see the paler gravel of the track, and make out the shapes of the assorted bruck on the grass. I slid into the darkness by the black rectangle of the Portakabin, and felt my way to the hurdle beyond it. From this angle, the light had gone again, hidden by the low lambie hoose between Tamar’s cottage and the pier.

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